Extract:
BETH’S GOLF was one of only four cars remaining on the drive as we piled into it and drove away. Angela Tiverton and Francis Carne stood talking in the gloom of the courtyard.
Shadwell, though only six miles from the centre of Castle-town, is somewhat off the beaten track and linked with its larger neighbour by a little-used B road. At a few minutes past ten on a Monday night it was deserted, illuminated only by the headlamps of the Golf throwing their twin beams before us. Behind I could see the lights of one other vehicle in the distance, but that was all.
‘I think things are starting to come into shape,’ said Mantle optimistically.
‘Oh, yes,’ Beth agreed. ‘It may not look like that to you, Gus – we must seem very amateurish and hit-and-miss’ – I made polite noises of dissent – ‘but you’d be surprised how quickly we manage to get things together in the last few weeks.’
‘Or even days,’ said Mantle. ‘I was certain Macbeth was going to be a disaster last year, what with some of them not knowing their lines with a week to go, but we managed it somehow.’
‘Not to mention an abysmal dress rehearsal,’ Beth agreed.
‘Isn’t it supposed to be bad luck to mention “the Scottish play”?’ I asked from the back seat.
Mantle sniffed. ‘I don’t really go for that sort of stuff. There’s been more bad luck associated with Macbeth than anything else just because it’s been produced more. Apparently it’s the most popular play ever written. They reckon there’s a performance of Macbeth taking place somewhere in the world every moment of every day.’
‘I don’t see how they can know that,’ Beth observed practically.
The inside of the car lit up suddenly as if by a switch. We all made noises of exasperation. ‘Some bloody fool behind with his headlights full on,’ grumbled Mantle.
Beth screwed up her eyes and squinted into the mirror. ‘I’ll pull over and let him through. Don’t want him tailgating me all the way home.’
Being lit up from behind made me feel vulnerable, and I half turned in my seat. At that moment the following car, a medium-sized saloon, accelerated and pulled alongside. Beth glanced at it quickly. Then – and even as it happened I could scarcely believe it – it cut in straight for our front wing.
It happened as we were crossing a small railway bridge over the main West Coast Line from Castletown to Longford. There’s only one place on the road from Shadwell to Castletown that can be really dangerous, and that’s it. To be tipped down the embankment on to the line would be absolutely fatal.
They reckon that at moments like that you don’t have time to feel scared. I can only say that didn’t apply in my case. I remember quite clearly thinking that this was it. Mantle swore softly. Beth kept her head and did the only thing possible, slammed on the brakes and pulled to the near side. There came a grinding noise.
Almost at the same moment the danger was over. With a vroom of acceleration the overtaking vehicle swerved to the offside and pulled away. Beth brought the Golf to a halt on the grass verge and drew a deep breath. For a couple of seconds none of us said anything.
‘Well,’ said Mantle grimly. ‘That’ll teach me to mention the Scottish play by name. Although in a sense I suppose we’ve been lucky.’
‘Get the number?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Mantle, ‘the number-plate was obscured. Deliberately, I’d say.’
‘No doubt about that,’ Beth agreed. ‘Did you see the driver?’
He shook his head. ‘Only from behind. I was too busy praying to pay that much attention.’
‘Well, I did. He, or she, was wearing a balaclava.’
There was another silence. Eventually Mantle said, ‘That’s pretty sinister.’
‘Yes,’ said Beth shortly.
I made my contribution. ‘A Rover 75, if I’m not mistaken. Dark-coloured I think, but you can’t really be sure in this light.’
‘I second that,’ said Mantle. ‘I’m not that well up in cars, but my father used to have one. I’d know a 75 anywhere.’
An unpleasant possibility occurred to me. And evidently to Beth, who seemed sunk in thought for several seconds. Then she galvanized herself into activity and opened the driver’s door briskly. ‘Better see what the damage is.’
We all got out, glad of the opportunity to steady our nerves by physical activity. ‘Not as bad as it might be,’ said Mantle, flashing the torch he’d taken from the glove compartment. ‘Just some superficial damage to the front nearside wing where it’s scraped against the parapet.’
‘The offside paintwork’s been grazed too,’ said Beth. ‘And the wing-mirror broken. But as you say, it could have been a lot worse.’ She added, ‘We could all be dead, for a start.’
As she spoke there came the rumble of a train approaching from the direction of Castletown. Seconds later it thundered beneath the bridge and away to the north. ‘And a lot of other people too,’ I commented.
‘Not much to go on in the way of tyre-tracks,’ said Mantle, who had been examining the road surface. ‘Whoever it was never touched the brakes.’
‘Whoever it was,’ repeated Beth uncomfortably.
‘There’s only one Rover 75 amongst the Fags,’ Mantle agreed, confirming her unspoken allegation. ‘At least so far as I know.’
‘Samantha Forrest. But she wouldn’t be crazy enough, surely.’
‘I shouldn’t have thought so, but she was mad keen to get the part of Isabella. I was on the casting committee, so I know.’
‘Would anyone commit murder for that?’
‘Murder’s been committed for some pretty trivial reasons,’ I said. ‘But I’m inclined to agree. She surely wouldn’t.’
‘Hm, yes,’ said Beth thoughtfully. ‘Well, we’re not doing any good standing out here. Let’s go home.’
As we climbed back in another vehicle drove past, hesitated in the traditional manner of motorists who gawp at accidents, and drove on. ‘Do we report this to the police, or not?’ asked Mantle.
‘They don’t usually want to know if you haven’t got the number,’ I said. ‘Although I suppose the balaclava might persuade them to take an interest. It was clearly intentional.’
‘And what was the intention?’ said Beth. ‘At the last moment whoever it was seems to have changed their mind. They could have driven us over the edge easily.’
‘Yes, that’s how it seemed to me. Unless the driver didn’t want to chance making contact with your car and being traced through the damage to his own. But if so he failed. He’s just touched our offside.’
‘Perhaps he only intended to frighten us,’ Mantle suggested.
‘If that was his idea, he succeeded admirably,’ I said. ‘At least so far as I’m concerned.’
The others gave brittle laughs and agreed. ‘Hope I’m not too shaken to drive away,’ said Beth, starting up.
I thought of offering to drive, but decided she might recover quicker if she did so herself. Mantle seemed to be of the same opinion, simply saying, ‘You’ll be right,’ rather in the manner of an Australian.
We needn’t have worried. Despite her frail appearance Beth Scarlett was a tough young lady. I remembered Miss Johnson mentioning she’d done paragliding, rock climbing and all sorts of dangerous activities, some for the school, some for charity, some just for the hell of it. ‘Is it possible that one of you might have been the target?’ she asked about mile further on.
‘Yes, I’d been wondering about that,’ said Mantle, ‘but I don’t see how anyone could have known in advance that we’d be in your car.’
‘That’s a point,’ she agreed. ‘I wasn’t thinking. No enemies anyway, have you, Gus? Though I expect a senior pensions executive lives a pretty hairy sort of life.’
I tried to laugh it off, not altogether convincingly. Apart from her other qualities, Beth was a bright girl. I suspected I’d been rumbled.