The Riddle of Sphinx Island Page 2

  ‘What if someone left you an island in their will?’

  Payne said he would sell it. He put a match to his pipe.

  ‘That’s exactly what I intend to do. I am so glad we are singing from the same hymn book. If my lease of life were suddenly to run out, the island would go to John. I have made a will to that effect, though of course I have no intention of kicking the bucket. Not in the foreseeable future at any rate,’ Sybil said brightly.

  Payne looked at her. ‘Does your brother know that you’ve left him the island in your will?’

  ‘I have an idea I told him. I believe I said, “If I were to snuff it before you, dear boy, Sphinx is yours for life,” or words to that effect. I do try to be fair.’

  Sybil went on to say that she hated the sea as much as she hated the island and of course you couldn’t have one without the other. The cruel alien sea. Either layered in purple and blue or muddy green or gun-metal grey. She’d got to know the sea so well, she could write a paper on its changing colour. The island used to bear their name – De Coverley Island – but it was popularly known as Sphinx Island. Crackpots seemed to be drawn to it as bees are to honey. There were pictures of the island on the internet, if they wanted to look at them before they came. Aerial photos and so on.

  ‘You can read about the island’s history, it’s on Wikipedia, all about the secret military experiments during the Second World War, the UFO landing in the fifties and so on and so forth.’

  ‘Where is Sphinx Island exactly?’ Antonia asked.

  ‘It is situated three miles off the Devon coast. From some angles, it does bring to mind a crouching, smiling kind of Sphinx. It looks absolutely hideous. We’ve got our very own launch, Cutwater, so you won’t have to hire a boat or anything like that. Oswald said he would collect you himself. Oswald is terribly keen on sailing. Mad about it. He said he would be at Wanmouth to meet the 4.50 from Paddington. I’m talking about Friday afternoon … Unless you decided to drive?’

  Payne smiled pleasantly. ‘We haven’t yet said that we are coming.’

  ‘You’d recognise Oswald right away by his rather superior-looking yachting cap. Thank God for Oswald Ramskritt! He is an American. He is the man who’s going to take the island off my hands. He is awfully zealous and territorial. The frontier spirit, wouldn’t you say? Apparently, at one time, before the Crunch, he was so frightfully rich; he seriously considered the idea of buying Venice and turning the Grand Canal into a six-lane expressway.’

  ‘Can one buy Venice?’

  ‘Perhaps not in the normal course of things, but he said there was a way round it. Oswald has the smiling self-assurance of a man who has achieved success early and easily. I believe he is a self-made man, but then aren’t all Americans? He and his entourage are already on Sphinx. He’s got a yacht. Not a particularly vast one, but it’s terribly smart. Are you a sailing man, Major Payne?’

  ‘I’m afraid I am not.’

  ‘Poor John used to do a lot of sailing himself, when he was younger, before the attack, but he is a virtual recluse these days. He never goes anywhere and he tends to keep to his room when we have visitors. Expecting him to come down and say how-do-you-do would be futile, like waiting for a badger to start tap-dancing. Nobody seems to mind. Oswald says he loves English eccentricity in every shape or form. I am sure he means it. Mrs Garrison-Gore of course is too busy to notice anything. I must admit I find Mrs Garrison-Gore’s kinetic intensity a little exhausting.’ Sybil bit her lip. ‘Oswald’s secretary – not Ella, the new young one – seems to like John. Her name is Maisie, I think. The other day I saw her standing outside John’s door, talking to him through the keyhole.’

  Antonia had the impression Sybil regretted mentioning Mrs Garrison-Gore’s name.

  ‘I wonder if she’s been attempting to nudge him into a more enlightened direction? That’s the sort of thing an American girl would do. She is terribly well-meaning and of course she is pretty as a picture. So refreshingly innocent and unspoilt, a tabula rasa, as papa would have put it – unless she turns out to be an accomplished little actress who’s after Oswald’s millions. I find American girls incomprehensible, don’t you? Apparently John told her that he liked fried chicken best, he whispered it through the keyhole, which suggests some kind of a bond might have been forged between them. He also told her she mustn’t think he enjoyed chewing blotting paper.’

