by P. D. James
‘Someone had to open it. I could have returned it to you but I didn’t know who had sent it. I’d never seen your handwriting before.’
Lady Lucinda said: ‘May I have my letter?’
Kate replied: ‘We should like to keep it for the time being, if we may.’
Lady Lucinda seemed to regard this as a statement rather than a request. She said: ‘But it belongs to me. I wrote it.’
‘We may only need to keep it for a little time and we don’t intend to publish it.’
Daniel, uncertain what the law said about ownership of a letter, wondered whether they had, in fact, any right to take it, and what Kate would do if Lady Lucinda pressed the matter. He wondered, too, why Kate was so anxious to have it. It wasn’t as if Etienne had received it. But what proof had they of that? They had only his sister’s word that she had found it on the mat unopened. Lady Lucinda made no further objection. She shrugged and turned to Claudia.
‘I’m sorry about Gerard. It was an accident, wasn’t it? That’s the impression you gave Mummy on the telephone. But this morning some of the papers are hinting it could be more complicated. He wasn’t murdered, was he?’
Kate said: ‘He could have been.’
Again the blue eyes were turned consideringly on her. ‘How bizarre. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who was murdered, known them personally, I mean.’
She walked over to her photograph and took it in her hands, studying it closely as if she hadn’t seen it before and was none too pleased with what the photographer had made of her features. Then she said: ‘I’ll take this. After all, you won’t want it, Claudia.’
Claudia said: ‘Strictly speaking none of his possessions should be moved except by his executors or the police.’
‘Well the police won’t want it either. I don’t want it to be here in the empty flat, not if Gerard was murdered.’
So she was not without superstition. The discovery intrigued Daniel. It sat oddly with her cool self-possession. He watched as she studied the photograph and ran a long, pink-nailed finger caressingly over the glass as if testing it for dust. Then she turned and said to Claudia: ‘I suppose there’s something I can use to wrap this?’
‘There may be a plastic bag in the kitchen drawer, you’d better look. And if there’s anything else which belongs to you, now might be a good time to take it.’
Lady Lucinda didn’t even trouble to cast her eyes round the room. She said: ‘There’s nothing else.’
‘If you want a coffee bring in another mug. It’s freshly made.’
‘I don’t want coffee, thank you.’
They waited in silence until, in less than a minute, she returned carrying the photograph in a Harrods plastic bag. She was walking to the door when Kate said: ‘Lady Lucinda, I wonder if we could ask you a few questions? We would in any case have asked to see you, but now that you’re here it will save time for both of us.’
‘How much time? I mean, how long is it going to take?’
‘Not very long.’ Kate turned to Claudia. ‘You don’t mind if we use this flat for the interview?’
‘I don’t see how I can prevent you. I suppose you don’t expect me to retire to the kitchen?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘Or to the bedroom? That might be more comfortable.’
She was looking fixedly at Lady Lucinda who said calmly: ‘I can’t tell you. I’ve never been in Gerard’s bedroom.’
She sat in the nearer of the two armchairs and Kate seated herself opposite. Daniel and Claudia sat between them on the sofa.
Kate said: ‘When did you last see your fiancé?’
‘He isn’t my fiancé. He was at the time, though. I saw him last Saturday.’
‘Saturday, the 9th of October?’
‘I suppose so, if last Saturday was the 9th. We were going to Bradwell-on-Sea to visit his father but the day was wet and Gerard said his father’s house was gloomy enough without arriving in the rain and we’d go another time. Instead we went to the Sainsbury Wing at the National Gallery in the afternoon because Gerard wanted to look again at the Wilton Diptych, and then on to the Ritz for tea. I didn’t see him that evening because Mummy wanted me to drive down to Wiltshire with her to spend the night and Sunday with my brother. She wanted to talk about marriage settlements before we saw the lawyers.’
‘And how was Mr Etienne when you met him on the Saturday, apart from being depressed about the weather?’
‘He wasn’t depressed about the weather. There wasn’t any hurry to see his father. Gerard didn’t get depressed about things he couldn’t change.’
