“Nothing? No footsteps or garage door openings?”
“Oh!” Gini said. “I heard the garage door about one o’clock. Up and down, I think. I woke up, then I put my earplugs in because sometimes Audette will snore.”
Audette made a noise. Merle turned to her. “Did you hear anything?”
“I also wear ear plugs,” the chef said.
“We think Gabriel came into the apartment and got his belongings in the night,” Merle said. “His luggage is missing. Would you have heard him?”
Audette and Gini exchanged a glance and shrugged. “We didn’t,” Audette said. “Our door was closed for the warm. We had the heater in our room.”
Merle nodded and said to Isabelle, “It looks like Sabine’s jewelry is missing. Gabriel must have taken it when he came back for his bags.”
Isabelle stirred, agitated. “This gets worse and worse.”
Audette’s eyes widened. “We did not touch her things. Never.”
Merle reassured the women that the theory was Gabriel grabbed them. He must have stolen the car as well. Isabelle said the police had been informed in the morning, about the missing Jag. Richard hadn’t waited a tick to call it in, even if his daughter was the one who ‘lost’ it.
Elise and Merle left the kitchen. Elise whispered, “Do you think it was just a coincidence that Gabriel saw the Jaguar parked at the rail station?”
“I know,” Merle agreed. “How could he have known the girls would go to Newport last night? It’s strange.”
Chapter Eight
When Isabelle left the kitchen she saw her son and Elise, along with the Frenchman and Elise’s sister, heading upstairs. Maybe Conor was giving them a tour of the house. That was fine. But where was Duncan today? Pauline had come down to breakfast and taken toast and coffee up to their room. She reported he was doing better and sleeping in the room now. No sign of either of them at lunch.
Isabelle felt an urgency to find a rehab center for Duncan as soon as possible. She should check on him but first she needed to find a spot for him. She went to the drawing room to find her laptop. Where had she left it? She searched the different sitting areas in the large room, especially around the small desk in the corner she used. Cecily helped her look around, putting her novel aside.
Finally they gave up. “I will look in my room in a bit,” Isabelle said as they sat down in the armchairs by the fire. “Is Richard bereft?”
Cecily gave a sly smile. “I’m afraid he is. Poor thing.” She leaned in to her sister-in-law. “Best thing that happened this week, I say.”
“His obsession ends with a whimper?”
“Better than a bang,” Cecily laughed. “He is always so careful. He rarely even drives the Jag. I mean, he always drives it here for holiday but never in town. I couldn’t believe he allowed Bree to drive it yesterday. She did beg him.”
“Well, that won’t happen again. When do the girls go back to Cambridge?”
“Tomorrow. They’ll miss Twelfth Night.”
“We’ll have something special tonight for them. I’ll ask Audette.”
Cecily looked around the drafty room. “It’s so quiet with Sabine and Gabriel gone.” She sighed.
Isabelle was glad of the quiet. It was horrible that Sabine had died, of course. The police told Evans they would come by with news, if there was any. Maybe later today they would find out what happened to her. Still, the calm that had returned, more or less, was welcome. And they had left their chef and maid, making the holiday much more pleasant for Isabelle.
Footsteps in the hallway heralded the arrival of Pauline, dressed in her thin wool coat, leggings, and heavy black trainers that made her feet look enormous. She was pulling a knit cap over her ears when she caught Isabelle’s eye.
“I am going to take a walk,” she announced. “Okay?”
Isabelle nodded and she was off, through the front door. Her figure passed the windows of the drawing room, hands stuffed in her pockets.
“What a strange girl,” Cecily said.
“How so?” Isabelle asked.
“Secretive, don’t you think? Do you know anything about her?”
“She’s a model in Paris, that’s all I know.”
Cecily frowned. “How did Duncan meet her?”
“She was working in London, he said.” Isabelle tried to remember what her son had said about their relationship, how they met, and it was all vague in her memory. Something about a club. Wasn’t that where young people met?
