Rebecca

by Daphne du Maurier

“Maxim,” I whispered, “what are you saying, what are you trying to tell me?” “Her boat,” he said, “they’ve found it. The diver found it this afternoon.” “Yes,” I said. “I know. Captain Searle came to tell me. You are thinking about the body, aren’t you, the body the diver found in the cabin?” “Yes,” he said. “It means she was not alone,” I said. “It means there was somebody sailing with Rebecca at the time. And you have to find out who it was. That’s it, isn’t it, Maxim?” “No,” he said. “No, you don’t understand.” “I want to share this with you, darling,” I said. “I want to help you.” “There was no one with Rebecca, she was alone,” he said. I knelt there watching his face, watching his eyes. “It’s Rebecca’s body lying there on the cabin floor,” he said. “No,” I said. “No.” “The woman buried in the crypt is not Rebecca,” he said. “It’s the body of some unknown woman, unclaimed, belonging nowhere. There never was an accident. Rebecca was not drowned at all. I killed her. I shot Rebecca in the cottage in the cove. I carried her body to the cabin, and took the boat out that night and sunk it there, where they found it today. It’s Rebecca who’s lying dead there on the cabin floor. Will you look into my eyes and tell me that you love me now?”