A Question of Motive Read Free Page B

God!’
    â€˜If I know where Señor Gill is, I can speak to him.’
    â€˜But he doesn’t . . . You can’t think it may be he.’
    She had spoken with certainty, not alarm. ‘I have no knowledge who is the unfortunate man. Therefore, I have to consider he may have come from your house. When did you last see your uncle?’
    â€˜When I left to go to Palma yesterday morning.’
    â€˜You have not seen him today?’ Her answers confused him. ‘Were you aware he was not here this morning?’
    â€˜When he didn’t come down to breakfast, I went up to his room and saw his bed had not been slept in.’
    â€˜That must have worried you?’
    After a long silence, she said in a low voice: ‘No, it didn’t.’
    â€˜Why is that?’
    â€˜Because he had obviously gone to see a friend and stayed the night.’
    â€˜He often does so?’
    â€˜When . . .’
    â€˜Yes, señorita?’
    â€˜Do you have to know?’
    â€˜I think so.’
    â€˜It’s so complicated.’
    He waited.
    â€˜Robin’s wife died some years ago. Then last year we were invited to a party at which we met the Oakleys. He . . . he became friendly with Virginia.’
    â€˜And is with her now?’
    â€˜He’d have let me know if he wasn’t. You see . . . He must know I can guess how the relationship is, but if it’s not put into words . . .’
    â€˜You can speak to Señora Oakley and ask if he is there?’
    â€˜I suppose so . . . But it will embarrass both of them. And me.’
    â€˜Nevertheless, I think I must ask you to get in touch.’
    She hesitated, finally stood, crossed to the telephone which stood on a rosewood card table. She lifted the receiver, dialled, listened, replaced the receiver. He assumed she had dialled the wrong number.
    â€˜He . . . he’s not there.’
    â€˜How can you be certain?’
    â€˜Paul answered.’
    â€˜He is the husband?’
    â€˜Robin must have gone to stay with friends in Andraitx. He’s repeatedly said he hadn’t seen them for a long time and must do so.’ She spoke intently. ‘That’s where he must be.’
    â€˜Would you please ring them.’
    She might not have heard him. He watched her changing expressions and was convinced he could correctly interpret them because he had known a time when logic said one thing, the heart another. When he had been told Juana-María had been crushed against a wall by a drunken French driver, he had driven at a reckless speed to the hospital, knowing her injuries must be very serious, praying that she was not badly hurt because the car had been moving slowly, she would smile at him and the doctor would say she would be fit and well in a short time. She had died minutes after he reached her in intensive care. ‘Please, señorita, speak to them.’
    She stood, crossed to the card table, picked up a small tabulated notebook. She opened this at the wrong page, finally found what she wanted, went to dial, but stopped. ‘I . . . I can’t.’ Her voice shook. ‘You’ll have to.’
    He walked over and took the notebook from her. ‘Which name is it?’
    â€˜Green.’
    He dialled.
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜May I speak to Señor Gill, please?’
    â€˜I’m afraid he’s not here.’
    â€˜I am sorry to have troubled you.’ He replaced the receiver before he could be asked why he was phoning. ‘He’s not with them, señorita.’
    â€˜Then he’s with the Yates. Or the Keens,’ she said wildly.
    â€˜Before I speak to them, I must have a word with Parra.’
    â€˜I tell you, he has to be with one of them.’
    â€˜Please believe me, it will be best if I talk to Parra first.’
    She mumbled something. Fear raised lines in her face.
    He crossed to her chair and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Courage, señorita . . .’
    She