Free The Zig Zag Girl by Elly Griffiths Page A

at the station when he remembered that, in the theatrical world, the words ‘good luck’ are considered extremely unlucky.

Chapter 9
    Edgar enjoyed the ferry crossing. It was a bright day, but the wind was strong. He stood on deck and felt the salt spray on his face, forgetting everything except the still surprising pleasure of being alive. After Jonathan died, he had assumed that he was next. Even when he was sent up to Scotland, to the sinecure that was the Magic Men, he had thought that a stray bullet would get him. An exploding top hat perhaps, or a man-eating rabbit. To have survived the war still seemed wrong somehow. Why should he be out in the sun and the wind when Jonathan and Charis were buried? Actually, he didn’t have a grave for either of them, which somehow made the whole thing harder to believe. Edgar gripped the deck rail and tried to forget the past.
    Leading Fireman Williams had given him an address in Newport. Edgar was surprised to find that it was quite a big town. His view of the island was coloured by a long-ago school trip, and he remembered only stripy cliffs, a gift shop and a house that belonged to Queen Victoria. Heremembered trailing around the house and gardens with a lot of other bored schoolboys: rooms with high ceilings and glittering objects in glass cases, formal gardens and a fountain where Tomkins Minor took an impromptu bath. The place seemed frozen in the nineteenth century. Hadn’t Tennyson lived on the Isle of Wight too? He imagined them all drifting about, in their frock coats and crinolines, writing poetry to each other. So Newport, with its bustling high street, was a shock. There was even a policeman directing traffic around a statue of Queen Victoria (at least she was still in residence).
    The Williams lived above a haberdashery. Edgar climbed the narrow stairs wondering about Ethel. He knew nothing about her, this woman he’d known only in death. Max had said that she was a star. Would a star have been happy, living above a shop in Newport High Street? And what about the man who’d lived there with her?
    Michael Williams, a short belligerent-looking man with a high colour, was waiting for him in the spotless sitting room. He may have missed his wife, thought Edgar, but he’d obviously got someone else in to do the cleaning.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Edgar began. ‘I know it must be difficult talking about Mrs Williams.’
    Williams shrugged. ‘She left me, didn’t she?’
    Edgar got out his notebook. ‘I wonder if you could tell me when she left? I’m trying to account for Mrs Williams’ movements up until the time of her death.’
    ‘Mrs Williams,’ said the fireman. ‘Can’t believe she wasstill using my name. Wanted to forget all about me, that’s what she said.’
    ‘When did she say that?’
    ‘A year ago. It happened last summer. When
he
came to the island.’
    ‘He?’
    ‘Him,’ Williams glared at Edgar as if he were being deliberately obtuse. ‘Max Mephisto.’
    ‘Max came to visit Ethel?’ Edgar was shocked into first names, but Williams didn’t seem to notice. He was clearly being driven mad by Edgar’s stupidity.
    ‘No, of course not. Why would he come here? A man like that. No, he was appearing at the Pavilion on Sandown Pier. We went to see him. That’s what a fool I was. I didn’t know.’
    ‘What didn’t you know?’
    ‘About her and him. Oh, I knew she’d been in the theatre. I knew she’d been his assistant. I was prepared to overlook that. We’ve never had anyone showbusiness in the family. My family are chapel, very respectable. But Ethel was young. She would learn, my mum said. She’d learn to be a good wife.’
    ‘And did she?’
    Williams snorted. ‘What do you think? She hadn’t the faintest idea about keeping the place nice. I did all that.’ He looked round the room complacently. ‘It’s a darn sight cleaner now than when she was here, I can tell you. But she was a pretty little thing. She didn’t have much of a