The hunt for Sonya Dufrette chc-1

by R. T. Raichev

  ‘What fucking nonsense is that?’ Lena spoke thickly. She was scowling. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Suddenly all her amiability had evaporated.

  ‘Name of Sonya, I think? Sandys says he’s seen her, several times. Others have seen her too,’ Payne went on improvising. ‘A very tiny girl – flaxen hair – white dress with little bells at the waist -’

  They heard Lena gasp. ‘Your friend Sandys is a liar!’ she cried and she brought her fist down. Her double chin quivered.

  There was a moment’s silence, then Major Payne spluttered, ‘I assure you, dear lady, Sandys is a fellow of great integrity – not the least bit fanciful either!’

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t allow this. You’ve got it all wrong. In the first place, there was no murder.’ Lena was clearly making a monumental effort to appear calm. ‘You don’t know the story. A little girl did drown in the river, true, but that was an accident, not murder. That was an accident, a fucking accident. Sonya – the little girl – drowned. She fell into the river -’

  ‘Oh, you know about it?’ Antonia breathed. ‘You weren’t by any chance there when it happened?’

  Lena considered the point and seemed to come to a decision. ‘As a matter of fact I was there. It was all most upsetting. I was staying at the house. I – um – I knew the girl’s parents. We were fellow guests. Actually, I was great friends with the mother.’

  ‘What was she like?’ Payne asked slyly. He put a match to his pipe.

  ‘Oh, wonderful woman. Big-hearted. Giving. She’d had a very hard life. She’d never known true love, not for long. Only one man had ever loved her – and one woman. They had both worshipped her.’ Lena dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. ‘Oh, she was a sweet-tempered, sensitive creature. One of the very best. The same, alas, can’t be said about the father, but I mustn’t gossip. Hate gossip. What I mean is, I know perfectly well what I am talking about.’

  ‘Remarkable,’ Payne said.

  ‘Do tell us more!’ Antonia gushed.

  ‘There is nothing to tell. Why are people such ghouls? Sonya – I mean the little girl – fell into the river and drowned, that’s all there is to it. She was young for her age. Backward. Terribly difficult, taking care of a child like that. I couldn’t – I mean the mother couldn’t call her time her own! They found her doll floating on the river, but of the girl there was no sign. Her body was never recovered, see? It was an accident. So next time you see your friend Sandys, kindly inform him that he’s got the wrong end of the stick altogether. Tell him to be very careful. It’s actually a crime spreading malicious rumours. If he’s not careful, your friend Sandys may find himself in court.’

  ‘Dear lady!’ Major Payne protested. ‘I assure you -’

  ‘You too.’ Lena shook her forefinger at him. Her mountainous bosom rose and fell. She picked up her glass and, not bothering with the straw, downed the rest of the vermouth. ‘You too may land in real hot water if you go about telling people Sonya was killed. Murder indeed! Nonsense. Your friend Sandys needs to have his head examined if he’s seeing ghosts. Anyone who is seeing ghosts needs to have their head examined.’ She licked her lips. ‘It’s all wrong anyhow. Sonya couldn’t have been coming from the direction of the river for the simple reason that…’

  ‘Yes?’ Antonia leaned forward.

  ‘Nothing,’ Lena said. ‘Nothing at all. She couldn’t have, that’s all. There are no ghosts anyhow… I need a drinkie. Mamma needs a drinkie. Badly.’

  She had started wheezing like an ancient concertina. Her face under the make-up had become suffused. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her mouth, fish-like, kept opening and shutting. All of a sudden she looked dangerously on the verge of collapse.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Antonia said. ‘Perhaps some water -’

  ‘No, not water. A proper drinkie. Mamma needs a brandy.’

  ‘Shall I pour you one?’ In the most casual manner imaginable, Major Payne walked round the bar and stood beside Lena. ‘Brandy, did you say?’

