Classical Murder

by Joan Carter

  “Are you going away?” she asked.

  “No, I’m not going anywhere,” he replied. “Sophie is going back to Paris. She has spent the summer down here, helping me, but her main residence is in Paris. She lives and paints in a studio, and lectures at a college. It is reopening soon after the summer break and she needs to go back. In the winter months, I usually go to see her more, rather than her coming down here.”

  “You must miss her,” said Imogen.

  Paul shrugged. “Life goes on,” he said.

  Imogen decided not to ask him how.

  Sophie appeared at that moment. The summer apparel was gone. Sophie wore tight jeans, a striped T-shirt and a black leather jacket. With drop earrings, heavy metal bangles and fringed leather ankle boots, she was the perfect young Parisienne.

  “Good luck,” said Imogen, “and thank you for all your help. I’m sorry you are leaving.”

  “I must,” said Sophie, “but I will, of course, come back for Marie’s funeral.”

  “Do you know when it will be?” asked Imogen.

  “No, the date still hasn’t been set as it depends on the investigation,” said Paul. “It could be some time.”

  “I see,” said Imogen. She turned back to Sophie. “By the way, I may go back via Paris in a couple of week’s time. If you like, we could meet up.”

  “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “Yes, it seems a shame to miss such an opportunity. I haven’t been to Paris for some time.”

  “I must give you my number. I live in the Marais. It is very central.”

  Wow, thought Imogen. The Marais. It doesn’t come more fashionable than that. If you live there, then I’m definitely coming to see you. “Thank you,” she said, not wanting Sophie to see how impressed she was.

  “Perhaps you would like to stay with me?” asked Sophie. “I have just enough room, although my apartment is very small.”

  “Oh, no, but thank you,” said Imogen. “I have a friend who will be coming. We’ll book into a hotel.”

  “A lover, I suspect,” said Paul, laughing.

  “No, just a very good friend – in fact, you’ve met him. It’s Ned,” said Imogen, feeling her cheeks reddening.

  “That is a shame,” said Paul. “It is good to have lovers at your age. Although, of course, it is good to have lovers at any age.”

  Imogen felt that Paul’s comment was unnecessary. She couldn’t think of a suitable reply, so she turned to Sophie. “I’d love to have your number.”

  Sophie rummaged in her bag and produced a small card – very similar to a business card – and gave it to Imogen. They embraced and Paul drove Sophie to the station in Avignon. Once they had left, Imogen looked more closely at the card. On it, Sophie described herself as an ‘Artiste Peintre’, but Imogen noticed very little else about it. The reason being that the card, although made of stiffer material, and smaller, was of identical design to the paper that she had found behind Estelle’s door just after Marie’s death. Imogen was so flustered she dropped the card. Picking it up, she thought, I wonder what Ned is going to make of this.

  Imogen knew that Ned was going to be very busy that day, so she collected some food, returned to the house and got down to work. She worked right through the day, with only a light lunch and a short stroll late afternoon. Early evening, she decided to wrap things up and started to think about supper. She was pleased with the day, not just because she had achieved considerable progress, but because working so hard had kept her mind off Sophie’s business card. She had left it on a side table in the kitchen, where it wouldn’t distract her.

  *****

  There was a knock on the door, just as Imogen started to wash some salad. She was surprised, on opening it, to find Paul standing there.

  “I thought I’d see how you were getting on,” he said, entering and sitting down at the table.

  “Oh, I’m absolutely fine, thank you,” said Imogen. “I’ve got several interviews to conduct before I go back so I’m working very hard.” She didn’t know why, but Paul’s presence made her feel slightly edgy, especially as he so quickly made himself at home.

  “It’s a shame you came at such a dreadful time. I hope it won’t give you bad memories of our village or of the people.”

  “Oh, no,” said Imogen. “I love it here, especially now, when there are few tourists. I get the feeling there are many families who have been in the area for a long time. Marie’s family, for example.”

