R Raichev - The Death of Corinne

Lady Grylls smiled and she clapped her hands. ‘A gorgon – in more ways than one! She bullies Corinne, doesn’t she? ’

‘Really, Lady Grylls, I can’t possibly -’

‘You don’t think she imposes Nazi-style diktats on my god-daughter? Oh very well – you are being tiresome. Do go on with your story. Wait – let me give you another slice of cake. So. Did you rumble the scumbag who’d been feeding canards to the press?’

‘I did. It was one of the chambermaids. A girl from Normandy named Emilie,’ Jonson explained as he munched. ‘I discovered a photograph she’d taken of Mademoiselle Coreille hidden under another, larger, photograph, of some young heart-throb of an actor. The two photos were pinned inside Emilie’s locker.’

‘What does Corinne do in the photo?’ Lady Grylls leant back in her chair. ‘Details, please. I love details. Unless it’s a compromising photo – I don’t want to hear if it’s anything salacious!’

‘No, nothing like that… Well, Mademoiselle Coreille is sitting at her dressing table, putting on her make-up. The way the light falls on her head, it does make her look as though she has no hair. It is only a trick of the light. Her face is covered in make-up and she is admiring the effect.’

His voice was softer now, Antonia noticed – gentler. She was struck by a thought: had Jonson fallen in love with Corinne Coreille? She must be – what? Twenty years older than him – still, these things did happen.

‘There is a ki -’ He broke off. ‘There is a kipper – um – on a plate on the dressing table.’

He had flushed deep red. Had he been about to say something else? Antonia wondered.

‘A kipper! Goodness. Is Corinne fond of kippers?’ Lady Grylls exclaimed. ‘Are you sure? Must remember to order some for her breakfast… What else?’

‘A wig can be seen on a dummy’s head on the table beside her. Maitre Maginot explained that Mademoiselle Coreille did not lose her hair, merely had it cropped very short for a while as part of some special treatment aimed at strengthening her scalp. Mademoiselle Coreille apparently has two wigs, both of them identical, which she uses in emergencies.’

‘Did that gel – the maid – make a clean breast of how she’d taken the photo, or did she put up a fight?’

‘Emilie denied taking the photograph at first, but I pointed out that actually her reflection could be seen in the photo – that it had been caught in the lower left corner of the mirror. I said she could be seen with the camera held up to her face.’ He grinned. ‘I bluffed – but it did the trick. Emilie broke down and admitted she had taken the picture through the bedroom door, which had been left ajar. Maitre Maginot then dismissed her and that was where the matter rested. Maitre Maginot didn’t carry out her threat to take the girl to court, no. She explained she did it out of consideration for Corinne. She felt that a court case would have brought a great deal of unwelcome, lurid and inaccurate publicity at a time Corinne Coreille was making a come-back.’

Major Payne cleared his throat. ‘About this business of the death threats, Jonson. Your present commission. Have you any ideas as to who might have been sending them?’

‘There’s nothing conclusive but at this stage, sir, there is one person who seems to be – indicated. An American woman called Eleanor Merchant. It’s a very peculiar story -’

‘Her son committed suicide as he listened to a recording of a Corinne Coreille song?’

He stared at Antonia. ‘Yes. How – how did you know about it?’

‘I told you they were terribly good!’ Lady Grylls cried.

‘Eleanor Merchant has written three letters to Corinne Coreille. She seems to believe that her son wouldn’t have killed himself, if he hadn’t been listening to Corinne Coreille singing. It looks as if she’s got quite a bee in her bonnet about it. She implies that it was Corinne Coreille’s voice that “killed” Griff.’

‘Have you got the letters with you?’ Lady Grylls asked.

‘Yes. Maitre Maginot faxed them to me together with the death threats. The letters are handwritten and signed with Eleanor Merchant’s name… The death threats are unsigned. I established that each one of them was constructed with letters cut out of the International Herald Tribune.’

‘The favoured reading of Americans in Europe,’ Antonia said with a smile.

‘Eleanor Merchant has created a website devoted to the memory of her son,’ Payne said. ‘An internet shrine of sorts.’

‘Really?’

‘I told you they were good,’ Lady Grylls said again.

‘I had no idea… Are there any photos of Eleanor Merchant?’ Jonson asked.

‘Yes – several, apparently – we haven’t seen anything, actually,’ Payne admitted. ‘My cousin told us about it. I don’t suppose the photos will be much good to you since in all of them Eleanor Merchant is in some kind of outrageous fancy dress. Her son as well.’

‘Why do queers always have neurotic mothers?’ Lady Grylls said. ‘Have you noticed?’

‘Would you be able to show us Eleanor Merchant’s letters?’ Antonia turned to Jonson. ‘Or would that be a breach of confidentiality?’

‘It would be nothing of the sort,’ Lady Grylls said firmly. ‘It’s not as though any one of us is going to spill the beans to Maginot, is it? Besides, this is my house. Can we see the death threats first? I’ve never seen death threats in my life.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Jonson picked up his briefcase and placed it across his knees.

In the Teeth of the Evidence

‘Nothing special,’ Lady Grylls declared several moments later, when he had obligingly spread the photocopies of the anonymous messages on the table before her. ‘You crazy bitch. Prepare to die. She wrote the same thing three times. You crazy bitch. Prepare to die. You crazy -’ Lady Grylls tapped her lips with her fingers in a feigned yawn. ‘Goodness, how tedious… Are these the letters?’

‘Yes. First – second – third,’ Jonson said, arranging them in order.

There was a pause as they read the first letter. ‘She clearly felt the overwhelming need to unburden herself… Her shrink couldn’t have been doing his job very well,’ Major Payne murmured after a while.

‘Very interesting,’ Antonia said. ‘Sad too, in a way.’

‘Do you think so? I don’t lack compassion, but I find it hard to be sympathetic to the Mrs Venableses of this world.’

‘Totally potty,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘She calls Corinne a witch but it is she who sticks pins in the doll and asks Corinne if it hurts! Who is Mrs Venables, Hughie?’

‘A monstrous matriarch whose son Sebastian dies an outlandish death. It’s a play.’

‘She calls Corinne a crazy bitch, but it is more than clear she is the crazy one. I believe there is a word for it… Transference? When you attribute your demons to somebody else? I say, that’s the same phrase as in the death threats!’ Lady Grylls cried with an air of discovery. ‘Crazy bitch. You do see – don’t you?’ She pushed her glasses up her nose.

‘We do, darling.’

‘It’s certainly suggestive,’ Jonson said non-committally.

‘Suggestive? My good man – it’s what they call a clincher! It proves beyond doubt that the blasted American woman wrote the death threats as well. You need look no further. She’s your pigeon.’

‘That would be the obvious conclusion, yes.’

What is the matter, Corinne? Why don’t you answer? (The second letter began.) It is now more than a month since I wrote to you. Airmail letters take no more than four days to get to Europe. I did check. I sent the letter to Fabiola, your record company in France, by registered mail, same as my first. You must have received it, so why don’t you answer? I wouldn’t have minded a postcard, with just a few words of acknowledgement and some expression of sympathy, perhaps? Is that too much to ask?