The Death of Corinne

by R. T. Raichev

  ‘You did absolutely right. And damned clever too! You did it for that gel’s sake, didn’t you?’ Lady Grylls said quietly.

  ‘Yes. I did do it for Monique’s sake. If it hadn’t been for Monique, I’d gladly have told the whole story to the police. If I had left the gun in her mother’s hand, a different line of inquiry would have followed – the suicide theory wouldn’t have worked with Corinne – people don’t usually shoot themselves in the throat. The impersonation and the deception would have come out. Questions would have been asked about Monique’s involvement. They might even have suspected her of her mother’s murder – because of all that money . . . Or they’d have suspected me . . . Our romance would have been put under a magnifying glass. My motives would have been questioned. Then the newspapers would have got hold of the story. Monique wouldn’t have been able to cope. It would have been too much for her –’

  He broke off and shook his head. ‘No. No. I couldn’t allow it . . . You were right about the Herald Tribune cuttings.’ Jonson addressed Antonia once more. He picked up the newspaper that had lain on the table beside him. As he unfolded it, they saw that parts of it had been cut out. ‘I found it in Corinne’s room this morning, on her bedside table. You were right – it was she who planted the cuttings in Eleanor Merchant’s bag.’

  ‘What about the gun?’ Antonia asked. ‘Do you know how she got hold of it?’

  ‘When they arrived at Heathrow, Corinne met someone . . . Monique saw her talking to a man. It was only a brief exchange. Monique didn’t actually see any package changing hands, but Corinne dropped her bag and her things spilled out – the man helped her pick them up. Monique didn’t see anything, but the man must have put the gun inside Corinne’s bag then. That was the only time it could have happened. Corinne must have arranged for the man to bring her a gun before she left Paris. When you are that rich, that is nothing – a mere bagatelle. Later she told Monique that the man had mistaken her for someone he knew.’

  ‘You told Monique what happened in the greenhouse, didn’t you?’ Payne asked.

  ‘Yes . . . I went up to her room. I was badly shaken. I had blood on my hand. Corinne Coreille’s blood. Monique got extremely upset. She started crying. She said she couldn’t face the police. She didn’t want to stay in the house. It had all been too much. She had taken off the Corinne make-up . . . I gave her my car keys.’ Jonson paused. ‘She is in London – in my flat. She is all right . . . We are planning to get married next month . . . Well, Corinne Coreille will never be found now. Corinne Coreille no longer exists. She’s gone, like a puff of smoke.’ Jonson brought together three fingers of his right hand and blew at them, then spread out his hand. ‘Disparue.’

  ‘Well, I hope you ask me to the wedding,’ Lady Grylls said.

  Provost appeared at the doorway. ‘Lunch is ready, m’lady. Do you wish us to serve?’

  Coda

  It was very warm now, real spring weather. The sun was shining and the nightingales sang. The magnolia tree outside the open study window looked like a giant wedding cake, covered with solid pink and white sugar icing. A spruce-looking elderly gentleman in heather tweeds, a green pork-pie hat and driving gloves could be seen talking animatedly to Major Payne in the drive, beside an ancient Bentley.

  ‘Is that all you want? Are you sure, my dear?’ Lady Grylls said in some surprise.

  ‘I am. I’ve got quite a yen for it,’ Antonia said.

  ‘What an extraordinary thing to have a yen for! Of course you shall have Rory’s desk. Goodness. Glad to be rid of the ghastly old object . . . I’ll have this room turned into a boudoir or something equally jolly. You know – one of those muslin and primrose affairs with lots of silk cushions? I need to get something off my chest.’ Lady Grylls pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘It was I who killed Corinne.’

  Antonia stared. ‘What – what do you mean?’

  There was a pause. ‘If I hadn’t given Ruse that brooch all those years ago, Corinne wouldn’t have worn it on her beret,’ Lady Grylls said slowly. ‘Corinne then wouldn’t have been noticed in the greenhouse and then – then she would have remained alive – poor dear Andrew would have died instead! It’s a dreadful thought, I know.’

  Antonia breathed an internal sigh of relief. ‘Oh, it never works like that,’ she managed to say lightly. ‘Something else would have happened – she’d have given herself away in some other way – the gun would have glimmered in the moonlight – he’d have noticed it.’

  ‘You think so? He would have, wouldn’t he?’ Lady Grylls brightened up. ‘He is such a clever young man . . . And now,’ she went on, ‘we must go and look at Bobo Markham’s new pigs. He’s come all this way to collect us. Such an old bore!’

  But she was wearing lipstick, her hair was freshly coiffed and earlier on she had asked Antonia to help her choose what dress to wear.