Daniel said: ‘And the things he could change, he changed?’
She turned and looked at him, and suddenly smiled. ‘That’s right.’ She added, ‘That was the last time I saw him but it wasn’t the last time I spoke to him. We talked on the telephone on Thursday night.’
Kate’s voice was carefully controlled: ‘You spoke to him two days ago, on the night he died?’
‘I don’t know when he died. He was found dead yesterday morning, wasn’t he? I spoke to him on his private line on the previous evening.’
‘At what time, Lady Lucinda?’
‘At about twenty past seven, I suppose. It might have been a little later but it was certainly before half past seven because Mummy and I were supposed to leave the house at 7.30 to go to dinner with my godmother and I was already dressed. I thought I would just have time to ring Gerard. I wanted an excuse to make it a short conversation. That’s how I can be so sure of the time.’
‘What about? You’d already written to break off the engagement.’
‘I know. I thought he would have got the letter that morning. I wanted to ask him whether he agreed with Mummy that we ought to put a notice in The Times or whether he preferred for us to write to our personal friends and just let the news get around. Of course Mummy now wants me to destroy my letter to Gerard and say nothing. I shan’t do that. I can’t anyway now you’ve seen it. But at least she doesn’t have to worry about the notice in The Times. That will save her a few pounds.’
The pin-prick of venom was so sudden and so quickly withdrawn that Daniel could almost believe he’d missed it. As if she hadn’t heard, Kate asked: ‘What did he say about the notice, about your broken engagement? Didn’t you ask him if he’d received your letter?’
‘I didn’t ask him anything. We didn’t talk at all. He said he couldn’t speak then because he had a visitor with him.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
The high, bell-like voice was almost expressionless. ‘I’m not sure that he had a visitor. I mean, how could I be? I didn’t hear anyone or speak to anyone except Gerard. Perhaps that was just an excuse for not talking to me, but I’m sure that’s what he told me.’
‘And in those precise words? I want to be absolutely clear about this, Lady Lucinda. He didn’t say he wasn’t alone or that he had someone with him? He used the word visitor?’
‘I’ve told you. He said he had a visitor with him.’
‘And that was between, say, 7.20 and 7.30?’
‘Nearer 7.30. The car came round for Mummy and me at half past seven.’
A visitor. By an effort of will Daniel prevented himself from glancing at Kate but he knew that their thoughts were in harness. If Etienne had indeed used that word – and the girl seemed positive about it – it surely implied that Etienne was with someone from outside the firm. He would hardly have used the word for a partner or a member of staff. Wouldn’t it then be more natural to say ‘I’m tied up’, or ‘In a meeting’, or ‘I’m busy with a colleague’? And if someone had called on him that night, invited or uninvited, he or she hadn’t yet come forward. Why not, if the visit had been innocent, if he’d left Etienne alive and well? There had been no note of any arranged meeting in Etienne’s office diary, but that wasn’t conclusive. The visitor could have rung him on his private line any time during the day or early evening, or come uninvited and unexpected. But the
evidence, such as it was, was circumstantial, like so much evidence in this increasingly baffling case.
But Kate was pressing on, asking Lady Lucinda when she had last been at Innocent House.
‘Not since the party on the 10th of July. It was partly for my birthday – I was twenty – and partly as an engagement party.’
Kate said: ‘We have the list of guests. I suppose they were free to wander all over the house if they wanted?’
‘Some of them did, I think. You know how couples are at parties, they like to get away on their own. I don’t think any of the rooms were locked although Gerard said that the staff had been told to put away all their papers safely.’
‘You didn’t happen to see anyone going to the top of the house, towards the archives room?’
‘Well I did actually. It was rather funny. I needed to go to the loo but the one on the first floor which was being used for the women guests was occupied, and then I remembered there was a small one on the top floor and I decided to use that. I went up by the stairs and I saw two people coming down. Not at all the people you’d expect. They looked so guilty, too. It really was weird.’
‘Who were they, Lady Lucinda?’
‘George, the old man who works on the switchboard in reception and that dull little woman who’s married to the accountant, I forget his name, Sydney Bernard or something like that. Gerard introduced me to all the staff and their wives. It was a terrible bore.’
