Classical Murder

by Joan Carter

“Can it get any better?” said Ned.

  “You’ll never guess who’s coming in tomorrow to be interviewed for the pre-publicity.”

  “No, I don’t think I can – unless it’s Tim’s mother?”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Imogen. “It’s Gilles Parterre.”

  “That will be great.”

  “But don’t you know who I mean? Sabine’s ex-partner. I told you that it’s through him we got the contract.”

  “I know.”

  “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” said Imogen, noticing Ned’s unwillingness to share in her enthusiasm.

  “No. Should there be?”

  “You seem a little put out.”

  “Who me? Never. I’ll let myself out.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow,” said Imogen.

  Ned didn’t reply and she heard the front door close. She felt a pang of guilt, realising that he might be feeling a little left out. “But I must get on with this,” she muttered, as she turned back to her computer. “I’ll be extra nice to Ned next time I see him.”

  CHAPTER 27

  For some reason, Imogen cared hugely about what she wore the following morning. It was nearly the pure silk grey dress with the black cardigan, but she decided that that would be a bit formal at a studio shoot full of trendy, artistic people – especially Tim, who went for the “haven’t really tried, amazingly smooth, artistic” look. Also Gilles, who was smart in an understated artistic manner. She finally plumped for a black velvet pencil skirt and black opaque tights, with a dark grey cardigan that was appliquéd with lighter grey flowers. She hoped she’d achieved a sort of Sophie/Juliette look – French and boho. She left her hair loose to complement the outfit, then at the last moment pulled it back into a low ponytail. I don’t want to look as if I’m trying too hard, she thought, aware that she’d nearly killed herself getting the look right.

  “I wonder if I’ve got time to phone Ned,” she muttered to herself, as she pulled on her coat. Checking her watch and thinking that it would be too rushed, she decided to phone him later.

  *****

  “Hey,” said Tarquin, when Imogen arrived at the office. “You look cool.”

  “Thank you, it’s not often I get compliments from the younger generation,” she said, laughing. “Are the others here yet?”

  “Who exactly do you mean?” asked Tarquin.

  “Oh, you know, Sebastian and the Beaumarchais team.”

  “If you mean Tim, then he rang to say he’ll be slightly late.” Tarquin’s tone was pretty abrupt. “He apologised and said that he had to pick up some equipment.”

  “Oh, fine. What about Sebastian?” Imogen didn’t want it to seem as though she was only interested in Tim, although that was obviously the impression that Tarquin had.

  “He phoned, too. He’ll also be a little late. I gather he and some of the others worked on –Tarquin did speech marks in the air – last night. Of course, he made it sound as though it was a huge sacrifice, but I know for a fact that they were all going to dinner.”

  “So tiring, darling,” said Imogen.

  “Exactly,” said Tarquin, “but it was obviously just a huge beano.”

  “Plus ça change,” said Imogen. “Ah, here comes someone.”

  “Why, hello,” said Tim.

  Imogen couldn’t help noticing that he looked pretty sleek. He even had on a smart leather jacket, with chinos and sneakers. All very cool. His eyes seemed very green and he might even have had a haircut since the day before. He certainly looked very smooth. Imogen could feel her cheeks flushing, which annoyed her.

  “How are you?” said Imogen.

  “Fine, thank you,” said Tim. “Sorry I’m a little bit late. I had a bit of housekeeping to do in our office and one or two pieces of equipment to collect. Is Sebastian here yet?”

  “No,” said Imogen. “He’s been delayed. Tarquin took the message. He’s got some housekeeping to do as well, hasn’t he?” She looked over at Tarquin.

  “Something like that,” said Tarquin, “but he hopes to be here very soon.”

  “It’s just that Gilles Parterre is likely to arrive at any moment, I gather,” said Tim.

  “That’s fine,” said Imogen. “I’ve prepared all my notes.”