  ‘Yes. Brandy, my friend. That’s the best gut-rot there is. Armagnac, that’s lovely. Lovely smooth taste. Oh, Mamma’s so thirsty. Mamma loves it when someone else does the pouring… That’s how things used to be at my father’s house. We were served by hussars. Bowing and clicking their heels. Not a single crease in their uniforms. Such style, such poise. Everything as it should be. Ah, glorious days. Thank you, kind sir.’ She almost snatched the glass from Major Payne’s hand and started drinking. Her hand shook and some brandy got spilled. She made several gasping noises. She drank the whole of the brandy, to the last drop, as though it had been water. ‘More,’ she ordered imperiously. ‘More. Another brandy – quick! Mamma’s still unwell. Mamma needs her medicine.’

  Payne picked up the bottle.

  Antonia looked horrified. ‘Hugh, you mustn’t – it’d kill her,’ she whispered.

  He shook his head and mouthed, It won’t.

  ‘I used to live at the Dorchester, you know, but I was downgraded,’ Lena said presently. Her glass, her second, was empty and she was holding it up. Payne obliged her. ‘Vivian’s so – so mean. After everything I did,’ she slurred. ‘I don’t like my room here at all, but I was told I’d been given enough. I was told I was greedy… Prosit… Mamma feels better now. Not good – Mamma will never feel good, not as long as she’s in this world, but Mamma feels better.’ She took a sip. ‘What were we talking about? Oh yes, that Twiston business. Well, it proved to be most unsettling, more than I ever imagined. Lawrence became quite impossible. Lawrence, you see, is the kind of man who would perpetrate evil for the betterment of evil,’ she said, sounding oddly like the headmaster of his old school, Payne thought.

  Lena smacked her lips. ‘He kept blaming me. Said it had been my fault. If he knew what I had done – really done – ah, if he only knew! – he would have killed me. He’d have strangled me. Cut me into little pieces. I have no doubt about it.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Antonia asked boldly.

  ‘In a way that was my revenge – taking away from him the one thing he adored. But let me tell you first what he did. I mean, when it was all over. You know Lawrence, of course? He kept kissing Sonya’s toys – kissing her photo – her little shoes. He blubbed all over that giraffe. Disgusting. I never liked the way he kissed her, you see. That was before – before she left us. The way he crooned that song to her. If you love me, Dilly, Dilly, I will love you. Gives me the creeps, just remembering.’ Lena’s speech was becoming slushier. ‘Like someone serenading their lover! My poor kotik. That’s why I did it. Whatever else anyone may say… Sans reproche, c’est moi.‘

  ‘What was it you did exactly?’ Payne asked.

  Lena took another sip of brandy and smacked her lips. ‘Well,’ she said conversationally, ‘I’m sure there’d be those who’d say what an absolutely foul thing for a mother to do, but I acted out of the best motives. You don’t think I should have said no to the money, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not. The money must have been jolly useful,’ Payne said.

  ‘It was. Only it ran out. Don’t you just hate it, when money runs out?’

  ‘Great bore. I know the feeling too well.’ Payne sighed.

  This was surreal, Antonia thought.

  Lena slurred on. ‘Did you say you’d been staying at Twiston?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hermione and Michael no longer live there.’ Lena took another sip of brandy. ‘No… Poor Michael’s dead anyway… They couldn’t have been talking… Nobody could have…’

  ‘Who’s “they”?’

  Lena started shaking her head. ‘No, no, no. Out of the question

  … Out of the fucking question… They knew they’d be sent to the clink if they did talk about it… They are no fools… I mean she – she is no fool.’ Lena reached out and tapped the letter that lay before her. ‘He is dead. Well out of it.’

  ‘Were the Mortlocks behind it?’ Antonia asked. She saw Payne frowning down at the letter, which, she
was sure, he could now read without any difficulty.

  ‘The Mortlocks… Hermione was discreet… Always very discreet

  … He was a passionate man. No one would have thought it.’ Lena shook her head. ‘Hermione feared scandal more than the Devil. I never feared the Devil myself – never! Do you realize? I actually lived with him.’

  They had to strain to make out what she was saying now, the slurring had become so bad. Her eyes were almost entirely out of focus. She couldn’t last much longer, Payne knew. Besides he had heard someone enter the bar.

  He asked, ‘Why did you say Sonya’s ghost couldn’t have been coming from the direction of the river?’ Antonia saw him reach out towards the letter.

  “Strordinary question. Because -‘ Lena put up her forefinger -’she was never in the river in the first place. That’s why.‘

  ‘Where is she? Where’s the body?’

