by Leah Hope
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m just popping into the village to get a few things we’ve run out of, do you want anything?” Bridget shouted up the stairs to Gil the next morning.
“Just a paper, if there’s any left,” came the reply from the bedroom.
Bridget knew it had been a bad idea for him to drink cognac in the middle of the day when he wasn’t used to it. The headache that started yesterday was only just beginning to fade. Bridget had insisted that he stayed in bed until he had fully recovered and had taken him up a cup of tea and a slice of toast together with a couple of extra strong paracetamol. Gil was grateful for the attention but little did he know that Bridget’s real reason for insisting that he stay in bed had more to do with the fact that he was the epitome of a bear with a sore head whenever he was under the weather, rather than for any concern she had over his wellbeing.
“Ok, I’ll see you later, I won’t be long,” she shouted back.
Bridget went to the bar-tabac for Gil’s newspaper and to the boulangerie to get some bread for lunch. She needed eggs too but she couldn’t face the thought of looking Tony and Heather in the eye at Best of British so went to the mini-market instead. They’re not organic but at least they’re free-range, she thought to herself as she popped half a dozen into her basket. Her next stop was at the fruit and vegetable shop owned by Jean-Paul Janot. Bridget hadn’t visited the shop since the murder and she felt almost ghoulish as she put her basket down at the till. She had no doubt that the pale, drawn woman ringing up her purchases was Madame Janot. Bridget was struck by how simply awful the woman looked. Heaven knows how hard it must be for her to have to face people every day. I wonder who’s suffering most, her or Madame Sellier, she thought.
Having finished her shopping, Bridget glanced over to Chez Mimi, which looked unusually quiet for mid-morning. She headed across the square deciding that she had earned a coffee and a quick glance at the paper before heading back home. Besides, she thought, the longer I leave it, the more chance there is that Gil’s hangover, and his mood, will have lifted. She sat down at one of the little tables outside, near to the door, and ordered a grand crème. She was the only customer outside and was grateful for the lack of the usual hubbub of lively chatter so that she could enjoy a quiet read. She picked up the paper and began thumbing through the pages for any news of the murder. However, much to her annoyance, she discovered that page after page had been given over to the latest episode in the on-off love-life of a fading soap-star and a premier league footballer. There were grainy pictures of “the couple” leaving a nightclub, rather the worse for wear, and of their newly built mansion in Surrey. Bridget thought it looked more like a medical centre, albeit a medical centre complete with swimming pool complex and stables. The final photographs in the spread were of the soap-star sobbing as she left a supermarket, looking decidedly unlike her usual glamorous public persona. The captions underneath speculated that her “love-rat beau” had been “up to his old dirty tricks again” and encouraged her to “dump him once and for all Lindy.” Well if that’s love, you can keep it! Bridget thought as she idly flicked idly through the rest of the pages.
While she had been reading, she had been partially distracted by a French couple who were seated just inside the café and who were deep in conversation. Although Bridget had only glimpsed the tops of their heads as she had taken her seat, she couldn’t help noticing that their heads were bent so close together that they were almost touching. Now that’s what real love should be like she thought, allowing herself to be carried away rather fancifully. Romantic trysts, heads locked together in secrets only the two of them share, not this nonsense played out in public for the ghoulish press. She sipped her coffee, broke the little cinnamon-flavoured accompanying biscuit in half before putting it into her mouth and returned to her newspaper, beginning to despair of finding any real news in it at all. And then it struck her. I know one of those voices, but where on earth from, she thought. She was tempted to stand up to peer inside but decided that she didn’t want to appear to be a nosey-parker. Besides, if the voice didn’t belong to anyone she knew, she would look rather foolish. Shaking her head, she finished her coffee and fished in her purse for the right coins, which she placed on the little silver tray on which the waiter had placed her bill. Still racking her brains to place the voice, she stood up and collected her shopping bags together. But there’s something wrong, she thought, and I don’t know why. Never mind, it’ll come to me.
Bridget hadn’t noticed that there had been another customer in the café, seated at one of the tables reserved for diners and therefore hidden from the rest of the room by a wooden partition. The customer got up to pay the bill at the bar and paused briefly next to the couple. Unlike Bridget however, this customer knew exactly what was wrong.
Chapter Seventeen
Gil and Bridget were woken at half past eight the following morning by a loud knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Gil shouted on the landing outside Bridget’s bedroom door, but there was no response. He ran downstairs and threw open the front door to find Tony and Heather standing on the doorstep.
“Sorry, hope we didn’t wake you, but thought we’d call in on our way to open the shop. We are having a bit of a barbecue tonight and wondered if you wanted to come, nothing too fancy but it’s Heather’s birthday so we thought we should do something. But just say if you’ve got something else on,” said Tony.
“No, I don’t think we have, we’d love to come, sorry, many happy returns Heather, will anyone else be there?” asked Gil.
“No, it’ll just be the four of us. Max and Genevieve flew home yesterday and Doug and Helen decided to go with them for a few days, I think Helen wants to do a bit of shopping in London, lucky thing,” said Heather.