  “Good,” said Tim. “And here’s the photographer.” A young chap carrying loads of equipment staggered through the doors, followed by an older chap carrying a sheaf of notes. Imogen and Tarquin assumed that the older chap was the photographer. At the same time, the internal telephone rang. Tarquin picked it up.

  “It’s Gilles Parterre,” he said. “He’s in reception now.”

  Imogen and Tim went to greet Gilles and his assistants. Imogen spotted Gilles as soon as the lift doors opened. He looked oh so cool and oh so French in his trademark black polo neck sweater. His hair was slightly longer than usual, but, she noticed, there were no shades. He had made a concession to the English weather.

  “Imogen, this is wonderful,” said Gilles, giving her a huge hug and multiple air kisses.

  From the corner of her eye, Imogen could see that Tim was impressed. Extracting herself from Gilles’ embrace, she replied, “It’s great to see you. I couldn’t believe it when I heard that you were involved in this project. Let me introduce you to Tim Harper.”

  “Ah,” said Gilles, shaking Tim’s hand, “we have already spoken on the telephone, I believe.”

  “That’s right,” said Tim. “I’m directing operations for the London end of the project.”

  “Well, let’s not waste any time,” said Gilles. “We have a lot to do.”

  “It’s this way,” said Imogen.

  *****

  “So, how are you and what’s been happening?” said Gilles to Imogen, as they waited for the apparatus to be set up.

  “Really fine, thank you,” said Imogen. “I—”

  “Here we are,” said Tim, joining them. “Let’s sit over at this table and I can show you the schedule we have for this morning.”

  “I see we are to break at one,” said Gilles, as he leafed through the papers. “I hope we won’t overrun because I have a lunch date with a beautiful young woman.”

  “Lucky you,” said Tim, laughing.

  “Yes, she’s called Imogen and she’s an old friend. You are free, aren’t you?” he said to Imogen.

  “Why, yes, of course,” she replied, smiling.

  “Good. Let’s get going then or we won’t be ready in time for lunch. Is that alright with you?” Gilles said, turning to Tim.

  “Of course,” said Tim, but his voice sounded rather strained.

  *****

  “Now that we are away from everyone else, let me hear all your news,” said Gilles, after a waiter had shown them to their table in a small, informal bistro near the office. “It seems such a very long time since the Chorégies, especially with the weather beginning to be so cold.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you so much for recommending us for this job. It’s a huge coup for such a small outfit.”

  Gilles laughed. “I know that,” he said. “It amused me to take the directors by surprise – yet I was right. You made the effort to be at the Chorégies and you interviewed me. No other English publication had done that.”

  Imogen felt uneasy. She was grateful that Gilles didn’t know what had really prompted her to ask him for an interview. “Even so, it was very good of you,” she said. “So often these opportunities are scooped up by the big boys, who have more resources than us. We don’t really get a look-in.”

  “Well, this time you have. Anyway, tell me about your book and what you’ve been doing.”

  “It’s going very well. All the interviews are finished and Tarquin, our young assistant, is handling some of the research and editing. I was in Paris this weekend, by the way.
I went to a book reading by Sabine. A friend noticed that she was giving a reading and booked tickets for us to go.”

  “A very nice friend.”

  “Yes,” said Imogen, realising, with a guilty feeling, that she hadn’t got round to ringing Ned.

  “Was it worth the trip?” asked Gilles.

  “Oh, yes. The reading was excellent. Even better, the following morning I met up with Sabine and we caught up on all the news while she showed me around Montmartre.”

  “Sabine has always loved Montmartre,” said Gilles. “It appeals to the bohemian side in her.”

  “She doesn’t strike me as bohemian. She’s always so chic.”

  “Ah, but we all change as we age.”

  “I suppose so,” said Imogen, laughing. “You didn’t make it to the reading, did you?”

  “Obviously she hasn’t told you. We are no longer seeing each other.”

  “No? Gosh, that really seems a shame.”

