Barbara Cleverly - Strange Images of Death

‘She certainly volunteered to walk the boys down to their grandmother’s house. And perhaps that was out of character.’

‘It certainly was! The boys can’t stand her. She could just have intended to question Marius on the way down and check that he hadn’t remembered anything incriminating. She was safe from suspicion as long as he held to the story he was telling everyone that it was a man who’d come into the chapel. In his village world, women just don’t wear trousers. And, being a tall woman, her feet are larger than the average woman’s. But had he heard her voice? She couldn’t be certain and had to find out.’

‘We’ll never know exactly what her intentions were. But what I do know is that you stepped between them, Dorcas, and put a stop to it. I begin to think you have a more insightful knowledge of the human mind than the psychiatrist’s daughter!’

Joe had waved goodbye to the charabanc party with disguised elation. He was staying on for a day, he told them, to catch up with his notes and help Commissaire Jacquemin. Orlando and his mob would be on their way to Aix when he’d finished a painting sometime in the next few days. Petrovsky and his merry band were staying the night also, held over not through duty but necessity. The diligent Martineau had taken it upon himself to crack open the boot of his grand car and discovered there many items of interest to the local PJ. Cocaine, rude pictures, even a rude ciné film in which certain faces at least were clearly recognizable. He and his party were being detained until the morning when he could give a full statement of his activities to the Avignon police.

And Joe had settled to closing down the murder case for any of those guests who wished to speak of it.

‘I’m hoping, Nathan, you’ll fetch up in London one of these days,’ said Joe. ‘Let me give you my card. We’ll spend a boozy evening remembering Estelle.’

He took out his note-case to find a card and the photograph of Laure and her friends slipped out. Nathan seized on it at once and began to identify and criticize the unknown photographer’s equipment and technique. The men were startled to hear a gurgling exclamation of surprise and amusement behind them.

A hand reached out over Nathan’s shoulder and took the photograph from him. ‘But how on earth, Mr Jacoby, did you come by this? I last saw one of these ten years ago on my mother’s mantelpiece. I hardly recognize myself!’

Joe turned to find Petrovsky’s duenna laughing down at them. ‘Nathan found it in an old postcard sale in Avignon,’ he invented.

‘That’s right. The fair in front of the Pope’s Palace,’ Nathan added, puzzled but gallantly decorating Joe’s lie. ‘I collect old photographs.’

‘Anyone you know on this, Madame … er?’ Joe asked with a show of polite interest.

‘Carla is my name. I know everyone! Gracious! How dreadful to be a collectable item! It’s my confirmation class. Can you guess which one is me?’ she asked with a touch of flirtation in her voice.

‘Easy,’ said Joe. ‘I’d recognize those handsome features anywhere. But it’s the feet that are the real give-away!’

‘I got a ticking-off from the other girls, I can tell you! Showing off and spoiling the line like that. And they were right-I was showing off. My parents could afford the ballet lessons, you see.’

‘And do you remember the names of the others?’

‘Of course! There’s the twins Babette and Berthe on the left. They married neighbouring farmers and I still see them from time to time. And my best friend, Marie-Jeanne Du rand, on the right. Poor Marie-Jeanne. She got into a spot of bother and we none of us spoke to her for years. Unkind. But after the War to end War, a little thing like a romance that turned sour seemed not so dreadful … water under the bridge. She’s fine now and I always make a point of coming up here to see her again when the company’s in the neighbourhood. I’d never volunteer for this tedious duty otherwise!’

Joe cleared his throat. ‘She’s still here in the region, are you saying, your friend?’ he asked in a strangled voice.

‘Of course. Like me, she’s much changed. Married-to a veteran of Verdin, widowed, two children … life leaves its mark. But she’s right here. And happy now. Come with me and meet her, show her the photograph. She’d be very interested …’

‘No, no! Thank you.’ Joe’s refusal was more brusque than he would have wished. ‘Water under the bridge, as you say,’ he murmured. ‘Kinder to let it flow away.’

A footman appeared and looked about him in surprise. No lord, no steward, no Miss Makepeace. His eye lighted on Joe.

‘Sir. The kitchen would like to know the numbers for dinner tonight. Have you any idea …?’

‘Make that eight adults and three children. That would be safe. What have we on the menu, Marcel?’

‘There’s boeuf gardiane . Oh, and cook told me to tell you, sir-she’s made a soufflé glacé à la framboise for dessert. “A bitter-sweet send off”, she said I was to say. If that makes any sense?’

‘Tell Marie-Jeanne it makes a good deal of sense, will you? Thank you, Marcel.’

Surrey, England, late September 1926

‘Lord! Rotten Bramley time again!’ said Joe, trampling over the windfall apples in the grass. ‘What are you doing, Dorcas, mooning about down here in a damp orchard? You ought to be indoors packing your trunk. Socks to be counted, pencils to be sharpened. Look-I’ve brought you the geometry set I promised. Aren’t you in the least little bit excited at the prospect before you?’

‘Of course! I’m terrified but looking forward more than I’m scared. Just. I was saying goodbye to my youth. It’s the right season for it, isn’t it? Every leaf that plops on to the ground reminds me. Four years of school to come. Intensive years. I’ve got a lot to make up before matriculation. If I want to get into Imperial College I shall have to work through every holiday as well.’ She turned a determined face to Joe. ‘I shan’t see you again for …’

‘Four plus three is seven,’ he supplied cheerily. ‘Seven years. I shall be in my dotage by then and you’ll be the one bringing me gifts. You know-knee rugs and mint imperials in a two ounce bag. How’s Orlando? I haven’t seen him since I got back.’

‘He’s well. Productive and hard at it. He’s got a show on in a London gallery in December.’

‘How lovely! You must get me an invitation.’

They stared at each other, their minds not engaged by the trivialities they were uttering.

‘There’s something I must ask you, Joe, before Lydia calls us in for supper.’

‘Fire away.’

‘You didn’t ever tell him, did you? That you’d found my mother? It’s important.’

Joe was silent for a moment. ‘No. I haven’t spoken of her since he asked me to stop my search. But how on earth …?’

‘She told me herself.’

‘What!’

‘I got to know her pretty well. She told me her friend Carla had unwittingly given her away to you.’

‘But how did you ever put two and two together?’

Dorcas grinned. ‘I found out the truth in five minutes. I felt very guilty, knowing that you were blowing a gasket, working on the problem. But I asked you to stop as soon as I could.’

‘Five minutes? What can you mean by that?’

‘That first night I spent at Madame Dalbert’s house, looking after the boys, they were a bit upset … you know … ripples from an adult world disturbing them. When they’d cleaned their teeth I offered to read them a story and sing a song or two. That’s always calming. The little one, Marius, bragged that he could sing in English. He knew a special going-to-bed song, he said. He started to sing.’