by Joan Carter
“Johnnie Rowe has been asking me for some time to look at some ads he’s thinking of placing in the magazine. He’s a good supporter, so I wouldn’t like him to feel we’re neglecting him just because we’ve got a big job on.”
“No, of course not.”
“Well done, darling. All the plans and timetabling for the launch are over there. Perhaps you can have a look at them while I’m out.”
“Right,” said Imogen.
“There’s a chance that my meeting will run into lunch, although I’m hoping to avoid that, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You will be alright though, darling, if I do get held up, won’t you? You seem a little pale today.”
“Sebastian, I’ll be fine.”
“Marvellous, darling. I’ll see you later.”
“Marvellous, darling,” muttered Imogen, as Sebastian left. “Of course we must keep Johnnie happy at all costs.”
*****
“Hi, it’s Tarquin.” With no sign of Sebastian, Imogen was having a late lunch at her desk when Tarquin rang. Luckily, she had brought a sandwich in with her, as she wouldn’t have liked to leave the office unattended. She had, in fact, been content to be alone and was almost grateful for the pile of work, which had helped to keep her mind off other subjects – such as Ned.
“How’s it going?” asked Imogen.
“Huge fun. Lots of pressure and beautiful people rushing around throwing wobblies. I love it.”
“That’s great.”
“I thought I’d better phone,” said Tarquin, “to check that you’re okay. I felt rather guilty leaving you to it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been fine.”
“And Sebastian?”
“Pressing engagement, darling, may run into lunch.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t leave you?” said Tarquin.
“I don’t mind, actually. I’m glad to have the peace.”
“I met someone who knows you today. He joined us for a working lunch.”
“Oh?”
“Paul Favet. Apparently he runs a restaurant in Provence and met you there during the summer.”
“Amazing. What’s he doing here?”
“It seems that Sophie introduced him to Tim at her launch.”
“No! She and Paul have only just broken up, as far as I know.”
“I think she just invited all her men and let them get on with it! It appears that Paul is pretty into opera, so Tim invited him in to see what’s going on.”
“Were you one of the men invited to the gallery?”
“Yes, but I took Genevieve to protect me!”
“Very wise.” Tarquin didn’t mention Ned, Imogen noticed, and neither did she.
“By the way,” said Tarquin. “I had a long talk with Paul about La Bohème. He was really keen to hear about the research you’d done on it and that Ned came to borrow the Murger book while you were in France.”
I bet he was, thought Imogen. “Yes, well,” she said. “The French do love their opera.”
“Actually I also phoned about another matter,” said Tarquin. “It’s to do with the photo session we had with Figaro and Susanna. We don’t seem to have all of the photos here.”
“Right. I’ll check what we’ve got.”
*****
Now, what’s this? thought Imogen, when an email popped into her work inbox some time later. She didn’t recognise the sender, but as her spam protection was pretty good, she decided to open it.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, when she saw it was from Paul. “He’s got some cheek using the Opera London account to email me.” However, she realised that her work account was the only one he could access without asking someone else.
‘I would love to meet,’ the email read. ‘There is so much that has happened since we last saw each other. It would be lovely to see you and to hear about your book and talk of Provence. I am not in London for long, so if by any chance you are free tonight, we could have a drink at my hotel – The Winslet – at around 7pm and then maybe some dinner?’
“Hmm,” said Imogen. It was very cheeky of Paul and she didn’t really know what his motives were, but then she thought, Why not? If Ned can go to the launch of Sophie’s exhibition, and Tim can flirt with everyone even though he’s married, and Sophie can cheat on Frédéric and chat up just about everyone in London, then why shouldn’t I get out and about a bit?
‘Love to,’ she replied. ‘I will see you at seven.’
*****
Paul’s hotel was close to Piccadilly, so, feeling rather daring, Imogen left the office at 6pm (there was no sign of Sebastian) and shopped for a new dress in Zara on Regent Street. The dress, young and fun, she thought – black crepe with a print of birds in fawn – was very of the moment. She managed to get a blow dry at one of the new hair bars, too. And as she always kept a smart pair of shoes in the office for emergencies, she was good to go.
*****
Paul was sitting in the lobby of the hotel when Imogen arrived. It was a small hotel, but nicely furnished in a traditional style, with plush furnishings, draped curtains and low lighting. The decor was blue and grey. Paul rose when he saw Imogen and went to greet her.
“You’re looking very good,” he said to her.
“Thank you,” she said, noticing how smartly he was dressed, in a dark grey flannel suit with open-necked red and white striped shirt.
“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Paul said. “It seemed rude of me to suggest it, but I have so little time available. I leave for Paris tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s fine. I’m delighted to see you,” said Imogen, although she was beginning to wonder what she was doing there. After all, she hardly knew this man.
“I have arranged for some champagne to be delivered to my room,” said Paul. “I thought it would be more private. Then, we can have dinner in the restaurant. I have booked a table for 8pm.”
It was difficult to say no, yet Imogen felt uneasy about the arrangement.
*****
The room was charming, albeit small. Containing just a double bed, a table and a fitted wardrobe, it was furnished in the same style as the lobby. On the table was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two glasses.
“Please sit down,” said Paul, pulling out one of the chairs. He started to pour the champagne.
“Here,” he said, “let’s drink to a friendship I hope will prosper.” He smiled. He really was so friendly and charming that, as the champagne began to have an effect, Imogen started to relax. There was no reason to mistrust him.
“I was so interested to hear from your junior, Tarquin, about your research into La Bohème,” said Paul. “Tell me, was there any specific reason you chose this opera?”
