Read Palmer-Jones 03 - Murder in Paradise for Free Online Page A

which stood on one of the two gas rings.
    “It’s ready,” she said. “Do you want to taste it?”
    “Why not?”
    She ladled some of the hot liquid into a teacup. Jim sipped at it, then handed it to Sarah. She tasted it. It was hot, spicy, and very alcoholic.
    “It’s delicious. What is it?”
    She drank the remainder.
    “It’s a secret recipe,” Jim said. “Mother made it. She’ll pass the recipe to you when our children are old enough to marry. It’s another tradition.”
    “I think it’s unhygienic,” Maggie said. “ Everyone drinking out of the same old bowl. Take care that the children don’t get at it.”
    “It’s the Cup,” Jim said. Sarah could not tell whether his reverence was genuine or mocking. It was on the table: a large silver bowl with a handle at each side. “No one knows when it first came to Kinness. There are all sorts of legends. It’s used at every wedding. We take it round to share a drink with every guest. It’s supposed to bring us luck.”
    Soon after Sarah realized that she was drunk. Later she was to remember the evening as a series of events brought suddenly into sharp focus, and the rest, even the time before she started to drink from the Cup, was a blur of loud music and dancing people. It was like a peculiar game of musical statues, except that often, at her times of clarity, the music continued.
    So, she retained an image of Alec giving his best man’s speech, leering at the guests across a laden table as he described in graphic detail what he had wished for Jim and his new wife.
    She remembered Jim dancing the Eightsome Reel, poised like an African warrior with his pulled-in buttocks and bent knees, but moving only to take a woman in his arms, the woman whom everyone thought he should marry.
    She remembered seeing that woman later as they went round the room with the Cup. She had a picture of Elspeth Dance standing like a statue, staring at them with blue eyes as they approached her with the drink, and remembered the conversation between Jim and Elspeth as though it were taking place a long way off.
    “Hello Elspeth,” her husband said. “ I didn’t realize that you were back.”
    “I thought that you were surprised to see me.”
    “How long have you been home?”
    “Not long. I don’t know whether I shall stay. I’m not committed to anything.”
    Sarah thought that she must have been introduced to Elspeth and that they had drunk together from the Cup, but that was all part of the blur.
    There was another image of Mary, dancing with Robert, the old man. Despite his limp he was keeping up with her and they were laughing together.
    And another of Elspeth, standing on the stage, singing unaccompanied while the band rested. She had a deep and husky voice, and she sang a love song.
    The next thing she remembered was being outside. She was alone. She was leaning for some reason against a gravestone. It was covered with furry lichen which she was touching with her finger. The sky was clear now and the stars whirled around her with the same violence as the dancing people in the hall. She felt sick and sat down. She could hear the voices in the hall, and the sea, and it occured to her that all the people for miles and miles were in the hall. She alone was outside, under the whirling stars. Except Melissa, she thought. She’s not there. And then, to spoil the image altogether, she heard the sound of running-footsteps. Then the door opened and she heard a couple of women shouting goodnight, calling that they had to get the bairns home to bed.
    She had nothing more to drink. She went back into the hall and joined the dancing. It did not seem to matter now that she did not know the steps.
    The last of the still and vivid pictures which she retained forever, and which sobered her, was of Agnes crying. Sarah went to find Jim. The family were gathered around Agnes, trying to comfort her, but she was shouting at them.
    “What’s the matter?” Sarah asked Jim.
    “It’s