Peter Lovesey - The False Inspector Dew

Walter examined it. Kindly inform Inspector Dew arrangements made to disembark Cherbourg to avoid press harassment.

He said, 'That's very considerate of them.'

'Damnit, that's the least they can do considering the inconvenience this has caused you,' said the captain. 'I expect to reach Cherbourg on Tuesday morning. Presumably they'll have a man to meet you.'

The rest of the crossing was uneventful, and in consequence seemed slow. Walter was on deck late on Monday evening when the light of Bishop Rock appeared on the horizon. Soon after midnight he saw the incandescence of the south coast of England from the port side. Then he went to bed.

In the morning it was raining. Cherbourg was scarcely visible from the breakwater where the passengers transferred to the tender that conveyed them to the inner harbour. Walter pulled up the collar of his overcoat and kept away from anyone who looked like the press. Any thoughts he may have entertained of disappearing among the teeming hundreds on the harbour were scotched at once. A figure in a uniform approached him as he stepped ashore and said in an English accent, 'Excuse me, sir, I believe I am right in saying that your name is Walter Baranov.'

Walter's facial muscles tightened, but he did not deny it. He gave a nod.

'So glad to have found you,' said the man. His uniform was not that of a police officer. It was the peaked cap, high-buttoned tunic and gaiters of a chauffeur. 'Would you come this way? There's just the formality of customs. Your luggage will be collected.'

Walter followed him across the harbour to the customs hall. They were allowed to pass immediately.

Outside, they crossed a pebbled courtyard to a black limousine.

'Where are you taking me?' Walter asked.

The chauffeur opened the rear door. 'Would you kindly step inside, sir?'

Walter inclined his head, put his foot on the running-board, and froze.

A woman was sitting inside. She said, 'Walter darling, or do I say Inspector?'

It was Lydia.

'The telegram was very clever, don't you think?' she asked him as they sat together at the open tables outside a bar-restaurant in Caen. 'I even took the trouble to find out the name of the Public Prosecutor, in case there was a query, but they accepted it like lambs.' She laughed. 'I dare say it gave you a bit of a turn, darling.'

'Yes,' said Walter. He was still looking pale. 'How did you find out that I was masquerading as Dew?'

'I saw your picture in the paper. It gave me quite a shock. The first time I saw it, I just turned to jelly, seeing my own sweet husband in the Daily Mail. Then I saw the name Inspector Dew underneath and I thought, well, everyone is supposed to have a double, and this was yours. But a couple of days later the papers were saying someone else had claimed to be Walter Dew, and if he was, then who was the mystery man in the photograph? That was when I knew for sure. I thought, heavens, what has my Walter been up to? It was obvious that you were going to be in the most awful spot when the ship reached Southampton. The press are vultures, darling, to say nothing of the police. So I sent my little telegram. And now they'll never find their mystery man.'

'I hope not. I'm grateful, Lydia.'

She held his hand tightly. 'Darling, it was the least I could do after you had been so gallant.'

'Gallant?'

Lydia giggled. 'Still the same Walter, so utterly unassuming! Sweetheart, what could be more gallant and romantic than a husband who kisses you goodbye and then secretly arranges to join you on the ocean crossing because he cannot bear to live without you? It was very touching, and dreadfully tragic that I wasn't on the ship at all.'

Walter frowned. 'But you were. I saw you go aboard. Your things were in the stateroom. I waited there for hours.'

She nipped his cheek between her thumb and finger. 'Incorrigible man. I can't think what you had in mind.' She sighed. 'And to think I missed it. Darling, this is what happened. I moved into my stateroom as you noticed, and unpacked my things. The ship moved off, but I remembered your advice about mal de mer, and stayed away from lunch. I sat on the bed and read a paper I had bought.'

'I saw it on the bed.'

'But did you read it, Walter?

'But did you read it, Walter? I did, and I had a fit! On the front page was the news that Charlie Chaplin was about to arrive in England! He was on the Olympic, two days from Southampton. And there was I crossing the other way to see him! Oh, the panic! I was in tears. I ran out on deck to see how far we had come. It was miles. What could I do? I just had to get off that ship, or my chance of getting started in films was nil. How do you think I managed it?'

Walter shook his head. 'You didn't leave the ship at Cherbourg. One young lady did, but she was the only one.'

'No, darling, your resourceful Lydia had already left by then. I went on the pilot boat. It came alongside while I was frantically wondering what to do. I simply got aboard with some people who should have got off when the bell went at Southampton. There wasn't even time to collect my luggage.'

'I know.'

Lydia squeezed his hand again. 'My poor Walter! You must have been beside yourself with worry. Did you think I'd fallen over the side? What did you do — raise the alarm?'

He said truthfully, 'I sat and waited for you. I assumed you were on the ship because your things were there.'

She rolled her eyes, i know what you were thinking — that I had company on the ship. Oh Walter — what kind of woman do you think I am?'

He didn't answer. He said, 'When it got to midnight I went back to my cabin in the second class.'

'Where you were registered as Inspector Dew?'

'Mr Dew. They assumed I was the Inspector.'

She shook with laughter. 'And you were too polite to deny it. Walter, you're adorable. Whatever made you use another name?'

'I intended to surprise you.'

Her face lit up. 'What a beautiful idea! Darling, I'm overwhelmed. Do you know, I can't imagine anything more romantic — and bless me if I wasn't stupid enough to spoil it, all for nothing!'

'Why — didn't you see Chaplin?'

'Oh, I went to the Ritz where he is staying, and they let me in, eventually.'

'Did he remember you?'

'Of course! As if it were yesterday.'

'Did he offer to put you in a film?' Walter asked enthusiastically.

Lydia sighed. 'That's the difficulty. He would have taken me back to Hollywood like a shot, but there is the problem of my eyes.'

'Your eyes? I didn't know there was anything the matter with them.'

'There isn't, except for their colour. It seems that brown eyes show up black and it ruins the film.'

'I've never heard of that before.'

'Nor had I, but that was that. You don't think he made it up, do you?'

Walter tapped his chin as if he had thoughts of his own.

'What does it matter any more?' said Lydia, downing the last of the wine, it's taught me something, darling. I'm married to a man who values me. I intend to keep him close to me for ever.'

'What will we do with ourselves?' asked Walter.

'Obviously we can't go back to England until the fuss dies down. I thought we'd go to Paris — I'm completely out of clothes — and then tour France in the motor car.'

'And after that?'

'I don't know, darling. Can you think of anything?'

Walter said on an inspiration, 'How about a sea cruise?'