Fifteen
Iris and Jack were seated at a table with a book of glossy coloured plates lying open in front of them. Iris was discoursing with animation, her hands describing sweeping patterns in the air, her whole attention focused on her subject. From the way her companion was looking at her it was easy to see that only part of his mind was concerned with art.
Glancing at Dieter, Melissa read ‘What did I tell you?’ in his smile as he made a great pantomime of clearing his throat.
‘I hope we do not interrupt you?’ he said with mock formality. The two looked up in surprise and Jack half rose from his seat.
‘Please, don’t get up,’ said Melissa. She sat down in the chair that Dieter held for her and craned her neck to peer at the book. ‘What have you got there?’
‘Reproductions from the Arthur Sanderson Design Archive,’ explained Jack. ‘These are from the William Morris School. We’ve been looking at the contrasting features of these two.’ He pushed the book across and pointed out the swirling fronds of ‘Seaweed’ and the stiffly formal ‘Sweet Pea’, while Iris looked on, nodding and chipping in with observations from time to time. Melissa detected a growing rapport between them, and rejoiced.
Jack put the book to one side and the four of them sat chatting over a bottle of wine. The evening air was soft as silk, cicadas sang in the trees and a few birds, black against the sunset, flew home to roost.
‘Last day of the course tomorrow,’ said Jack with evident regret. ‘I understand you’re going home on Saturday as well, Dieter?’
‘Yes – a summons from my manager. It seems I have to make some travel abroad, but I may return later to complete my studies.’
‘I’m hoping to come back as well, if everything goes to plan.’ Jack glanced at Iris and received a nod and a smile in return.
The slight figure of a woman emerged from the hotel and stood on the steps leading down to the terrace, scanning the tables with anxious eyes and making agitated, jerky movements with her hands.
‘Here’s Rose,’ said Melissa. ‘Something seems to be wrong.’
Rose caught sight of them and came rushing across, dodging between the tables and nearly sending a waiter flying. Dieter guided her to an empty chair; she was trembling violently and he called for brandy.
‘What is the matter?’ he asked, a note of resignation in his voice. ‘Have you had another quarrel with Dora?’ She nodded without speaking. ‘The usual thing, I suppose?’
‘No, it’s much worse. Oh, Dieter, I don’t know how to say this!’ Her shoulders slumped and she covered her face with her hands. With some reluctance, it seemed to Melissa, Dieter put an arm round her. When at last she lifted her head, she found herself facing three pairs of curious, slightly embarrassed eyes. She appeared taken aback, as if she had only just realised that the pair of them were not alone.
Simultaneously, the others stood up. ‘We’ll leave you now,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sure you want to have a private talk.’
‘No, please stay,’ begged Rose. ‘You’ll hear about it soon enough anyway – Iris and Melissa probably know already.’
‘Know what?’ asked Dieter as she seemed unable to go on.
She turned terrified eyes on him. ‘Dieter, can you say exactly where you were yesterday, every minute of the day until you got back to Les Châtaigniers?’
He frowned. ‘I am not sure about every minute. Why do you ask?’
She grabbed him by the hand, her eyes frantically searching his. ‘You were at that factory by nine o’clock, weren’t you? It’s important!’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘When they told you you’d have to wait . . . you stayed right there . . . you didn’t leave and then go back later?’
He frowned and said, ‘What a foolish question. Why should I do that?’
‘You might have thought, as you had to wait . . .’
‘And where do you suppose I went?’ he said impatiently. ‘Really, this is becoming quite stupid.’
‘How long were you at the factory?’ she persisted.
‘Until about twelve o’clock. Then Monsieur Coutelan invited me to lunch in a restaurant in some village. I don’t know what time we came back.’
‘But you were with someone all the time? You do have an alibi for the whole morning?’
‘Why should I need an alibi?’ He forced a smile. ‘Has someone robbed a bank?’
‘Dora thinks Alain Gebrec was murdered,’ said Rose in a terrified whisper. ‘She says . . . she saw you go up to the belvedere . . . and one of her golf-clubs is missing . . . I’m afraid she thinks you took it . . . to kill him!’
