‘What was he like?’
‘Restless. Wanted to avoid putting down roots – to travel. I was quite frightened.’
‘What of?’
‘Pulling up my roots. But I loved him. He had a special sort of integrity. That’s why I’m glad I met Tissot. That story about his boy is so typical of what Tim would have done.’
‘And then he went to war.’
Lucy leant back in the seat and closed her eyes as they drove down Shrub Lane. ‘Now if you were pining for mock Tudor, you’ve got your heart’s delight.’
Without Tim, Gables was a stage set on which two people had once led imagined lives.
The evening was clear and mellow, a sickle moon rode a cloudless night sky, and Lucy decided to open up the terrace. She would serve drinks and hope the discussion would end at a reasonable time so that she could make Metand a simple dinner – and they could take the first ferry back to France in the morning. Yet, at the same time, she was in a state of rising excitement.
Could Metand make Peter and Martin co-operate, or would they work a flanker on him?
They all arrived together. Peter and Martin, looking suitably grave and commanding as if they had come to address the troops. Or perhaps the cricket club committee? Peter wore a dark blue blazer, white shirt, regimental tie, grey slacks and highly polished black shoes. Martin wore a linen suit, a coloured shirt, cravat and brogues.
May, going out of her way not to make eye contact with Lucy, wore a blue circular skirt and neat white blouse whilst Sally was wearing one of her little black dresses.
They sat around the large wrought-iron table on the terrace while Lucy fussed with drinks on a trolley and Martin doggedly tried to help her but was firmly repulsed.
The twilight was slow to give way to night and the garden scents were deep and musky. Lucy glanced at the lawn and flower beds with their regimented patches of colour in some amazement. Had she really spent so much time achieving this perfection? What had been the point of it all? Again she had the same feeling of distancing, as if three days had become three years.
She looked down at the garden shed to which Tim had so often retreated, and thought for a moment she could see the familiar shape of his silhouette in the shifting shadows.
When she had poured the last drink, an uncomfortable silence settled around the table and there was a great deal of throat clearing, coughing and scraping of chairs. Lucy was sure that Metand was encouraging social unease and was in no hurry to begin.
She gave him a covert glance but he was staring down into the garden, watching the light fade and the darkness creep over the rose bed.
Then, slowly and rather hesitantly, he began. ‘Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. I hope it wasn’t inconvenient.’
Lucy noticed that Peter was gazing at Metand, a half-smile on his lips, as if to say, ‘So the little frog can speak our lingo, can he?’
‘I’m afraid there is no further news to report on Mr Groves’s disappearance. But the search continues.’
‘You’ve come all this way to talk to us, Monsieur Metand,’ said Martin. Surprisingly he sounded affable, almost grateful. ‘On our own territory.’
‘It is always preferable.’
‘The trouble is, I just don’t see how we can help you. I’ve racked my brains to find an answer to this. Would you mind running over the facts again for us? Then we’ll obviously do the same for you.’
The frank, honest approach, thought Lucy. But suppose it happens to be true? She might be prejudiced against Martin and Peter, but wasn’t it only because of their custodianship?
Metand nodded. ‘Tim Groves disappeared at about 5 p.m. on Friday evening. I was contacted at 9 p.m. that same night and organized a small-scale search. At that stage we presumed he had either got lost or been taken ill. There was no sign of him in the direction he was thought to have taken, and when he didn’t reappear I widened the search. We found no trace of him. At 6 p.m. the next evening, Madame Eclave was found dead at the Château Pavilly. She was lying on the ground in front of the building, having fallen from a fourth-floor window. Between her fingers she held a small piece of torn check shirt which Mrs Groves later identified as her husband’s. There was still no sign of Mr Groves. Madame Eclave had had a conversation with Mrs Groves a few hours earlier. To paraphrase this conversation, Madame Eclave told Lucy that she had had a brief affair with her husband while he was in hiding at the château, and that he had become so exceedingly jealous that he had murdered her husband Claude.’
