“This is Angus Sterne,” said Belinda.
Evelyn exclaimed with surprise, then turned to Sterne. “If you only knew how many times I’ve told Belinda that it was absolutely unforgivable to make you drop her at Vertagne and not ask you back here so that we could thank you.”
De Matour grasped Angus’s right hand in both of his and pumped it up and down. “It’s an honour,” he said, his English good, his choice of words slightly archaic. “It is also a very great pleasure. As Evelyn says, it was a dreadful thing to do. Again and again we ask Belinda to tell us your address so that we might write and give you our thanks, but always she says she does not have it.” He turned to Belinda. “I think perhaps, that was not quite true?”
“Perhaps.”
He turned back. “How does one apologise for one’s children when one has no control over them?”
“One doesn’t try,” Belinda said. She went up to her stepfather and kissed him on the cheek. “One just continues to spoil them abominably.”
“Then the fault is really ours,” he said, with mock contrition. “But now we must change the mood and drink a welcome of thanks, even if for an Englishman the sun has not yet descended past the… What is the word?”
“Yard-arm,” said Evelyn.
“Of course: I am getting old and forget, but that is one of the privileges of old age: that and the right to a kiss on the cheek from a beautiful woman. Angus — as an old man I must surely be allowed yet one more privilege: that of calling an Englishman by his Christian name before I have known him for ten years — do you like champagne? I have a friend who each year sends me some cases of his finest champagne which I keep for special occasions.”
*
Because he had not been expected, Evelyn told Sterne, dinner was unfortunately only very simple. Simple, Sterne thought, as he started on his second helping of veal cutlets in a truffle sauce, was a word which meant different things to different people.
When they’d finished eating, Belinda and Evelyn left the dining room. De Matour crossed to the ornately inlaid sideboard and picked up a heavy silver cigar box. “It is perhaps treason for a Frenchman to observe an English custom, nevertheless I freely admit to enjoying regularly a cigar and a glass of port after dinner without female company to disturb and dilute the pleasure. Will you join me in both?”
“The port with pleasure, but not the cigar.”
De Matour carried a crystal decanter over to the table. “If I may be permitted to sit here, instead of at the end of the table? Now comes the eternal problem. In which direction does tradition dictate that I pass the port? I always forget.”
“Port’s red, the red sidelight of a ship is on the left-hand side.”
“But that requires an elderly man with a muddled mind to remember which side of a ship is the port side.” Sterne doubted that de Matour’s brain was in the slightest degree muddled.
They filled their glasses and drank. Sterne was not surprised to discover that the port was of a quality he had only once before met. De Matour lit his cigar with care, removing the band, using a cutter with finicky precision, striking a non-safety match, and holding the end of the cigar in the flame until it was sufficiently alight for him to draw on it. He leaned back in his chair. “Words, Angus, can be annoying tools. They were designed to enable us to express our feelings, but so often they fall down on their task — or is it that we have become too civilised to use them honestly? Civilisation and emotions do not make good bedfellows. Nevertheless, I will try to express to you our very deep feelings of gratitude for all that you did for Belinda. It was the act of a man of great honour.”
“Anyone else would have done the same,” said Sterne, slightly uncomfortable because of the emotional intensity with which de Matour had spoken.
“By no means.” He suddenly relaxed and chuckled. “The English really are very vulnerable to words. One has only to use them with deep sincerity and stiff upper lips shiver with embarrassment… So now let me compound that embarrassment by discussing money. My excuse is that only an uneducated Frenchman would be guilty of so criminal a faux pas. You bought Belinda some clothes and paid for her motel room. Please tell me the total cost to you so that I may repay you.”
Sterne did not make the mistake of trying to say that there was no need for repayment. He thought for a moment, then said: “As near as I can work it out, three hundred francs.”
De Matour brought out a crocodile-skin wallet from the breast pocket of his coat. He counted out three one-hundred-franc notes and passed these over. “Now, our business is concluded and I have no further reason to cause you embarrassment. So we may enjoy ourselves and when this is appropriate, refill our glasses.”
Twenty minutes later they left the dining room and went through to the sitting room. Belinda said she was feeling stifled and would Sterne join her in a walk outside?
They left via the french windows. The moon was full and they could see clearly enough to walk across the grass.
“I hope the after-dinner ritual wasn’t too ghastly?” she asked.
“Far from it.”
“Jean’s a sweetie, but he does have some odd ideas: he thinks the upper crust in England still finish every dinner with the port ritual so he religiously observes it here.”
“Aren’t you being a bit bitchy?”
She tucked her arm round his. “I’ve said it to his face and I’ve never seen a man laugh so much. He’s got a tremendous sense of humour and can always laugh at himself. That’s one of the reasons I like him so much.”