‘Indeed?’ Dieter withdrew his arm. ‘Your friend goes to great trouble to make you think ill of me.’ His expression was grim and a muscle above his right eye started to twitch.
‘Oh, darling, you don’t think I believe it, do you?’
‘I hope not.’ His face did not relax as he picked up the brandy and handed it to her. ‘Perhaps you should drink this,’ he said.
Rose’s hands were shaking so badly that some of the contents of the glass spilled on her dress. Spluttering and gulping, she mopped it with her handkerchief. ‘I’m sorry,’ she faltered. ‘It was such a shock when I realised what Dora was suggesting. We had a terrible quarrel . . . I was screaming at her. I don’t think I can ever be friends with her again.’
‘You know something about this?’ Dieter glared across the table at the others, his voice harsh and angry. Jack shook his head and Iris gave great attention to her glass. It was left to Melissa to reply.
‘Dora took it into her head this evening that you’d pinched one of her golf-clubs as a sort of practical joke,’ she explained. ‘She insisted she’d seen you heading out through the woods at about half-past nine, shortly before she missed it. Then she suddenly got the wild idea that you might have taken it to attack Alain. I did point out that you were supposed to have been in another place at the time . . .’
‘That’s Dora all over,’ interrupted Rose with a sniff. ‘Once she gets an idea into her head, wild horses won’t shift it.’ She turned to face Dieter. ‘I didn’t believe it for a single moment, darling,’ she repeated earnestly. ‘I just wanted to be sure you had an alibi.’
Dieter ignored her. He was staring at Melissa with fury in his eyes. ‘“Supposed to have been in another place” – what are you suggesting?’ he demanded.
She spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Nothing, really . . . just a figure of speech. It seems to have been a case of mistaken identity.’
‘Obviously,’ said Dieter coldly. To Melissa’s relief, he did not raise the subject of their earlier conversation.
‘Then who did she see, if it wasn’t Deiter?’ asked Jack.
‘It could have been Alain,’ said Melissa. ‘They wear similar clothes, and they are the same build and colouring when you come to think of it. You did say her eyesight isn’t all that good, didn’t you, Rose?’
‘Of course!’ Rose sat bolt upright. ‘If she had her putting glasses on, anything at a distance would look fuzzy. Most people with her problem wear bifocals, but not Dora, oh no!’ She did not actually say, ‘she would have to be different’, but the implication was unmistakable.
‘So it was Alain all the time, and she took him for me,’ mused Dieter. ‘Mein Doppelgänger!’ He gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘How ironic,’ he added, almost to himself.
The cloud had vanished from Rose’s face. ‘How silly we are not to have thought of that before,’ she said. ‘And won’t Dora feel a fool when we tell her.’ Equally relieved at the removal of any suspicion towards Dieter and delighted at the prospect of Dora’s embarrassment, she picked up her glass again and swallowed a mouthful of brandy with relish.
‘Dora said she called after him, but he didn’t respond,’ said Melissa thoughtfully. ‘If it was Alain – and it almost certainly was – then he might not even have heard, let alone taken any notice. Philippe said he rushed off in some distress.’
; ‘Poor chap!’ said Jack sadly. Mechanically, he picked up the wine bottle and offered refills, but gloom had settled over the table and no one was interested.
‘So what happens now?’ asked Iris with a keen, somewhat disapproving, glance at Rose.
‘I don’t know.’ Rose turned to Dieter. ‘I can’t go back to sharing a room with Dora, and I know the auberge is full.’ She put a hand on his arm and gave an arch smile. ‘Perhaps I could stay here?’
Looking anything but delighted at the prospect, he stood up. ‘Wait here, I’ll go to ask,’ he said curtly.
He returned a few minutes later with the news that a room was available. ‘I have told them to make it ready for you,’ he said. ‘I will take you now to collect your things.’
‘Oh, thank you!’ she said, but her smile withered at the sight of his expression and she trailed after him towards the car park without a word or a glance at the others.
‘Hmm,’ said Jack. ‘Things seem a bit bumpy there, don’t they?’