  Gilles gave a very Gallic, exaggerated shrug. “That is how these things go. She just told me and I accepted it.”

  “Oh dear,” said Imogen. It was difficult to know what else to say.

  “Was Paul at the reading?” asked Gilles.

  “Yes, he was,” said Imogen, intrigued by the fact that Gilles had posed the question. “I didn’t speak to him. It was funny seeing him outside of Provence,” she added. “I can only really picture him there.”

  “Oh, he gets about quite a bit,” said Gilles. “He used to come to London quite a lot – for example, to hear Elodie Dufrais sing when she was alive. I’m not sure Sabine knew that, or even Elodie.”

  “I find that intriguing,” said Imogen.

  “Hey, look who’s here,” said Gilles, as Tim and some of the others entered the restaurant.

  “That’s a coincidence,” said Imogen.

  “Is it?” said Gilles.

  “Okay if we join you?” asked Tim, as he and two colleagues pulled up chairs. “There aren’t any spare tables.”

  “Of course,” said Imogen.

  “Sorry to spoil your tête à tête,” said Tim.

  “Somehow I don’t think so, but never mind,” said Gilles.

  “Well, it is a chance to go over the ideas we were discussing this morning,” said Tim.

  “Yes, of course it is, and it will give Imogen and I the excuse for another tête à tête to finish our conversation,” said Gilles, smiling at Imogen.

  Tim looked less than pleased, but didn’t respond.

  *****

  “Gosh, that was a pretty torrid afternoon,” said Imogen to Tarquin, as they carried their papers back up to their offices later that afternoon.

  “But so interesting, if a bit exhausting,” replied Tarquin.

  “Oh, yes,” said Imogen, noticing that even Tarquin looked tired. “It’s a great opportunity for you. It’s rare to get so close to stars. I mean, you had a top baritone telling you how he likes his coffee! That doesn’t happen very often, I can tell you.”

  “It’s a fabulous project,” said Tarquin, “to do all the Beaumarchais operas. How did it come about?”

  “Oh, partly it’s something very rarely done, so it’s different, and people are always looking for something different to do! Beaumarchais was, among other things, a playwright. Rossini based the Barber of Seville on one of his plays, Mozart used another for The Marriage of Figaro, and Corigliano also based an opera on one. These are the operas being used in this project, although other composers, including Massenet, have also composed using Beaumarchais’ work as a basis. I have heard it suggested before that these three operas should be staged consecutively – a bit like Wagner’s ring cycle, but it doesn’t really seem to get done.”

  “Such fabulous people are involved,” said Tarquin, as they reached the office and unlocked the door. “Gilles is just incredible. His technical knowledge is phenomenal, yet he has an amazing artistic slant on things and he’s really knowledgeable about the scores.”

  “Did I hear my name mentioned?” said a voice behind them.

  “Why, Gilles,” said Imogen, “yes, you did. Tarquin was just praising you.”

  “Oh, well, don’t stop,” said Gilles, laughing, as they went into the offices.

  Imogen and Tarquin placed their files on their desks, not liking to ask Gilles why he had come there.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” asked Imogen.

  “No, thank you. I have to get going,” said Gilles. “I would just like to finish our conversation from lunchtime. You will remember, I am sure, that we had some uninvited guests.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Imogen, laughing. “Still, it was a useful discussion.”

  “I think it was a little more than that,” said Gilles. “It wasn’t all about work.”

  “I bet,” said Tarquin, turning to look at Gilles.

  “Perhaps we could start a little earlier tomorrow,” suggested Gilles. “Say, 8am? The others won’t be here until later, and I would like to explain some things to you.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m happy to come in early, if it helps,” said Tarquin.

  “Thank you, but I am afraid that this is personal,” said Gilles. “What do you think?” He turned to Imogen.

  “That should be fine,” she said, a little embarrassed that the conversation was taking place in front of Tarquin.