“Pascal seems to have a lot of connections in France,” Cecily said. “In case you want to find out more.”
“Well, I don’t,” Isabelle said. “I don’t believe in poking around in my children’s lives. I am going to look in my room for my computer.”
On the way up the stairs to her room Isabelle passed Elise and Merle, heading down. “We’re going to get some air before cocktails,” Merle said.
“I hope you’ll stay for dinner,” Isabelle told Merle. “Chef is making a roast. Plenty of food for everyone.”
Isabelle stood in the middle in her room, still searching for her misplaced laptop, when the knock came. She opened the door to find Conor and Aubrey, looking very serious.
“What is it?” Had something happened to the children? She worried about all children especially, as a pediatrician.
“We need to have a talk, Mum,” Aubrey said. “About Duncan.”
“Can you find Dad?” Conor asked. “And meet in the library in ten minutes?”
Isabelle swallowed hard. Her children understood Duncan was ill. Anyone could see that. She wanted to handle it herself but now they had inserted themselves. She sighed. Just as well, although Evans would not like it.
“All right. I will find him.”
“Ten minutes, Mum,” Conor repeated. She nodded and shut the door.
Where was Evans? Probably already in the library. She texted him: “Need to talk. Where are you?”
While she waited for his reply she went through their bedroom methodically, looking for her computer. As she reached the closet he replied that he was in the library. She said she’d be right there.
Conor and Aubrey were waiting outside the library’s closed door, quiet and very somber. Isabelle smiled at them, trying to be reassuring. Aubrey returned a small smile but Conor just blinked. Was he angry? Well, he and Duncan had clashed a few times this week.
Isabelle opened the door and stuck her head inside. Evans was behind the desk, as usual, doing something on his own laptop. Watching the stock market, she assumed, as he did constantly. “Conor and Aubrey are here,” she said, opening the door wide. Evans looked up, wary suddenly now all three of them were facing him.
He stood up and crossed his arms. “What’s this about?”
“Sit down, Daddy,” Aubrey said. “Just a chat.”
Evans looked at Isabelle who shrugged. “I too was summoned,” she said.
They all found chairs. Conor and Aubrey sat in the leather club chairs across the room from the desk. Aubrey cleared her throat. “We’ve come to ask your help in dealing with Duncan,” she began.
“I know, darling, he—” Isabelle began.
“Drinks too much?” Evans interrupted. “Is that what you’re going to say? Because we all are well aware.”
“This is not your problem, Aubrey, Conor,” Isabelle said. “I am looking for a rehab spot for him right now. I hope to get him in one very soon.”
Conor sat forward, hands on his knees. “Can you just let her speak?” He glanced at Aubrey. “Go on.”
“Conor and I have seen some seriously terrible behavior from Duncan,” she said. “Although I didn’t tell you about it I have heard from several people, friends in London, who have also observed bad behavior from him. Over the past year or so.”
Evans harrumphed. “Like what?”
“He has been thrown out of several nightclubs for behavior against women. Drinking, dancing in a sexual manner, groping, hitting on girls, basically being lewd and appallin
g.” Audrey sighed. “I did not see this myself but I believe my friends. They say he has been banned from two clubs that they know of.”
“So secondhand reports?” Evans snorted.
“Go on,” Isabelle said.
“One of his neighbors called me a few months ago, complaining about loud music at all hours, parties, drunken people in the hallway. She wondered if I was aware that the landlord put him on notice.” Aubrey looked at her father. “Have there been any complaints about him at the firm?”
Evans looked away. “Well.” He glanced at his wife. “Minor things. Something he said, that sort of thing. People are so touchy these days.”
“Does he drink at work?” Conor asked.
“I— there was an incident,” Evans said quietly.
“Then there was something that happened here, in front of us,” Aubrey said. “First on the day after Conor and Elise arrived and again a day later.”
Conor stood up suddenly, face red, almost too angry to speak. He turned to the bookshelves, took a breath, then spun to face his parents.
