A Rather Charming Invitation

by C. A. Belmond

  “It is, come to that,” Jeremy agreed. I told him about Erik and Tim’s little past transgressions.

  “So it would appear that whenever you put anybody under a microscope, even the innocent look flawed,” Jeremy said.

  “Like gems,” I said. “Everybody’s ‘Very Slightly Included’,” I joked, thinking of the diamond and gemstone clarity ratings for flaws.

  But then I reflected on this more soberly, thinking of one nagging question Monsieur Felix had asked. Was there any public announcement that the tapestry would be in this house? Who, beyond your guests and servants, knew that you were bringing it here?

  And the answer, of course, was, nobody. Not another soul knew that we were transporting the tapestry here. Just Celeste, the gardener . . . and my relatives and friends.

  That afternoon, the phone rang again.

  “Penny!” Honorine cried in great distress. “That man who works for you, do you know what he’s been up to? He’s going around poking his big nose in everybody’s business! He’s checked into bank records, taxes, everything. He’s even been to visit poor Tante Venetia. She says he nearly scared her half to death, showing up on her doorstep and asking all sorts of questions!”

  “Oh, dear. Could you just explain to her that he’s simply trying to collect as much information as possible about the tapestry, in order to figure out every angle?” I explained apologetically.

  “He has too many angles!” Honorine exclaimed. “It is too personal. Please tell him to stop, it is quite indiscreet.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said hastily, ringing off.

  I told this to Jeremy, and he muttered, “All right, we’d better give Felix a call. But I’m not the least bit surprised that he felt he had to check out the owner’s family.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “You mean you knew he’d do this?” I demanded.

  “No, of course not,” Jeremy said. “He probably just wants to make sure they’re not scamming.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

  “In case they ‘arranged’ the theft, and are now trying to collect on the insurance,” he explained.

  I paused. “What?” said Jeremy, observing my expression.

  “Nothing,” I muttered.

  “Spill it,” Jeremy advised.

  “I don’t want to tell Monsieur Felix,” I said, flushed with guilt. “Because I could be wrong. I wish I didn’t even know.”

  Jeremy had to prod me again before I finally told him that I believed I’d overheard Leonora, only a few weeks ago, upping the insurance premium on the tapestry. “But I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” I said stoutly. “She got all excited, thinking that I might find out it was worth more, that’s all. And it’s a good thing she did increase the premium, too, because while nothing can compensate them for the sentimental value of the tapestry, at least they’re not out of luck completely.”

  Jeremy said, “Yes, well, let’s hope they didn’t just decide they wanted money and a tapestry.”

  I was still shocked by that suggestion. “Leonora would never do that!” I exclaimed, but as soon as I said it I thought guiltily, Would she? I rapidly went over all her words and gestures of late, and I saw how easy it was to construe them this way, once cast in the ugly green glare of suspicion.

  “When people get desperate enough, they do unwise things,” Jeremy said gently. “You did say that Leonora has been wanting to sell that tapestry for years, but Philippe wouldn’t permit it.”

  For the first time, I felt truly irritated with Oncle Philippe. Why was he so willing to allow his beloved daughter to be married off into a loveless union with that boy Charles, just to protect his business interests, before he’d even think of selling that precious tapestry? And now, he may have caused his wife to take an extremely foolish risk.

  “I may as well tell you,” Jeremy said, “I did notice that Honorine has been acting a little funny, so I asked her if she told any of her friends about the tapestry.”

  “You didn’t!” I exclaimed.

  “Hang on! For weeks she’s been skulking about with her mobile phone clapped to her ear, and every time I walk into the room, she quickly signs off. Very guiltily, it would seem,” Jeremy explained. “I wouldn’t have made an issue of it, but when this happened, I had to ask her, right to her face.”

  “Good God,” I said. “Girls are always skulking around talking to their friends on the telephone. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Well, she insists she told no one about the tapestry,” Jeremy said. “I believe her. I guess.”

  “Oh, stop it!” I cried. “We can’t go around squinting suspiciously at everybody we know.”