‘Sydney Bartrum?’
‘That’s right, his wife. She was wearing an extraordinary dress in pale blue taffeta with a pink sash.’ She turned to Claudia Etienne. ‘You remember, don’t you, Claudia? A very full skirt covered with pink net and puffed sleeves. Gruesome!’
Claudia said shortly: ‘I remember.’
‘Did either of them say what they were doing on the top floor?’
‘The same as I was, I suppose. She went scarlet and muttered something about using the toilet. They looked extraordinarily alike, the same round faces, the same embarrassment. George looked as if I’d discovered them pilfering the petty cash. It was odd, though, wasn’t it? Those two together, I mean. George wasn’t a guest, of course. He was only there to help with the men’s coats and repel gatecrashers. And if Mrs Bartrum wanted the loo, why didn’t she ask Claudia or one of the women staff?’
Kate asked: ‘Did you mention this to anyone afterwards, to Mr Etienne, for example?’
‘No, it wasn’t that important, just odd. I’d almost forgotten about it until now. Look, is there anything else you want to know? I think I’ve been here long enough. If you want to speak to me again you’d better write and I’ll try to arrange a meeting.’
Kate said: ‘We’d like a statement, Lady Lucinda. Perhaps you could call in at Wapping Police Station as soon as convenient.’
‘With my solicitor?’
‘If you prefer it, or think it necessary.’
‘I don’t suppose it is. Mummy said that I might need a solicitor to watch my interests at the inquest, if it came out about the broken engagement, but I don’t think I have any interests now, not if Gerard died before he got my letter.’
She got to her feet and shook hands formally with both Kate and Daniel but made no move towards Claudia Etienne. But at the door she turned and it was to Claudia that she spoke.
‘He never bothered to make love to me when we were engaged so I don’t think the marriage would have been much fun for either of us, do you?’ Daniel suspected that, had neither police officer been present, she would have used a coarser expression. She added, ‘Oh, you’d better have this,’ and laid a key on the coffee table. ‘I don’t suppose I shall see this flat again.’
She went out closing the door firmly, and a second later they heard the front door close with equal finality.
Claudia said: ‘Gerard was a romantic. He divided women into those you have affairs with and those you marry. Most men get over that sexual illusion before they’re twenty-one. He was probably reacting against too many sexual conquests made too easily. I wonder how long that marriage would have lasted. Well, there’s one disillusionment he’s been spared. Will you be much longer?’
Kate said: ‘Not much longer now.’
Minutes later they were ready to go. Daniel’s last picture of Claudia Etienne was of a tall figure standing and looking out over the balcony at the darkening spires of the city. She answered their goodbyes without turning her head and they left her to the silence and emptiness of the flat, quietly closing the doors behind them.
41
Leaving Hillgate Street, Daniel and Kate had picked up the car at Notting Hill Gate Police Station and driven the short distance to Declan Cartwright’s shop. It was open, and in the front room an elderly bearded man, wearing a skullcap and a long black coat, verdigrised with age, was showing a customer a Victorian writing desk, his skeleton-yellow fingers caressing the marquetry on the lid. He was apparently too occupied to hear their entrance even with the clang of the bell, but the customer turned, and the old man looked round.
Kate said: ‘Mr Simon? We have an appointment to see Mr Declan Cartwright.’
Even before she could take out her warrant card, he said, ‘He’s in the back. Straight through. He’s in the back,’ and turned quickly again to the writing desk, his hands shaking so violently that the fingers clattered on the lid. Kate wondered what it was in his past that had produced such fear of authority, such terror of the police.
They made their way through the shop, down three steps and into a kind of conservatory at the back. Among a clutter of miscellaneous objects Declan Cartwright was conferring with a customer. He was large, very swarthy and wearing a coat with an astrakhan collar topped with a rakish trilby, and was studying a cameo through an eyeglass. Kate could only assume that a man who chose to look so like a caricature of a crook would hardly dare actually to be one. As soon as they appeared, Cartwright said: ‘Charlie, why don’t you buy yourself a drink and think it over? Come back in about half an hour. This is the fuzz arriving. I’ve got myself mixed up in a murder. Don’t look so worried, I didn’t do it. It’s just that I have to give an alibi for someone who might have done.’
