‘Does it really matter what you said to me?’ I asked as I put the kettle on and found the cafetière. The electricity was back on but I didn’t feel up to coping with the terrifyingly high-tech coffee machine. Like Janey I glanced quickly out of the door and down the passage to make sure we couldn’t be overheard. ‘We know I didn’t do it, and it’s hardly likely that whoever broke in was standing in the drive listening to you give me instructions on how to take it, is it? Lily’s idea of a burglar deterrent might be a good lick, but surely even she would have let you know if there were intruders hanging around?’
‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ said Janey, as at the sound of her name, the dog trotted over to see if she could cadge a biscuit. ‘This animal would sell her soul for a dog treat.’ Her face settled back into worried gloom as I put the coffee on the table in front of her. ‘In any case, we aren’t at all sure that someone did break in. If it wasn’t you, then I’m afraid that Tom must be right.’
‘Right about what?’ I asked blankly.
‘That it was Venetia who stole the picture.’
‘Venetia?’ I sat down in shock. ‘She can’t have - I don’t believe it.’
Janey smiled tiredly. ‘That’s what I thought, what I wanted to think too. I mean, we all know Venetia’s pretty silly but I can’t imagine even she would be so unbelievably stupid as to do this. God knows, there have been times when I’d have welcomed the opportunity to think she’d never come here again and I’d be free of her, but not in this way. Right now, Tom’s so furious at what she’s done that it hasn’t really sunk in that his own daughter has made off with his most valuable possession, but when it does it’s going to tear him apart. I could wring her neck!’ She stirred her coffee so ferociously that it slopped over the sides of the cup onto the table. ‘It’s all Tom’s mother’s fault - silly, vain old woman. She filled Venetia’s head with this idea that the Sydney was hers by right. She liked to play Lady Bountiful and used to get the members of her family to hang around her by promising to leave them this and that. There was a terrible scene at the reading of the will when both Tom’s sisters and his eldest niece discovered that they’d all been promised the same diamond brooch - and Venetia really did believe that she was being left that wretched picture, even though it was passed on to Tom years ago for tax reasons. To do my stepdaughter credit,’ Janey looked as if she wasn’t finding this easy, ‘she doesn’t seem interested in how valuable it is, she wants it for itself. But it still doesn’t excuse what she’s done.’
I shook my head. None of this felt right. ‘Just because she thinks it ought to be hers doesn’t mean she went ahead and took it.’
Janey dabbed abstractedly at the puddle of coffee on the table. ‘But it doesn’t look good. For one thing she told Tom yesterday that if he wouldn’t give her the picture, she was damn well going to take back her own property whether he liked it or not.’
‘But you do say things in a row,’ I said weakly. ‘It could merely be unfortunate timing.’
‘Very unfortunate,’ she agreed. ‘Especially as the picture is missing. And so is she.’
I felt my mug slip in my fingers and just managed to catch it. My poor tired brain couldn’t cope with all these surprises. ‘Venetia - missing? As in doing a bunk?’
‘As in doing a runner,’ Janey nodded. ‘In all the hoo-ha this morning none of us noticed she wasn’t there. I thought she was out jogging. Frankly I was too preoccupied with stopping Tom from contacting the gendarmes before I’d had a chance to speak to you, to wonder where she was, apart from being mildly grateful that she wasn’t hanging around making a thorough drama out of a crisis. Then Alain, who works in the vineyard, came in and asked when Mademoiselle Venetia was going to return the farm car because he needed it to get a spare part for the spraying machine. Apparently she came belting out of the courtyard gate and nearly knocked him off his moped as he was arriving for work this morning. Of course that could be an exaggeration; according to Alain he has close encounters with manic motorists about three times a day. It never seems to occur to him that if he didn’t drive in the middle of the road he wouldn’t have these problems. But anyway she’s gone and so has the picture. It seems reasonable to assume the two are connected.’