“What time do you want us?” asked Gil.
“Just pop over when you smell the sausages burning,” said Tony, laughing.
“You’re really selling, this aren’t you?” Heather said to her husband.
“We’ll be there, don’t worry, burnt sausages are a speciality of mine too,” said Gil.
“Good man, sorry, can’t stop, we’re a bit late opening up this morning, see you both later then,” said Tony.
Gil heard Bridget in the shower as he closed the front door and immediately knew that he should have checked with her before accepting the invitation. He would probably need some brownie points so he hurriedly put on a pot of coffee and ran as fast as he could to the village for fresh bread and two of Bridget’s favourite pain aux raisins. Bridget was still upstairs when he got back and he could hear the sound of her hairdryer. Just time to lay the table outside, he thought to himself.
“I’m out here,” Gil shouted from the terrace when he heard Bridget come down stairs, “breakfast’s ready.”
“This looks lovely,” said Bridget, helping herself to freshly squeezed orange juice, “to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“Well if you’re going to be sarcy, I won’t do it again!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s a really nice surprise.”
Gil decided to wait until they had finished eating before plucking up the courage to tell Bridget about the barbecue. He knew she still felt uncomfortable about going to the police with Sultan’s “find” in Tony and Heather’s garden.
“Well I don’t see what else you could have done, especially as it’s Heather’s birthday, you could hardly have turned them down,” said Bridget helping herself to some more coffee.
“You never cease to amaze me,” said Gil clearly relieved, “I thought you’d be livid, I know how you feel about facing them, I was really worried how you’d react.”
“So, that’s what breakfast was all about?” said Bridget throwing a tea towel at her brother. “You can jolly well wash up as well, Gil Honeyman!”
Gil had just finished clearing up when there was another knock at the door, This time Bridget answered it. On the doorstep was the Gendarm
e who had driven them to Chateau-Clermont to make their statement.
“Entrez s’il vous plait,” said Bridget, waving him inside and hoping that the officer wouldn’t expect her to conduct the entire conversation in French. She indicated to him to sit down on one of the sofas.
“Merci Madame, but I think it will be better for you if I speak to you in English.”
Bridget’s sigh of relief was almost audible.
“But you will forgive me if my English is not so good, but I will do my best.”
“I’m sure it’s better than our French,” said Gil, as he joined Bridget on the other sofa.
“I have come to tell you that we have shown to Madame Sellier the watch that you have found. She look at the watch but she tell us that it is not the watch of her husband.”
“Not her husband’s watch, is she sure?” said Gil in astonishment.
“Yes, she is very sure. Five years ago she give her husband a Rolex watch for his birthday and she have the er, er writing put on it, sorry I do not know the right word…”
“Engraving?” asked Bridget.
“Yes, thank you Madame, Madame Sellier have the engraving put on the back of the watch. You will know that the watch you have found has no engraving on it.”
“Well whose watch is it then?” Gil asked.
“That we do not know Monsieur. We will keep it for now and perhaps one day we will find the owner.” Standing up, the officer continued, “I would like to thank you very much for bringing the watch to us.”
“No problem, we’re just sorry we couldn’t help with the investigation,” said Gil. For a split second, Gil thought about asking how the enquiries were going but decided against it. “I hope you find the killer soon,” he said instead.
“Yes, we all want that Monsieur,” and with that the officer took his leave.
“Well that’s a turn up,” said Gil as he watched the officer get into his patrol car. “If it’s not Sellier’s watch, then whose on earth is it? I mean, just how many lost Rolex’s can there be in one small place?”
“Who knows, I’m so disappointed it’s not the Mayor’s watch. I really wanted to feel that we’d helped in some way. I don’t very much care who it belongs to now.”
“But at least it means that Tony and Heather are in the clear.”
“Yes, that’s such a relief, at least we can look them in the eye now!”
“Do you know,” said Bridget, “I think I’m going to enjoy this evening after all, but there’s one thing I need to do.”
“What’s that?” Gil asked.
“Make a birthday cake of course!”
*
Gil popped his head out of the front window at six thirty and looked in the direction of Tony and Heather’s garden. “I can see white smoke,” he said to Bridget, “come on, grub should be up very soon!”
Bridget took a bottle of champagne out of the fridge and gave it to Gil to carry while she carefully picked up the layered pink and white confection she had spent all afternoon making.
“I hope she’ll like it,” said Bridget, who, after years of making the most exquisite cakes and pastries, was still anxious about how they would turn out.
“She’ll love it,” said Gil.
“Happy birthday Heather,” said Bridget kissing Heather on both cheeks as the birthday girl opened the door to her guests. “I’m sorry we didn’t know it was your birthday so we didn’t have time to get you a present, but I made you a cake instead. I hope it’ll be alright.”
“I don’t know what to say” said Heather, tears welling up in her eyes. “I haven’t had a birthday cake since I was a kid. It looks absolutely gorgeous. Thank you so much Bridget.”
“Happy birthday, we brought something you two might want to save for yourselves later,” said Gil, handing Heather the bottle of champagne.
