Daughter of Riches

by Janet Tanner

  ‘The USA?’ He sounded shocked.

  ‘Yes. I think I need some time on my own.’

  ‘But what about your job?’

  ‘Oh. ‘I can’t be bothered about that. It’s the least of my worries. I’m sorry, Sean, but I’m all mixed up and I really don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Do your mother and father know about this change of plan?’

  God, she thought, he sounds really staid and middle-aged. His long hair is really only a camouflage. Underneath it he is so conventional it’s ridiculous. But the thought of speaking to her mother and father made her feel nauseous.

  ‘They don’t know. Could you tell them please? I don’t want to speak to them at the moment. Please – look – I can’t explain. I just don’t want to speak to them, right?’ She knew her voice was rising and did not care.

  ‘Is something wrong, Ju?’

  She laughed, a brittle sound that was almost a sob. Was something wrong? Just ever so slightly. My world has turned upside down, that’s all. Nothing much really.

  ‘No,’ she heard herself say. ‘Nothing is wrong. I just want some time to myself, that’s all. I have to sort myself out. At the moment I’m not very sure of anything. Look, I have to go. Thanks for ringing. And …’ she hesitated, wondering how to word it, to make him realise that it was over. ‘Don’t feel you have to wait for me.’

  ‘Juliet!’

  But she had put the phone down.

  You wouldn’t want me anyway, Sean, if you knew the truth, she thought. You were a bit worried when I told you my grandmother was responsible for killing my Uncle Louis. Wait until you hear the truth!

  She turned, saw, as if through a scarlet haze, Deborah at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Excuse me, will you?’

  ‘I couldn’t help overhearing,’ Deborah said. ‘You sound upset, Juliet.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Would you like to talk about it?’

  ‘No. No, thank you very much.’

  She pushed past Deborah and ran up the stairs.

  It was a little after eight when Dan drove into the pub car park. He scanned the other vehicles that were parked there, looking for Phil Gould’s Citroen. He could not see it but that did not necessarily mean Phil Gould was not there. He could have got a lift with someone else or he might be using one of the unmarked CID vehicles. They would all have been changed since he was in the force, Dan knew, and he would not recognise any of them.

  He pushed open the door, made his way across the crowded bar and got himself a Scotch, looking around all the time. There were several faces he recognised and nodded to but not the one he wanted. Damn. This would have been a good deal easier than ringing Phil Gould again and asking for another meeting. His old inspector was bound to want to know why he was still digging around in the ashes of the Langlois case if he did, and Dan was not at all sure he knew how he would have answered him. His motives were so confused now. All he knew was that he was still hoping he might unearth something that would change the final scenario of the case and prove that Sophia – and Catherine – had been wrong to believe Robin guilty of Louis’s murder.

  Dan ran a hand through his hair once again running through all the arguments that had been going round and round in his head since Catherine’s shocking revelation to him on the telephone and still failing to come up with any plausible alternative. Sophia would never have confessed and served time for the shooting unless she had been certain of her facts. She would never had put herself on the line if she had not been convinced her sacrifice was necessary. Her determination to protect Robin was the reason she had forbidden her attorney to put up any real defence, the reason she had blocked any investigation into the killing. There was no doubt about it, it all hung together very well – too damned well! And yet … and yet …

  There was more to it than that. Dan was certain of it without knowing why. Was it just wishful thinking, because he wanted them to be wrong for Juliet’s sake? Or was it that sixth sense that had made him a good policeman nagging away at him? He did not know.

  The one lead he had was that parting remark of Raife to Juliet that ‘someone was not quite what they seemed’. Dan had been hoping Phil Gould might be able to shed some light on what he could have meant by that. But Phil Gould was not here. Damnation, it really was not his day. Well he’d wait just a little longer, have one more drink.

  Dan was just about to give it up as a bad job and leave when he saw Phil Gould come in. He gave him time to get his drink, then made his way across.

  ‘Evening, Mr … Phil.’

  Phil Gould was taking a long swig of his pint; as he lowered the glass he sighed deeply.