  ‘Does your brother chew blotting paper?’ Antonia asked. I want to see these people, she thought.

  ‘He does. As it happens, there’s a perfectly rational explanation for it. I bet you’ll never guess what it is.’

  Payne cleared his throat. ‘Old-fashioned remedy for headaches that develop as a result of shooting?’

  ‘You are clever. I don’t believe I’ve ever said that to a Major before. That’s the reason he does it, yes. John is a shooting nut. He is the proud owner of several guns. He shoots at seagulls, mainly. He is tormented by blinding headaches, which he insists on explaining with the fact that he is left-handed. He is, to use an awful phrase – please, you must forgive me – in denial.’

  ‘Who else is on the island?’ Payne asked.

  ‘Well, there is Ella. Ella Gales. She works for Oswald. General dogsbody and so on. Ella’s got the patience of a saint, though she is too clever for straightforward virtue. I believe she was born a Swede. “Stoic and isolate”. Quite distinguished-looking, a former beauty queen, apparently. The epitome of style and sheer chic. Ella and Doctor Klein are thick as thieves, which I find intriguing. If you could imagine Beauty and the Beast … Shall I tell you who they remind me of? Those two hunted outcasts, Hagar and Ishmael, abandoned and wandering in a psychic wilderness of their own creation. Whenever I happen to walk in on them I get a palpable sense of having interrupted some cabal in its scheming.’

  ‘Who is Doctor Klein?’

  ‘He is Oswald’s doctor. Doctor Klein is what papa would have called an “Americanised Kraut”. Papa used to refer to America as a “land of sanctimony and barbarism”. Papa would have detested that awful senator with the vests, what was his name? Why would anyone in their right mind want to be the President of America, I simply can’t imagine. Papa was one of the most zealously xenophobic people you are ever likely to meet, yet when he was confronted with real aliens, he didn’t turn a hair.’

  ‘What real aliens?’

  ‘There was an incident in the early 1950s. A landing of sorts. All part of the Sphinx Island mythology. I keep getting letters from madmen asking questions about it. They call themselves “ufologists”, or something like that.’ Sybil waved a dismissive hand. ‘Doctor Klein is enormous – and I mean enormous. It’s odd since he eats next to nothing and invariably declines pudding.’

  ‘Why does Oswald Ramskritt need a doctor?’ Antonia asked. It occurred to her that she had heard Mrs Garrison-Gore’s name before, only where?

  ‘I am not sure. All I know is that Doctor Klein holds reflexology sessions with him, if that’s what they are called. Rich Americans appear to suffer from all kinds of peculiar conditions, have you noticed, or perhaps they only imagine they do? Oswald is surrounded by nice and helpful people. It makes me green with envy. You wouldn’t believe this, but the moment they realised there were no servants on the island, Ella and Maisie offered their services!’

  ‘No servants?’ Payne’s left eyebrow went up.

  ‘Not a single one. Mod cons are in somewhat short supply on Sphinx. Remember the old Punch cartoon? Oh dear that was so funny. “Good night, Mrs Jones, you must forgive our primitive ways.” Well, Ella alone is worth ten servants. Ella makes sure the flowers are right, she organises the menu and she actually cooks for us. She is efficiency personified. I have an idea she was once involved with Oswald. I don’t think she is awfully happy, but then who is? Maisie, as I said, is Oswald’s brand-new amanuensis, if that indeed is the word I want, though what exactly she does is anybody’s guess.’

  ‘There is no Mrs Ramskritt?’

  ‘No. Dead, I think.
Strictly entre nous, Oswald’s completely smitten with Maisie, poor man, as only a middle-aged man can be, though I somehow doubt he’s declared undying love for her yet. The girl, on the other hand, is in awe of him.’

  ‘They seem to be a fascinating bunch of characters.’ Payne shot a glance at Antonia.

  No servants, Antonia was thinking. That was a bit unusual. A house party on a minuscule island and no servants …

  ‘Who is Mrs Garrison-Gore?’ Antonia asked.