The customer, with a glance at Kate and Daniel, made a nonchalant exit.
Kate again took out her warrant card, but Declan waved it aside. ‘That’s all right, don’t bother. I can recognize the police when I see them.’
He must, she thought, have been an exceptionally pretty child and there was still something childlike in the gamin face with its cluster of undisciplined curls above the high forehead, the huge eyes and the beautifully formed but petulant mouth. But there was a very adult sexuality in the appraisal he gave both her and Daniel. She felt Daniel stiffen at her side and thought: ‘Not his type, and certainly not mine.’
Like Farlow, he answered their questions with a half-mocking insouciance, but there was an essential difference. With Farlow they had been aware of an intelligence and a force still dominating the pathetically emaciated body. Declan Cartwright was both weak and frightened, as frightened as old Simon had been but for a different reason. His voice was brittle, his hands restless and his attempts at banter as unconvincing as his accent. He said: ‘My fiancée told me that you would be coming. I don’t suppose you’re here to look at antiques but I’ve got some nice little pieces of Staffordshire just come in. All legally acquired. I could do you a very good price if you don’t think that would be suborning the police in the execution of their duty.’
Kate asked: ‘You and Miss Etienne are engaged to be married?’
‘I’m engaged to her, but I’m not sure if she’s engaged to me. You’ll have to ask her. With Claudia being engaged is a fluctuating state. It rather depends on how she’s feeling at the time. But we were engaged – at least I think we were – when we went on the river on Thursday night.’
‘When did you arrange this trip?’
‘Quite a time ago, actually. On the night of Sonia Clements’ funeral. You’ve heard about Sonia Cl
ements, of course.’
Kate said: ‘A bit odd, wasn’t it, to arrange a river trip so far in advance?’
‘Claudia likes to arrange things a week or so ahead. She’s a very well-organized woman. Actually there was a reason. Thursday the 14th of October was the morning of the partners’ meeting. She was going to tell me all about it.’
‘And did she tell you all about it?’
‘Well she told me that the partners were going to sell Innocent House and move downstream to Docklands and that they were going to sack someone, the accountant I think. I can’t remember the details. It was all rather boring.’
Daniel said: ‘Hardly worth the trouble of a river trip.’
‘Oh, but there are other things you can do on the river than discuss business, even if the cabin is a little cramped. Those great steel hoods of the Thames Barrier are very erotic. You two should borrow a police launch. You might surprise yourselves.’
Kate said: ‘When did you begin the trip and when did it end?’
‘It began at 6.30 when the launch came back from Charing Cross and we took over. It ended at about 10.30 when we got back to Innocent House and Claudia drove me home. I suppose we got back here at about eleven o’clock. As I expect she told you, she didn’t leave here until two o’clock.’
Daniel said: ‘I suppose Mr Simon will be able to confirm that? Or doesn’t he live here?’
‘Actually, I’m afraid he won’t. Sorry about that. The poor old darling is getting dreadfully deaf. We always creep up the stairs so as not to disturb him but it’s a totally unnecessary precaution. Actually, he might be able to confirm when we arrived. He could have had his door ajar. He sleeps more soundly when he knows the boy is home and safely tucked up. But I doubt whether he heard anything after that.’
Kate said: ‘You didn’t take your own car, then, to Innocent House?’
‘I don’t drive, Inspector. I deplore the pollution caused by motor cars and I don’t add to it. Isn’t that public-spirited of me? There’s also the fact that when I tried to learn I found the whole experience so terrifying that I had to keep my eyes permanently closed, and none of the instructors would take me on. I went to Innocent House by tube. Very tedious. I took the Circle Line from Notting Hill Gate to Tower Hill and then picked up a cab. It’s easier to go by the Central Line to Liverpool Street and take a cab from there but, in fact, I didn’t, if it’s of the slightest importance.’