R Raichev - The Death of Corinne

‘That you, Amanda?’

‘Hugh? Good lord. Where are you phoning from – Cap Ferrat? Shropshire? At Chalfont – nothing wrong, is there? Is Aunt Nellie all right? She hasn’t had her cataract operation yet, has she? I hope Antonia’s well – Sorry? Do I remember -? What an odd question! Of course I remember Corinne Coreille and the Albert Hall… 1969. We went together, didn’t we, me, you and Aunt Nellie… What? The second concert? Yes, I did go… Speak up, would you? Yes, it was with him – he didn’t want to go but I persuaded him… He had come down from Eton – he was staying with his parents in Kensington… Yes, we did go to see Corinne Coreille in her dressing room afterwards… Did anything happen? What do you mean? What in heaven’s name are all these questions for?’

‘Did they talk?’

‘Of course they talked. It would have been odd if they didn’t.’ A cautious note had crept into Amanda’s voice. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I have my reasons. Did anything happen? Come on, Amanda. As a matter of fact, I know something happened, I only want you to confirm it.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He told me,’ Payne said, giving Antonia a wink. ‘I didn’t believe him, that’s why I am asking you. Thought he was boasting.’

‘He told you? He swore me to absolute secrecy!’

‘Well, he said it no longer mattered – it was all such a long time ago. More than thirty years. We sat drinking last night and he suddenly came out with it. You know the way these things happen – chaps together,’ Payne went on improvising.

‘Is he at Chalfont too? He’s gone now? Oh very well.’ Amanda paused. ‘He took a wild fancy to Corinne – one of those instant things. I could tell, despite his cool exterior. He asked her out… No, Mr Lark wasn’t there. It had to be kept secret from him. He was extremely protective of Corinne, yes. I don’t know whether Mr Lark too fancied Corinne – he was a great number of years older than her – maybe he did, though it was her career he said he cared about.’

‘Did they really start seeing each other?’

‘All right. They did. He kept going to Paris. She gave him her grandmother’s phone number. She did like him too, obviously. It was so funny – the way they stood looking at each other – he so English, she so French… Did they -? All right. Pretty intimate, yes. He told me later – boasted about it. Her very first. His first too.’

‘It all came to nothing, apparently?’

‘Yes… So sad… Her career took off and the protective net around her became impenetrable. That’s why he joined the diplomatic corps and then the trend-spotting thing – to be able to travel because of her. She was travelling an awful lot, but it was no joy… Yes, he did tell me all that himself. I am very good at receiving confidences and giving advice, you know… He was devastated when -’ Amanda broke off.

‘When what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? Come on, Amanda.’

There was a pause. ‘He didn’t tell you that – all right – there were developments – it was all rather distressing -’

Payne listened. His brows went up. Soon after he rang off.

‘Not only did they have a relationship,’ he told Antonia,

‘but Corinne became pregnant by him. Sadly, the child was born prematurely and died. She couldn’t have any more children after that, apparently. It was all kept hush-hush. He was extremely cut up about it. You wouldn’t have thought it of him, would you? That’s why he never married. He always blamed her for having given in to Mr Lark’s bullying – for being Mr Lark’s puppet. Amanda doesn’t think they have been in touch since, but of course she may be wrong.’

‘The fact that she still keeps his photo on her dressing table suggests she probably still has feelings for him,’ Antonia said thoughtfully. ‘Jonson must have recognized him when he bumped into him here. He clearly didn’t like to be reminded.’

‘Yes.’ There was a moment’s silence, then Payne continued, ‘Must be in the blood. I mean not one but two de Brokes succumbing to the fatal charms of the French.’

Antonia said, ‘Poor Peverel.’

They Came to Chalfont

Corinne Coreille and Maitre Maginot arrived the following day, 3rd April, at six o’clock in the afternoon. It was an extremely low-key event, with no pomp or circumstance and not a modicum of showbiz glamour. A non-event, in fact. There had been no jet and, much to Lady Grylls’s relief, there was no entourage. The two women, travelling unobtrusively, incognito, entirely on their own, had taken a plane from Charles de Gaulle airport to Heathrow. It was only as the taxi which brought them left London that Maitre Maginot phoned Lady Grylls from her mobile and told her to expect them.

‘She sounded exhausted,’ Lady Grylls commented to Payne and Antonia in gleeful tones. ‘Rather subdued too. I expected to be hectored! The first thing she asked was if the central heating at Chalfont was working, then if I kept any cats and I said no. She perked up even more when I told her Andrew was actually staying at the house. She was pleased about it, I could tell. She asked who else was here and didn’t like it when I told her that I had my nephew and niece-by-marriage staying with me. Not at all happy. Oh well, she’ll have to lump it.’ Lady Grylls laughed. ‘Showed her true nature then – flared up. I rang off. The battle lines have been drawn, my dears. So, like all good scouts, be prepared.’

As the taxi drove up the alley towards the house in the gloom, under pelting rain that was turning to sleet, Eleanor Merchant stood inside the greenhouse in her mink stole, pressed her nose against the glass panel and watched. Her picture hat was back on her head, but it now resembled a squashed cabbage leaf. It had got colder and her teeth chattered. Her breath came out in swirls, causing the pane to mist over. She wiped it off frantically with her gloved hands. She had to see.

The lights were on in the room beyond the terrace – the drawing room, as she had gathered. And this time, luckily, they had omitted to draw the white damask curtains across the french windows. Eleanor held the binoculars to her eyes. She could see that the curtains were still tied with their heavy black loops… She had an excellent view of the room… Etruscan red walls with a touch of orange. Fireplace of blood-red speckled marble in what, she imagined, was the Directoire Egyptian style. Two rows of pictures in gilded frames… Grey chairs with rather faded green stripes…

After a wait that seemed interminable, but must have been no more than five minutes, Eleanor saw the two women enter the drawing room, first the older, then the younger, followed by the fat elderly woman with the thick glasses she had seen earlier on – Lady Grylls.

Eleanor’s hands were shaking so badly now, she nearly dropped her binoculars, and she found it hard to hold back the tears that kept prickling at her eyes. At long last, she thought – at long last.

The older woman was dressed in purple and she was wearing black gloves. She held her torso erect and walked in a regally stiff manner. She looked extremely forbidding. Her face was lopsided, deformed. Her lower lip was longer and jutted out. That, combined with the turban she was wearing, put Eleanor in mind of the Ugly Duchess in Alice… Brought up as she was in the ‘English’ tradition, Eleanor started humming under her breath – ‘A most unattractive old thing – Tra-la – with a caricature of a face…’

The woman had an air of immense authority about her – she might have been an ambassador representing some prosperous kingdom – but she lacked the serenity one associated with that sort of person. She kept reaching out for Corinne’s arm… Her eyes darted suspiciously around the room, as though expecting some kind of ambush. Who was she? Was that the Maitre Maginot the tipsy femme de chambre had mentioned on the phone? Was she – Corinne’s minder? ‘Well, she’d better mind her own business,’ Eleanor uttered in menacing tones. Eleanor’s gaze then fixed avidly on Corinne Coreille.