  Antonia was to think later that had Lena answered the question, their quest would have been over, there and then, anticlimactically, rather flatly, in fact, beside the bar at the Elsnor hotel. She would never have gone to Twiston – and then the murder would never have been discovered.

  Only Lena didn’t answer the question. As she emitted a gurgling sound and her heavy shoulders started heaving, Payne quickly walked away from her and joined Antonia. Lena’s eyes nearly popped out of her head and her mouth opened wide. The retching noises, when they came, were quite appalling. Lena’s head wobbled up and down. Suddenly lurching to the left she was violently sick. Then again – and again. Mercifully the bar stood between her and them.

  ‘Badmouthing as usual – in more ways than one,’ a voice said behind them. ‘How unfortunate that it should have happened now, but then that’s Lena for you. Unpredictable, to say the least.’

  They turned round. A tall elderly man with very light blue eyes, a high-bridged nose and a mane of silvery white hair brushed back stood in front of them. He was clad very correctly in a blue-and-white striped serge suit and was holding a Panama hat in his right hand and a black Malacca cane in his left. There was something of the grand seigneur about him. At the moment his long face was cadaverously pale and twisted in a squeamish grimace. He raised his neck as if his shirt collar was too tight and he looked away from the bar.

  Antonia drew in her breath. This was the man who had visited her at the club library the other day, and asked about books on the Himalayas. The man she had taken for -

  ‘Dufrette!’ Major Payne exclaimed.

  17

  The Sanity of Lawrence Dufrette

  Lawrence Dufrette addressed himself to Antonia exclusively. ‘Odd thing, bumping into you again, or maybe not so odd?’ He dabbed at his brow with the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. The handkerchief bore the initials L.D., embroidered in blue silk, so there was no doubt it was him. ‘Mrs Rushton, isn’t it? Antonia Rushton? At the Military Club the other day they told me to ask for Miss Darcy.’

  She nodded. ‘My maiden name.’

  ‘I see. Divorced? Then we do have something in common.’ He gave a Mephistophelean grin and patted his pocket. ‘My decree absolute. That was the purpose of my visit, to tell Lena in person, lest there be any misunderstanding. Communicating with Lena has always been a nightmare. She never answers any letters or faxes. Not even when they are from my solicitor. Especially when they are from my solicitor. She pretends she has never received anything. It is invariably a long and laborious process getting her on the phone and when I do manage to speak to her, she is either too drunk or too hung-over to make any sense.’

  They had turned their backs on the dreadful scene in the bar and were walking briskly through the hall towards the exit. ‘Just a moment,’ Antonia said. They saw her walk up to the reception desk.

  ‘As a matter of fact we’ve met before. I used to work in the department that was next to yours,’ Payne said. ‘You’ve probably forgotten.’

  ‘I am afraid so. I am cursed with an appalling memory.’

  ‘My name is Payne. Major Payne.’

  At the word ‘Major’, Lawrence Dufrette gave a little histrionic shudder. ‘I can’t say I remember your name. Not at all.’ He dabbed at his brow. ‘So hot, so damnably hot… Oh there you are, Mrs Rushton. Is anything the matter?’

  ‘No. I told the receptionists that their barmaid was feeling rather unwell and would they see if she needed any assistance.’

  ‘You are too kind. What Lena needs is a – No, I won’t say it. You don’t deserve to be shocked. You are a good woman, Mrs Rushton. I remember how sweet you were to Sonya.’

  ‘Have you been to the Elsnor before?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. Once… Lena wasn’t always like that, you know. There was a time when she was beautiful – spirited – exciting – fun. I was mad about her. We were that jousting couple, Benedick and Beatrice. I adored her. I couldn’t bear to be parted from her. I never for a moment imagined that my marriage would end up with the lethal conspiracies of – of -’ He broke off unable to find another theatrical metaphor.

  ‘Edward Albee’s Martha and George?’ Major Payne suggested.

  Dufrette shot him a sidelong glance. They were now standing outside the hotel. It was a balmy evening. ‘I’d like to offer you a drink,’ Dufrette told Antonia and he took her arm. ‘May I? We need to talk. Somehow I don’t think your presence at the Elsnor was entirely accidental. Something is going on, isn’t it?’

