Murder on French Leave Read online

  ‘Thanks. I’ll take it as read, if you’ve no objection. What are you doing in this neck of the woods, anyway? Thought you’d taken off days ago?’

  ‘Just back for the weekend. Tell me: what news of Carlsen? I heard about his arrest, but is there no chance of some mistake there?’

  ‘Shoulda thought you’d know better, Price, than to ask a question like that.’

  ‘Forgive me, but I speak as a friend of theirs. This is not my patch and I’m free to express normal sentiments.’

  ‘Of curiosity?’

  Robin remained smooth as velvet: ‘Of concern, rather. I was thinking that if anything could make matters even more intolerable it might be the knowledge that one of your own friends was responsible.’

  ‘Then you and I don’t see things alike, chum. If Carlsen’s responsible, as you put it, the only thing that could make it worse would be him getting off scot-free. Far as I’m concerned, it’s up to the police to decide whether he’s guilty or not, and if he is I hope he fries, that’s all.’

  ‘But what about his wife?’

  ‘What about her?’ Mr Baker asked in an even more offensive tone.

  ‘Whatever your opinion of him, I suppose you’re not indifferent to her feelings?’

  ‘Hell, no. I’m not that vindictive, I hope.’

  ‘I’m glad, because I was going to ask your advice. I know very little of these people, except that they befriended us, as strangers within their gates, so to speak, and I’d like to send a word of sympathy, if I could. It’s an awkward situation because I don’t know Mrs Carlsen well enough to be sure how she would feel about letters and so on; but Tessa and I both thought there might be something we could do for her, in a practical way. Perhaps you could tell her that for me?’

  I was rather impressed by the quiet dignity of this utterance, despite the suspicion that there was something of a quiet craftiness in it, too; but it had the effect of literally inflaming Mr Baker and two red spots of anger showed up on his pallid face.

  ‘Now, look here, chum, let’s get this straight, right off. When I said I wasn’t vindictive, I meant just that and no more. Get it? I don’t know how you people would react in a situation like this; keep the stiff upper lip in place, maybe, but you won’t catch me hanging around Adela and carrying messages. Daresay that’d be the correct thing in your part of the world, but it’s not for me. Personally, I’m uncouth and I’d find it highly embarrassing to be with Adela just now. Oh, I know I was in her apartment the other evening,’ he went on, fixing me with an accusing stare, ‘but she roped me into that council of war before I’d even picked myself up off the floor. You may have noticed that I didn’t have too much to contribute to the discussions. If you want it straight, I was pretty well out on my feet, but I heard enough of what went on not to want a repetition. So my advice is, if you’ve got anything to say to Adela, go ahead and say it, but count me out.’

  I was rather floored by this heavy dose of the rough-diamond, plain-speaking treatment, but Robin coolly pretended to be impressed:

  ‘When you put it like that, I do understand. Awful, isn’t it, how one falls into this trap of only seeing things from one’s own point of view? In a way, I suppose the most tactful thing might be for mere acquaintances like ourselves to keep out of it? Presumably, she has plenty of real friends who will rally round, even though she is a foreigner?’

  ‘And her son, you know,’ I reminded him in a sugary voice, joining in the act. ‘He must be some comfort, even though he is so young.’

  There was no satisfying Mr Baker, though, and these syrupy observations only produced a snort of disgust:

  ‘Think so? If you ask me, a spoilt brat like that’d be more trouble than enough. She’d have shipped him back, if she could, but it seems his Dad don’t want him, either. Can’t say I blame him.’

  I do not believe I would have let out a squeal of astonishment at this point, but Robin was taking no chances. He gave me a sharp kick under the table, with the result that I let out a squeal of astonishment.

  Stifling it quickly, I said: ‘Is that so? Poor boy! How horrid not to be wanted by either of them! After all, if he is spoilt, it could be partly their fault; or do you blame that on Sven, too?’

