‘That’s rather unusual.’
‘It’s a time when families come together,’ said Keedy.
‘The sergeant speaks from experience,’ said Marmion. ‘He’s due to marry my daughter next year.’
‘Congratulations!’ said the Farriers in unison.
Gwendolyn produced a small photograph from the envelope and gave it to Marmion. He examined it before passing it on to Keedy.
‘I see what you mean about him being good-looking,’ said the latter. ‘I hadn’t realised how much older he was than his bride – older and slightly shorter than she is.’
‘Vesta was always attracted to older men,’ said Gwendolyn, ‘and they were clearly delighted in each other.’
‘Where was this taken?’ asked Keedy.
‘It was at a little church in a Paris suburb.’
‘The sun was obviously shining on them.’
‘Vesta told me that that was a good omen.’
‘And so it proved,’ added her husband. ‘When she was last with us, she couldn’t stop telling us how contented they’d been, even though they spent so much time apart.’
Marmion took the photograph back from Keedy and studied it again. It looked like a conventional picture for a wedding album. Nobody else was visible. Bride and groom gazed devotedly at each other.
‘You told us that he worked for the government,’ said Marmion, ‘but you weren’t quite sure in what capacity.’
‘That’s right,’ said Farrier. ‘When it came to talking about his work, Alphonse was very self-effacing. One thing was apparent, however. He was a highly educated man and had a job commensurate with his intelligence.’
‘If he was that important, there’d have been obituaries.’
‘Vesta didn’t send any of them to us.’
‘How was she in the wake of his death?’
‘She was a lot quieter than usual.’
‘And yet she was keen to attend the Hunt Ball,’ recalled Keedy.
‘I think she saw it as a break from the tedium of being stuck in a rural backwater like this,’ said Gwendolyn. ‘We love this kind of gentle existence, but Vesta is very much an urban creature.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Farrier,’ said Marmion. ‘You and your husband have been very helpful. Could you possibly give us a few minutes so that we can take a look at these letters and cards?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘We may have more questions afterwards.’
‘Maurice and I will be happy to answer them, especially if it helps you to solve this terrible murder. Do you have any idea who the victim really is yet?’
‘Frankly, we don’t.’
‘But we will eventually,’ said Keedy.
‘We just have to be patient and then – truth will out.’
‘It always does in the end.’
Opening the first of the envelopes, he took out a letter.
Chatfield dodged most of the verbal blows aimed at him by his visitor and he deflected the rest by shifting his position slightly. Griselda Fleetwood railed at him for ten minutes before he was allowed to make an abject apology. Instead of calming her, it only set off a fresh relay of metaphorical punches. Chatfield rode them skilfully.
‘I accept all that you say, Mrs Fleetwood,’ he conceded, both palms aloft in a pacifying gesture, ‘but you are ignoring positive signs.’
‘There aren’t any, Superintendent.’
‘We now know the real name of your missing guest – Vesta Lyle. To find that name, Inspector Marmion has been driven all over the county of Berkshire. At this very moment, he is there once more in search of additional information regarding this lady.’
‘What about the murder victim?’
‘She has yet to be identified.’
‘Two whole days have passed.’
‘Two whole years have not been enough to solve some murder cases,’ he warned.
‘Two years!’ she exclaimed.
‘Evidence has to be chiselled out slowly like gold nuggets.’
‘Is that how long I’ll have to wait? Two weeks will be enough to kill off my hotel. Guests have already started to leave as if the place is filled with a nasty smell.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear it.’
‘And today’s newspapers will send even more of them scurrying for another hotel. Why don’t you do what I told you at the very start?’
‘We are continuing our scrutiny of Mr Buchanan.’
‘I want him arrested,’ she howled.
‘I’m quite sure that you’d like him hanged, drawn and quartered into the bargain,’ he said, ‘but we can’t arrest anyone unless we have firm evidence of his wrongdoing.’
‘I can give you dozens of examples, Superintendent.’
‘But will they stand up in court?’
‘They ought to – the man is evil incarnate.’
‘Our investigation has so far found that he has a good reputation as a hotelier and has won a number of awards.’
‘You don’t know how low Fraser Buchanan will stoop.’
‘We were told he sent you a bouquet of flowers out of sympathy.’
‘I had them thrown out instantly.’
‘Wasn’t that a trifle intemperate?’ asked Chatfield.
‘It was the only response he deserved. That’s why your attitude towards him is so infuriating. My husband has already been here once to complain. If we don’t get clear progress in this investigation soon, I’ll let him loose on you again.’
‘I sincerely hope that won’t be necessary.’
‘Go after Buchanan!’ she demanded, bunching a fist. ‘That’s the way to solve this case. He’s sworn to destroy the Lotus. Stop him, Superintendent, or my hotel is doomed.’
The secretary was seated at the desk with a box of envelopes. Buchanan gave her a list of addresses and a thick pile of printed letters.
