Read Online Murder Begets Murder by Roderic Jeffries - Free Book Online
Authors: Roderic Jeffries
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no pollution here, except for the occasional piece of rubbish swept in from beyond the headland or the ubiquitous clags of oil: squid and octopus jetted through the water, fish flashed silver as they turned below the surface, our sins clung to rocks with malicious immobility, and above ravens and buzzards worked the thermals.
They sat a couple of hundred metres up on the side of the cove so that they looked down on the paper-smooth water.
They were under the shade of a pine, but all around them was the intense sunshine. The air shrilled to the calls of countless cicadas.
‘Like Naples,’ said Diana, who wore the briefest of bikinis, ‘this p ace is so beautiful that it’s a case of “See Cala Tellai and die.” ’
Waynton grinned. ‘But like the saint who sought chastity and continency, please not just yet.’
She laughed. ‘There’s too much realism in you for a real dreamer.’
‘I’ve never claimed to be that. If I had to, I’d call myself casually down-to-earth.’
‘There has to be some dreamer in you or you wouldn’t be out on this island.’
‘Speak to my late boss and he’ll tell you it’s madness, not dreaming.’
‘Good! I’m all for a bit of pleasant madness.’ She stretched out on the towel and her right foot moved into the sun: she automatically withdrew it. ‘Predictability is so terribly boring.’
‘You’re in luck then, since there’s not much predictability to living out here. The only predictable thing is that the unpredictable will happen.’
‘That’s being rose-tinted about things. So many people here are every bit as predictable as they would be in outer Wimbledon. Old Wally always tells his dirty little schoolboy jokes, Max’s hands forever wander, Piers is a walking calculator on how his stocks and shares have gone up or down.’
‘I wasn’t really thinking so specifically — much more generally. For instance, how will each person react to living here when before he came he was almost certainly convinced it was Arcadia ?’
‘Start becoming personal.’ She turned over on to her bronzed stomach and propped herself up on her elbows so that she could look at him through her dark glasses. ‘How have you reacted?’
‘Like so many English, I used to imagine that living on a Mediterranean island in the hot sun, drinking, and letting the world drift by, must be man’s nearest approach to the heaven of fables.’
‘Didn’t I say you were part dreamer?’
‘And didn’t I say I was casually practical? A dreamer would have gone on dreaming and staying in England so that he could never suffer disillusionment. I came out to discover how my dreams matched up to reality.’
‘You’re twisting things round. A dreamer pursues his dreams: the practical man doesn’t because he’s so certain they’re false.’ She relaxed, lay out at full length and closed her eyes as she rested her head on her arms. ‘So how has the dreamer — or the casual practicalist — made out?’
‘He’s discovered that nature abhors complete perfection. If a thing appears perfect, it contains within it the seeds of imperfection. Parts of this island are Arcadia: but because they are, they are dangerous and therefore much less than Arcadia.’
‘Is that very profound?’
‘It’s probably pretentious tripe, but blame the wine.’
She rolled on to her side. ‘What is it? Are you scared that you could be drawn too tightly to this island because it can seem so perfect?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it’s you who is imperfect — you’ve admitted to a lack of self-control.’
‘Better to be a coward than fall a-over-t on the banana skin of over-confidence.’ He refilled their glasses with white wine, chilled from the bottle having been kept in a freezy-bag. ‘I’ve decided I’d better start thinking of when I’m going to go back to the UK.’
‘I’m sure you’re right there, Harry. It doesn’t matter what I’ve been saying, the truth is that this place isn’t any good
They sat a couple of hundred metres up on the side of the cove so that they looked down on the paper-smooth water.
They were under the shade of a pine, but all around them was the intense sunshine. The air shrilled to the calls of countless cicadas.
‘Like Naples,’ said Diana, who wore the briefest of bikinis, ‘this p ace is so beautiful that it’s a case of “See Cala Tellai and die.” ’
Waynton grinned. ‘But like the saint who sought chastity and continency, please not just yet.’
She laughed. ‘There’s too much realism in you for a real dreamer.’
‘I’ve never claimed to be that. If I had to, I’d call myself casually down-to-earth.’
‘There has to be some dreamer in you or you wouldn’t be out on this island.’
‘Speak to my late boss and he’ll tell you it’s madness, not dreaming.’
‘Good! I’m all for a bit of pleasant madness.’ She stretched out on the towel and her right foot moved into the sun: she automatically withdrew it. ‘Predictability is so terribly boring.’
‘You’re in luck then, since there’s not much predictability to living out here. The only predictable thing is that the unpredictable will happen.’
‘That’s being rose-tinted about things. So many people here are every bit as predictable as they would be in outer Wimbledon. Old Wally always tells his dirty little schoolboy jokes, Max’s hands forever wander, Piers is a walking calculator on how his stocks and shares have gone up or down.’
‘I wasn’t really thinking so specifically — much more generally. For instance, how will each person react to living here when before he came he was almost certainly convinced it was Arcadia ?’
‘Start becoming personal.’ She turned over on to her bronzed stomach and propped herself up on her elbows so that she could look at him through her dark glasses. ‘How have you reacted?’
‘Like so many English, I used to imagine that living on a Mediterranean island in the hot sun, drinking, and letting the world drift by, must be man’s nearest approach to the heaven of fables.’
‘Didn’t I say you were part dreamer?’
‘And didn’t I say I was casually practical? A dreamer would have gone on dreaming and staying in England so that he could never suffer disillusionment. I came out to discover how my dreams matched up to reality.’
‘You’re twisting things round. A dreamer pursues his dreams: the practical man doesn’t because he’s so certain they’re false.’ She relaxed, lay out at full length and closed her eyes as she rested her head on her arms. ‘So how has the dreamer — or the casual practicalist — made out?’
‘He’s discovered that nature abhors complete perfection. If a thing appears perfect, it contains within it the seeds of imperfection. Parts of this island are Arcadia: but because they are, they are dangerous and therefore much less than Arcadia.’
‘Is that very profound?’
‘It’s probably pretentious tripe, but blame the wine.’
She rolled on to her side. ‘What is it? Are you scared that you could be drawn too tightly to this island because it can seem so perfect?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it’s you who is imperfect — you’ve admitted to a lack of self-control.’
‘Better to be a coward than fall a-over-t on the banana skin of over-confidence.’ He refilled their glasses with white wine, chilled from the bottle having been kept in a freezy-bag. ‘I’ve decided I’d better start thinking of when I’m going to go back to the UK.’
‘I’m sure you’re right there, Harry. It doesn’t matter what I’ve been saying, the truth is that this place isn’t any good
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