  ‘Man, I needed that! Evening, Dan. Do you by any chance remember how good a pint tastes after a four-hour question and answer session?’

  ‘I do. And after pushing a pen in that smoke-filled den of iniquity otherwise known as the CID office, and plenty of other times as well.’

  ‘You sound quite nostalgic’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I feel that way sometimes. Other times I remember how the bastards treated me.’

  ‘They had no choice, Dan.’

  ‘You didn’t say that at the time.’

  ‘At the time my blood was up on your behalf. Perhaps I’m older and wiser now. How is your leg these days, by the way?’

  ‘OK. It doesn’t really give me any trouble any more.’

  ‘But you haven’t thought about rejoining the force?’

  ‘After being virtually told I was on the scrap-heap at age twenty-seven? Not likely.’

  ‘Pity. I still think you’re a copper through and through. You’re never happier than when you’re chasing up the leads in some case or other.’

  Dan shifted uncomfortably. As a chance remark that really was a little too close to home for his own peace of mind. But at least it gave him a lead in to what he wanted to ask.

  ‘Funny you should say that, Phil,’ he said conversationally. ‘You remember I was telling you about Juliet Langlois, Sophia’s granddaughter?’

  ‘The lovely girl who was going to make an honest man of you again. Yes. Has she done it yet, by the way?’

  ‘No, and she’s not likely to. I think I blew any chances I might have had in that direction.’ His tone was determinedly light, hiding the sick ache inside, still surprised that the thought of not seeing her again could hurt him. He had never expected another woman to get to him in this way.

  ‘You must be losing your touch, lad,’ Phil Gould said heartily. ‘A member of the fair sex turning down Dan Deffains … I find that hard to believe.’ He chortled into his beer.

  ‘Believe what you like. It’s true,’ Dan said shortly. ‘But I don’t want to talk about my personal life, Mr Gould … Phil.’

  ‘Wise man.’

  ‘But I do want to talk about Juliet. She went to see Raife Pearson.’

  Phil Gould spluttered foam into his moustache. ‘ Christ, Dan, you didn’t tell her I …’

  ‘Of course not. She dug up the connection for herself and went to see him,’ he lied. ‘I don’t think she got very far. But Raife said something pretty funny to her. He told her not to take everyone at face value, that there was someone who wasn’t quite what they seemed to be. You don’t know who or what he could have been talking about, do you?’

  ‘Hell, no. Someone who wasn’t what they seemed? That’s pretty melodramatic stuff. No, I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Oh well, never mind. I don’t suppose it’s important.’

  They chatted for a while and Dan bought Phil another pint. He owed it to him, he thought. Conscience money.

  ‘I think I’m for an early night tonight,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll leave you lot propping up the bar as usual.’

  Phil laughed, wiping his moustache with the back of his hand.

  ‘We earn it, laddie. Work hard and play hard, that’s my motto. And if you ask me you should be doing the same.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
>
  ‘Re-apply for the job, Dan. Whatever it is you’re doing now, you’re wasted in it. You are a policeman through and through and you always will be. Come on now, it’s a good life – admit it.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t wait to retire, Phil!’

  The older man laughed.

  ‘Oh, I say that, yes, but as it comes nearer I don’t mind admitting I’m dreading it. I wake up in the night in a cold sweat sometimes – and not only because I can imagine all the bloody embarrassing things the chief will say at my retirement do. No, take it from me, I shall miss the job. And if I could see my time over again I wouldn’t look twice at any other career. With all the drawbacks, I still wouldn’t do anything else – and I think you’re a damned fool to be so stubborn. OK – you don’t think they treated you as they should have and you may have a point. But you were so upset at losing Marianne I don’t think you saw things straight. Can’t say I blame you – if anything happened to Di I expect I’d be the same. But there’s no point going on bearing grudges. You’re just cutting off your nose to spite your; face.’

  Dan nodded, unexpectedly moved, and pressed his old inspector’s arm.

  ‘You might have something there, Phil. Perhaps I will think about it.’

  ‘Do, Dan, do. Before it’s too late.’