“Oh, yes,” said Imogen, who was beginning to feel rather strange, “it was all to do with Frédéric and Elodie.”
“How interesting. Why them, in particular?”
“It was about her murder, you see. Actually, I don’t feel too good.”
“Oh, dear. Perhaps you had better lie down. I will help you.”
Imogen could feel Paul supporting her as she made her way over to the bed. She smiled her thanks at him. It felt reassuring when he began to caress her neck. How she wished that banging outside would stop. Her head was splitting.
CHAPTER 30
Imogen felt someone holding her hand before she opened her eyes. When she did open them, it was Ned. He was sitting beside her hospital bed.
“Ouch,” she said, as a pain shot through her head.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have a headache for a little while,” said Ned.
“Paul,” said Imogen.
“Yes, it was Paul,” said Ned.
“How did you know?”
/>
“Tarquin rang me.”
“Tarquin?”
“Paul made the mistake of sending you an email via the Opera London site. Tarquin was checking it still, even though he was working for Tim Harper.”
“He’s such a little spy.”
“He tells me that he knew all along what we were up to with our interest in La Bohème and Provence.”
“Oh dear, we’re not very clever.”
“I think it’s just that Tarquin’s very, very with it,” said Ned.
“And Paul?”
“Paul’s in the local cop shop.”
“Ouch,” said Imogen, as another pain shot through her head.
“I’ll leave you for now,” said Ned. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk.”
“I hope so,” said Imogen.
*****
Ned had decided to throw what he called a ‘post-strangulation lunch’ a week or so after Imogen was out of hospital.
“I’ve invited Juliette and Jérôme, plus Tarquin and Genevieve,” he said. “I think that, including us, we’ll have most of the people who are on our side.”
“What about Paul?” said Imogen, who was resting on the sofa in her flat. Ned had been treating her like a baby ever since she had been discharged from hospital.
“He’s what they call ‘otherwise engaged’” said Ned, laughing. “Anyway, I’d rather not invite a murderer to dinner.”
“Don’t lets even think about it,” said Imogen. “I’ll just look forward to seeing everyone.”
*****
It wasn’t until well after they’d finished the main course that talk turned to Paul and recent events. It was Juliette who first raised the subject.
“I will always feel, Imogen, that somehow I should have made the link between Elodie’s death and Paul. Perhaps I dislike Frédéric so much I just assumed he must have had a hand in events.”
“I know someone else who did the same,” said Ned.
“Yes, but there were so many people involved,” said Imogen, simply dressed in black crepe trousers and a pale pink linen top. “I was never sure whether what people told me was true or what their motives were. Then again, new information always seemed to be cropping up – or events, like me receiving mail similar to that which had been sent to Frédéric.”
“Oh, that was from Sophie,” said Tarquin. “Ned showed it to me and I knew straightaway.”
“How?” asked Imogen.
“It’s obvious. You were fancied by two of the men she was after – Frédéric and, of course, Ned.” Ned coughed. “She got the idea from the ones she’d seen at Frédéric’s. She was trying to frighten you, I think, and partly it was just jealousy. She couldn’t take it.”
“The original letters, I now know, were never shown to the police investigating Elodie’s death,” said Ned. “Frédéric wanted to find out who sent them, but was worried they would expose some of his little affairs. They were actually sent by Sabine. She contacted me when she heard about Paul’s attack on you. I think she also feels guilty that she didn’t speak out.”
“Yes,” said Juliette. “I have heard that she found out that Paul had been going to see Elodie, to try to resurrect their former relationship. On the evening of her death, he had been drinking. He got very angry, lost control and killed her. Sabine was trying to frighten Elodie, as well as raise suspicions in Frédéric’s mind. She knew in her heart that it was probably Paul who murdered Elodie, but ignored it as she was so desperate to get him back. Tarquin is right about Sophie. She saw some of the letters in Frédéric’s flat and decided to use the same idea to frighten Imogen, thinking that no one would suspect that a different person was involved.”
“She can’t think much of forensics,” said Ned.
“We mustn’t forget Marie,” said Imogen. “She really was an innocent victim. She had nothing to do with any of it.”
“That’s right,” said Juliette. “It turns out that there was a boyfriend. She slipped and hit her head. He took fright and ran off.”
“I’m so relieved,” said Imogen. “I always felt that my interfering led to her death.”
“Well,” said Ned. “Justice will now be done. Talking of which, we all need to do justice to my wonderful tarte aux abricots.”
“You really do make the most terrible jokes,” said Imogen.
“I know,” said Ned.
*****
“Hi, it’s me,” said Imogen.
“Are you okay? I hope you’re taking things slowly. Remember, it’s only your first day back,” said Ned.
“Sebastian and Tarquin won’t let me do a thing. Sebastian even brought in sandwiches for lunch. He said that I shouldn’t venture out, as he puts it, and that he will stay in to keep me company. It’s unheard of!”
“But very nice.”
“Yes, although I am beginning to feel that I need to start returning to normality.”
“I can understand that.”
“However, and you won’t believe this…”
“Try me.”
“I have a message on my phone. It’s from Frédéric.”
“I don’t believe it! What does the old devil want?”
“He says it would be so good to meet up. He is no longer with Sophie and would love to hear how I am after all the shocking events.”
“I don’t think so, somehow, do you?”
“No, I really don’t.”
“I tell you what. I’ll pick up some steak and cook dinner for us. I’ve got a great bottle of red. We’ll eat à deux. What do you think?”
“That sounds just perfect.”