  The most objectionable thing about French waiters is their rigid code of honour. There I was, eagerly probing away, and getting results, too, when the indoor waiter had to come tumbling out and upset the apple-cart all over our table. There was only two francs something due in change from the note I had left for him, but he was adamant about handing it over. I waved it away and shook my head, meaning to convey that he had come to the wrong party, or was welcome to keep the change and shut up, whichever interpretation he favoured; but he was not having it. He laboriously totted up the price of two coffees, plus fifteen per cent service charge, in words of one syllable, until he was satisfied that he had got it through my head. He got it right through Mr Baker’s head, too. There was an audible slam as he clamped his lips together and another as he shot back his chair. Then he glared at us both with deepest loathing and stalked away.

  (v)

  Naturally, we wrangled about it all the way home, Robin insisting that if I had obeyed orders the débâcle would have been avoided, and my pointing out that only my intervention had saved him from getting the brush-off in the first thirty seconds.

  ‘And you realise what that means?’ I said. ‘If we hadn’t needled him to the point where he practically lost control, we should never have caught him out in that whopping lie.’

  ‘And he would never have caught you out in a whopping lie, either. I should say the honours were about even.’

  ‘But listen, why do you suppose he was at such pains to convince us that he and Adela were not speaking? Since he knew about that telephone call to Jonathan’s father, he must have talked to her as recently as last night, or this morning.’

  ‘I don’t know. One would have thought it quite natural for them to hang together in a crisis like this, but of course people might not feel that, if they had something to hide. They might feel that the moment had come to draw back.’

  ‘Do you suppose they hatched a plot to dispose of his wife and at the same time incriminate her husband? That would be a neat scheme.’

  ‘But not a feasible one. Their alibis have been checked and re-checked, and even you and I know that he had witnesses to testify for him during the whole period.’

  ‘Yes, but they’re a cunning pair, I dare say. He strikes me as a bit of a weakling, but I’m sure Adela’s the ruthless type, and clever with it. I do think we ought to go and buy that poodle, after all.’

  ‘Too late now; the shops will be shut. You can see to it on Monday, but there’s something I want you to do first; as soon as we get home, in fact.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Ring up Mrs Müller and thank her for recommending the hairdresser. Say you’ve been along there and are very pleased and so on.’

  ‘All right, but what sort of a trick is that?’

  ‘No trick; on the contrary. The fact is that Baker has now tumbled to the fact that our running into him was no accident. There’s nothing to be done about that, but with any luck he’ll write it off as vulgar British curiosity. On the other hand, we may as well keep it as an isolated incident. The last thing we want is to put them on their guard.’

  ‘What’s all this got to do with the hairdresser?’

  ‘Well, don’t you see, if Mrs Müller learns that you’ve visited Mireille, and maybe even that you were asking rather a lot of questions, it’s conceivable that she and Baker would compare notes and come up with the same answer. If you are quite open about it, the chances are that she’ll take it at face value and not give it another thought.’

  ‘Very sound reasoning,’ I replied. ‘Let’s hope she falls for it.’

  ‘Oh, she will,’ he told me cheerfully. ‘You’re not half the actress I’ve always thought you, if you can’t put across a little deception like that.’

&nb
sp; It was not deficiencies in that line, however, which let me down, but the absence of anyone to play the scene with.

  Ellen had arrived home ahead of us and was sitting with her feet propped on another chair, reading ‘The Waiting Room’.

  ‘The patient may never walk again,’ she informed us, ‘and I fell over twice. It was vachement humiliating.’

  ‘Neither of us will leave Paris with a single limb intact, at this rate,’ I said. ‘What do you think of the script?’

  ‘Not bad. Super, in fact.’

  ‘You astound me. I wasn’t all that taken with it.’

  ‘Did you finish it?’

  ‘Not yet. About halfway through.’

  ‘You should have another go. It’s the second half which is the spell-binder.’

  ‘Well, well! You and my agent are of the same mind, it seems.’

  ‘Your agent?’ she asked blankly. ‘What’s she got to do with it?’

  ‘Far be it from me to put a spoke in your career,’ Robin interrupted plaintively, ‘but weren’t you going to make a telephone call?’

  ‘Far be it from me to put a spoke in your career, either,’ I said, emerging from my bedroom a few minutes later, ‘but there was no reply to my telephone call.’

