Rachel Lindsay - Designing Man

  "He also had a strong character. Such men make enemies."

  "Yet the police do not know who they were. If they did, they would have made an arrest."

  Alix drew a deep breath. "They suspect your nephew."

  "Paul?" The blue eyes held disbelief. "That cannot be. No, no, never."

  "He and… and his father often quarreled. They were very different personalities and—"

  "What family doesn't quarrel?" Georges Duval said. "But Paul is no murderer. I would stake my life on that!"

  Guiltily Alix remembered her own doubts about him and wondered whether Paul would see her present action as sufficient compensation for her earlier suspicion.

  But what if this old man could not help her? What if he succeeded in clearing Lady Brandon instead of implicating her? Would her doubts about Paul return? Alix clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Nothing would make her believe Paul guilty again. Indeed, if her love for him had not been so new and painful at the time of Henri's death, she would have been able to judge him with her brain instead of her heart. And brain alone would have told her Paul could not hurt any living thing.

  She leaned forward. "I am hoping you may be able to help your nephew, Monsieur Duval. I have a theory… about your brother's early life. You were together in the Seychelles until your father died, weren't you?"

  "Yes. Until Henri decided to try his luck in Paris. He wanted me to go with him but I lacked the spirit of adventure. Also," he added simply, "I did not have the talent."

  Alix allowed the silence to last for a few seconds before she breached it.

  "Do you… do you remember some incident from those days, something an ill-disposed person could have used against him?"

  "A discreditable secret, you mean?" The blue eyes twinkled shrewdly. "No, mademoiselle, I regret I must disappoint you. There was nothing like that in Henri's life. Some amorous escapades perhaps, but nothing worse."

  "Does the name John Brooke mean anything to you?"

  The old man started slightly. "John Brooke?"

  "Major Brooke. He was in the British Army. Attached to the island garrison between 1930 and 1939."

  "Yes. I remember him. It isn't a name I'm likely to forget."

  Alix tried to quiet her rising excitement. "Do you remember his daughter, Ivy?"

  "It was the daughter of whom I was primarily thinking," the dry answer came.

  "Tell me about her," Alix said huskily. "Please, monsieur, it's terribly important that I know everything about her."

  "Everything… Can one ever know everything about another human being? It is impossible, in all conscience, to know everything about oneself." The bald head lowered and there was silence. "She was a striking young girl," he said at last. "Not beautiful, you understand, but with the kind of personality that brings many admirers. She had flaming red hair, a ready wit and…" Georges Duval paused for breath.

  "A dear friend of mine—Pierre Guitry—fell in love with her. He was handsome in the dark, southern way, and though Ivy knew her parents would not consider him suitable she, too, fell in love. It was the first time any man had meant anything to her and I think she…"A sigh filled in the silence that discretion had decreed. "They decided to marry secretly and it was I who lent Pierre the money to buy the ring and the license."

  "They actually married?" Mark interposed.

  Georges Duval nodded. "I have often wondered what made Ivy do it. She was so ambitious and social minded. Perhaps it amused her to defy her father. She was a crazy, headstrong girl."

  "It must have been a shock for the major," Alix said.

  "He never knew. They were married in secret and Ivy never left her father's home. Pierre used to visit her at night—she called him her Romeo. She pacified her husband by promising that as soon as he had sufficient money to support her properly she would tell her father the truth. She forced Pierre to keep silent by frightening him with stories of the major's fierce temper, by making him believe she would be locked up and beaten if their marriage was discovered."

  "But her father was bound to find out," Alix exclaimed.

  "In the ordinary course of events, yes. But Ivy knew something Pierre didn't. That her father was being transferred to England and that she would be going with him."

  "You mean she intended to desert her husband?"

  "Exactement. She had already tired of him—found him too simple and easy to manage—and had no intention of being a poor planter's wife for the rest of her days. Mademoiselle Ivy was an ambitious young lady and valued the importance of money."

  "Divorce wasn't easy in those days," Mark interpolated, as if anxious to further the story.