“He seems… well, a strange mixture.”
“He’s that, all right. He’s a terrible snob, but he’s never contemptuous of other people: he’s selfish, but can’t do too much for Evelyn: he’s contemptuous of weakness, but always tries to help me: I’m sure he can be hard, even cruel, yet he’s also so kind it’s incredible… The strangest thing of all is, I’ve absolutely no idea what he did before he married Evelyn. I’ve asked him point blank and he’s turned the question aside with a shrug and a smile… He’s so wealthy that I think he must have been mixed up in something tough and very illegal.”
“I expect you’ll find he was in nothing more criminal than the stock exchange.”
“Then he’d say so.”
“Some people have sufficient self-respect to keep that sort of connection to themselves.”
They walked for a while, then she came to a stop. “Angus, will you tell me something?”
“If I can.”
“What’s worrying you?”
“Who said anything was?”
“You don’t have to spell it out,” she said impatiently. “All evening while you’ve been making small talk and behaving like the perfect guest, the look’s been in your eyes. Why?”
He resumed walking and, since their arms were still linked, she perforce had to do the same.
“Are you going to tell me?” she demanded.
“I’ve been thinking that I was a fool to come here with you.”
“That… that’s a beastly thing to say.” She jerked her arm free.
“I don’t mean I regret for one second being with you.”
“Then what in the hell do you mean?”
“You’ve a home that’s a shield against the nastiness of the world. I’m scared I may turn that shield.”
“I don’t understand what on earth you’re saying.”
He told her briefly what had happened in England. “The police think you knew you were smuggling in heroin?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t they judge a man?”
“As far as they’re concerned I’m obviously capable of having known. After all, I was trying to evade the car tax.”
“For God’s sake, there’s no connection between the two.”
“There is to them.”
“What bloody stupid fools people can be.”
They came to a post-and-rail fence and she rested her arms on the top rail. “Angus, would you have tried to find me if y
ou hadn’t needed to know my initials?”
“Of course.”
She touched his arm in a brief gesture of pleasure.
From some way away, a tawny owl hooted. Their attention was caught by a nearby rustle in the grass, but the moonlight was not quite strong enough for them to see what caused it. A bulling cow blared its monotonous love-call.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what my initials are?”
“What are they?”
“Abigail Belinda Dorothy Backman. Anyone who calls me Abigail is off my visiting list for ever.”
“And Dorothy?”
“It inevitably gets shortened to Dotty and that’s too close to the truth for comfort.”
“So the registration of the car was A three numbers BDB; Any idea what the numbers were?”
“None at all.”
“The police can surely still trace the car.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
He turned and stared directly at her and he thought that the moonlight softened her face so that she became beautiful as well as attractive, but at the same time it robbed her of some character. “I’m faced with the next-to-impossible — proving a negative. So I’ve been wondering if anyone at the motel in Lençon can tell me anything that would help. I think I’ll go and find out. I know the French police questioned the staff, but it won’t have been in any depth.”
“First of all, you’ll have to visit the gorge and ask the gods for help.”
He wished he could believe it might be that easy.
*
He telephoned England just after ten o’clock.
Ralph was clearly in a state of high tension. “What’s been happening? I expected to hear from you days ago. What’s gone wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Things have just taken a long time. I’ve found Belinda and her initials are ABDB. So pass them on to the police and they’ll trace the Rover.”
“For God’s sake, start thinking. I can’t do that all the time you’re in France or they’ll put two and two together and be waiting for you when you try to return. Are you coming back tomorrow?”
“No. I’m hanging on here for a little.”
“You’re what? Angus, don’t you understand, you’re sitting on a powder keg all the time you’re there on my passport?”
“I’m not going to find the proof I need to clear me back in England, am I?”
There was a long pause. “No, you’re not,” Ralph said.
Chapter 15
After breakfast, eaten outside on the south terrace, Sterne said: “I hope you won’t mind if I pack and leave right away?”
Evelyn, surprised, even slightly put out, said: “I was expecting you to stay for at least a few days. I’ve already asked Cook to prepare a special dinner for tonight.”
“That makes it twice as difficult to go. But I’m afraid I must.”
“There’s no way in which we can persuade you to change your mind?” asked de Matour.
“I wish there were.”
“Then we’ll just have to try and do justice on your behalf to the dinner.”
“There’s still time for a change of plans,” said Evelyn. “If Angus isn’t going to be here, we’ll go back to having a simple meal.”
De Matour spoke lugubriously. “You see, Angus, how sadly your early departure affects us all. You deprive Cook of the satisfaction of preparing a superb dinner and me of the even greater satisfaction of eating it. And when you reach my age, the pleasures of the table tend to be the only ones one is able to enjoy to any degree.”
