Painter Palaver

by Curtis Bausse

  ‘Me? Why not Lyle? He’s bilingual.’

  ‘True. But I want a translation, not a treatise.’ One eye batted into a knowing wink. ‘In a perfect world, we’d wait for the DNA results on the glove. They’ve removed all they need for analysis but they’ll take till Friday and to be honest, I’m not expecting much. Unless there’s a bit of skin or a hair, we’re down to sweat. And whatever tiny traces there might be will be overridden by the Forsters’ gardener – he used the gloves regularly. The lab people weren’t optimistic. But it’s not vital – we have more than enough without it.’

  There came a knock on the door: a forensic officer with yet more evidence. Honey, no doubt, just as Pico predicted, and for a moment Sophie got the eerie sensation of being herself in some dreamlike, jumbled copy of Agatha Christie.

  ‘You know Captain Eveno well, I think.’ Pico held up the bag. ‘Does this mean anything to you?’

  The eeriness entered another dimension, as if someone had pressed a button and put her in a different dream. It wasn’t honey. It was Tikar.

  Cyril? His name turned into a numbing, incredulous horror. But she had no time to formulate an answer, because at that moment the door flew open, and in stormed Gabrielle.

  Chapter 34 Mami Wata

  ‘Nothing. Honestly, I swear.’ He’s already said it a dozen times – surely she believes him? ‘Coincidence. She happened to be here when I arrived. And I was first on the murder scene and since we’ve worked together before...’

  ‘You didn’t tell me. You could have told me last night but you didn’t. If there’s nothing between you, what have you got to hide?’

  ‘I didn’t want to complicate things. Not with you going away. Even if there’s nothing, I didn’t want you thinking there might be.’

  ‘What am I supposed to think? You don’t tell the truth. I asked what was bothering you – the heat, my arse! I wasn’t born yesterday.’

  That bloody printer. She goes to print out a boarding pass and what does it spew out? The list of guests at Venturi View. So then she’s round here like a shot, barges in on Pico demanding to know where her husband is. A fine impression that must have made. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with already.

  They sit beneath an apricot tree as he tries to calm her down. There’s no point ruining her trip – if they leave right now, they might just make it to the airport in time. Oh, that would suit you nicely, she says, wouldn’t it? Pack me off to Douala so you can pursue your hanky-panky with that bitch.

  Cyril sees that his only option is to tell the truth: Sophie and he are soulmates, an arrangement made by Auguste to boost Cyril’s career. The attachment isn’t romantic, much less sexual, but on a spiritual level. It works in ways that only Auguste fully understands.

  The truth it may be, but it doesn’t appease Gabrielle. The idea that Cyril shares a deep spiritual bond with Sophie, while she herself merely shares his bed, terrifies her even more. ‘You’re playing with fire,’ she says. Her voice has lost all trace of anger and now is deadly serious. ‘You said it yourself – only the spirits know what they’re doing. If you have to rely on that woman for your career, there’s a hidden catch. If you’d told me earlier, I would have warned you. I fear for you now – I fear for us! You know what she is? I saw it in her eyes. She’s a Mami Wata.’

  Cyril is prey to a deep unease. Mami Wata is a water spirit, beautiful, powerful and seductive – but also, if you’re not careful, dangerous, a mermaid luring you into the sea only to lead you to your doom. Gabrielle grips his wrist and urges him to beware, but he pulls his hand away. It’s nonsense. Surely she doesn’t believe it? What can she possibly have seen in Sophie’s eyes? She’s making this up to scare him.

  ‘Did I tell you I almost drowned once?’ she says. ‘I was with my grandmother. You haven’t met her yet but she’ll be there in October. She’ll tell you all about Mami Wata. She can take the form of –’

  ‘I think I killed him.’

  Gabrielle stares at him in silence. It’s as if the sound of his words reaches her several seconds before the meaning. ‘What?’

  ‘I had an absence, I... When I got back I don’t know what I did. He’s dead.’ The awful truth dawns on him now. Only the spirits know what they are doing. ‘I had a vision yesterday, it... I was by the fish pond and the water, I saw this... a sort of form, a spirit, I don’t know, it was like Auguste except... and he said... he told me to...’ He turns towards her. ‘I killed Ronan Praud.’