  “All right,” Jeremy said. “I’ll ask Monsieur Felix to give us an update on what he’s got.”

  Monsieur Felix responded to the call by saying that he had planned to stop by anyway. He arrived in a battered black Renault. Once inside, he accepted the coffee I offered him, then consulted a long, old-fashioned notepad where he’d collected his facts.

  “I know that we have ruffled some feathers with your family,” he said, nodding to me, yet without looking the least bit apologetic. “But, I assure you it was necessary. A mere formality, but we could not proceed without it. I thought you would wish to hear what I know.”

  I saw him eyeing the croissants on the table rather hungrily, so I gestured toward them. He smiled, slightly embarrassed at being caught, then nodded appreciatively and picked up one in his big paw, wolfing it down in two or three bites, almost furtively, and following it with quick, deep gulps of coffee. I noted sympathetically that he was clearly a man who functioned “on the go”. I could picture him on a stakeout with his meals confined to a brown-bag, Hoover-it-in-quick status.

  “Go on,” Jeremy said to him.

  “I will begin with the person who appears the least suspicious,” Monsieur Felix said. “This ballet woman in Paris. Venetia. She has plenty of money in the bank, and no debts. I cannot find a single thing to link her to any such theft, since she is not the owner of the tapestry, and in fact gave it away, so there does not appear to be a sentimental value that would drive her to such an act. Shall I continue?”

  “Please do,” said Jeremy.

  Monsieur Felix went on to confirm that David and Philippe were in important negotiations for a merger of their perfume company with Charles’ father’s big pharmaceutical business. “Philippe wants his family to retain control of the management of the perfume company, so, naturally, he and his son David would not wish for their family’s difficult financial situation to be brought to light.”

  “Is it very bad?” Jeremy asked quietly.

  “Oh, not so different from others like him,” Monsieur Felix said. “Cash-flow problems. However, their personal finances are also quite tight.” He flipped a page over and said, “For instance, the son.” He went on to explain that, as it turned out, the solid, upright David had made some high- risk investments that tanked, and forced him to “borrow” company money to cover the losses. He, er, just recently repaid it, depleting his personal savings. His wife Auguste did not know this . . . until now.

  “Holy cow,” I said, awed.

  “One has to consider that he might have ‘arranged’ the disappearance of the tapestry, as a way to sell it against his father’s wishes,” Monsieur Felix explained. “As for Madame Leonora, apparently she had already raised the value of the insurance premium. This may be significant. It may not.”

  I was just relieved that he’d found this out on his own, and I didn’t have to “rat out” my own relative. He consulted his pad again. “There remain the other dinner guests at the château on the night when you say you were first shown the tapestry, and Madame Leonora offered you the loan of it for your wedding day.”

  As he reeled them off, my mind flashed back to that lovely weekend at Honorine’s house, when her family arranged that special dinner to introduce us to their friends and neighbors. The mayor, the general, the professor, and all
their wives . . . surely not. Although, that professor has come very close to the tapestry to examine it, as if he knew its value. At this thought, I began to wriggle again worriedly. I didn’t want to finger anyone. This was a terrible job when it involved people you knew.

  “I cannot say that there is any evidence against any of these individuals,” said Monsieur Felix. “Nor anybody’s servants, whom the police have thoroughly investigated. But I felt you would want a full accounting, in case what I have uncovered reminds you of something you would wish me to know. No one looks likely. But, for every thief, there is always a first time.”

  “Yes, of course, go on,” Jeremy said, a little impatiently now, as if he wished to be done with it.

  “Well, your English guests have their problems, too,” Monsieur Felix said bluntly.

  There was a long pause as Jeremy eyed him indignantly. I just stared at Jeremy as if to say, Huh, how do you like having YOUR family investigated, eh? Jeremy caught my look, and allowed a wry smile.

  “Your Uncle Giles is a man with many household expenses,” Monsieur Felix said, “which are normal enough—except that a real estate portfolio he owns has sharply decreased in value, so he has quite a bit of negative equity; and, of late, he’s had to borrow a substantial amount to cover this.”