  ‘Oh, just a friend of a friend … I am afraid John has been making things a little awkward for everybody. What started as a mild neurosis has developed into what some may call a morbid obsession. He leaves his room only in the dead of night. He likes to walk about the island, even when there is a storm. He wears an oilskin and a slouch hat and carries a lantern and a gun. I’d better explain. A couple of years ago John was attacked by two seagulls and he’s been quite different since. Sometimes, in the morning, we find the little beach below the rocks littered with the bodies of the seagulls he has shot during the night.’

  ‘I assume he has a licence for his guns?’

  ‘He has, though in my opinion it should be taken away. He is not a responsible person and accidents do happen, don’t they? I loathe the idea of reporting him as that would make me a snitch, but the truth is that John and I can’t agree about a single thing. Strangers to matters of any importance, as they say.’

  Payne looked at her. ‘This murder mystery of yours – is it perhaps something to do with your brother?’

  She gave a sad smile. ‘You ask the kind of question I can’t possibly answer. Incidentally, no one must ever know that you are on any sort of urgent mission. When you arrive on Friday, you will be introduced as Lady Grylls’ nephew and niece-by-marriage, which of course is who you are.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I am sure you wouldn’t dream of giving the game away. Your aunt said you make a religion of being discreet in every case you undertake.’

  ‘I don’t think we are up to undertaking anything. I am not sure we’ll be able to come, really.’ Antonia spoke in sudden panic. ‘As it happens, we are extremely busy this weekend, aren’t we, Hugh? It’s rather a special kind of weekend for us, you see. An exclusive kind of celebration, you may say –’

  ‘How many people are there on the island altogether?’ Payne asked.

  ‘Let me see. Oh dear, I am so terribly bad at arithmetics! Seven – no, eight – that includes your aunt and Doctor Klein.’ Sybil de Coverley counted on her fingers. ‘When you join us, there will be ten of us … Ten, yes – that’s right, isn’t it?’

  3

  BETRAYAL

  Doctor Klein’s hand went up to a point above his right eyebrow where it hovered for a second or two. It was a curious gesture. She had observed him do it before. He asked if she really wanted to hear the results of his assessment.

  ‘I do. I want to see whether you will tell me anything about Oswald which I don’t know already,’ Ella said. She was tall and attenuated and very fair. Her ash-blond hair was bobbed and she wore pearl earrings. She looked extremely elegant in a silk trouser suit with narrow trousers and tunic top in a subtle shade of a very pale greenish-gold. From a distance she looked no more than thirty. In fact she was fifty-nine.

  ‘You think you know him well?’

  ‘I believe I do, yes. Oswald enjoys talking about himself, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He is quite uninhibited. He believes I am one of the few people who understand him. He says he can trust me. I don’t know why he should think that. He is so pleased with my services, he promises to double my fees.’

  ‘Oswald is certainly generous to people he wants to impress.’

  ‘You realise, don’t you, that you are asking me to betray my patient?’ Doctor Klein’s lips twitched into what might have been a smile. He was a large shapeless man with white marsupial cheeks and he spoke in soft and uninflected tones, without a trace of any accent. He reached out for his notebook.

  ‘Is patient confidentiality part of the Hippocratic oath?’

  ‘I never took the oath, actually … I hereby swear by Apollo Physician and Asclepius and Hydieia and Panaceia and all the gods and goddesses – I have no idea how it goes on.’ He put on his rimless glasses, opened his notebook and started leafing though it.

  They were in Ella’s room, sitting beside one of the long curved windows. It was a pleasantly furnished room. Off-white rugs on the gleaming parquet floor – fawn-painted walls – an oval mirror surrounded by lights – a dressing table with intricately shaped scent bottles and two hairbrushes with ivory handles. The only splash of colour was provided by a bowl containing blood-red roses.

  The window was open. The sea outside was liquid sapphires that sparkled in the sun. Ella watched the waves rise up and move apart – ‘in planes of blatant impossibility’. She shaded her eyes. There was something magical about an island; the mere word suggested fantasy. But the sea would be truly terrifying if there ever was a storm. None of the mainland was visible. Ella had the strange feeling that all contact with the world had been lost. An island was a world of its own – a world, perhaps, from which you might never return?