“You’re just plain greedy,” said Evelyn.
“Indeed. But what is the point in employing a superb cook if one is not greedy? Angus, you must promise to return here as soon as possible and to stay for very much longer.”
“The moment I can.” Sterne tried, and failed, to speak lightly.
De Matour looked briefly at him with sharp curiosity.
Sterne stood. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and do my bit of packing.” He left.
Evelyn turned. “Belinda, do you think…”
“Sorry, but I’m in a hurry.” She pushed back her chair. “I’d better throw something into a case because I don’t know how long we’ll be away.”
They watched her hurry into the house.
“When I was young,” remarked de Matour, “it was considered necessary to give one’s parents sufficient notice if one wished to go away. They needed time in which to decide whether they approved of one’s going.”
“Different ages, different customs.”
“Clearly. But I can’t prevent myself being envious.”
When Sterne came down the curving staircase, with its banisters of delicate wrought-iron, Evelyn and de Matour were waiting. He thanked them for their hospitality.
“No, no!” de Matour said forcefully. “It is for us to say thank you with all our hearts…”
“He knows how we feel,” interrupted Evelyn. “The trouble with you French is you will try to make a meal out of everything. Why not let some things speak for themselves.”
“Perhaps, my dear, because we do not enjoy the British love of ambiguity.”
“Nonsense… Angus, remember: you’re to come back just as soon as you can.”
“That’s a promise,” Sterne answered. “Have you any idea where Belinda is so I can say goodbye?”
“But I thought…” She looked at her husband, who shrugged his shoulders.
There were the sounds of a car and they turned to look through the window. They saw the Renault 11, driven by Belinda, brake to a halt.
“She’s brought the car round for me,” said Sterne. “Well, thanks again and goodbye.”
“Au revoir,” corrected de Matour.
They watched him leave, reach the car, and then, quite clearly, have an argument with Belinda. De Matour said: “When I was young, I may have been irresponsible, but I always knew when a young lady was accompanying me on my travels.”
*
As they drove along the busy N road, Belinda said: “What’s your plan of campaign when we get there?”
“Have a word with the manager about the couple who booked the other cabin. And if he can’t help, talk to the rest of the staff.”
“What exactly are you hoping to discover?”
He shook his head. “I’m damned if I know.”
“Then how will you be certain if you find it?”
“I don’t know that either. Bloody silly, isn’t it?”
She lit a cigarette. “Would it help if you can find someone who saw the other couple going into the garage of your cabin?”
“Only if that someone could also swear I was fast asleep and unaware of what was going on.”
“But… but there’s not much chance of that, is there?”
“No.”
“Then it’s…”
“Hopeless? Probably. But I’ll always know I’ve done everything I could. And at least I found you and through you the registration letters of the blue Rover.”
“Which as far as I can make out won’t necessarily help you.”
“From the charge of knowingly importing the heroin? No, it won’t.”
“Angus, I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but… but if the worst comes to the worst, don’t go back to England. Stay here, in France.”
“I’m afraid that would land Ralph in it, right up to his eyebrows. And how long would I be allowed to stay free? The English police would put a request through to the French police and I’d be scooped up, no trouble.”
“They wouldn’t, not if you stayed with us.”
“Your mother and Jean aren’t going to welcome a drug-smuggler on the lam.”
She spoke angrily. “They’ve both got far too much judgement to begin to believe you could ever have done something like that, knowing what you were doing.”
“They might begin by believing me. But after a while…? They’d remember the old adage — no smoke without fire.”
The
y reached the motel at a quarter past five and he parked behind a Spanish registered Seat. He was about to open his door, when she said: “Angus.”
He let go of the door-handle. “Yes?”
“What are you booking? One room or two?”
“Two, of course,” he answered, his tone sharp.
“Why?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“Only if you think I’m not worth the effort of bedding.”
“If you don’t know what I think, you’re stupid.”
“The day my last headmistress and I finally and thankfully parted, she said that if only I’d ever bothered to work I might have done quite well. So I think I must be lazy, but not stupid.”
“You’re being lazy now. Start using your brains.”
“With me, brains always come second to emotions.”
“Goddamn it, you’re not making it easy for me.”
“I’m not trying to.” She rested her left arm along the back of his seat and ran her fingers across his neck. “Why should you have everything your way?”
“Pack that in.”
“You don’t like your neck being stroked? …Oh dear, perhaps you’re gay?”
He swore.
She said, almost angrily: “You’re in trouble and you can’t see a way out of it. That’s why you’re trying to hold me at arm’s length, isn’t it? Well, who asked you to be so bloody self-sacrificing?”
“If I can’t find out anything…”
“You’ll return to England because you’re honourable and wouldn’t dream of letting your brother down.”
Presumption of Guilt Page 11