‘She could have had some other reason for dashing off.’ Janey waited in expectant silence for me to provide one. ‘She might have been going to get the bread,’ I said finally.
Janey looked at me pityingly. ‘Nella, not even Venetia could take three hours to get the bread.’
‘Doesn’t Robert know where she’s gone? Or does Tom suspect him of being involved in this as well?’ I asked, recalling the aggressive way Tom had looked at Robert.
‘I don’t think so. Rob’s the one who raised the alarm in the first place. He noticed there was something funny about the hall - a blank space where the picture used to hang. And he’s just as much in the dark about where Venetia is as the rest of us. He hasn’t seen her since last night.’
‘Surely he can’t be such a sound sleeper that he didn’t wake up when she got up?’
Janey laughed hollowly. ‘You don’t really think that an old fossil like Tom would allow his daughter to share a room with her boyfriend under his roof, do you? They not only had separate rooms, but were at different ends of the house too. Bloody nuisance it was for me, too. I could have had Jed up here instead of landing him on you, and if Venetia was in with Rob we might have a chance of knowing where she is now. As it is, she was able to slip out without anyone knowing anything about it.’
She rested her chin on her hand and nibbled thoughtfully on a biscuit. ‘I’m the last person Venetia would ever confide in, but she gets on well with you, Nella. I was wondering if she said anything to you about what might have been on her mind?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said doubtfully. ‘At the cricket match she was talking about love in a garret and how it would be supportable with the right person.’
‘She must really be in love if she’s intending to live in a garret,’ Janey said dryly, ‘though I suppose it helps if you’re providing yourself with a dowry in the form of a very expensive picture.’
‘It also depends on what your definition of a garret is,’ I pointed out. ‘All she seemed to be able to talk about yesterday was Napier and Solange. Hey, hang on! She said she was going to ring Napier this morning...’
My voice tailed off as our eyes met. ‘Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before?’ Janey jumped up. ‘You’re brilliant, Nella! You must have noticed this massive crush she’s got on Napier, God knows why, he’s miles older than she is.’ She smiled a little defensively. ‘OK, OK, I know I’m hardly one to talk, but Napier’s both older and stuffy to boot - and you certainly can’t call Tom stuffy. But Venetia’s always thought he’s absolutely marvellous. He was very kind to her after her mother died, and she’s never got over looking at him through rose-tinted spectacles. She even thinks he’s one of the best-looking men she’s ever met.’ Goodness. Either Venetia hadn’t met many good-looking men, which seemed highly unlikely, or those rose-tinted spectacles had very thick lenses indeed. ‘Even if he only needed someone to help run his bath, she’d have gone haring over there without a second thought to show him how to do it; it wouldn’t occur to her to let anyone else know or watch out for poor innocent souls on their mopeds like Alain.’
‘But if she’s just gone over there to hold Napier’s hand, why would she have taken the picture with her?’ I asked.
Janey shrugged. ‘Beats me, but then a lot about Venetia does. We’ll just have to ask her and find out.’ She dug the telephone out from under a heap of papers and began to punch out numbers, talking to me over her shoulder as she did so. ‘I’d better get hold of her before Tom comes back; given the mood he’s in, if he speaks to her, the lines are liable to melt.’
She stuck her thumb in the air in triumph as the telephone was answered. ‘Venetia! Glad to have tracked you down... You were about to ring us?... No, we didn’t find your note, w
here did you leave it?... In your father’s study? But he hasn’t been in there yet. Things have been at sixes and sevens this morning,’ she said with masterly understatement. ‘You didn’t think it would have been fair to tell Rob as well, before you left...? Oh I see... you didn’t know how long you were going to stay... at least today ... yes, I suppose he might understand, I wouldn’t bank on it though, because you’ve rather let him down, haven’t you? I understand that Napier needs someone to help him entertain these wine buyers but...’