  “Good God,” Jeremy said, looking truly surprised. I was, too, even though I knew that many families went into debt trying to keep up with the Joneses. Nobody was more conscious of suburban status symbols than Giles and Amelia, but evidently it was a complicated matter.

  “And then of course there is your grandmother’s decorator,” said Monsieur Felix. “Hilary once had a client who accused him of selling fake antiques. Took him to court but failed to prove it.” Monsieur Felix wetted the tip of his finger on his tongue, in order to turn the next page.

  “Now, about this man Rollo,” he said. “I did not see his name on the Inspector’s report. He was at the villa when you decorated it, you say. Yet, he did not stay over that night, or return to the villa the next day, when you discovered the theft. Instead, he flew home to London that very evening?”

  “Correct,” Jeremy said shortly. I knew what he was thinking. The night of the theft, Rollo didn’t even stay in his usual Riviera hotel. Didn’t even stop to gamble at the casino, or flirt with the girls at the clubs. He e-mailed me to tell me he went straight back to London, knowing that I’d be pleased that he was doing as I asked and staying out of trouble.

  I now pictured him, back home with his mum, Great-Aunt Dorothy, who, of all these people, I trusted the least. Dorothy still feels that somehow Jeremy and I had gotten more than our fair share of Great-Aunt Penelope’s inheritance . . . simply because Dorothy can’t bear to think of anyone else having money that she and Rollo might have gotten their hands on first. She never does her own dirty work, either. If she couldn’t get lawyers to do whatever she wanted, the odds were that she’d assign it to Rollo. Yes, she could have pressured him to steal the tapestry to cover his ever-recurring gambling debts.

  Still, I didn’t believe that Rollo did it . . . not really . . . simply out of sheer practicality. Rollo likes to travel light. A great big tapestry wasn’t his style. Unless . . . he was in cahoots with some pro who’d done the deed, sold it to a greedy collector, and given him a cut of the action . . .

  Jeremy must have been pondering just that, because we’d both fallen silent. Monsieur Felix said rather alertly, “Is there something you wish to tell me about this man?”

  “Only that a file on Rollo could end up being hundreds of pages,” Jeremy said dryly.

  “It very nearly is,” Monsieur Felix said, with a shadow of a smile. “Various brushes with the law, but very petty incidents. A few unsavory connections. Yet, he does not strike me as a mastermind.”

  “No,” Jeremy agreed. “And he’s rather fond of Penny. I don’t see this as one of his operations.”

  “En fin, there is this person who sells the clocks,” Monsieur Felix said, about Aunt Sheila’s beau.

  “Yes?” Jeremy looked up sharply, a bit too ready, I thought, to hear something damning about Guy Ansley.

  “It seems he once had a business partner who sued him for not properly distributing the profits,” Felix said bluntly. “They settled out of court. This proves nothing, really.” He closed his notebook. “That is the entire extent of it—except, of course, that we must note that Guy Ansley deals in antiques, and has a demanding clientele.”

  I said dolefully, “Monsieur Felix, if you keep this up, nobody will want to come to my wedding.”

  He gave me a glance of sympathy. “Oui, je comprends,” he said. “It had to be done. So, we continue to search for the thief. And now, the real work begins.”

  In the late afternoon, Aunt Sheila stopped by before she left for London. She accepted the cup of tea I offered her. Guy was waiting back at the hotel, at her request, she said. At first, this struck me as odd, until she got around to telling us why she’d really come.

  “So sorry to disturb,” she said, “but, well, all this investigating has gotten Margery upset.”

  Oh, hell, I thought wearily. I was getting a little fed up with Margery and her high-handed attitude. This wasn’t, after all, her drama.

  “What’s up?” Jeremy asked, sounding a bit irritated, too.

  “Well, darling, it’s like this,” Aunt Sheila drawled, her green eyes bright with surprise. “Your grandmother doesn’t want an investigation of our family to go any further, because she’s petrified that that little man of yours will turn up something she really doesn’t want put out there for public consumption. At first she merely hinted at it, and I couldn’t imagine what this could be, until finally she told me something that happened to her, many years ago, which, quite frankly, I was gobsmacked by.”