  Dan walked out into the warm windy night. Could be Phil Gould was right, he thought. At least when he had been a policeman he hadn’t felt a heel like he did now. He might have upset a few of the less law abiding members of the population, but at least he had been honest and up-front about what he did. And without a doubt he had missed it, missed the challenge and the companionship and the sense of anticipation that came from never knowing at the outset what a day would bring. He had been so angry – so damned angry – about what had happened to him and Marianne he had let it colour all his thinking, and perhaps he had been a little unreasonable in turning so bitterly against his former employers – yes, if he was honest, he almost certainly had been.

  Now Dan felt drawn suddenly to the life he had left behind. When all this was over he would give some serious thought to seeing if the force would have him back, he decided. But for the moment he still wanted to follow his nose and see if there were still a few unsuspected twists and turns in the Langlois case.

  Dan unlocked his car and got in, sitting for a moment deep in thought. There was nothing much he could do now until Raife got back but when he did Dan intended seeing him and asking him point blank what he had meant by his allusion to ‘ someone not being quite what they seemed’.

  Would Raife tell him? He really did not see why not. This was one occasion when not being a policeman might prove useful. And if his intuition was not playing him false he believed the answer might prove very important, a clue that should never have been overlooked. Dan was determined to follow it up and find out exactly where it led.

  Chapter thirty-seven

  After dinner was over Juliet pleaded a headache and went up to her room early. She was almost ready for bed, still in a daze of shock and misery, when there was a tap at the door and Deborah looked in.

  ‘Would you like me to get you some aspirin or something?’

  ‘No, it’s all right …’ Juliet began, then changed her mind. ‘Well, perhaps an aspirin might be a good idea. I do have a stinking headache.’

  ‘I can see that.’ She disappeared and was back in a few minutes with a bottle of tablets and a glass of water. ‘Take these. I’d have three if I was you. I know you’re only supposed to have two but you really do look dreadfully grotty.’

  Juliet swallowed the tablets. One stuck in her throat, effervescing acidity in her mouth. She coughed at it and drank some more water. Heavens, the food at dinner had stuck in her throat, but she’d have thought she could get down a silly little aspirin!

  ‘Sometimes you must feel as if you spend your whole life ministering to the sick,’ she said apologetically to Deborah. ‘First Grandma, then me!’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind. I quite like being useful. But I’d never have made a nurse – not a real one. It upsets me to see people feeling ill or unhappy and I don’t think I could bear it if my patients didn’t get well.’ She laughed lightly. ‘That’s the sort of person I am, I suppose. I only want to see the nice pleasant side of life. I close my eyes to the ugly and the sad or anything that makes me uncomfortable and pretend it doesn’t exist.’

  Juliet said nothing. The last thing she wanted just now was a conversation on psychology as it applied to Deborah. As for shutting things out and pretending they did not exist, she only wished she could!

  ‘Juliet, what is wrong?’ Deborah asked gently.

  Juliet picked up a hairbrush, tortoiseshell-backed, from the set on the dressing table and twisted it round in her hands. She could feel Deborah looking at her and she somehow knew that the look was not merely curious but also anxious and sympathetic.

  I have to tell someone! Juliet thought. If I don’t tell someone I think I’ll go crazy! And who better than Deborah? She was involved yet not involved, she had been part of the family for long enough to care what happened to it, but she didn’t know Robin. They lived on opposite sides of the world and would probably never meet. Besides, it was possible she knew the truth already. She was, after all, very close to Sophia.

  ‘I’m sorry, Deborah,’ she said, wondering why she should be apologising about it. ‘ I know I’m being a pain but I’ve had a pretty ghastly day.’

  ‘Because of Dan Deffains, you mean? Oh, Juliet, I really am sorry if you’ve been hurt, but I had to tell you. He’s not worth upsetting yourself over.’

  ‘No, it’s not just Dan. It’s something else. Something much worse.’

  A small frown puckered Deborah’s forehead.

  ‘Worse? What do you mean? I don’t understand.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do,’ Juliet said drily. ‘It’s something I found out, by accident almost – although God knows I’ve spent practically my entire time here trying to do just that. But I had no idea how dreadful the answer would be.’

