‘Yes. You did mention that at the time. And my wife said—’
‘Your wife did not tell me the entire truth. She was not wearing shoes because she was not wearing anything else either. This is the reason why you were both so reluctant to tell me where you had been on holiday. In the end, you were forced to give me the name of your hotel – Shelpegh Court in Devonshire – and it was the matter of one simple telephone call to discover that Sheplegh Court is well known as a resort for naturists. That is the truth of the matter, is it not, Mr Osborne? You and your wife are followers of naturism.’
Osborne swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’
‘And Mary Blakiston found evidence of this?’
‘She found photographs.’
‘Do you have any idea what she intended to do?’
‘No. She said nothing. And the next day …’ He cleared his throat. ‘My wife and I are completely innocent,’ he said, suddenly, the words tumbling out. ‘Naturism is a political and a cultural movement which is also related very much to good health. There’s nothing unclean about it and nothing, I assure you, that would demean or undermine my calling. I could mention that Adam and Eve were unaware that they were naked. It was their natural state and it was only after they had eaten the apple that they became ashamed. Hen and I travelled in Germany together, before the war, and that was where we had our first experience. It appealed to us. We kept it a secret simply because we felt that there were people here who might not understand, who might be offended.’
‘And Dingle Dell?’
‘It was perfect for us. It gave us freedom, somewhere we could walk together without being seen. I hasten to add, Mr Pünd, that we did nothing wrong. I mean, there was nothing … carnal.’ He had chosen the word carefully. ‘We simply walked in the moonlight. You were there with us. You know what a lovely place it is.’
‘And all was well until your wife stepped onto a poisonous plant.’
‘All was well until Mary saw the pictures. But you don’t think for a minute – you – you can’t think that I harmed her because of it?’
‘I know exactly how Mary Blakiston died, Mr Osborne.’
‘You said – you said you’re about to leave.’
‘In a few hours from now. And this one secret I will take with me. You and your wife have nothing to fear. I will tell no one.’
Robin Osborne let out a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Mr Pünd. We’ve been so worried. You have no idea.’ His eyes brightened. ‘And have you heard? According to the agents in Bath, Lady Pye isn’t intending to continue with the development. The Dell is going to be left alone.’
‘I am very glad to hear it. You were certainly correct, Mr Osborne. It is a very beautiful place. Indeed, you have given me an idea …’
Atticus Pünd left the cemetery on his own. He still had fifty minutes until the meeting with Raymond Chubb.
And there was one thing he had to do.
2
It took him a short time to write the letter, sitting with a cup of tea in a quiet corner of the Queen’s Arms.
‘Dear James,
By the time that you read this, it will all be finished. You will forgive me for not having spoken to you earlier, for not taking you into my confidence, but I am sure that in time you will understand.
There are some notes which I have written and which you will find in my desk. They relate to my condition and to the decision that I have made. I want it to be understood that the doctor’s diagnosis is clear and, for me, there can be no possibility of reprieve. I have no fear of death. I would like to think that my name will be remembered.
I have achieved great success in a life that has gone on long enough. You will find that I have left you a small bequest in my will. This is partly to recognise the many years that we have spent together but it is also my hope that you will be able to complete the work of my book and prepare it for publication. You are now it’s only guardian but I am confident that it will be safe in your hands.
Otherwise, there are few people who will mourn for me. I leave behind me no dependents. As I prepare to take leave of this world, I feel that I have used my time well and hope that I will be remembered for the successes that you and I shared together.
I would ask you to apologise to my friend, Detective Inspector Chubb. As will become apparent, I have used the physostigmine which I took from Clarissa Pye and which I should have returned to him. I understand it to be tasteless and believe it will provide me with an easy passage, but even so it was a betrayal of trust, even a small crime, for which I am sorry.
Finally, although it surprises me, I would like my ashes to be scattered in the woodland known as Dingle Dell. I do not know why I ask this. You know that I am not of a romantic disposition. But it is the scene of my last case and seems fitting. It is also a very peaceful place. It seems right.
I take my leave of you, old friend, with respectful good wishes. I thank you for your loyalty and companionship and hope that you will consider returning to acting and that you will enjoy a long and prosperous career.’
He signed the letter and slid it into an envelope that he sealed and marked: PRIVATE – TO MR JAMES FRASER.
He would not need it for a while, but he was glad that it was done. Finally, he drank his tea and went out to the waiting car.
3
There were five of them in the office in Bath, framed by two double-height windows, the atmosphere strangely silent and still. Life continued on the other side of the glass but in here it seemed to be trapped in a moment which had always been inescapable and which had finally arrived. Detective Inspector Raymond Chubb had taken his place behind the desk, even though he had little to say. He was barely more than a witness. But this was his office, his desk, his authority and he hoped he had made that clear. Atticus Pünd was next to him, one hand stretched out on the polished surface as if it somehow afforded him the right to be here, his rosewood cane resting diagonally against the arm of his chair. James Fraser was tucked away in the corner.