  ‘Ah, there you are. We’ve been looking all over.’ Valentin Bondy walks up breezily, carrying something in his hand. An evidence bag. ‘We need your input on this.’ Sophie is there behind him, Pico too, and Cyril feels a rush of apprehension. ‘It was found by Captain Praud’s body. Some sort of African mask. Is it yours?’

  The effigy stares from the bag, dumb and inanimate. But hidden within it, Cyril sees forces moving in ways he doesn’t understand. He grabs the bag, flattens the plastic against the hardness of Tikar. ‘This is yours, Sophie,’ he says. ‘It’s the one I gave you.’

  Chapter 35 Loot In The Linen

  Dipping into his pocket, Cyril produced his Tikar. ‘See? The ears are bigger, the eyes smaller. And he’s got a crown. This is Tikar. The full name of yours is Tikar-Bom.’

  She saw the difference now. They go together. Male and female. Typical of course that Cyril’s wore the crown, but now was hardly the moment to quibble about that. Besides, Tikar-Bom didn’t need a crown – she’d escaped from the drawer, flown to Venturi and executed a perfect landing by the pot shed. Better than Wonder Woman. Or more likely, Luc was right: Tikars were made by the thousand, and someone thought it would be a hell of a wheeze to put one just like hers close to a corpse.

  ‘I didn’t... This can’t...’ Shaking her head vehemently, she implored Pico to believe her. ‘I don’t know how this got here.’

  Pico gave a brief nod. He looked at each of them in turn, then reached out his hand for the evidence bag, which Bondy gave him. ‘We’ll deal with this later,’ he said tersely, his eyes fixed on Cyril. ‘Eveno, I want a written report of your movements, every minute accounted for, from the time you got up till now. And an explanation for this.’ He dangled the bag, then slipped it into his pocket. ‘You have half an hour.’ Beckoning Bondy to follow, he turned and walked back to the house.

  Sophie had plenty she wanted to ask Cyril herself, not to mention Gabrielle, but in view of his confusion and her hostility, she returned instead to the pool, where Chloé was blissfully splashing about with Tatty, while Luc and Magali spun Dorian around in an inflatable Ninja turtle. On seeing Sophie, Magali got out and signalled her into the pool house, where they drunk tomato juice as Magali was brought up to speed on the latest developments.

  ‘Hang on,’ she said, ‘let me get this straight – he didn’t ask you to explain, he asked Cyril.’

  ‘About Tikar? I like, totally freaked when Cyril said she was mine. But I don’t think Pico seriously imagines I had anything to do with it. There’s a far simpler answer.’

  ‘Gabrielle.’

  ‘Maybe she’s got a whole army of Tikars. From what I gather, she’s quite at home with Cyril’s animist thing, communing with spirits, whatever. And now she’s on the warpath. He’s got more explaining to do to her than to Pico.’

  ‘Who’s convinced it was Martin anyway. But he still wants Cyril to account for his movements.’

  ‘What bugs me most is that he can’t, or so he says – he got back here and it’s a blank. A whole hour! That’s frigging scary.’

  ‘A breakdown.’ Magali stirred the ice in her glass. ‘A psychotic episode. I’m not a psychiatrist but that’s what it sounds like. Has he ever mentioned anything like that to you?’

  ‘Only his talks with Auguste. I’ve never known how real it is to him. Whether it’s just an imaginary friend or actually hearing voices. Oh, god.’ Sophie clasped her hands behind her head. ‘And to think I’ve got to write a report about all this!’

  ‘Good luck
with that. It’ll keep you busy till Christmas.’

  ‘I could do without it, believe me.’

  ‘If it really bugs you, don’t do it. Pico said he’d understand.’

  ‘No, I’ll do it. If it meets with his approval, he’ll send me on all sorts of fabulous missions abroad.’

  ‘Sounds like you really fancy that.’ Magali rose from her chair and went to rinse her glass in the sink. ‘Unless it’s just a fantasy. Snap your fingers and be far away from it all.’