  ‘You may put it that way,’ Antonia said. ‘By the way, Major Payne is a friend of mine. I understand you used to work together -’

  ‘That Italian bar over there isn’t too bad.’ Dufrette pointed with his cane. The place was called Papa Rodari. ‘We need to talk, Mrs Rushton.’

  They walked across the road and entered the bar. There weren’t many people. They sat at a table beside the window. Payne had tagged along. As far as Dufrette was concerned, he might not have existed, but although he hadn’t been included in Dufrette’s invitation, he hadn’t been excluded either.

  ‘What will you have?’ Dufrette asked Antonia.

  Again she plumped for a gin and tonic. For himself Dufrette ordered a vermouth. So he and Lena did have at least one taste in common, Antonia thought, amused. Major Payne told the waiter he wanted a scotch with lots of ice. After the waiter had gone, Dufrette turned to Antonia. ‘Now then. Why did you look terrified when I spoke to you in the library?’

  ‘It was the anniversary of Sonya’s death.’ Antonia decided to be as truthful as possible. After all, he had been behaving impeccably towards her. ‘I envisaged some unpleasant confrontation. I thought you had sought me out-’

  ‘I hadn’t the least notion that you would turn out to be the librarian! It was one of those extraordinary coincidences.’

  ‘I thought you might blame me for Sonya’s death.’

  His brows went up. ‘Blame you for Sonya’s death? My good woman. How could you think such a thing? That’s absolutely terrible.’

  Antonia smiled faintly. ‘I was in a highly neurotic state. I wasn’t thinking rationally -’

  ‘I felt so sorry for you that day on the river bank,’ Dufrette said. ‘Lena making a scene, screaming at you. I should have intervened – put an end to her mendacious caterwauling – told her to shut up. I wanted to, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think of anything but Sonya. What she would look like when the body was eventually fished out of the water. In a way I was glad that it was never found… I loved her so!’

  ‘I know.’ Antonia touched his arm.

  The words of ‘Lavender’s Blue’ floated into her head. If you love me, Dilly, Dilly, I will love you… She remembered the heavy hints Lena had dropped. I didn’t like the way he kissed her. Was there anything in that? Could Lena be trusted? Antonia decided not. Like serenading a lover, Lena had said. Lolita love. That had been Lady Mortlock’s way of putting it.

  The next moment Antonia recalled that she had heard ‘Lavender’s Blue’ not such a long time ago – only where? She frown
ed. She had the feeling that it was extremely important that she should remember. When she did remember the place where she had heard the song, she told herself, she would know why it had been important… Was she being irrational again?

  She said, ‘I believe I can understand how terrible it was for you. My son was almost the same age as Sonya, you see.’

  ‘I do remember you mentioning your little boy. How is he? What was his name? Jonathan?’

  ‘David.’

  ‘Doing well, I hope?’

  ‘Yes. Not so little any more. He is fine. He is twenty-six. Married – with a child of his own. A daughter.’

  ‘Good to hear that. I am delighted. So you have a granddaughter! How old is she?’

  He sounds so normal, Antonia thought. ‘Three and a half.’

  ‘Splendid. I would have loved to have grandchildren – read Belloc’s Cautionary Tales to them – I can do the voices perfectly.’ He gave a wistful smile. ‘Sadly, it wasn’t to be… It was absolutely dreadful, that day, when it happened. And the following day was worse – the day we left Twiston and drove to London… 30th July. The heat. The Union Jacks, as we drove through London. The hordes of delirious fools still walking in the streets, singing, gawping outside Buckingham Palace, shouting, “Diana, Diana.” The silly goose wasn’t even there… I told you that marriage wouldn’t last, didn’t I? I was right! Thank you.’

  Their drinks had arrived. He took a sip of vermouth. ‘That journey and its aftermath were the stuff of nightmares. Lena got drunk. The grieving mamma, don’t you know. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. I went into the nursery. Everything was exactly as we had left it. I took out all of Sonya’s toys and arranged them on the floor. The one she loved best was a giraffe called Curzon. I had given him the name. One of Curzon’s ears still bore an imprint of Sonya’s teeth, where she had bitten him. I took Curzon to my room and put him on my bedside table. Then, ten days later, something very odd happened. Curzon disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’