  “That can, however, be a disadvantage,” said Paul.

  “How do you mean?” said Imogen.

  “Well, sometimes, old arguments can stay around for a very long time. It is important not to get involved. It can be very dangerous.” He was looking straight at her. She began to feel uneasy.

  “Are you saying that is what happened to Marie? I thought it was supposed to be an accident.”

  “Who knows?” said Paul. “But until we do know, I’m just saying that it is best to take care.”

  “Of course I will,” said Imogen.

  Paul stood up, as if to leave. “Estelle has gone. Sophie has gone. You are on your own. You must ask me if you need help.” He moved towards her. In fact, he was so close she could smell the lemon fragrance of his cologne.

  “I’ll be fine, I’m sure,” said Imogen, backing off. She could feel a flush rising to her cheeks. “It’s very kind of you, though,” she added. “I will definitely call on you if I have a problem.”

  Paul smiled. “Good,” he said, straightening up. “Now, with Sophie and Estelle gone, Raoul and I are getting a little lonely. We wondered if you would like to have dinner with us tonight?”

  “Oh, thank you, but I really don’t have time.” She moved towards the door to give a hint to Paul. He took her hand and kissed it.

  “Remember,” he said. “I am here if you need me. And, above all, take care.” Imogen opened the door and Paul left.

  Imogen locked the door as soon as Paul had left and phoned Ned, praying that he was free to answer. Suddenly, she was missing him.

  “How’s it going?” he asked. It was such a comfort to hear his voice. The words just poured out.

  “I’ve just had a visit from Paul. It was really creepy. He almost implied that Marie’s death was part of a vendetta, and he was very suggestive indeed. Also, Sophie gave me a business card from the same style of stationery as the paper I found with the words that Elodie used. I feel very vulnerable. I don’t know what to think about anything.”

  “More than ever I feel that it will be a relief when you leave there.”

  “Yes and no. In many ways, I’m ready to leave, but I love Provence. Nothing can beat the combination of fragrance, warmth, cicadas. It’s magic.”

  “You really should be working for a poetry magazine.”

  “No, there’s music in the air here. It’s all the same thing.”

  “My goodness, it does seem to have turned you into a romantic. You’ll be writing an opera next.”

  “Well, don’t forget that Gounod wrote one down here. Don’t forget, either, to get the Murger book from Tarquin. Who knows what we may find in it.”

  CHAPTER 14

  It was with relief that Imogen packed her cases on the last morning of her stay in Eygalières. Much as she loved Provence, too much had happened there that was disturbing. Ever since Marie’s death she had felt vulnerable, even though there was no direct evidence of foul play.

  She had considered driving to Paris as her luggage had grown since she came down, but decided to take the train. A cab was due to arrive from Avignon. She had avoided Paul since his visit to the house, so there was no one to whom she needed to say goodbye. For now, there was certainly no looking back. As she boarded the train at Avignon, she was aware of how much she’d changed since she came down a few weeks before.
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  Even so, as the train started to move back up through territory she’d covered so hopefully, and so recently, she felt sadness. It was only as they left Provence and the terrain changed that her mood lifted. Keen not to waste the journey time, she took out her laptop and started to work, aware that this was an escape from too many sombre thoughts.

  *****

  It seemed that in no time Imogen was waiting for Ned at the Gare du Nord, having already checked into the hotel. It was so lovely to see him. She felt a pang as he walked down the platform towards her. He was beaming, obviously pleased to see her. Imogen didn’t know what she’d do without him.

  “Ah, the perfume of France. I can smell it in the air. It’s wonderful to be in Paris,” said Ned.

  “I shouldn’t think that there’s much perfume here in the station,” said Imogen. “How was your trip?”

  “Brilliant. Totally straightforward. And so quick. I must do this more often.”

  “Let’s do it this time, first,” said Imogen, laughing.

  “Where do we get a cab?” asked Ned.