  ‘Totally. Just for a week or so. When I’ve had my dose of excitement, I come back and do pottery. The perfect balance.’

  ‘The artist in her studio and Luc content.’

  ‘Precisely. Ah – that reminds me. Durvez. You’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘Really? Who says?’

  ‘Bondy. He said Praud had asked a colleague in Paris to run a check on him. Turns out he’s a highly reputable dealer.’

  ‘What sort of check?’

  ‘I don’t know. We didn’t have time to go into it. But Praud apparently thought it was inconceivable he could be mixed up in forgeries. A promising lead, he said, but not worth pursuing.’

  ‘So the Granet Museum got it wrong? If they did, they’ll never admit it. I tracked down the woman who actually made the decision. She retired five years ago but she remembers it well. Hardly surprising – you don’t forget the Borellys in a hurry. And she remains quite adamant. She’s still got her report, she said she’d send me a copy.’ Magali shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s one of those things where you believe what suits you. Like da Vinci’s Salvator Mundi. The real thing or not? Who knows?’

  ‘Rather less money involved.’

  ‘True. Plenty enough for the Borellys though, even if they are stinking rich.’

  ‘Uh-oh.’ Sophie stood up as a squeal of frustration from the pool indicated the end of Chloé’s bliss. ‘I’d better take over from Tatty before it degenerates. I’ll just go get my swimsuit.’ She washed her glass and set it to dry on the sideboard. ‘Then we all gather for this evening’s show. “Ladies and gentlemen, Pico and Bondy bring to you The Amazing Arrest of Martin Best.” I hear it’s had excellent reviews.’

  She was entering her room when she glimpsed a movement from the corner of her eye, and turning her head, saw Isadora come out of a door at the far end of the corridor. It didn’t strike her as odd until she remembered that Isadora’s room was at this end of the corridor, close to her own. Was she going into someone else’s room? Why?

  Sophie got changed, put towel, book and sun cream into a bag, and after locking her own door, stood beside it pondering. Go back to the pool? Decide it was none of her business? That might apply in the normal walk of life but a PI? Everything was her business. She crept down the corridor to the room Isadora had emerged from.

  The door had no name on it. Gingerly, she turned the handle and pushed. Not a bedroom but the linen room. Sheets, towels, tea cloths. All became clear. Isadora had a perfectly good reason to be there.

  And yet this obvious explanation didn’t satisfy her. That story about the smoke, and Gareth’s strange response, the furtive, accusing glance at the person he immediately assumed had written it.

  She looked at the neat, regular piles of clean linen. Lifted a few sheets, found nothing. She passed her hand behind them along the shelves and came upon a plastic bag. It took her a moment, when she opened it, to realise what was inside. A bombyliflora orchid.

  Chapter 36 Isadora Waverley

  May 26th 2019

  With that, she skipped out of the room. Clover thought for a moment. Maybe it would be fun, for an hour while the washing machine ran, to sit around nude with Maria. It wasn’t like Maria didn’t see her naked for half the weekends they spent together anyway.

  Before she changed her mind, and not wanting to be halfway through undressing when Maria returned, she pulled her top over her head and dropped it onto a chair. She unfastened her bra and put it on her top, then pulled off her socks, unbuttoned her skirt and slid her knickers down before picking up the lot and piling them together on top of -

  ‘Bugger!’ Isadora swore softly. Who was ringing now? Mornings were for writing. She picked up the phone.

  ‘I do hope I’m not disturbing, Bumble. I know it’s the wrong time.’

  ‘You, Dilly? There’s no wrong time for you. How are you?’

  ‘Fine. A bright blue sky, I’m having breakfast on the terrace.’ The image swivelled from Adeline to the garden. ‘The tulips are out now. Irises too, see? It’s looking –’

  ‘Stop it. You’re making me jealous.’ Isadora turned the phone round to show the rain streaming down the window pane. ‘Can you hear the patter on the roof? I’ve got the fire lit already.’

  ‘Well, you’ll soon be here, Bumble. We went out to dinner last night. I told him.’

  ‘And he agreed?’

