by Tim Roux
“Pleased to meet you.”
“And you.”
Chloe examines the barn. “Do you live here, Alice?”
Alice is affronted. “No, do you, Chloe?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Chloe, I don’t live at all. I don’t need a house, or a barn. I just am.”
“I’m sorry.”
After that they settle down together and start talking about the murders and how Alice met the victims, and about Alice’s own murder. They even become quite intimate and ignore me entirely, so I wander off towards Inspector John’s house.
The Inspector is in, entertaining Alan and Jane Harding. “Oh, hello!” he exclaims when he sees me. “What a nice surprise! Is Michael with you?”
“No, he is back at Valflaunès.”
“Pity. Still, it is very nice to see you again. Come in. I have Alan and Jane Harding here as well.”
Mr. Harding gets up as I enter the salon, and shakes my hand warmly. He then introduces me to his wife, Jane, who remains seated. “I have heard so much about you,” she ventures conventionally. She seems a very conventional lady, a smooth social operator, a good match for the Countess, in fact. I bet they hate each other. Competition.
“We have been hoping to see you before we return to London. It is getting very end of season up at the Château, or at least it was until yesterday when all hell broke loose. I hate the press.”
I remember that his wife was kidnapped, but do not mention anything.
“You cannot get in or out of the place without pushing and shoving,” Mr. Harding adds.
“Except that you simply drove through them, Alan,” Mrs. Harding corrects him.
“True,” Mr. Harding concedes. “Have you been keeping up with the murder investigation, Paul?”
“A journalist tracked us down yesterday.”
“Oh dear. That was unlucky.”
“And gave us some more details. Pretty disgusting.”
Jane Harding shudders visibly. “Awful, absolutely awful. Those poor girls!”
Does she ever mean what she says?
“And we are still looking for Alice’s body,” Mr. Harding adds. “Do you think she will tell us where it is?”
“How would I know?” I ask.
“Some of us guess that you know more than you ever let on, Paul,” Inspector John explains, “and, as a lifelong copper with an infallible instinct, I have to say that I agree. You are hiding something.”
I shrug. “Who can doubt your instincts, Inspector John?”
Inspector John and Alan Harding laugh together. “I can see that you are not going to crack easily,” Inspector John concedes. “Can I loosen you up with a cup of fresh coffee?”
“Oh, caffeine always loosens my tongue,” I throw back at him. “Try me. Thank you.”
* * *
I am brought up to date with Château gossip, of which there is very little now that the place has largely been cleared out. Everyone is about to go home. Peter’s dad, Mihail Romanov, left a couple of days ago having had his fill of basking in his own glory and having been otherwise reduced to boredom. Outings have almost stopped, except a couple of shopping expeditions for Fiona and Sarah. In short, there has been much loafing and not very much news. The Earl has gone quiet again, and there has been no repetition of his altercation with the late residents, although he has now cultivated a habit of greeting blank spaces from time to time as he passes them. Fiona is bored. Sarah is bored. Peter and John play a lot of tennis, but they are probably bored too. Only the old fogies seem to be having as good a time as they are capable of.
“You must come and see us, Paul, before we go,” Mr. Harding encourages me. “I am sure that everyone would like to say goodbye to you. We have so much enjoyed your company.”
Is this guy for real, or is he just gushing, like his wife? Why would anyone have enjoyed my company? I didn’t do anything except win the bet on Alice’s pelvis, and that didn’t go down too well at the time either. Oh well. “I’ll maybe drop up there later.”
“You do that,” Mr. Harding encourages me again.
* * *
My timing is perfect. When I return to the old barn, Alice and Chloe are just finishing up.
“Where did you go?” Alice demands.
“Next door,” I explain.
Chloe gets up. “I think I’ll go up to join the press gang up at the Earl’s house now. Will you show me the way, Paul?”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you so much, Alice. And, Paul, you have to come back here and catch up with Alice. She has been missing you she tells me.”
I smile reassuringly at Alice. “I will.”
Outside, we get into the car. “That was great! Amazing!” Chloe enthuses. “Alice gave me tons of information. We really built a rapport together. Thanks, Paul. You know that Alice is in love with you, don’t you?”
“No, not really. We certainly like each other.”
Chloe looks over at me earnestly. “It is a lot more than that, Paul. She is really devastated that you have stopped going to see her. Why was that, by the way?”
“No particular reason. I was just happy to be with Mum and Dad and Mike for a bit. I did go back to find Alice a couple of times and she wasn’t there, then I got out of the habit, I suppose. Anyway, I’ll try to make up for it later.”
“Can you show me where Alice used to live?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
So we detour via Alice’s house before heading up to the Château. I drop Chloe off at first sight of the press cordon. “Thanks again, Paul,” Chloe says, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek. “See you around,” she adds, climbing out of the car. That makes us history, I guess.
Alice really is pleased to see me when I get back. “Paul, I have missed you so much. I have felt so sorry for what I did to you – tricking you. Will you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
She rushes forward and tries to hug me. “Merde!” she mutters as she fails. “I really want my body back, at least for a few hours. Have you ever heard of that happening, Paul?”