  “You’re travelling very light. We can just take the Métro.”

  “Great. If I can dump my stuff in the hotel, then I’m all yours.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “You bet. We’re only here for a short time. I want to make the most of it.”

  *****

  “I should have known that making the most of Paris meant that the first stop would be a bar,” said Imogen.

  They were sitting outside a bar quite close to the Louvre. The streets were fairly busy with tourists, although there were also some children making their way home from school with their parents.

  “I’m only having a snifter to get me in the mood. Anyway, we have to work out where we’re going to dinner. With so little time, we can’t afford to get it wrong.”

  “Perhaps I should have asked about restaurants in the hotel,” said Imogen.

  “No need,” said Ned, producing a piece of paper from his pocket. “I’ve done some research on the internet and I have a few suggestions. The first one is on La Rive Gauche – The Left Bank. We could stroll there now and see if they’ve got a table for this evening.”

  “Must get our priorities right,” said Imogen.

  “Mais oui. After all, we are in France.”

  *****

  The restaurant was a small bistro, situated in the old, narrow streets that formed part of The Left Bank. They were able to reserve a table for the evening and decided to go back to the hotel to change. Imogen was getting ready to shower when the phone rang.

  “Quick!” said Ned. “Come here now.”

  Throwing on a dressing gown, Imogen ran across the corridor to Ned’s room. Ned gestured towards the television, where Frédéric was on the screen giving an interview. Imogen sat next to Ned on the bed and listened. It was in French, so she didn’t pick up everything, but she could tell that the gist of the conversation was about Elodie’s death. The tone was very sombre.

  “I am now coming to terms with the fact that she has gone and am trying to start to rebuild my life. It isn’t easy to move on when what you really want is to have your old life back.”

  Frédéric stood up and moved towards the piano. It was obvious that he was going to sing. He had chosen a simple aria, ‘Celeste Aida’, from the opera Aida by Verdi.

  Not too much of a tearjerker, thought Imogen, but fitting, as it was inspired by love.

  “Well, he may be distraught, but he doesn’t look it to me,” said Ned. “I’d say he got over things very quickly indeed. He’s certainly come back to Paris pretty quickly.”

  “Well, you would think that,” said Imogen. “I thought it was very moving. And, after all, it is only a couple of months since she died.”

  “Ah, but we’re supposed to be moved,” said Ned. “I thought he seemed like a man very keen to make the most of the situation. I actually thought he might give a sob or two during the aria.”

  “You’re so mean,” said Imogen, throwing a towel at him. “I’m going to finish my shower.”

  *****

  Imogen had decided to wear one of her chicest outfits for dinner. After all, this was Paris. She wore a low-cut, tight-fitting, black crepe dress with high-heeled, black, open-toe shoes. She carried a white silk stole. Ned wore a cream linen suit, pale pink cotton shirt and tan loafers.

  “I think we make quite a pair,” said Ned.

  “So we should,” said Imogen. “After all, dinner on The Left Bank is quite an event.”

  They were able to stroll to the restaurant, despite Imogen’s heels. They were shown to a table in the middle of the terrace at the front, which gave them a good view of the world going by. The menu was simple cuisine at its best and they both ordered Boeuf Bourguinon with onion soup to start. They shared a glace afterwards, then sauntered along The Left Bank. The sun was just setting over the Seine with a beautiful mixture of red and blue light. The Bateaux Mouches were already cruising along the river, with diners enjoying the sights of Paris as they ate. Everywhere, people – young couples, older couples and families – were strolling around and enjoying the views. As ever in France, there seemed to be a jazz group on every corner, providing a musical background to the sights.

  “Oh, I love this,” said Ned. “I really love it. What a way to relax after a week at work. What shall we plan for tomorrow, do you think? Something classic, maybe? The Eiffel Tower? Or the Louvre?”

  “I’m easy, although I will phone Sophie. Seeing the TV reminded me that I should probably phone Frédéric, too. What do you think?”