  Doctor Klein was speaking.

  ‘Oswald has an overweening sense of his own infallibility and his confidence in his own talents and powers is quite alarmingly exalted. He has a grandiose self-image and is reluctant to concede the possibility that he might ever become the subject of valid criticism. He compares himself to Rommel and Napoleon. Even if infinitesimally challenged, he becomes offended. He has difficulty masking his indignation and when his voice rises, it is –’

  ‘Staccato with outrage?’

  ‘Yes.’ Doctor Klein looked up from his notes. ‘You certainly know him well. He sees no need to justify himself or his actions on any count, regarding it as self-evident that he is right, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. His capacity for self-analysis is limited.’

  ‘Non-existent, surely?’

  ‘A typical response to a question he doesn’t want to answer is to deflect it with a question of his own. He demonstrates a marked reluctance to examine his behaviour or the consequences of his actions. He lacks insight and the concept of a wider responsibility is completely alien to him –’

  Ella had the peculiar feeling that she had known Doctor Klein a very long time, well before he had joined Oswald’s entourage – that perhaps he and she had met in some other life, that they had some shared destiny. In his company she found peace. She had chosen to turn to him for solace the way some people turned to open spaces, to a forest in spring, or to the sea. There was something mythical about him … Something mystical … A figure out of some strange dream … The gentle ogre … The benevolent behemoth …

  It occurred to her that Doctor Klein must hate Oswald as much as she did. He had never said so, but he wouldn’t be sitting here with her, betraying his patient’s confidences otherwise …

  ‘You are lost in a brown study, Ella,’ she heard Doctor Klein say, as though from far away. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. Please go on. I know it is terribly perverse of me, but I find it extremely comforting listening to you dissecting him so mercilessly.’

  ‘Oswald has mastered the appearance of affect, but it is unlikely that this is more than a convenient mask. He is insensitive, overbearing and emotionally immature –’

  ‘He is a tyrant and a bully,’ she whispered. ‘Does he say anything about me? Does he ever try to justify the way he treats me?’

  ‘He mentions you from time to time, yes.’

  ‘What does he say? Please, tell me. I want to know.’ She prepared for the blow by clenching her hands into fists and half-closing her eyes.

  ‘He says you “provoke” him, sometimes by design, sometimes unintentionally. He admits he was in love with you once, deeply and passionately, but that was “aeons ago”. He still has an overriding need for physical love, though he is no longer attracted to you. In his opinion, you have never b
een able to understand the way he “operates”. You have no idea what makes him “tick”. He describes you as “clinging”. He catches you looking at him “with distaste and scorn”. Is that true?’

  ‘I suppose it is true.’

  ‘You are the “grudge-bearing type”. You tend to “live in the past”. You seem incapable of “cutting your losses”. You don’t smile enough. You don’t know the meaning of “letting go”. He refers to you alternately as “saintly Ella” and “that masochistic martyr”. He is annoyed by what he perceives to be your self-righteousness.’

  ‘Am I self-righteous?’

  ‘Not in the least. Oswald hates your “passivity”. He resents the way you refuse to get angry with him and have a “proper fight” … He admits you are extremely competent in most things you undertake. No, he doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with the way he treats you. He regards himself as your benefactor. He believes you should be grateful to him –’

  ‘He actually said that?’ Ella was aware of her senses becoming preternaturally acute. Her ears throbbed with the crash of the sea and the wild shrieks of seagulls. Her nostrils twitched at the reek of something loathsome, some detestable putrescence that came from the direction of the little beach below the rocks.

  ‘He said you were consumed by sexual jealousy because of his affectionate interest in Maisie. He suspects you of wanting to harm him – or her.’

  Although the day was very warm, Doctor Klein wore a black suit and a black tie. He always wore a black suit and a black tie. It was impossible to imagine him dressed in any other way. Ella believed he had three or four identical-looking black suits hanging in his wardrobe.

  As she watched him, he started melting –

  She was crying. It happened often these days. Silent tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t make a sound.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said, pressing her handkerchief against her lips. ‘Please go on.’

  ‘Are you sure you want me to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You are upset.’