  There was a silence. What could Margery possibly have done? Robbed a bank in her youth? Stolen a pearl necklace from a sorority sister? Forged a check at Harrods?

  “It seems,” Aunt Sheila said, as if she still could not quite believe it herself, “that Mum was once married to another man, before she married my dad.”

  Not only could you have heard a pin drop. You could have heard a pin drop a thousand miles away; it got that quiet. “What?” Jeremy finally said, in a low voice.

  Aunt Sheila flushed. “It’s true. When she was only seventeen, Mum was very briefly married to someone else,” Aunt Sheila repeated, still incredulous that, all these years, Margery had managed to keep it a secret from her own children and grandchildren.

  “It was a shotgun wedding, you see, to a boyfriend who’d ‘compromised’ her reputation by keeping her out late on a date,” she said delicately. “So, her family forced the man to marry her. But apparently, he thought that ought to be all that was required of him, because he sneaked out of the hotel room on their honeymoon night before they—”

  “Don’t say it,” Jeremy interrupted sharply. “Please God, don’t. I get the picture.”

  “Whew! What a bounder,” I breathed. “What became of him?”

  “He ran off to Australia; so, Mum’s father got the marriage annulled.” Aunt Sheila turned to Jeremy, and said, “Fortunately, the gossip died down before your grandfather returned from military duty. He courted Margery, they got married, and nobody ever mentioned her first brief marriage again.”

  “Well, so what? What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China, or, for that matter, the tapestry?” Jeremy said incredulously. “Why is she telling us this now?”

  “It’s nothing to do with the tapestry at all,” Aunt Sheila said calmly. “But since it’s her deepest, darkest secret, your grandmother is terrified that somehow it will all come out again.”

  I tried to picture the cool, aloof Margery, with her cigarette and her reserved attitude, and all her posh social connections, nevertheless still highly—and secretly—emotional over an event that had traumatized her so many years ago. I felt a stab of sympathy for her, finding it touching that she should think of this long-ag
o guilty secret as something so dark that it bordered on criminal.

  “Ohhh,” I said softly, temporarily forgetting about the tapestry as I comprehended something.

  “What?” Jeremy said crossly.

  “Well, that’s why your grandmother is so freaky about doing things ‘right’,” I said. “Imagine how she must feel, after causing a big scandal that made her family ashamed of her. Maybe that’s why she’s been so severe with you and your mom about—” I stopped.

  “Morality,” Aunt Sheila said dryly. “Only insofar as the perceived lack of it might stain the family’s reputation. Well, it’s true that her parents made her feel like quite the fallen woman. They saw to it that the world forgot about it, but they never let her forget it.”

  “How did you get her to tell you all this?” I asked. “Truth serum?”

  “In a way, yes. Seeing that she was over-reacting to your detective’s investigations, I knew there must be more to it. So I sat her down and she told me, over a bottle of wine,” Aunt Sheila replied, smiling because I’d guessed correctly.

  “Sorry you all had to go through this,” I offered.

  “Not your fault, darling!” Aunt Sheila replied. Jeremy shook his head in disbelief.

  “Tell Grandmother not to worry. We’ve called off the dogs, where family is concerned,” he said.

  Aunt Sheila said, “Glad to hear it. I told her I was fairly certain you’d say that, and her secret would be safe—as long as she didn’t give you and Penny any more trouble about the wedding.”

  Startled, Jeremy asked, “You mean you bullied her into cooperating with our wedding plans?”

  Aunt Sheila’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she said, “I think you’ll find your grandmother fairly cooperative now.” She rose. “Well, I must dash,” she said.

  Jeremy walked her out to the car. I sat very quietly, still reeling from it all. Apparently everyone toddles through life with guilty secrets and quiet shame, fearing that if the truth comes to light, we might not be forgiven, much less understood. While I was still pondering this, Jeremy returned and said, very soberly, “Penny, I feel terrible about the tapestry being stolen. It’s really my fault.”