‘Looks as if Dora’s going to have the last laugh,’ said Iris. ‘I’m going to the ladies, then we’ll be leaving too.’ She hoisted her lanky frame from her chair and Jack immediately leapt from his. ‘No need to fuss,’ she said, evading the hand he held out to assist her. She slung her bag over one shoulder and went marching across the terrace, head erect, free arm swinging. Jack’s eyes followed her in admiration.
‘What a woman!’ he exclaimed.
‘She’s an independent soul,’ commented Melissa.
‘But a rare character. I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this week, despite all the trauma.’ His face grew serious. ‘Melissa, do you agree with Alain’s mum that he was murdered? It’s pretty odd, isn’t it, one of Dora’s clubs going missing like that. I take it your search came to nothing?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact . . .’ On impulse, she decided to tell him of her discoveries at the belvedere and the conclusions she had drawn from them. ‘I didn’t say anything to Philippe because it was so inconclusive,’ she finished, ‘and I still can’t decide whether it’s worth taking them to the police.’
‘I see your point about Philippe, but I don’t see why you’re keeping this from the police,’ said Jack.
‘What’s the point of sending Officer Hassan flying off at half cock and upsetting a lot of people if it’s all to no purpose?’
‘Who do you mean by “a lot of people”? You wouldn’t be trying to protect anyone?’ His eyes were shrewd. ‘Fernand, for example?’
‘I suppose Iris has been telling you about my chats with “the nutter”, as she calls him?’
‘You can’t pretend he’s normal and it’s no secret that he didn’t see eye to eye with Alain.’
‘Fernand has been badly traumatised, but he’s a gentle soul and wouldn’t lay a finger on anyone,’ Melissa insisted.
Jack shook his head. ‘That really isn’t the point, Melissa. The evidence you found may not on its own be inconsistent with the suicide theory, but just the same, it’s your duty to hand it over and let the police decide if it’s worth following up.’
‘I suppose so,’ she sighed. ‘All right, I’ll give them a call in the morning. Ah, here comes Iris. We’d better be going now.’
Sixteen
On the way back to the auberge, Iris demanded to know what Melissa had managed to learn from Dieter Erdle.
‘Precisely nothing,’ Melissa said. ‘He claims it was just harmless Teutonic fun at the expense of a humourless Frog.’
‘You believe that?’
‘No.’
‘So what’s the game?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m going to find out even if it means sitting up all night reading that bloody book. Hullo, what’s going on in here?’
They had reached the auberge to find the entire Gauthier family – Monsieur, Madame and five daughters – assembled round the reception desk in excited and voluble discussion. The sound of six Frenchwomen all talking at once gave the impression of a barnyard invaded by a marauding fox, with Monsieur Gauthier rushing to and fro, beating the air with his hands like a distraught chanticleer. In the farthest corner, looking as if she would rather be anywhere else in the world at that moment, sat Dora. There was no sign of Rose or Dieter.
‘Wonder what’s happened,’ said Iris. ‘Can you make out what they’re rabbiting on about? I’ll go and talk to Dora.’
Madame Gauthier, in between making intermittent, shrill contributions to the general commotion, was proceeding with her regular evening task of making up her accounts. Melissa’s politely worded question was received with an unfriendly stare and a tart suggestion that ‘those other English’ would put her in the picture. She, Madame Gauthier, wife of the proprietor, had her business to attend to, and this kind of scandal did it no good at all.
The Gauthier daughters, however, were only too ready to talk; they practically fell on Melissa as she attempted to make her way through their ranks. The two English ladies, they explained, had had a most regrettable, a most serious disagreement, during which voices had been raised and charges of murder, yes, murder, had been uttered. A French lady in an adjoining room who understood some English had become greatly alarmed and taken it upon herself to summon the police. An officer from the gendarmerie was even now interrogating the accused person.
‘What accused person?’ Melissa asked, but before anyone could give a coherent answer Monsieur Gauthier managed to impose some sort of order on the chaos and shooed his family, like so many cackling hens, towards the private quarters at the rear of the hotel. Only his wife remained, a scrawny figure with gold-rimmed spectacles half-way down her nose, presiding like a recording angel over her ledgers.