Sally raised her eyebrows and May compressed her lips, but Peter was the first to comment. ‘Rubbish,’ he said. His voice was crisp and authoritative. ‘My experience of Solange was not pleasant, but one thing is certain, even then – ten years ago – she was vengeful. Her marriage was a disaster. She had jumped up to what she imagined was a superior social status by caretaking the Château Pavilly in the owners’ absence. Her husband resented this and made things exceedingly difficult for her. Tim was an attractive young man who rejected her advances, as we all did. Claude was unofficially executed later, along with the two other French collaborators, by the locals. As a result of all this, the wretched woman became mentally ill, made up a pack of lies and then committed suicide. It all seems a very sad story, monsieur, but one that is over.’
‘The only problem is that we haven’t found Mr Groves,’ Metand pointed out. ‘Talking of mental breakdown, wasn’t he having one himself?’
‘Yes,’ said Peter. ‘And he was getting worse, poor chap. But his breakdown is connected with war trauma, nothing more.’
‘Please explain.’
‘We spent three months in France on the run, just a few steps ahead of the Germans. That’s what broke him.’
‘But neither of you were affected in the same way?’
Martin shrugged. ‘We all have different psychological makeups.’
‘Tell me about your journey across France.’
Peter, the ex-commanding officer, became the authoritative spokesman. ‘We weren’t prepared to surrender to the Nazis on the Havre peninsula so we kept walking, and later cycling. It was a long hike and was largely spent sleeping by day and travelling by night. When we got to Selais, the hamlet before Navise, we met a member of the Resistance called Matthieu Tournon. He was a farmer. Do you know of him?’
Metand shook his head.
‘He can be checked, I’m sure. Tournon was extremely helpful to us and got us bikes and some shelter in the cellar of the Hotel des Arbres, which was then owned by a couple called Philippe and Babette Madol.’ Again Peter gazed across at Metand expectantly.
‘Yes, I know of them. They have retired now.’
‘We spent a night in the cellar, being fed after a long journey during which we nearly starved. Yes, it is possible to starve in a civilized country in wartime. The Madols were marvellous to us, but the area was crawling with German patrols and we didn’t want to risk staying too long in any one place; it was too dangerous for us and for our hosts. So, Tournon took us to the Château Pavilly where Solange was caretaker. Once again, we got the cellars. We also got more than we bargained for.’ Peter turned to Martin, who took up the story.
‘The facts of this unpleasant matter are that Solange tried to -make us have relations with her in exchange for her hospitality. When we refused, she put pressure on us and even threatened to deprive us of food and drink.’
‘Was her husband Claude present during this propositioning?’ asked Metand.
‘No,’ replied Peter. ‘She spoke to us individually in a very unpleasant and sordid manner. We all refused and conferred about how to handle it. We still needed to rest up – Martin had a badly swollen ankle – and at least she didn’t give us away to the Germans. Tournon may have seen to that.’
‘Did you tell him about the lady’s propositions?’
‘Of course,’ said Martin. ‘He and Solange had a blazing row.’
Sally fidgeted, and May retained a kind of withering silence, looking strai
ght ahead at the wistaria on the wall of Gables.
‘And were you propositioned again?’
Martin shook his head. ‘Two days later we cycled on. And kept cycling. Solange was a greater challenge than the enemy.’ He gave a hearty and dismissive laugh.
‘What kind of mental condition was Mr Groves in at this stage?’
‘Shaky.’
‘Can you be a little specific?’
‘He was cracking up,’ said Peter.
A long silence followed his remark. Metand glanced at Lucy, willing her not to interrupt, and she said nothing, inadvertently catching May’s eye before she could look away.
‘As to Tim having an affair with Solange,’ said Martin hurriedly, ‘that would be utterly ridiculous. He was in no state for anything like that.’
‘Had he been deteriorating before this – incident?’ asked Metand.
‘He was losing his nerve. I don’t blame him.’ Peter was magnanimous now, giving Lucy a straight look. ‘This isn’t meant as a criticism. It’s a fact. We were just as scared, just as apprehensive about what we were trying to do. His nerve went first, that’s all.’