  “So, if we meet at the same restaurant and have some breakfast, then hopefully we will not be disturbed.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “I have a suggestion,” said Gilles, turning to Tarquin.

  “Yes?” said Tarquin, almost wagging his tail, like a puppy.

  “I’m going to meet with my team now to talk over a few ideas before we put them to the sponsors of the project. Why don’t you come along? It will be an opportunity to meet a few more of the team and to see how we manage things – especially when it’s a co-production like this. These are going to become the norm as money is so tight and productions are very expensive to mount.”

  Tarquin had his coat on before Gilles had finished speaking.

  “I thought you were tired,” Imogen said, smiling.

  “Not at all,” said Tarquin.

  *****

  “You see,” said Gilles, the following morning, with Imogen sitting opposite him in the restaurant, “I wanted to give you my side of the story regarding Sabine. Lots of things can be suggested by people who know nothing. As those others turned up yesterday during lunch, I felt it left matters a bit unresolved.”

  “I understand,” said Imogen, who had again spent ages dressing down for the day, and was wearing black jeans with a beige cashmere sweater and pearls. It was what Ned always called her ‘Sloaney’ look. Gilles, for once, was super smart in a navy suit with a pale blue shirt and dark blue tie. Pretty good, thought Imogen.

  “Let’s order first,” said Gilles. “Would you like a ‘full English’, as they say?”

  “No, thank you,” replied Imogen, laughing. “Just coffee and a croissant for me.”

  “Same for me,” said Gilles to the waiter. “Now, what I want to say to you, Imogen, is that there is no bad feeling between Sabine and me. I think that it is important for people to know that.”

  “But weren’t you together for some time?”

  “Yes, that is true. We met after she and Paul had left each other. As so often happens, we were friends first, then became lovers. There was always a problem in the background, however, as I’m sure you know.” Imogen said nothing. “Sabine and Paul had also been friends, then lovers. They were at a music college in Nice.”

  “There was quite a group down there, wasn’t there?” asked Imogen.

  “Yes and many of them are now famous in their fields.” Imogen was itching to mention
Elodie, but she didn’t. “There were lots of liaisons, as you can imagine,” said Gilles, “with all these young people together, but somehow Paul and Sabine hung on through it all and eventually they married. Over time, it didn’t really work and they parted. Sabine, of course, was still in love with Paul, and people joke about the way she still keeps an eye on him – for example, by living near him.”

  “And putting up with his other relationships.”

  “True. It is odd, but I think that they have both supported each other all along. And look how, now that Sophie has deserted Paul, he has once again gone back to Sabine.”

  “I find it strange that Sabine seems so weak where Paul is concerned, yet intellectually she is very strong.”

  “That is how I came to know her, through some of her very intellectual friends, who also happened to be acquaintances of mine,” said Gilles. “Our relationship was very relaxed, almost to the point that we only saw each other when we happened to be in the same place. When Paul started to see Sophie, however, Sabine became very tense and worried. I think she feared that he had met someone he might stay with, which would destroy her hopes of being with him again. I have been told it was the first time she had been so upset since Paul had a relationship with Elodie Dufrais.”

  “I see,” said Imogen, riveted, but trying to hide it, “but Paul and Sophie aren’t together anymore, as you said.” She said nothing further. It was tricky territory and she didn’t want to show her hand.

  “Anyway, Sophie, as I’m sure you know,” said Gilles, “has had a better offer.”

  “Frédéric,” said Imogen.

  “Precisely. An international opera star seemed more exciting.”

  “And a chance for publicity.”

  “Not exactly true love,” said Gilles.

  “But surely Frédéric would see through that pretty quickly?”

  “I would think so, but hey, even if he does, it might be nice to have someone to do things with, especially if she’s young and gorgeous.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Anyhow, that is what I wanted you to know. Just in case you talk to Sabine. I can see that the two of you have a rapport.”