“He sexually assaulted my girlfriend. He attacked Elise, here in this house.”
Chapter Nine
Merle and Elise pulled on their gloves and hats. A walk in the afternoon, around the grounds, seemed like a good idea until the chill hit them. “The damp creeps into your bones,” Merle said. “But we must walk fast and get our heart rates up.”
“Are you still jogging?” Elise asked as they stepped quickly over the lawn and around to the back of the cottage.
“A little. You?”
“Trying. I don’t like to run in cold weather apparently.”
Merle threaded her arm through Elise’s. “Join the club.”
“There’s Pascal.” Elise pointed to him, sitting on the bench by the pond. He was talking on his mobile phone again.
“He said there was a better signal out here,” Merle said. “Come on.” She pulled her younger sister into a run, heading down the hill toward the pond.
Elise slipped on the wet grass as they approached Pascal, falling onto her bottom, sliding and bouncing. She squealed then laughed, brushing herself off.
“Come walk with us, chéri,” Merle said, taking his arm. Pascal wasn’t much one for aimless walking but he grudgingly complied, slipping his phone in his pocket.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Just around. Come on, Elise.”
Merle led the way around the hedgerow still adorned with yellow caution tape. The death of Sabine remained a mystery. Merle tried to focus the puzzle pieces into a cogent picture but they were not obeying. They continued past the hedge and down the hill. They came upon another grouping of shrubbery, an abandoned maze, the sort of thing the rich and idle manicured for their amusement. Barely recognizable now except for its artificial square shape, it was very overgrown.
“Shall we?” Merle said as they stood at an opening, possibly one of many in the state of the maze. The yews were bushy and tangled. They would have to double over to go through.
“Doesn’t seem like a good idea,” Elise said. “Too scary.”
Merle laughed. “Afraid of getting lost?”
“Always.”
Pascal drew Merle back. “Me too. Let’s go around. Examine it first.”
They walked to the left, around the outside of the maze, batting branches and the occasional thorn bush. The afternoon was misty again, with a promise of more snow. The chill turned their noses red.
When they turned the second corner Pascal, in the lead, stopped abruptly, holding up a hand.
“Wha—” Merle began. He put a finger to his lips for quiet. In the silence the voice was clear. A female, speaking French.
Pascal stepped carefully forward, signaling for Merle and Elise to wait. He stopped again, leaning close to the hedgerow. The voice was there, then silent, then whoever it was spoke again. Merle strained to listen but she was too far away, and the French was fast and low.
“Who is it?” Elise whispered.
Merle shrugged. “French.”
After several minutes the speaking stopped. Sounds of thrashing through bushes could be heard, light cursing, then the snapping of twigs. Pascal waved them forward.
“We should go around this way,” he whispered. “To see who exits the maze.”
They walked quickly, circumnavigating the scraggly yews. At the last corner Pascal stopped them and peered around the hedge.
“Who was it?” Merle asked.
“I see no one,” he replied.
“Could they be lost in the maze?” Elise asked. “Should we get help?”
Pascal smiled. “Let’s go that way, then back to the pond.” He struck out across the hillside, away from both the maze and the cottage. “Quickly now.”
After making a big circle they returned to the bench by the pond and sat to catch their breaths. The fog emanating from the pond was a good metaphor for the many questions of the week, Merle thought.
She turned to Pascal. “What did you hear?”
“It was in French,” he said. “A woman. She was talking to someone on a mobile. She said, ‘le travail est fait.’ ‘The job is done.’”
“That’s all you heard?” Merle asked. He shrugged.
“So maybe the chef?” Elise asked. “Telling her agency the job is done here?”
“Aren’t they still working?” Merle asked.
“Be still now,” Pascal told them. “Wait.”
They sat silently, gazing at the calm gray water of the pond, watching as a large white duck with black markings landed with a splash and paddled around. “Cuddy duck?” Elise whispered to Merle who shrugged then snapped a photo of it with her phone.