‘It was bad luck,’ volunteered Martin.
‘There was no trigger point?’ asked Metand.
‘None at all as far as we could see,’ said Peter.
‘Nothing connected with Solange?’
‘It would be ludicrous to even consider the idea.’
‘And there’s something else,’ said Peter.
‘Yes?’ Metand was encouraging.
‘You say she plunged to her death and that in her hand Solange appeared to have grasped a piece of Tim’s shirt.’
‘Mrs Groves has identified it.’
‘Of course. But you shouldn’t jump to conclusions,’ broke in Martin.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Because I believe she could simply be taking a nasty revenge while the balance of her mind was disturbed.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Metand.
‘While we were at the château,’ said Peter slowly, ‘Solange had a row with Claude and later, as I have said, with Tournon.’
‘Yes?’
‘Each time she threatened to kill herself.’
Lucy was listening intently now. She turned to Metand.
‘Wouldn’t you agree that she was suicidal? You’ll remember what she told me. About not having the courage to kill herself. Then she added the word “yet”.’
Metand paused and then spoke slowly and a little reluctantly. ‘It is true that she has told me she would like to take her own life.’
Peter’s face was expressionless as he said slowly, ‘Suppose she deliberately threw herself from the window of the château?’
‘What about the shirt?’ asked Sally, needing to assert herself, to contribute in some way.
‘That could have been part of the trick.’ Peter was even more authoritative now. ‘Suppose Solange did meet Tim for some reason or even by chance, and enticed him into the château and ripped his shirt. She could have wanted to punish him for continuing to reject her, so when she jumped she could have taken the fragment of shirt with her to incriminate him.’
‘It’s a theory,’ said Metand without much enthusiasm. ‘But what has happened to Mr Groves? Where is he?’
As he spoke Lucy knew that it was all too glib and her false hopes faded.
‘Have you thoroughly searched the château?’ Peter sounded incredibly patronizing, but Metand’s face remained inscrutable.
‘Of course.’ He gazed at a moth flickering over one of the coach-house lamps that lit the terrace. ‘I still don’t see why he should have vanished.’
‘I’m not implying anything,’ said Peter cautiously, ‘but of the three of us, Solange was definitely most interested in Tim. If she tried to proposition him again, as I’ve suggested, in his state he might just have wandered off.’
‘For so long?’
Lucy knew that Peter and Martin were clutching at straws, but she was suddenly grateful to them.
‘I’m not satisfied,’ said Metand, and let the comment spread as a ripple into the pool of silence.
‘We’ve done our best,’ said Martin brusquely. ‘I assure you that there’s nothing more we can tell you.’
‘What about Baverstock?’
For the very first time he looked taken aback and even Peter seemed startled. ‘I don’t see the connection. That’s a completely separate issue.’
‘How well did you know your gardener, Mrs Davis?’
Sally was obviously surprised to be drawn into the discussion. ‘Hardly at all.’
‘We’ve already talked to the British police about this.’ Peter somehow made them sound a superior force, but Metand didn’t seem to notice.
‘Now you can talk to me.’
Sally looked awkward. ‘There’s very little to say. Old Mr Tanner – that’s our previous gardener – was getting past it but Peter didn’t want to pension him off until the last moment. Then he had a heart attack and of course we had to look round for someone else. I went to see the old boy in hospital and he recommended his cousin’s boy.’
‘Graham Baverstock.’
‘Yes.’
‘And he was satisfactory?’
‘Yes. Quite a refreshing change after Mr T. who could be very idiosyncratic and obnoxious as he got older.’
‘I had a word with an Inspector Frasier on the telephone before I came here,’ Metand said quietly, and Lucy looked at him in amazement. Why hadn’t he told her? It was almost as if he had deceived her.
‘What on earth for?’ Peter now looked distinctly rattled.
‘I wanted to hear more about this case.’
‘How many times do we have to tell you?’ Martin said sharply. ‘This Baverstock affair has nothing to do with what we are talking about.’