  “I can’t think of one good reason why you should let Frédéric get away with his plan to lure you into his den. If you were thinking of seeing Sophie, however, I have a friend who is on secondment to the Pasteur Institute. I mentioned that I was coming to Paris and he’s invited me over to see some of his work. I could do that while you see Sophie and we could sightsee around it.”

  “Great.”

  *****

  “Imogen. It’s Sebastian.”

  “Hi,” said Imogen, wondering what was wrong. One didn’t expect to get a call from Sebastian on a Friday evening.

  “I have a suggestion.”

  “Yes…” Imogen felt wary.

  “It’s to do with Tarquin – he’s on my other line, by the way. As I mentioned in Nîmes, he’s been rather supportive – well, as much as can be given his lack of experience.”

  “I understand completely,” said Imogen.

  “Anyhow,” said Sebastian, “a friend has given me a couple of tickets for a performance by the saxophonist Christophe Subot at the Salle Pleyel. It’s not really my scene, but it turns out that Tarquin is a huge fan. He’s rather nagged me to let him go.”

  “Just as I did.”

  “Exactly. I must say, my staff do bully me.” He paused to reflect on his suffering. “It would be marvellous for Tarquin to pop over and have a bit of fun. His parents can get him a ticket on the Eurostar and he has some friends he can – what did you say, Tarquin? – doss down with. It’s just that his mother fusses a bit, so I said I’d ask you to keep an eye on him. Maybe even go to the concert with him. Sorry this has all come up at the last moment, but I’ve been working late this evening, tossing around some ideas with friends over dinner, so Tarquin couldn’t get hold of me. You will help, won’t you, darling?”

  “Sure,” said Imogen. “Tell Tarquin I’ll meet him at the Eurostar station.”

  *****

  “Oh, great,” said Ned. “Thank you, Sebastian. Now we’ve got a juvenile to monitor.”

  “He’s very sweet. And he’s got some friends here.”

  “Yes, but really. We don’t get many breaks.” Imogen was surprised by the annoyance in Ned’s voice.

  “We don’t do badly. Let’s
look at this concert to see if we’d like to go with Tarquin.”

  “That’s it,” said Ned. “That’s the whole point. I hoped that this would be a romantic weekend. Just the two of us. After all, it is Paris.”

  Imogen laughed. “Perhaps we’re just not romantic types.”

  “Well, you certainly don’t seem to be.”

  Ned’s tone made Imogen turn to look at him. She saw that he had reddened. She decided not to say any more. It wasn’t a line of conversation she was ready to pursue.

  *****

  “Sophie, it’s Imogen.”

  “Well, hello!”

  “I’m in Paris now and wondered whether we could meet today? Sorry for the short notice. Oh, and one other point, I may have someone with me. A young chap from my office whom I’m chaperoning.”

  “How nice.”

  “I don’t think Ned would agree with you.”

  “Is Ned here, too? It would be lovely to see him.”

  I bet it would, thought Imogen, biting her lip. She hadn’t intended to mention Ned.

  “Yes, but I think he’s going to visit a friend today.” Well, it might be true, and she didn’t really want Ned and Sophie seeing each other. Not that she should really mind…

  “It is early, as you say,” said Sophie, “and I need to do some work later today – some preparation for Monday. Why don’t you bring this young man to my flat and we can have lunch together at, say, twelve o clock? Or let’s be American and call it brunch.”

  “That would be great. If my colleague has other plans, I will come on my own.” And whatever happens, I won’t be bringing Ned, she thought.

  CHAPTER 15

  Imogen was waiting at the gate when Tarquin’s train came in. She wasn’t surprised when he was the last to reach the end of the platform. He looked quite trendy. His mother has probably been at work, thought Imogen, as she took in what looked like a new pair of jeans and a pink and grey striped polo shirt. Pity about his hair, though. She waved to him and he smiled and made his way towards her.