‘I want these in the post as soon as possible,’ he said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It did not take long for the detectives to sift through the correspondence. The letters were uniformly short and the postcards very often had no more than a few words scribbled on them. While the correspondence was mostly in English, Vesta did lapse into French from time to time. When they’d finished the whole pile, Keedy looked up at Gwendolyn.
‘Is this all you got in almost twenty-five years?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid so. Vesta always claimed that being on the move left her little time for correspondence. As you can see, those postcards came from a variety of countries. She was a true cosmopolitan.’
‘We were rather in awe of her,’ said Farrier. ‘Compared to Vesta, we were very provincial. We’ve only been to the Continent twice and neither of us has ever bothered to learn a foreign language.’
‘My cousin could speak French and German fluently.’
‘And she’d met so many important people in the course of her work. In some countries, a high-ranking public figure would open her exhibition.’
‘What did you think of her letters, Inspector?’
‘Some of them were rather … too frank,’ said Marmion.
‘Vesta loved to shock.’
‘She certainly shocked me when I first met her,’ confessed Farrier. ‘I wasn’t used to such forthright conversation from a woman. To be quite honest, I didn’t like her at all, but she soon won me over. Anyway, I hope that reading her letters was of some help to you both.’
Keedy nodded. ‘The more we know about her, the better.’
‘What puzzles me,’ said Marmion, ‘is that there are two sides to her that don’t seem to fit together. On one side, there’s the free-thinking artist who chooses to live a life without any rules; on the other side is a practising Roman Catholic who sends you postcards that always have pictures of cathedrals on them.’
‘She revelled in that dichotomy,’ said Farrier.
‘Which one was the real Vesta Lyle?’
‘Only her husband could have told you that.’
‘When s
he was with Alphonse,’ said Gwendolyn, ‘she was always on her best behaviour. On the occasions when they were together in Paris, they went to Mass in Notre Dame every Sunday.’
‘Besides,’ added her husband, ‘art and religion are not diametrical opposites. Look at the great painters of the Renaissance. They were religious by nature and often specialised in Biblical scenes.’
‘How many of those great painters were women?’ asked Marmion.
‘That’s a good question, Inspector.’
‘None that I can think of,’ said Gwendolyn. ‘And even if there were any, they wouldn’t be anything like my cousin. She’s highly individual, which is why she had such success abroad – though not, oddly enough, over here. She’s virtually unknown in Britain.’
‘Let me switch to something else,’ suggested Marmion. ‘When she went to that Hunt Ball with you, why was she so keen to be photographed with Sir Godfrey Brice-Cadmore?’
‘We’re not sure, Inspector.’
‘She can’t have known him, surely?’
‘It’s very unlikely.’
‘Yet she bought that photo of him standing next to her.’
‘I told you that she was attracted to older men and Sir Godfrey did have a charm and nobility about him. But he might not be the reason she wanted a copy of the photograph. It also included Maurice and me. Vesta might simply have wanted it as a memento of a happy occasion.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Marmion, dubiously. ‘By the way, I have to pass on some distressing news. Sir Godfrey died yesterday in hospital.’
‘Oh dear!’ sighed Gwendolyn. ‘What a sad way to end a long and distinguished life. We only saw him once a year at the ball, but he always acknowledged us. When she was alive, Sir Godfrey and his wife were a fixture at the event.’
‘I had a long chat with him once,’ remembered Farrier. ‘It was about the joys of birdwatching. I tried to get in a word about the pleasure of dancing, but I had no chance. He talked on and on.’
‘Did he and his wife have any children?’ asked Marmion.
‘No, Inspector – neither did Alphonse and Vesta, of course.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Vesta told me that neither of them liked the idea of children,’ said Gwendolyn. ‘Looking back, it’s just as well they didn’t change their minds. Having a family would have hampered their careers.’
‘It didn’t hamper my career,’ said Farrier, complacently, ‘and we had three children. We also had a nanny, of course, and she took most of the strain. The secret is being able to organise your time.’
‘My cousin could never do that. Vesta was too chaotic.’
‘You couldn’t say that about her husband, Gwen.’
‘No,’ she agreed, ‘he gave the impression of being very much in charge of his life. Chaos versus control – their marriage was a perfect example of the attraction of opposites.’
‘Thank you,’ said Marmion, getting up. ‘We’re sorry to have intruded on your hospitality a second time. It was very kind of you to show us the letters from your cousin. We understand her a lot more now.’
‘We’ll do anything we can to help you find her.’
‘At least we now know the sort of person we’re looking for,’ said Keedy. ‘That makes a big difference.’
‘What’s happened to the hotel where she was staying?’
‘It’s in trouble, I’m afraid. Murder is bad for business.’
‘It’s not only the guests who were upset,’ said Marmion. ‘They have the choice of leaving. It’s the staff I feel sorry for. They’ll have been terrified by what happened and they have to go on working there.’
In the wake of the calamitous event at the Lotus Hotel, the manager had called the entire staff together and told them to carry on as if nothing had happened. His well-intentioned advice was much easier to hear than to put into practice. No matter how much they tried, they couldn’t forget the heinous crime that had taken place there and it was bound to affect their behaviour. Most of them were nervous, hesitant and wary. Millie Jenks remained close to hysteria.