‘Can I be the judge of that? Frasier told me that Baverstock had been arrested last year for soliciting outside a public toilet.’
‘In Esher?’ gasped May, as if Metand had seriously blasphemed.
‘In a place called Kingston-on-Thames which is apparently just a few miles away. He was put on probation.’
‘So?’ Peter was impatient. ‘It’s a pity we employed him, I grant you, but how were we to know?’
‘Frasier told me that Baverstock mixed with other homosexuals.’
‘In Hersham,’ May was heard to mutter amidst the spreading silence.
‘Rather wider than that, I gather.’ Metand was patient with her. ‘Frasier has been looking at some possessions found in Baverstock’s room –’
‘You don’t mean my lighter, do you?’ asked Peter quietly. He seemed more confident now.
He turned to Sally. ‘We’ve been turning the house upside down looking for it, haven’t we?’
‘Yes. It belonged to Peter’s father. He was really upset when he couldn’t find it.’
‘I expect you will have it returned,’ Metand said casually.
Sally got up. ‘I’m tired,’ she complained. ‘Are we finished? Is there any more?’
Peter and Martin remained sitting.
‘What were you trying to imply, Monsieur Metand?’ asked May icily. ‘That there’s some link between Baverstock’s murder and what is happening in France?’
‘Not necessarily. It just seems a bit of a coincidence – one I thought I should explore.’
‘And have you finished exploring?’
‘For the time being.’
‘I’m so terribly sorry about all this.’ Sally gazed down at Lucy. ‘It’s just so awful. I’ve been praying for you every day. The world’s so violent now. May and I were thinking – would it be a help if we came back with you? I know Peter and Martin would like to –’ Her voice faded as she waited for the inevitable rejection.
Lucy made it as gentle as she could. She was still wondering why Metand had got hold of Frasier without confiding in her. ‘It’s sweet of you, but I can cope. The people at the hotel are supportive and Monsieur Metand
has been wonderful. I’ll be all right.’
‘Could I at least have a word with you?’ asked May. ‘A private word.’ She sounded severe again, every inch the fair but stern-minded schoolmistress.
‘Of course.’ Lucy was all cold courtesy. ‘Why don’t you help me with the glasses?’ She knew that she should offer them all coffee, but that would prolong their visit too painfully.
While she and May reloaded the trolley, an awkward silence spread.
‘And how’s French rugby?’ Peter asked brightly.
‘I know nothing of French rugby,’ replied Metand.
The men proceeded to enlighten him while Sally openly yawned.
‘I’m sorry for shouting at you down the phone,’ said Lucy once she and May were in the kitchen.
‘You weren’t yourself.’
Or I was more myself than ever I was in England, despite all the terrible things that have happened, she thought rebelliously, but she didn’t want to argue with May again.
‘It was quite understandable. But I wish you wouldn’t be so hostile to Martin – and to Peter. They’re only trying to help. They’ve always been trying to help.’
So that’s it, thought Lucy. She wants them involved. She glanced at May and realized that she was nervous, almost afraid.
‘I know.’ Suddenly all she wanted to do was to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and seek oblivion. Instead, she knew she had to try and talk to an unsettled May. ‘I’m grateful. Really I am.’
‘The shock’s been dreadful for you. You need help.’
‘I’ve got it.’
‘All they wanted to do was to protect you and Tim.’
Despite her best intentions, Lucy felt a flash of irritation. ‘They always seemed like jailors.’
‘That wasn’t their intention.’
‘I know they’re trying to help.’ She struggled to be more gracious, and then realized that if Tim was found they might both end up in Gables, watched over again. She had to assert herself now. ‘But I’ve found the situation very claustrophobic, unhealthy.’
‘And why is that, may I ask?’ May had quickly reverted to hostility.
‘For the reasons I’ve just stated. And I’ve made up my mind about something. If, please God, Tim is found alive we’ll up sticks and live in France.’ Her voice was too bright, too light, but at least it masked her anger.
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