“No.”
“Neither have I. It is so annoying. So frustrating. I want to show you some real affection and I can’t. Do you feel that way too?” She searches me almost desperately for the answer.
“In fact, yes I do.” I don’t know whether I am lying or not. Back in her presence, I really do like her, but I have never considered any true romance between us to be possible so I have never really felt that much frustration, except in odd moments, like when we were waiting for her father to appear in the street from visiting Mme. de Belletier and I suddenly wanted to hug her. But she is, as I say, quite cute, and she doesn’t really come across as a lesbian, not that I can spot them as well as a woman would. Love? No, I don’t think I am in love with her, but if I had met her when she was still alive, maybe I could have fallen for her if she had been at all interested in me.
“Mama and Papa are all right,” she continues. “They are thinking of letting Papa go because there is no real evidence against him in the absence of my body. I think I will leave it at that. Papa will behave much better towards Mama in the future. Perhaps you can visit him and give him that message. If he is nice to Mama, nothing will happen to him. If he is not, I will tell the police where to find me. What do you think?”
“It is up to you.”
“Yes, it is up to me, and that is what I think. I am content with that. What will happen to me do you think? Will I be here in this state forever?”
“Not necessarily, Alice. It is your choice, really. Nothing is holding you here any more that I can tell … ”
“ … except you … ”
“ … maybe except me. You have got the police to find the bodies of your friends, you have forgiven your father, you no longer seem angry, like a normal ghost, at all. I am sure that you can wander into the light any time that you choose.”
“What do you wan
t?”
“I want what you want.”
“Do you want me?”
I reply with more bitterness than I would ever have expected. “Alice, I cannot have you. It is as simple as that.”
“You can have me as a partner. We can talk to each other all the time. We need never be parted even for a few seconds. I will always be right next to you.”
“Alice, is that really a life?”
“It is as much of a life as I can expect.”
“But is it a life for me?”
“For you? “ She obviously judges me to be very selfish. “I cannot say what it will be for you,” she adds sharply. Then, more softly, “Do you want to have children?”
“Not particularly.”
“Do you need to be able to touch me?”
“It would certainly help.”
“Do you want to make love to me?”
“Yes, I would like that very much.”
“Do you love me?”
I hesitate, and try to tell her the truth. “If I could touch you, maybe I would be in love with you. I certainly really like you, but I don’t know where to put my hands when I am with you. There is so much missing that my body expects to have. It is so frustrating not being able to touch you.”
“Would you like to see me? I would like to see you.”
“That might make it worse.”
“It might make up our minds.” She begins to take her imaginary clothes off, keeping her eyes on me all the time. I reciprocate and we go and lie down together on the smelly coat on the trailer.
“Why do ghosts always wear clothes?”
“I don’t know. Habit, I suppose.”
“Do you feel colder without clothes?”
“Actually, yes. I no longer feel hot wearing them though, but I do feel more vulnerable without them. Do you like my body?”
“Yes, it is very sexy.”
“Yes, I can see that.” She reaches out for my hand. “Come on, pretend you can touch me.”
So I pretend to stroke her body with my right hand, which proves to be exhausting and painful on my arm muscles as there is nothing for my hand to rest on. Alice pretends to stroke me too, starting with my face.
“We could have been perfect lovers,” she admits.
“Except that you were a lesbian.”
She puffs. “Oh, that was only a phase. I was already growing out of it. I mostly wanted to annoy my father. I wouldn’t have stayed with Mary for long anyway. I always found boys attractive too but, by claiming to be a lesbian, I found that I had even more power over them. They wanted me more than ever, but they did not try to touch me. Perfect, really.”
“Did you ever make love to a boy?”
“No, I never did. This is the closest I have ever been.”
“Do you wish that you had?”
“Definitely. I wish more than anything that I could make love to you now. You are right, though, Paul. Living together would kill us.”
“Kill us?”
“Yes, kill us. We couldn’t cope. It would be absolute torture and frustration, and eventually we would probably hate each other.”
Which is when the farmer comes bursting in.
He sees me lying there naked and excited. “What the fuck do you think you are doing here, pervert?” he demands, picking up a hay fork, and chasing me out onto the road, pricking my buttocks repeatedly with the two prongs just as a car passes. He marches back into the barn and reappears to toss me my clothes. “And don’t even think of coming back!”
Alice is laughing hysterically behind him and suddenly blows up at him. He freezes and backs away. “What is it?” he asks me, panicking.
“A ghost,” I tell him.
“A real ghost?”
“As real as they get.”
“What does it want?”
“Well, it wanted me to take my clothes off,” I explain.
He looks at me, apologetically for the first time, then determination hits his face. “It’s not getting me to take my bloody clothes off,” he hisses, and sets off running across the field, twisting around repeatedly to see if he is being followed.
“Well that ruined the atmosphere,” Alice mutters. “Let’s start again. I don’t think he will be back for a bit.” She ducks behind me. “Poor Paul,” she coos sympathetically. “He drew blood with that fork of his. You may have to lie on your front.”