  ‘Who were you trying to get?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Only Mrs Müller. I thought it would be civil to thank her for giving me the name of her hairdresser. They’ve done quite a good job, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not bad. I’m not bowled over.’

  ‘Nor am I, and there’s absolutely no urgency about it. I can try again later.’

  ‘You won’t be able to reach her before tomorrow night, though.’

  ‘Oh? How do you know?’

  ‘They’ve bought some old barn near Caen, they’re converting. They spend every Saturday and Sunday there. Jono told me. He says it’s going to be very “luxe”.’

  ‘Oh well, no matter; I can do it on Monday. The hair-dressers are closed on Monday,’ I explained to Robin in a meaning aside.

  ‘All the same, it might be an idea to write her a note,’ he said. ‘Otherwise it’ll get forgotten, for sure. I presume letters are delivered on Mondays?’

  ‘Yes, they are, but how am I expected to write them with this blessed hand?’

  ‘You’ll manage. It only needs a couple of lines.’

  ‘Do as he says,’ Ellen told me. ‘And I’ll post it for you this evening.’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother. He’s making a lot of heavy weather over it, but there’s no hurry. Tomorrow will do quite well.’

  ‘I’m going out, anyway.’

  ‘Where to?’ I asked sharply.

  ‘Some friends of Jono’s. He’s calling for me at seven.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve written down their name and address. It’s Avenue President Wilson. You couldn’t get much stuffier than that, could you?’

  ‘Maybe not, but what are you going to do there?’

  ‘Nothing. Play a few records, I suppose. Anyway, they’re French, so their parents are sure to be barging in and out. You’re always telling me I don’t make enough of my opportunities to learn French, so you ought to be pleased.’

  ‘It seems a long way to go, just to do nothing and play records,’ I said snappishly, and she gaped at me in blank amazement.

  ‘Do you approve of this?’ I asked, when Ellen had gone to change and I had laboured my way through a note to Thea Müller.

  ‘Of what?’ Robin asked.

  ‘Ellen getting so mixed up with this Jonathan.’

  ‘Why not? It sounds quite harmless, and pretty much the kind of thing she would be doing with some boy in London; traipsing around to other people’s houses to listen to records.’

  ‘With the difference that she doesn’t know any boys in London whose stepfathers have been arrested and whose mothers are having affairs with dubious Australians.’

  ‘That’s not the boy’s fault, and anyway what do you expect me to do about it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Resolve the conflict for me, I suppose. Instinct says I ought to stamp on her going out with anyone connected with the Carlsens, but it seems mean to cut her off from the one friend she has made. It must be terribly dull for her with only Lupe for company, when I’m working all day. I was hoping she might enrol for French classes and meet people that way, but she seems to have gone off the idea now that Jonathan’s turned up. Oh, what an evil day it was when that flight of ours was delayed! If it hadn’t been for that we should never have met these people.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure. I have the feeling there’s a guiding hand somewhere behind it all.’

  ‘You don’t think I ought to send a cable to Toby?’

  ‘Certainly not. It would only be an attempt to shift the responsibility and Toby’s the expert at that game. He could beat you hands down any day of the week. Besides, you wouldn’t have much hope of getting an answer before Ellen goes out this evening.’

  ‘That’s true. So what do you advise?’

  ‘Why not have a talk with the little lad, yourself? He’ll be here quite soon and you can draw him out a bit, in your subtle fashion, and find out what sort of a creature there is under all the sulks and self-pity. Your insight isn’t too bad, as a rule.’

  ‘All right, I will. When the bell rings, grab Ellen and keep her away from the hall. Pretend you want some help with the drinks, or any old excuse that occurs to you. I only need about five minutes.’

  He agreed to co-operate and at the first trill of the bell I plunged into the hall, while he sped off to form himself into a barricade between me and Ellen’s room. It was a well co-ordinated operation, with only one trifling hitch to mar its perfection. When I posted myself at the Judas hole, it was not Jonathan I saw on the landing, but Mademoiselle Pêche.

