Free Flowers Stained With Moonlight by Catherine Shaw Page B

the police … they say they have a witness who saw me running through the woods just before George died!’
    ‘No!’ cried Camilla – ‘Oh, no! Oh, Sylvia, you fool, don’t tell me – don’t tell me it’s true! You really went out that afternoon?’
    ‘No, no, I didn’t. Of course not! You know I didn’t. Why should I lie to you?’
    ‘I don’t know. Out of fear? And perhaps you would be right. Sylvia – is it true?’
    ‘No, it isn’t! I didn’t go out at all, I tell you! Camilla – don’t you believe me? Don’t you believe me? You don’t think I’m lying to you, do you? It’s that witness who’s lying. But what shall I do? I’m afraid, Camilla, I’m afraid.’
    ‘No, I know you wouldn’t lie to me. At least, I believe so, I hope so, I want it to be so. But you’re so elusive, Sylvia. What’s truth to you? If you didn’t go out, how can someone claim they saw you? It’s impossible. Surely the statement can’t be proved or used. What did you answer the police when they told you?’
    ‘What could I say? I just told them that it was impossible, since I hadn’t left my room.’
    There was a moment of silence. Camilla rose and crossed over to the bed. I could not see her gesture, but she leant close to her friend.
    ‘Oh, Sylvia, tell me, tell me the truth. Look at me. Did you leave your room? It’s so important! Tell me!’
    ‘No, I didn’t. I told you, Camilla. You can believe me.’
    ‘Swear it?’ Camilla said almost in a whisper.
    ‘I swear it on my honour, on anything you want, on our friendship,’ said Sylvia ardently. ‘You can believe me, Camilla. If I’d gone out, I would tell
you
.’ I heard Camilla’s sigh of relief and the sound of a kiss.
    There was a moment’s pause.
    ‘So what can it mean, then? How can anybody claim to have seen you?’
    ‘I keep asking myself. Either they saw George’s murderer – and he was a bit far off and half-hidden by trees, and they simply felt certain at the time it must be me in there, or … or else somebody is lying because … it’s somebody who hates me. Some friend of George’s. Oh, I wish, I wish I knew who it was.’
    ‘We will find out, somehow or other!’ said Camilla hotly. ‘I’ll have that person’s head, the liar! In the meantime, just go on doing as you are. Say as little as you can, and just keep repeating that you kept to your room.’
    ‘I tried to do just that, but they would keep on and on asking questions about George. Oh, Camilla, they kept on hinting and asking questions about – about our marriage, and how George wasn’t happy with me. I had to tell them how he came to Paris.’
    ‘Horrors. But you know, I think they would find that sortof thing out for themselves sooner or later by questioning other people; servants and things. And it would look strange, maybe, if they knew it and you never said it. Perhaps this is for the best. Oh, darling, none of it can constitute evidence against you, as long as you just stand firm. Promise me you will, no matter what happens!’
    ‘I promise, of course I promise,’ murmured Sylvia, and her feet left the floor. I heard the sound of her snuggling into her bed.
    At that precise moment, I received a most horrible, unbelievable shock. From out of the pitch darkness of the far corner of the large chamber, a pair of eyes were staring out at me, glinting and glimmering and reflecting I don’t know what minuscule source of light.
    My blood rushed into my ears and my heart pounded so horrendously that I was momentarily deafened as though by a waterfall, as well as utterly deprived of breath. My fear was so great that I felt blackness closing in upon me. It was unreasoning, for really, the very worst that could have happened to me (discovery, exposure, disgrace) could not conceivably be bad enough to warrant such terror. But try encountering a pair of gleaming eyes in a pitch dark room, and see if your heart does not pound fit to burst!
    With a great effort, I prevented