  "Who knows what was in her mind?" the old Frenchman answered. "At all events she told Pierre she had to leave the island with her father but would come back within six months. Pierre believed her. He gave up all his simple pleasures and worked like a slave to earn enough to claim her as his wife. The six months became a year and the year became two, but Ivy still did not return. In the end he was forced to realize she never would! From then on he was a changed man. He cared for nothing but work and became a recluse."

  There was silence in the room. Georges Duval sat with bowed head, musing on a past he had suddenly brought close.

  "When did Monsieur Guitry divorce her?" Alix asked.

  "He never did." The old man straightened. "He used to say, 'She is my wife as long as she is on this earth.' He was—how do you put it—obsessed by it. In any case, it no longer matters. Pierre has been dead for fifteen years and Ivy achieved her ambition and became the wife of an English lord."

  Alix sat up with a jerk. "So you know she married Lord Brandon!"

  "Certainement. Henri told me."

  Alix frowned, thinking quickly. "Did your brother know her very well when she lived in the Seychelles?"

  "Not too well. He was in Paris for most of that time. He was already there when she married Pierre."

  "So he didn't know of it?"

  "Not until I told him when I came to London two years ago."

  Again Alix frowned, her mind busy on another aspect of the story she had just learned. "You said Pierre Guitry died fifteen years ago. Are you sure you didn't mean twenty-five?"

  "Come, mademoiselle, I may be old but my memory has not failed me yet. I was in the Seychelles when he died and I attended his funeral. It will be sixteen years next April."

  "But Ivy Brandon married Lord Brandon twenty- four years ago!" Alix stated.

  "Then without doubt the marriage was bigamous!"

  Alix thought instantly of Fleur and her mother's frantic efforts to arrange a rich marriage for her. Jack Beecham was undoubtedly attracted by the girl's aristocratic background and if he knew Lady Brandon had no right to the title…

  What a weapon Ivy's secret would be to someone who wanted to harm her. To Henri Duval, for example, if he had discovered she was selling gossip about him.

  Alix turned suddenly to her host. "You've been very patient with me, monsieur. I shall not trespass on your kindness any longer. But I have one last question to ask." She drew a deep breath. "Do you think Ivy Brandon is capable of murder?"

  Georges Duval betrayed no surprise at the question. "The human soul is a mystery, mademoiselle, but one thing I do know. The woman who wantonly destroyed Pierre's happiness was worse—far worse—than any murderer."

  It was a silent couple who left the villa and returned to their hotel, and even as they dined in a small restaurant overlooking the sea later that evening, they found it difficult to make light conversation; somehow the painful story they had learned that day had put an end to meaningless chatter.

  Alix was still afraid to believe she had come to the end of her quest. Yet surely this was the case? After all, she had proof positive that Lady Brandon had an excellent reason for murdering Henri. Obviously he had discovered she had been selling information about himself and his salon to the press and had no doubt threatened to expose her.

  Mark agreed with this theory. "S
he must have realized that if he did, it would put paid to her daughter's marriage."

  "So she shot him. Maybe she hoped the police would think it was one of Henri's girl friends—there were enough to choose from!" Alix stared down at her food. "She must have got him to meet her in the rose garden. She knew they wouldn't be within earshot of anyone, so she could find out exactly what he intended to do. When she learned he had made up his mind to expose her, she killed him."

  "First making sure she had the alibi of watching that serial on television."

  "Yes. If she hadn't gone to such lengths to let everyone know she had watched it in her own home, I doubt if I'd have suspected her. But the moment the garage man told me she had watched it in his cottage…"

  "Do you think she intended to look at it there, or was that an accident?"

  "I'm sure it was an accident. She must have left her house soon after Fleur. She got to the rose garden, shot Henri and was then driving home hell-bent for leather to watch the serial—or as much of it as she could manage in the time—when she had a puncture. She was pretty desperate by then because she could see her alibi disappearing, and it was a stroke of luck when she found she could watch it at the garage. She stayed there until the end of the show and then returned to the manor. When she arrived, Henri's death had already been discovered and the first thing she said when she came into the drawing room was that she'd been watching a television serial at home."