Janey held the telephone slightly away from her ear as Venetia rambled on, her words reaching me where I was sitting as a mere vague tinny squeaking. At last she must have stopped to draw breath for Janey cut in quickly with, ‘Yes, your father does want the farm car back. That’s why it’s called the farm car, because it’s used on the farm... No, I don’t think he’ll feel like sending someone over to pick it up this afternoon... Can’t you bring it back yourself?... No, Venetia, given that you’ve apparently just jilted him for Napier I doubt Rob will feel like ferrying over your clothes... It isn’t like that? Really?... Of course I’m not passing judgement,’ she said as Venetia’s voice rose high in indignation. ‘I think it’s very kind of you to help Napier this way, but Rob might see it differently...’ She looked up, eyes wide with alarm at the sound of voices along the corridor.
‘What might I see differently?’ asked Robert as he appeared in the doorway, looking rather tired and fed up. Tom, his face still set like thunder, was hard on his heels.
I made urgent shushing noises as Janey spun around, dropping her voice and cradling the telephone into her shoulder, and before either he or Tom could start asking exactly what was going on, I said loudly to mask Janey’s voice, ‘Would you both like some coffee? I’ve just made it. I’m sure you haven’t had time for one so far. I’m so sorry about the picture, Tom, it must be such a shock for you. Here, have a biscuit.’
Tom took one, looking bemused to find me acting as hostess in his own kitchen, and ate it while I deliberately burbled away, clattered mugs and rattled milk jugs. ‘Just what are you up to?’ Robert asked quietly from behind me as I was reaching for the spoons. I jumped and dropped them on the floor.
‘Keep your voice down,’ I hissed. ‘Janey’s talking to Venetia and doesn’t want Tom to know yet.’
She wouldn’t have wanted Robert to know either, I realised a little too late as he stiffened. He had every reason to be livid with Venetia too. ‘So that’s why you popped up here, to tell us where she’d gone?’ he asked in an icy voice.
‘No. It was just a lucky guess,’ I protested, but judging from the way his eyes were fixed on my face he had more than a fleeting suspicion that I was in this, right up to the neck.
In the sudden silence Janey’s voice came over clear as a bell. ‘Before you go, there’s something I wanted to ask you.’ She glanced uncertainly at Tom, took a deep breath and said rapidly, ‘Um, can you give the picture back?... What picture? The Willard Sydney, of course. I know you feel you have a right to it, but this isn’t the way...’
Venetia’s indignant squawk reverberated all around the kitchen. Janey listened for a few seconds, then Tom snatched the telephone from her. She looked at Robert and me and said flatly, ‘She hasn’t got it.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘Of course, I’m pleased that she didn’t steal it, but in a way I can’t help wishing it had been her. It would have been such a relief to get it back so easily.’
‘You’re sure she doesn’t have it?’ Robert asked gently.
‘Positive,’ she replied. ‘She’s not a good enough actress to have faked that amount of outrage about Tom’s carelessness in allowing it to be stolen.’
‘I hope she’s thought better of actually saying that to Tom,’ Robert observed. ‘Apparently not,’ he added as Tom’s face grew red with fury and his speech began to be punctuated by a series of intemperate, ‘Look here’, ‘my girl’s and ‘Don’t you speak to me like that’s. We silently removed ourselves to the terrace out of earshot.
‘Did she see the picture when she was leaving this morning?’ Robert asked as we sat down. ‘It could help us pinpoint when it was taken.’
‘I expect she went out the back like we normally do,’ Janey said, ‘so she wouldn’t have passed it.’
‘So where is she? Vielleroche?’ It was impossible to tell from his voice whether he was deeply hurt or not, though a certain rigidity about his posture suggested he was feeling distinctly sniffy, and who could blame him? Perhaps that explained why he was apparently more concerned about locating the picture than his girlfriend. ‘Has she given any indication of how long she’s intending to administer succour to Napier?’