Elise sighed, leaning back on the bench, turning up her collar and adjusting her scarf. “I’m freezing,” she whispered.
Pascal replied, “Patience, petite.”
Finally, without warning, they saw her. Ten minutes had passed. Pauline appeared from behind the hedges and walked in long strides up the hill, her coat flapping around her knees, her big black shoes almost comical. She picked a leaf off her sleeve. She had her knit cap pulled low and didn’t look their way, oblivious to being watched. At the top of the hill she crossed the terrace and slipped in the back door of the cottage.
Pascal stood up. “Well.”
“Pauline?” Merle said. “What is she up to?”
“More importantly, what job has she finished?” Elise wondered.
“And why did she have to hide out in the maze to make that phone call?” Merle said.
“Exactement,” Pascal said. “Back to the warmth of the fire now. I have work to do.”
Chapter Ten
Isabelle and Evans sat stonily in their chairs, staring at the floor. Aubrey had described what Duncan did to Elise in the hallway in precise, dispassionate terms. Conor was too angry. He simply couldn’t articulate when he was so mad. Aubrey had rounded her leather armchair. With her hands on its back she told the story plainly, without dramatics. She added that similar tales had come from acquaintances who saw the nightclub behavior.
“Not a one-off, I’m sorry to say.” She frowned at her parents. “And not unknown boorish nightclub behavior in general. Plenty of bad actors under the influence. But to do it here, amongst us all, knowing he might get caught, against one of us, seems like an escalation. Maybe even a cry for help.” She looked at her mother who met her eye and gave a small nod. “We are concerned about his drinking. Maybe that’s all this is, drunken lewdness, a dropping of any pretense of civility, his social filters which are pretty frayed. But something—”
“Must be done,” Conor interrupted. “We waited to tell you about it for days, so as not to spoil the entire holiday. But with Sabine’s death—”
“Already spoiled,” Evans said. He looked sympathetically at Conor. “And your own girlfriend. The balls. Heinous. Despicable.”
Conor felt a little lighter. His father understood. That was a change for the better. His moth
er would always understand, back him up. But his father was a wild card. He always covered for Duncan. Maybe he realized that was doing nobody any good, especially Duncan himself.
“What exactly has happened at the firm?” Isabelle asked Evans.
“And what has been done about it?” Aubrey added.
Evans squirmed in his desk chair, smoothing back his immaculate hair. “Uh, well. I believe there were complaints, one or two that I am aware of, from women at the firm. Secretaries. Oh, and one bond trader. Comments he made that made them feel uncomfortable. The odd shoulder massage, I think.”
“Comments of a sexual nature?” Isabelle asked.
Evans gave a curt nod. “So I’m told.”
“And he was drunk at work?” Aubrey asked.
“I believe last year. Once that I know of,” Evans replied.
“Has he been cautioned, or breath tested, or put on leave? Have there been any consequences?” his daughter continued.
“No. I, ah, I intervened.”
“Seriously?” Conor asked, cursing under his breath. “And never told any of us? Did you tell Mum?”
It was obvious from the look on Isabelle’s face that this was all news to her. Her nostrils flared and she tightened her grimace. “As I said I have been looking for a rehab center. I will continue to do that. He needs counseling as well, but I believe we must start with sobriety.” She glanced around. “All in agreement?”
They nodded. Aubrey looked at her father. “Give him leave at the firm, Daddy. He needs to get his act together in so many ways. He needs time.”
“Of course, darling,” Evans said. “He’ll be fine, in due course.”
Conor looked at the floor. He was not at all certain about that. His relationship with his brother would never be the same, he was sure of that. He glanced up and his mother was looking at him.
“I will handle things,” she said softly. “This is a medical problem, as well as a social one, and family one. First we get the medical under control then we work on repairing relationships.” Although it was the statement of a professional, sadness crept into her voice.
Birds of a Feather: 3: Fly the Nest (Bennett Sisters Mysteries Book 16) Page 4