  ‘Oh, you know Gareth. Agreed without agreeing sort of thing. He says he’s fine with it, but what he actually thinks... But he knows he won’t find anyone else at this stage.’

  ‘I’ll book the flight today. And start on the menu. Cold buffets, gazpacho, that sort of thing. That’s for lunch. And for dinner I thought lamb cutlets with a grilled courgette and mint tart. That’s the first evening. I haven’t done the rest, I was waiting to hear.’

  ‘Whatever you do will be fine. He knows that too, he said as much.’

  ‘Any vegetarians among them?’

  ‘Just the one, Claire Bourane. She’s gluten-free too, I’m afraid. A bit of a bind. But very apologetic, said she could bring her own supplies if it’s a bother.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll manage.’

  ‘Fourteen when everyone’s there. That’s including a little girl. For a whole week, it’ll be a huge amount of –’

  ‘Nonstop, I know. Slave labour, that’s what.’ Isadora’s laugh boomed round the cottage. ‘I’m so looking forward to it, Dilly. It’s going to be fabulous.’

  ‘Oh, god, let’s hope so. The closer it gets the more nervous I am. The place we went to last night, they’ve got these paintings by Maya Ferrucci, she’ll be at the course – I can’t think why. They’re so much better than mine.’

  ‘Nonsense. Yours are every bit as –’

  ‘No, I saw them, Bumble. I know. But I’ve got an idea for a whole new series. I’ve always been so controlled, so timid, I’ve got to –’

  ‘Go out and be bold.’

  ‘– give vent to my feelings, you know? They’ll go on the staircase, I think. And they’ll be of you. Of us.’

  ‘Me?’ Another laugh exploded. ‘Dilly, you’ll have them fleeing in horror!’

  ‘I don’t mean literally. Not figurative. Flowers. That’s what people will see. But really, it’s us.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see them. Go for it! You’ve always had the talent, Dilly, you know that.’

  ‘I’ll give it my best shot, anyway. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t. At least I’ll have tried.’

  ‘It’ll work, don’t worry. Everything will. It’s all coming together. Just the way we said. Imagined, remember? When we first had the idea.’

  ‘Oh, Bumble...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know if we can ever... I promised him, you know. He thinks it’s over between us. I told him it was. I don’t want to lie to him, he’s so... I don’t know if he could handle it. You’re helping us out, that’s all. There can’t be anything else, you do know that.’

  ‘Of course! Where would we find the time, anyway? With fourteen people to feed. I’m doing this because... Just to see you, Dilly, it’s been so long! And to be there and help, and get away from this rain, and...’

  ‘Thanks, Bumble.’ Dilly’s voice became a murmur, comforting, warm, bridging the distance between them like the touch of skin upon skin. ‘I love you. You know that too.’

  Isadora made a soft, cooing sound, almost a moan of pleasure as she let the words envelope her. Then the moment passed and she said, ‘No regrets
, then. Moving back to France.’

  ‘Not for me. A place like this. And England’s forever... Well, I find it easier here to get over Lily. I mean, I miss London as well but I can go back anytime. If it wasn’t for bloody Brexit, but we’ll see what happens, I suppose.’

  ‘And Gareth? He’s happy too?’

  ‘Sure. As happy as he can be. He’s put his heart and soul into Venturi. Done so much around the house, in the garden. Getting no writing done at all, but I think... I get the impression he’s a bit scared he’s run out of steam. Writer’s block, I suppose. The house takes his mind off it.’

  ‘It’ll come back. We all get that sometimes.’

  ‘And you? How’s the latest Clover Leroy coming along?’

  ‘Perfectly. Almost done. She’s in Borneo this time. I just think of you and it flows.’

  A burble of pleasure rippled down the line. ‘That’s how I’ll do my paintings. Put all the yearning in.’

  ‘Rather less explicitly, though.’

  ‘Ha! Yes, afraid so. But that’s the fun. I’ve already made a sketch of the first. Orgy of Orchids. I won’t actually call it that but that’s what it is in my mind.’

  ‘I love it! You’ll send me a photo when it’s done?’

  ‘I think not. A surprise for when you get here.’