‘She says she only went over for a couple of hours to see what she could do this morning, but things are at such sixes and sevens that she promised to stay there for at least two days to help him entertain some wine buyers who are arriving today.’ She bit her lip, looking deeply embarrassed, and said in a rush, ‘I’m so sorry, Rob, it’s too bad of her. I can’t believe she means anything by it. I’m sure that as far as she’s concerned she’s just helping out an old friend who’s in trouble, and there’s nothing more to it than that. It won’t have occurred to her how it might seem to you ...’
Her voice died away as a deeply sceptical expression settled on Robert’s face and he said, ‘I think what you mean, Janey, is that she didn’t care how it might seem to me.’
There was a long silence until Tom stepped out through the French windows. His mouth was set in a straight line, and he was in an even worse mood than before he’d had his conversation with his daughter. ‘The police will be here in about half an hour,’ he said, giving me a hostile look. I got up immediately, saying that I wouldn’t hang around getting under their feet and that I’d be on my way. I scuttled off feeling relieved to have escaped so easily. Tom looked as if he was quite prepared to take out his blistering rage on everyone around him. Was about to, in fact, if the look of loathing he gave Robert was anything to go by.
No one believed me at first when I got back to the cottage and told them all about the theft. Oscar accused me of having DT’s, and Phil asked sceptically how anyone had managed to get past the dogs. Sally and Maggie were far more interested in what Venetia thought she was doing than in a missing picture, and began to speculate wildly whether Venetia had been concealing a torrid affair with Napier all this time. This flight of fancy fell to earth when they tried to imagine Napier being torrid, so the two girls moved to sympathising with Robert’s heartbreak. Everyone looked pleasurably excited when I told them that Janey had said we might have to give statements as we’d all been at the château last night. This led to a discussion of how you made a statement in a foreign language and wondering whether the gendarme interviewing us was going to look like Alain Delon.
‘Probably more like Peter Sellers in The Pink Panther,’ said Charlie.
None of them were right. Neither of the two gendarmes who turned up in their blue Renault would have been given a part in any film, though the older fatter one, with the tummy bulging at the waistline, might have been considered as an extra playing the universal father type. His sidekick, a youth who looked as if he had only just started shaving, must have been brought along just to gain some experience on the job, for all he seemed to do was chew a pencil, look vacant and nod authoritatively when his senior made a pronouncement.
Not that either of them actually did much. The older one took our names and addresses and said that two detectives from the art squad were coming out from Bordeaux to take charge of the case. We were to present ourselves at three o’clock sharp at the local police station to be interviewed.
‘You aren’t accusing one of us of stealing the picture, are you?’ asked Sally in a nervous voice.
Charlie put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. ‘Don’t be silly, ’course he isn’t!’
Judging from the look on the gendarme’s face, it was a distinct possibility.
Phil, who was sti
ll at that stage where a ride in a car was going to be absolute torture, protested weakly that it wouldn’t be very convenient to go to the police station and couldn’t our statements be taken here in the cottage.
‘That is not the procedure in France, monsieur,’ the older gendarme said in a severe voice, suddenly seeming a lot less avuncular. It might have been my imagination that he deliberately rested his hand on his hip to draw attention to the holster hanging from his belt, but certainly it dawned on us all simultaneously that it wasn’t being used for his sandwiches but for a large revolver.
Phil swallowed hard and said in a strangled voice that he’d be delighted to follow French procedures. I had the impression that the junior who had been patently bored by the general lack of action felt a certain amount of regret that Phil had capitulated so easily.
‘Good,’ said the senior man, unsmiling. ‘At three o’clock. Do not be late.’
The gendarmerie was an austere, box-shaped affair with barred windows. Oscar, as the one who spoke the best French and was therefore the least likely to annoy the guardians of the law by an execrable accent, had been elected to go and say we’d arrived as ordered. The gendarme at the front desk raised his head slowly from the list he was studying and looked at him with a deadpan expression while Oscar’s self-confidence began to leak out of him. The gendarme waited until it was in a puddle on the floor before he finally gestured with his head and said we were to go through that door there and wait until we were called.
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