Chapter 12
I wasn’t expecting to come across Chloe again, but some people are horizontal bungee jumpers – they hurl themselves into the distance and knock you flat on the rebound, in this case firmly attached yet again to Mike’s arm, and probably to other parts of his anatomy besides. Such is determination.
“Hello, Chloe.”
“Hello, Paul,” she beams back at me.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
“Disappointed?”
“A bit.” Well, she is asking for it.
She laughs. She knows that I am joking, but she doesn’t know that I am not really. There is only one reason she is here – she can’t get into the Château in any other way.
“What brings you here, then?”
“We are only here for a few minutes,” Mike interjects. “We are going over to Freyrargues to say goodbye to everyone. Are you coming?”
I raise my eyebrows at Chloe and she grins.
“Yeah, why not?”
It is not so easy to get into the Château nowadays. The Earl has put heavy security on the gate and in the grounds. We are stopped at the gate and asked to identify ourselves down to our passports, which luckily Mike is carrying on him.
John comes down the driveway personally to collect us. He frowns at Chloe but doesn’t say anything. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all to any of us until we are out of earshot of the door-steppers.
“Constance is really pissed off about this. I think he almost wishes he hadn’t bothered going around digging up bodies. Doesn’t like publicity, His Lordship. He is acting as if he has been raped. Don’t be surprised if he won’t talk to you. It won’t be anything personal, merely a temper tantrum that’s lasted about a week so far.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply, even sorrier that we are infiltrating a journalist along with us. Chloe is naturally appearing entirely innocent and unconcerned, Mike’s peaches and cream summer girlfriend.
“Apologies. I don’t think we have met,” John says to her.
“Chloe de la Fontaine. I am someone Michael picked up in a night club a few days ago, along for the ride.”
(Is that really her name? I could have sworn it was something else).
“Pleased to meet you, Chloe. Everyone is hiding, I am afraid, at the moment. Still, it will be afternoon tea soon. That will drag them out again.”
“When are you going home?” I ask.
“Oh, in a couple of days. We haven’t fixed it yet. We are going by train. The planes are extortionate at short notice, and I cannot stand travelling Ryanair. They’re like flying buses. They even smell of sweat.”
I cannot say that I have noticed that.
“We are going back slightly early because of this circus outside the gates here. We just managed to clear out the circus from the house, and now there is another one over there. So we will drop in and see some friends in Paris on the way up and spend a few days with them instead. They won’t even be there when we arrive, but a neighbour has a key. What about you?”
“Another ten days.”
“Then what?”
“Reality. One more year at university and then time to look for a job.”
“I know that feeling. In the end, we decided on antiques instead.”
“That’s not a job, then?”
“Not really, to be honest. We mostly live off inherited money – Fiona’s grandmother. Well, you are honoured, here comes His Lordship himself to greet you.”
The Earl is indeed trotting forward towards us in a hearty welcome. “How very nice to see you. I was frightened that we
were going to miss you with all this silly rumpus.” He glances at Chloe and I give him a winging frown that only he can see, I hope, which he acknowledges with a barely perceptible nod of the head and a strange pressure to his handshake. “Hello, Michael. Good to see you again too.”
“Hello, Your Lordship. May I present Chloe de la Fontaine.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Chloe.” The Earl is giving nothing away. “I am so sorry that you had to fight your way through that shower down there. Still, you are safe here now.” The teasing is undetectable. I wonder if it is making Chloe squirm, but she is an old trooper so she doesn’t give anything away either, exuding an air of shy reverence.
“I know that these two are still layabouts, and there is nothing wrong with that – I have been more or less a layabout all my life – but what do you do?”
“I am an interior decorator,” Chloe flashes back convincingly.
“Oh, like Sybil Colefax.”
“Like Sybil Colefax, Sir?”
“That’s right. Do you know her?”
“No, unfortunately I don’t. I’ve heard of her, though.”
“Actually this house could do with some touching up. Maybe you will have some ideas you would be willing to share.”
“I’ll certainly do what I can, Sir.”
“Excellent. That would be most kind.”
John is looking puzzled. “I know some very talented interior decorators if you really are looking for someone.” It is obviously the first time he has heard of it.
“Are you saying that this young lady here isn’t talented? Shame on you, John.”
“No, I wasn’t suggesting that.”
“I get the impression that Chloe here is very talented at her job indeed – a consummate professional. Would that be right, Chloe?”
It is Chloe’s turn to appear flummoxed. “I try to do the best I can,” she agrees.
“I think my wife the Countess will be very keen to meet you if she is around. She is no mean interior designer herself. Studied it at the Slade. You can share influences.”
“That would be nice.”
“I didn’t know that about her,” John comments.
The Earl winks at him. “She is very secretive about it. She is terrified somebody embarrasses her into taking a commission to do up their little Johnny’s nursery, or something. You might try asking her yourself, should the occasion arise. We very rarely get the opportunity to tease the old girl, do we?”