Barbara Cleverly - Tug of War

‘I’ve identified the Veuve, and the Fils — her son — must be about sixteen now? But where does your friend, who I see bears the family name, come into this?’ Joe’s interest was polite and professional but no more than that.

‘Charles-Auguste. He’s a cousin of the chap who disappeared on the battlefield. When it was clear that Clovis had been lost he came up from Provence where he had a small winery himself and took the reins from the doubtless weary hands of the widow. With huge success. But you shall judge for yourself! Thank you, Miss Thwaite!’ he shouted cheerily to his secretary who entered bearing a tray set with champagne glasses and a bottle in a silver ice bucket.

Joe’s mouth tightened. All this careful stage-setting boded ill for him. He scowled critically at the wine he was offered and listened to Redmayne’s hearty toast: ‘To the Widow!’

‘To all widows,’ Joe murmured in response. ‘God bless them.’

He sipped the wine and sipped again with pleasure. It was as good a champagne as he had ever tasted and he said as much. Redmayne appeared pleased. ‘This is the 1921 vintage,’ he said. ‘Only just been released. Reports are that last year’s will be even better. While you’re down there, Sandilands, I want you to be sure to register an order for a certain quantity to be shipped to me when the moment comes. Charles-Auguste will advise you. Very much to my taste. The bouquet is excellent — don’t you think so? People are so intrigued by the bubbles they often forget to appreciate it, you know. And the degree of dryness is spot on. They get it right. What do you make of the colour?’

Well, if this was the game, Joe could hold his end up. Hiding a smile, he raised his glass to the light and squinted at it. ‘Rather deeper than one is accustomed to — a brilliant intense gold.’ He swirled the wine gently, put his nose to the glass and sniffed briefly ‘And a bouquet to match. Spices, would you say? Vanilla certainly but. . cardamom? Yes, a whisper of cardamom. . and fruit. . Something here from my childhood. . got it — quinces! Quinces cooking with apples under a buttery pastry crust.’

Redmayne stared and blinked and Joe wondered if he’d overdone it but the only response was a dry: ‘Indeed? Mmm. . And I detect a touch of Proust, I think.’

They drank companionably together, Redmayne talking knowledgeably of blending, first and second pressings, remuage, dégorgement , while Joe waited for the blow to fall.

‘More wine, Sandilands?’

‘Thank you. Would this be a good moment, sir,’ he said genially, ‘to tell me why you’ve summoned me here? My detective skills lead me to suppose you wouldn’t have called in a Scotland Yard Commander to hand him a shopping list for champagne. I’m wondering what service, exactly, Monsieur Houdart would be expecting me to perform — were I to accept this chalice which I suspect will turn out to be heavily laced with some poison or other?’

Joe held out his glass.

Redmayne smiled as he poured. ‘As a matter of fact there is something you could do for him. Just a small favour. Army involvement, of course. French, possibly British. This thing landed on my desk, diverted from the Department of the Adjutant General, the Directorate of Prisoners of War and Personal Services — if you can believe! — but mainly it’s the French police you would be helping. The request for assistance came, in fact, from them. From the very top. Oh, yes. Police Judiciaire involved. . and rather puzzled to be involved, I gather. At all events, they handed it swiftly to Interpol and you’ll be only too aware, after that last lot, that we owe them a considerable favour. Your mob owe them a considerable favour. The least we could do, I thought, when they approached me, was to send someone along to liaise with them. Interesting case. You’ll be intrigued.’

Not quite at ease with his presentation, Redmayne got up and strode to the window, hands behind his back. He pushed up a pane, the better to catch the bugle call coming up from Horseguards below, and looked out with satisfaction over to the crowding green canopy of trees in St James’s Park.

He cleared his throat. ‘Of course, it’s the press involvement that stirred the whole thing up. And now the country’s in a frenzy. Nothing like a mysterious death and a grieving widow to get the Froggies going! The whole population dashes out in its slippers every morning to buy a paper and read the latest instalment of the drama. Haven’t seen anything like it since the death of Little Nell hit the news-stands.’

Joe had, as a child, ridden without permission a horse which, he had very quickly realized, was out of his control and heading for the hills. The same sick feeling was growing as Redmayne talked.

‘Sir! A moment!’ He attempted a tug on the reins. ‘Police? Interpol? Mysterious death? This doesn’t sound like a matter I can attend to between sips of champagne and polite conversation. Whilst flighting south for the summer. There’s an officer in my department, ex-guardsman — Ralph Cottingham. I know he would be delighted to get away for a week or two.’

Joe had overstepped the mark.

‘Thank you for the suggestion, Commander,’ came the curt reply. Redmayne turned and glowered. ‘Cottingham’s name came up, of course. I always choose the best man for the job and in this case, with your wartime experience in Military Intelligence and your knowledge of the language, you are he.’

His words had a finality which depressed Joe but then the Brigadier unbent and gave a tight smile. ‘And I don’t forget that you were right there — on the spot as it were. Caught up in the battle of the Marne, weren’t you? Your local knowledge may come in handy. And, better yet — travelling under no one’s auspices but your own, your section will avoid any belly-aching from accounts in the matter of extra departmental expense. We’re all accountable these days to pen-pushing pipsqueaks of one sort or another. It irritates me to have to take these petty restrictions into consideration and I expect it’s much the same with you but — this way neither Nevil nor I will be expected to foot the bill. Some might consider the offer of a weekend’s hospitality at a château a more than adequate quid pro quo.’

‘And so it would be, sir, if I were free to accept it.’ Joe’s voice had an edge of desperation. ‘But, you see, there’s a. . an. . impediment. For the outward leg of my journey, at least, I am not a free agent.’

The Brigadier returned to his desk and poked again at the file. ‘Something you haven’t declared?’

‘Not something, sir. Someone. I shall not be alone. For the journey down to Antibes I shall be travelling with a female companion.’

A questioning flick of Redmayne’s eye towards the file betrayed, to Joe’s satisfaction, that the official records evidently did not contain full coverage of his private life.

‘A lady, you say?’

‘I think I said female , sir. Not sure the word lady would be appropriate.’

Redmayne was, for a moment, disconcerted. But only for a moment. His expression adjusted itself into one conveying comprehension and collusion. ‘Look here — is the presence of this, er, companion absolutely essential to the success of your vacation, I wonder, Sandilands? You refer to her as an impediment. Quite understand your position. Most chaps would be only too glad to use the opportunity of an emergency posting abroad to get off by themselves. I’ll be pleased to put it in writing. . tiddle it up and make it look official if that would smooth a few feathers. . ease your path. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that female companionship — if that’s what you’re after — is available and of a superior style in France.’