“Shall I put it in the fridge for later darling?” Tony said, looking up from the steaks he was prodding on the barbecue.
“You must be joking” said Heather, “I want to try it now, could you open the bottle for me please Gil while I get some champagne glasses.”
Heather returned with the glasses to the sound of the cork being popped and was forced to stand, somewhat embarrassed, as Gil, Bridget and Tony sang, very badly, ‘Happy birthday to you’. Afterwards, Tony raised his glass towards Heather.
“I would like to wish my beautiful wife a very happy birthday, and here’s hoping that this time next year, we’ll have turned the corner and I’ll be whisking her away for a weekend in Paris.”
“I don’t need Paris,” Heather whispered, “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
This time, it was Bridget’s turn to wipe a tear from her eye.
“Come on then,” said Tony, lightening the mood, “let’s sit down, the steaks are ready and I’ve made enough potato wedges and coleslaw for an army, so tuck in.”
“That was absolutely delicious, wasn’t it Gil?” Bridget said as Tony cleared away four empty plates half an hour later. “I don’t think I’ll need to eat for a week!”
“Well I hope you’ve left room for some cake, I know I have!” said Heather.
“I don’t know where you put it” Tony teased but inwardly he was delighted to see his wife eat more heartily than she had done for a long time. “Now you all sit there while I clear up and put the coffee on. By then we should be able to do that scrumptious looking cake justice.”
Tony returned half an hour later with a pot of coffee and the birthday cake on a tray.
“Do you want to do the honours?” he asked Heather, handing her a cake slice.
“I think I’m a bit squiffy to cut very straight, would you mind please Bridget?” Heather replied, slightly slurring her words.
“Not at all dear,” said Bridget taking the cake slice from Tony.
“Just a huge portion for me please Bridget,” said Tony holding out his plate.
“And you had the nerve to accuse me of being greedy!” said Heather, laughing.
Suddenly the smile on Tony’s face faded as it suddenly struck him that he couldn’t remember when his wife had last laughed out loud. Let’s hope next year really will be different, he thought to himself.
Tony had just served coffee and liqueurs when all of a sudden something large and brown came bounding out of the semi-darkness, nearly knocking him over.
“Go home Sultan!” Tony shouted, leaping up and waving his arms about wildly.
“Oh, I see you know him too,” said Gil.
“Afraid so,” Tony said, “he’s a lovely dog but he’s got this awful habit of burying things and then digging them up again, so we try not to encourage him. He’s from the farm up the lane so with any luck he’ll go on home if we ignore him.”
Gil looked at Bridget and raised his eyebrows, which Bridget took to mean that he thought they should tell Tony and Heather the story of the watch and their trip to the Gendarmerie. Bridget nodded in agreement. After all, Tony knew about Sultan’s habit of burying stuff and then digging it up again, so what harm could it do. Besides, Bridget had hated keeping their find from her neighbours and welcomed the opportunity to ‘come clean’. She was relieved however that Gil glossed over her two clandestine visits to Tony and Heather’s garden. He simply said that they had no idea where the watch could have come from, which was almost true.
“So it wasn’t Bernard Sellier’s watch after all?” said Heather. “That’s such a shame as I’m sure it would have held vital information, you know, fingerprints or DNA or something. What’s happened to the watch now, did the police give it back to you, is it a case of finders keepers?”
“Sadly not,” said Bridget, “the police have kept it for now in case someone comes to claim it. It looked as if it was quite an expensive watch so you would think someone would be missing it. But what puzzles me is why bury it at all? Whoever owns it will certainly have some explaining to do when they go to reclaim it.”
“More drinks anyone?” said Tony, suddenly jumping up.
> “Not for me thanks,” said Gil.
“Nor me,” said Bridget, “we’ve had a wonderful time but you two have to be up early in the morning so we’d better be going. Thank you both for a lovely evening. It really must be our turn next, we’re thinking of doing something at the weekend aren’t we Gil, so hopefully Doug and Helen will be back then, are you both free?”
“Glad you both enjoyed it, and thanks Bridget for the scrummy cake. I think we are free at the weekend aren’t we Tony?” said Heather.
Tony nodded silently.
“That’s a date then,” said Gil, “I’m sure we’ll see you around before then so we’ll let you know what time to pop round.”
After Gil and Bridget left, Heather turned to Tony, “Thank you for a wonderful birthday. I’ve really enjoyed this evening, and it was so kind of Bridget to make that cake, it must have taken her all afternoon. Do you know, I almost forgot about our troubles for a few hours.”
Heather leaned back in her seat, looking up at the stars and drinking in the last few minutes of what, for her, had been a truly magical evening. Thankfully the shadows hid the look of utter despair on Tony’s face and the tears that were now coursing freely down his face.
Chapter Eighteen
Since Gil and Bridget both slept in until nine thirty the following morning, they decided to treat themselves to breakfast at the Mirabeau. As they neared the square, they noticed that there were Gendarmes all over the place.
“What do you think’s going on?” Bridget said to Gil.