  ‘Juliet, you are not making much sense. What have you found out that is so terrible?’

  The bristles of the hairbrush were digging into Juliet’s hand, making vivid patterns on her palm. She didn’t know even now if she could bring herself to actually put it into words. Then, quite suddenly, she heard herself say: ‘You know I had this feeling it wasn’t Grandma who killed Uncle Louis? You know I wanted to get to the bottom of the whole thing? Well, I think today I did.’

  ‘Oh.’ Deborah’s voice was oddly toneless.

  ‘Yes. And I wish I hadn’t. Grandma confessed to protect someone. I think I’ve known that right from the beginning. What I didn’t know was that the person she was protecting was my father.’

  ‘Your father?’

  The reaction was so swift, so horrified, that in spite of herself Juliet looked up, seeing Deborah reflected in the dressing table mirror. She seemed to have frozen into a slim beautiful statue but her shocked expression reinforced the immediate impression Juliet had gained from her tone.

  So Deborah hadn’t known, she thought. Well, it was done now. She couldn’t take her words back even if she wanted to.

  ‘I know – it’s awful, isn’t it?’ she said shakily. ‘ You can see why I’m not feeling so good. It takes a bit of coming to terms with – that one’s father is a murderer.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Deborah said. Her voice was urgent and breathless. ‘No, Juliet, you have it all wrong!’

  ‘I don’t think so. I wish I did. Frankly, Deborah, I don’t know what I am going to do. I know I don’t want to go home. All those lies … I don’t think I can face him again, not yet, anyway. And it feels so bloody …’

  ‘Juliet!’ Deborah was beside her, touching her arm. ‘ You don’t understand. You have got it wrong. I don’t know who you have been talking to but they’ve misled you. I’m not speculating – I’m telling you. Your father did not kill Louis.’

  Her tone was urgent
but firm. It rang very true. Juliet turned, hope sparking – perhaps after all she had been right in the first place.

  ‘You mean … it was David?’ she whispered.

  ‘No. No, Juliet, it wasn’t either of them. Not Robin and not David.’ She hesitated, her voice breaking. Then, in the same firm tones she had used earlier she went on, ‘I know neither of them shot Louis. Because, you see, it was me!’

  For a moment Juliet gazed at Deborah in sheer total disbelief. She felt as if someone had knocked all the wind out of her.

  ‘You?’ she whispered.

  Deborah nodded. ‘ Yes, me. I shot Louis.’ Her voice was low, her face deathly pale so that her carefully applied blusher stood out suddenly in russet streaks high on her cheekbones. ‘ Oh, don’t look at me like that, Juliet, please! I loved him so and he … didn’t want me any more. He was having an affair with your mother.’

  ‘But you don’t shoot somebody because they’re ditching you!’ Juliet interrupted incredulously.

  ‘You don’t know the way it was,’ Debbie said fiercely. ‘You don’t know anything. You have always lived a good life, secure, loved … you don’t know how important that is unless you have never been lucky enough to have it. Louis was the only good thing that ever happened to me. Or so I thought at the time. I couldn’t see what he was, I blinded myself to it. And then I found out that he didn’t really want me at all. He only wanted to use me. To blackmail someone.’

  ‘Frank de Val.’

  ‘Yes. He took me to his house that night. It was so humiliating – so degrading. And then he brought me here, to La Grange. I still thought that meant I was going to meet his family, be accepted. That shows you how naive I was.’

  She broke off, remembering the way it had been. That whole day had been like a terrible nightmare, the waiting in her room at the Pomme d’Or, the visit to the Jersey Lily and to Frank de Val, the way the Louis she loved seemed to have turned into a monster, hard, cold and unfeeling. She had thought when he took her to La Grange that perhaps it was going to be all right after all, but that too had become part of the nightmare, with Louis’s brother arriving and having a terrible fight with him because Louis was having an. affair with his wife Molly. Right across the years Debbie could remember only too clearly the way she had felt – hurt, used and heartbroken because in spite of everything she still loved him; frightened by the violence that was flaring, terrified of what the consequences of the evening’s work might be, numbly, coldly afraid for the future.