Barbara Cleverly - Tug of War

‘No. No. I wish only to hear what you have to tell me of the war years. Indeed, my enquiries may bring only good news and perhaps even a healthy financial prospect for the lady.’

‘Of course. You are examining her claim on the missing soldier.’ Relieved to have worked out the motive for his visit she relaxed and tapped his arm. ‘Believe her. That’s my advice. Mireille is as honest as the day is long. Hardworking and virtuous. Yes,’ she repeated, sensing his surprise, ‘yes, virtuous. She may have had an affair with a cavalry officer and he a married man but she has remained faithful to him and his memory through all these long years. And now, of course, it’s far too late for her to take up with any other man — even if there were supplies available. She must be in her early thirties, poor dear, and no longer a marriage prospect.’

Joe was beginning to think he had lost any grip on this interview. He cleared his throat. ‘Before we go any further, madame, would you mind telling me, in your own words, in precisely what capacity Mademoiselle Desforges is employed by you?’

The sharp dark eyes narrowed and then flared in comprehension. He did not like to hear the shout of mocking laughter that followed. He listened in embarrassed silence as she jumped up and rang for the maid.

‘Louise, I want you to fetch Mademoiselle Lakshmi. And Mademoiselle Benzai. They are both dressed and ready, I take it? Good. Tell them I wish them to parade for a Scottish gentleman.’

Joe’s protests were waved away and the girls were swiftly in attendance. Looking completely at ease in their setting, they swayed into the room, arms gracefully about each other’s waist, and Joe rose to his feet to greet them. Under their exotic disguises both girls were French, he thought, but it was easy enough to tell one from the other.

‘Mademoiselle Lakshmi.’ He gave a slight bow to the slender dark girl wearing a startling confection of purple and shocking pink. The Indian sari was as perfect a sample as he had seen in a maharaja’s palace. Convincing also was the gauzy veil she held flirtatiously over her lower face and the ruby forehead jewel gleaming on her smooth skin. ‘And Mademoiselle Benzai.’ He acknowledged the stiff white silk draperies of the high-waisted dress which could have graced a performance of The Mikado at the Savoy.

‘I must ask you to keep your excitement in check, ladies,’ said his hostess drily. ‘The gentleman is window-shopping only this morning. I think he has seen enough to satisfy his curiosity. You may leave us now.’

Joe was piqued to be so flippantly set aside and he found he was stung by the looks of smiling complicity exchanged by the women. As the girls turned to withdraw, he moved swiftly to open the door for them and caught their attention: ‘Mesdemoiselles! I am utterly charmed.’ He smiled merrily at the two girls. This was one of those occasions when he regretted he had no luxuriant moustache to twirl in a suggestive way. ‘Goddesses of Love, indeed! And may I say how I look forward to the moment when Time favours me and once again the Thistle of Scotland may flourish among the Roses of France?’ he finished gallantly.

She turned an amused face to him. ‘Well, there you are. You may judge for yourself the artistry of Mademoiselle Desforges. A more enterprising girl could have obtained a position with the Ballets Russes. She has the flair of a Bakst combined with the practical skills of a Jeanne Lanvin. All our costumes come from her sketch pad and her needle. All our rooms, the design, the draperies, are of her creation. My dress — ’ she stood and twirled in front of him with the aplomb of a mannequin — ‘would have cost a hundred times more in Paris.’

Enjoying his stricken silence she pressed on, helpful, informative. ‘She took over her father’s tailoring business in the rue Baudricourt when he became ill just before the war. The war disrupted everything of course and she fled to Paris for a year or two but, on her return, she took up the business again and transformed it into the enterprise you may see if you pay her a visit. There are those who say her talents are quite wasted here in the provinces. But I am pleased to know her and glad that I have been able to encourage her. Women are learning to help each other out, Commandant, to snatch at the jobs men have jealously guarded for themselves. Perhaps the only good thing that will have resulted from those frightful years. But tell me, are you going to uphold Mireille’s identification of her lover? She is not a woman to make a mistake. She lived with the man off and on for the four years of the war. She would know him whatever has happened to him in the meantime. And why is your friend and colleague,’ she smiled slyly, ‘Bonnefoye — so aptly named, wouldn’t you say? — not capable of sorting out this dispute himself? He is a most able young man. Why does he have to apply to Scotland Yard for help?’

‘I am here, not in the capacity of Metropolitan London detective, madame, but working under the auspices of Interpol. You are aware of Interpol?’

She nodded, puzzled.

‘The French authorities investigating the problem have cast doubt on the man’s nationality. There is a suspicion that he may, in fact, be English and Interpol called on us to check this. Being an ex-soldier myself and having some experience of this part of the land and the French language, I was deputed to look into the matter.’

‘And you start your enquiry with me? I am flattered by your attention, monsieur, but suspicious as to your motives. Mireille is a valued colleague and I do not feel easy discussing her private life with you. As soon as you leave I shall telephone her and warn her that you are sniffing along on her trail.’

She would have delivered a further broadside but was distracted by the side-door bell which rang out, signalling more serious business. At once her anger evaporated and her professional mask of calm understanding descended.

Joe didn’t wait to be dismissed. ‘The back door?’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ll show myself out.’ He reached for her hand and held it. ‘I have heard all that you have said, madame, and am truly grateful for the time you have spent talking to me.’ On impulse, he clicked his heels, raised her hand and kissed it and made at once for the door.

Preoccupied with his encounter, he checked his watch anxiously on finding he’d taken a wrong turning and only managed to steer his way back to the car by remembering Dorcas’s request to be parked in front of the Galeries Lafayette. He was a little later than he had hoped to be and was not surprised to see the car door being flung open impatiently for him as he neared it.

It was a moment before he noticed. ‘What’s that strange smell?’

Dorcas waggled her head about and stared at him until he realized.

‘Good Lord! What have you done with your hair?’

The wretched girl was wearing almost the same haircut as the madame he had just left.

‘I thought I’d just slip into the coiffeur over there and have it trimmed. It looks far more modern, don’t you agree? Estelle who did it said it was about time. No French girl has had long hair like mine for years. She trained in Paris, you know. This is the look all the mannequins have. She waved it with setting lotion — that’s what you can smell. I’m very pleased with it.’ She glared at him from under the fringe, disappointed by his silence. ‘And so will be Aunt Lydia. She told me I might have it done if I wished. She even gave me some money for it,’ she lied.

‘Yes, she’s bound to like it, Dorcas. And so do I. I think. In fact, I’m almost sure. I suppose, as our friend the sculptor said, “I shall just have to get used to it.” Bit old-fashioned, I’m afraid. But young Georges at the château will love it. Bound to!