In the corner, Iris was sitting beside Dora, who was looking shaken. ‘I never dreamed it would come to this,’ she declared. ‘I tried so hard to make her see how . . . unsuitable that man is. I told her over and over again, but she wouldn’t listen.’
‘You don’t seriously believe Dieter attacked Alain Gebrec, do you?’ said Melissa. ‘I did point out . . .’
‘Why not? I did see him you know – oh, I know he’s supposed to have been somewhere else, but his alibi might not be . . . anyway, I’m sure he’s quite capable of it,’ insisted Dora in a transparent attempt at self-justification. ‘In any case, I was only trying to warn her. How was I to know that stupid woman would call the police?’ She looked pleadingly from one to the other.
‘Where is she now?’ asked Melissa. ‘And where’s Dieter?’
‘Erdle’s being questioned by that big gendarme and Rose is upstairs, packing her things. She’s throwing herself at that man, making a complete fool of herself. He’s not seriously interested in her – anyone can see that – and our holiday’s ruined!’ Overcome with rage and frustration, Dora jammed a fist against her mouth and gnawed at her knuckles.
‘I’m just going to fetch something,’ said Melissa. ‘I’ll only be a minute. If it’s Hassan, don’t let him leave before I get back,’ she added to Iris before hurrying upstairs.
On her way back she met Rose, a suitcase in her hand, her face white with fury. ‘Have you heard what’s happened?’ She almost spat out the words. ‘When we got back, that fool of a gendarme practically arrested Dieter on the spot. It’s all Dora’s fault – I’ll never forgive her, never!’
‘She didn’t intend . . . I mean, it wasn’t Dora who rang the police.’
‘If she hadn’t been screaming all that nonsense at the top of her voice, it would never have happened. I just hope she gets arrested herself for wasting police time. It’d serve her right!’
The final words were pronounced in ringing tones as they arrived back in the hall, where Officer Hassan and Dieter were just emerging from the salon. Rose rushed at Dieter and made a grab at his wrist, as if fearing to find handcuffs dangling from it. He shook her off with an irritable gesture and turned to the gendarme.
‘I take it I may go back to my hotel now?’
‘Certainly, Monsieur. We will
talk again tomorrow.’
Without meeting Rose’s eyes, Dieter took her suitcase and marched through the door. She followed at his heels. Dora half rose, then resignedly sat down again.
‘Madame Craig!’ Hassan rushed forward with one hand outstretched and a grin like a buttered croissant, then remembered he was on duty and saluted instead.
‘Good evening, Officer,’ said Melissa politely. ‘Whatever is going on?’
‘A most dramatic turn of events!’ he began and then, becoming aware of Madame Gauthier’s fiercely disapproving frown, he gave a conciliatory bow and said, with a meaning glance in Dora’s direction, ‘If Madame will permit, I should like to use the salon for a few more minutes.’
‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ declared Dora.
‘That remains to be seen.’ His tone held a hint of menace.
‘I will speak to you again in a moment, Madame. First, I should like a word with these other ladies.’
‘There is nothing I can tell you, Officer,’ said Iris in her stilted French, ‘but my friend has something that may interest you.’
‘Indeed?’ His face registered delighted anticipation. ‘Then, if you would also remain here for a few moments, Madame Ash, perhaps Madame Craig would be so kind as to come this way?’
The moment the door closed behind them, he exclaimed, ‘A most extraordinary allegation has been made by Madame Lavender. She tried to persuade me someone stole one of her golf-clubs in order to attack the unfortunate Monsieur Gebrec.’
‘So I understand from Mrs Kettle,’ said Melissa. ‘In the circumstances, you may find what I have here of some interest.’
She unfolded the tissue, displayed its contents and explained how she had come to find them. ‘I hope you don’t think I question the competence of your men,’ she said, anxious to be diplomatic. ‘It is plain that all the indications were that Monsieur Gebrec had taken his own life . . . it was only on account of my promise to his mother . . .’
Murder on the Clifftops Page 17