  I wasted no time in studying her behaviour patterns, for it would have been obvious to a meaner intelligence that she was in a state of extreme agitation. She was dabbing at her nose and mouth with a lace handkerchief and I felt ashamed of taking even momentary advantage of her. I pulled the door open, flicked on an expression of mild surprise and bade her enter.

  ‘Forgive my troubling you, madame, but could I have a few words in private?’

  ‘Yes, certainly. We’ll go in my bedroom. My husband and cousin are here, but they won’t disturb us. May I offer you a drink?’ I asked, leading the way.

  Robin and Ellen had both adjourned to the kitchen and I could hear their voices over the sound of running taps.

  ‘Just some mineral water, if it would not be troubling you too much, madame,’ Mademoiselle Pêche replied, removing her black kid gloves and permitting herself one swift, appraising glance round the bedroom.

  ‘Yes, of course. Do sit down and I’ll go and get it.’

  ‘That didn’t take long,’ Robin said, glancing up as I entered the kitchen.

  ‘One scotch and soda, please,’ I said, ‘and one Vichy for the visitor. The visitor is Miss Pêche and she has private matters to impart. So you will have to manage without me for the time being,’ I added, fixing him with a look which was meant to speak volumes.

  I returned to Miss Pêche, who was sitting bolt upright on a bedroom chair, with her ankles crossed. Her shoes were trim and stubby and looked as though they might have been bought in Oxford Street twenty years ago.

  ‘You have a very good apartment, madame,’ she informed me grandly.

  ‘Oh yes. Thank you. It’s not bad. The furniture doesn’t belong to us, of course.’

  ‘No, that is to be expected. It would not be practical for such a short stay,’ she replied, explaining the obvious.

  I was still hoping to conclude the interview before Jonathan came and went and I said:

  ‘Is there something I can do for you? Or for Mr Carlsen?’

  ‘I have been to see him,’ she answered in less stilted tones, relieved perhaps to have the civilities chopped off.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘H
e is well. He does not complain. The food is not bad,’ she added, as an afterthought.

  ‘And so he is allowed to have visitors?’

  ‘One every day, apart from his lawyer. I, myself, go every day.’

  ‘How about his wife?’

  ‘He has asked her not to come. He says she can only distress herself. Ah, madame, if you could only know the goodness of that man, there is nothing . . . Never to complain of his situation! Always thinking of others and sparing them, if he can.’

  It occurred to me that, if the police were correct in their assumptions, he had not been over-vigilant in sparing Mrs Baker, but I refrained from striking this discordant note. Anyone could see that in the eyes of the devoted Pêche, Sven was a martyr and a hero, and the possibility of his guilt had never entered her head. I said:

  ‘So what is there I can do?’

  ‘Madame, I have a favour to beg of you. I am hoping you can accommodate me.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Mr Carlsen is allowed to read, but he does not find much to interest him in . . . where he is, and he likes most of all to read English works.’

  ‘You mean that you wish to borrow some? Well, you are welcome to anything we have, but I’m afraid they aren’t very thick on the ground. Just two or three novels and some magazines we bought for the journey, and that’s about all. I’ll go and see what I can dig up for you.’

  ‘Thank you, madame, you are very kind. Anything at all, you understand, so long as it is in English.’

  There was still no sign of Jonathan, but Robin and Ellen had moved into the salon. I got them both on their feet to join in the literature hunt, but it did not yield much of a harvest and only took us a few minutes. In that time we managed to dredge up four magazines, two paperback crime stories and a volume of plays by Chekov. I rejected Ellen’s copy of The Naked Lunch, on the grounds that Miss Pêche might read it first and form a low opinion of our moral standards.

  As it happened, I formed rather a low opinion of her moral standards when I returned from this fray. My bedroom door was shut, and being one-handed I was obliged to place my trophies on the floor in order to open it. Before bending down again, I caught a glimpse of her back, leaning over the writing-desk. There was a click as of a drawer being shut, but when I entered the room she had straightened up and turned to face me. So far as I could see, nothing on my desk had been disturbed and the letter to Mrs Müller was lying where I had left it.