  "Watching a tv program in someone else's house doesn't make her guilty of murder," Mark said slowly.

  "What about Georges Duval's story? Doesn't that give her a good reason for killing Henri?"

  "Possibly. But you haven't any actual proof."

  "You're being purposely defeatist. As soon as I get home I'm going to tell Inspector Truscott the whole story."

  "Will you tell Paul?"

  "Of course. I didn't tell him before, in case it raised his hopes, but now—"

  "He'll realize you didn't come to Nice for a weekend with your lover!" Mark said swiftly. "Doesn't that make you feel better?"

  "Paul's opinion of me doesn't matter."

  "Rot. You know damn well his opinion matters more than anyone else's."

  He drummed his fingers on the table, and the proprietor, realizing they would eat no more that evening, cleared away the plates and set cups and a percolator before them.

  It was not until they were sipping their coffee and cognac that Mark spoke again.

  "When I got back from South America you told me I shouldn't waste my time seeing you, and I told you I'd go on seeing you as long as I felt there was any hope. Well, I've changed my mind."

  "Oh Mark, I'm sorry. If only—"

  "Don't apologize, Alix. You can't help loving Paul any more than I can help loving you. But it's foolish for me to go on seeing you while you're in this state. I've been offered an assignment in Canada and I've accepted it. I'll be away about a year."

  "As long as that?" Looking at the rugged face in front of her, she felt a sense of loss. "When are you going?"

  "Wednesday."

  "So soon? I'll miss you, Mark. You're the best friend I have."

  "You can always hop on a plane and join me!" He caught hold of her hand. "I'm hoping you'll be able to put Paul out of your mind once he gets married. But as long as he's free, you'll go on hoping."

  "I won't be hoping much longer," she said with an attempt at lightness. "Once his innocence has been proved, he'll marry Dina; he as good as told me so."

  Alix and Mark returned to London late on Sunday night, and their final goodbye was a casual one, for no more words were necessary between them. As she watched him go down the hall she knew a moment of such loneliness that she almost called him back, but with an effort she held her tongue and closed the front door.

  As always when she was alone, her thoughts centered on Paul. If only she could call him now and tell him all she had learned from his uncle. But this was not something that could be discussed over the telephone. She would see him tomorrow and tell him to his face. Then together they would go to see Truscott. Once Paul's name was cleared a new life would open for him, bringing with it not only the blossoming of his career but also marriage.

  The early-morning breeze was keen as Alix parked her car and entered the salon of Duval's. Only as she crossed the foyer did her confidence fail. What if she were wrong about Lady Brandon and was merely raising Paul's hopes falsely? But she dared not think that way!

  If she did, how could she convince not only Paul but also the inspector?

  The red-headed receptionist smiled at her.

  "If you've come to see Mr. Duval, you're in for a wait. He's supervising a fitting for Miss Lloyd, and that always takes time."

  Dina, always Dina! Alix suppressed a pang of jealousy.

  "Will you tell him I'm here anyway and that it's extremely important I see him as soon as possible? I'll be in my office."

  She mounted the staircase and entered the small room Henri Duval had set aside for her. It was empty, although a large pile of letters on her desk was waiting to be sorted. Idly she glanced at them and then, unable to concentrate, put them down. The fitting rooms were on the other side of the corridor and, unable to restrain her impatience, she crossed the hall toward them.

  "Mr. Duval?" she called softly.

  A curtain was pushed back and Dina stood there in a vivid sun dress. "He's gone to the workroom for a moment. Come on in and talk to me. Long time no see."

  "I've been busy," Alix said quickly. "And anyway I didn't think it advisable for you to have any more publicity for the time being. It seemed best to give your name a rest."

  "I wasn't talking about seeing you in a business capacity, darling. We used to be friends, remember." Dina turned to look at herself in the mirror and spoke to Alix's reflection. "You changed toward me when I started seeing Henri."