Mindful of Lena Gosling’s comments, she made extra efforts to feel and act normally. To that end, having a fixed daily routine was an advantage. She did her duties with clockwork precision. Yet she never went near the room where the murder had occurred. During a short lull, she decided to try once again to conquer her fears. Walking down the corridor as she’d done days earlier, she got within a few yards of the room before hitting an invisible barrier. While her body turned to ice, her mind was a raging furnace of memories. They were so vivid that they made her head pound.
Unable to move in any direction, all she could do was to stand there and suffer. It was agonising. In the room just ahead of her, she’d touched a dead body and made it topple onto the carpet. All she wanted to do now was to run away but she was rooted to the floor. Millie feared that she would be stuck there in perpetuity. Her eyes lost focus, her body began to shake and the pounding in her head was unbearable. She was on the point of collapse when a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder from behind.
‘Come away,’ said Lena Gosling. ‘Try again later.’
Alice Marmion had to bide her time before she could catch her friend alone. It came when they had a break from their respective beats. Seeing Jenny Jerrold heading for the canteen, Alice intercepted her and took her aside to a quiet corner.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you told me, Jenny.’
‘You don’t need to. It’s my problem.’
‘But it’s one you can’t run away from,’ argued Alice. ‘If this person is really determined, he’ll probably have followed you home. There’s no escape there.’
‘It’s only at work I’ve had the feeling of someone watching me.’
‘Have you ever asked yourself why?’
‘No, Alice, I just have this terrible urge to get away from him.’
‘You shouldn’t let him frighten you off. What he’s doing is wrong. The obvious thing is to report him. We’re in the police, after all. Our job is to stop this kind of thing happening. For goodness’ sake,’ said Alice, ‘if a friend of yours was in this situation, you’d want to help them.’
‘Yes, I suppose I would.’
‘Then why not turn to one of us?’
‘It’s difficult to explain, Alice.’
‘Keeping it bottled up means you’ve been suffering in silence.’
Jennifer turned her head away in embarrassment and Alice was reminded of Iris Goodliffe’s plight. She, too, had kept her troubles to herself for a long time. The difference was that Iris knew who her tormentor was. In Jennifer’s case, he was anonymous. That made him more sinister and unnerving.
‘I just didn’t want anyone else to know about it,’ said Jennifer.
‘There must be a reason for that.’
‘Well, the simple truth is that … I felt ashamed.’
‘Of what, for heaven’s sake?’ asked Alice. ‘You’re not to blame, Jenny. He’s the offender here.’
‘I know but … oh, I’m beginning to wish I never told you now.’
‘You should be very grateful you did speak out, because I intend to do something about it.’
‘Don’t tell anyone else,’ begged Jennifer. ‘I couldn’t bear that.’
‘This is between you and me. Nobody else needs to be involved. Well,’ she added, ‘one other person will be involved when we find out exactly who he is and why he’s been pestering you.’
When they got back into the car, Keedy expected it to return to London but Marmion gave the driver instructions to go in a different direction.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Keedy.
‘I want to pay a second visit to Mrs Hassall.’
‘Why?’
‘She may be able to help us, Joe. There’s something she told us that may turn out to be far more important than it seemed at the time.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘Wait and see. Me
anwhile,’ said Marmion, ‘you can tell me what we learnt from our visit to the Farriers.’
‘We discovered that Vesta Lyle was even more peculiar than we thought. The woman was so selfish. Only people as kind-hearted as the Farriers would have put up with her.’
‘Is that all?’
‘She obviously had some kind of charm. Farrier disliked her at first, but she soon won him over.’
‘Tell me what else we learnt.’
‘There wasn’t anything.’
‘Oh, I thought there was a lot more. Look at the facts. She married a man who was much older than her yet spent very little time with him. Mr and Mrs Farrier met him only once, then they were deliberately kept well away from Alphonse Dufays.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Then there’s this cloak of secrecy around Vesta Lyle,’ said Marmion. ‘Those letters and cards she sent to the Farriers gave nothing away. There was no hint of affection for her cousin in them. The most interesting things about them were the postmarks.’
‘They were sent from all over Europe.’
‘That’s because of her reputation as an artist. As a result, she was invited here there and everywhere.’
‘Ah,’ said Keedy, realisation dawning, ‘I’m beginning to read your mind now.’
‘Vesta Lyle spoke fluent French and German.’
‘It sounds as if she was far more European than British. And she was able to mix with people of influence wherever she went. Because of her paintings, she was in a privileged position. I daresay she went to all kinds of civic receptions.’
‘Meanwhile, her husband was working for the French government but keeping very quiet about what he actually did. I can see why now. My guess would be that he was in their secret service.’
‘What about his wife?’
‘She was only a wife in name. I don’t believe that either of them wanted a normal marriage, Joe. At heart, they had so little in common. They settled for an arrangement that suited each of them. It’s the reason they were happy to spend so much time apart.’
The Unseen Hand Page 18