  "Did I?"

  "Don't pretend, darling. You got onto your high horse and you've been riding it ever since."

  "It had nothing to do with your seeing Henri Duval. I just didn't think you were playing fair in seeing Paul as well."

  "Why should a woman play fair? Men don't." The smile had gone from Dina's face, leaving it looking peaky and older. "Anyway it's all over now. As cold and dead as Henri is."

  "Don't!" Alix said quickly, and stepped out of the cubicle. "I really must find Paul. I'll—"

  "He'll be back in a moment. Wait here for him."

  Reluctantly Alix came back into the cubicle, watching as Dina postured in front of the mirror.

  "Like it?" she said, pointing to her dress.

  "Isn't it early to be choosing summer clothes?"

  "It'll be summer in Australia when I get there. I'm going on a three months' tour. I finally accepted the offer this weekend."

  "I'd no idea you were leaving the play." Alix was astonished.

  "I wanted to get away." For an instant Dina had a strained look again, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had come. "I'm touring with the Shakespeare Players—quite a new venture for me."

  "I can't imagine you in Shakespeare," Alix said slowly. "But I think you're wise to extend your range."

  "So do I. I never thought of myself as a dramatic actress, but when Henri died…" Dina moved closer to the mirror and smoothed her hair. "In those first awful weeks I gave the best performance of my life. Paul helped, of course, but even so…" She stepped back from the mirror. "Henri wasn't a wicked man, you know. He just hated the thought of growing old. If he had lived I'm sure my feelings for him wouldn't have lasted, but he died at a time when he… when he still meant everything in my life." Tears glittered in the large eyes. "Paul was the only one who realized how much Henri meant to me. Even you never guessed."

  "I just thought of it as an affair to pass the time," Alix admitted.

  Dina gave a tremulous laugh. "My honest friend!"

  Alix sighed. "I was never good at pretending. If it's for publicity I can lie my head 6ff, but where—" She stopped abruptly.


  "But where you love you cannot lie?" Dina concluded.

  There was a tense silence and Alix let out her breath slowly. Only a few night ago Mark had stumbled on her secret, and it was more than she could bear that Dina should do the same.

  "I'd have disliked playing off a father and son no matter who had been involved," she said firmly. "I have no personal feelings toward Paul." To emphasize what she said, she knew she must say more, and she blindly stumbled on. "How does he feel about your going to Australia? You should try to get him to join you there for Christmas. It's an excellent market for his ready-to-wear."

  "Don't play matchmaker," Dina replied. "Paul's delighted I'm going away. He was the one who persuaded me to accept the offer."

  Alix was angry for not having realized this herself. Naturally Paul would encourage Dina to go away on a tour! While suspicion of murder hung over his head he could never marry her. She looked at her friend's slender figure and wondered if Dina knew why Paul had acted this way. But it was his prerogative to explain and had nothing to do with herself.

  "What's keeping him so long?" she asked jerkily. "I've got to talk to him."

  "Why?"

  Ignoring the question, Alix ran from the cubicle. She was at the foot of the stairs when Paul appeared at the top, and after a momentary hesitation, he came down to join her.

  "Good morning," he said coolly. "Did you have a nice weekend?"

  "It was lovely." She saw his eyes flicker over her and blushed. "I must talk to you, Paul. It's terribly important."

  "I'm busy. Can it wait until lunchtime?"

  "I'd like to tell you as soon as possible."

  "Wait for me in my office," he said and strode toward Dina's cubicle.

  Alix was restlessly wandering around his room when he joined her. His manner was composed although he was breathing fast, and when he sat at his desk he looked at a point beyond her shoulder.

  "Well," he asked, "what is it?"

  She clenched her hands. Now that he was here, waiting for her to speak, she did not know how to begin.

  "It's about… your father's death."

  Paul said nothing, although his mouth tightened.

  "Do you remember all those items in Jamie Hunter's column?" she went on. "Well, I know where he got them from."