by Leah Hope
“I won’t say no, it’s been a long night. But let me come with you to show you where I keep the tea towels.” Bridget followed Tony into the kitchen.
“There are plenty of clean towels in here,” she said, opening a drawer. Bridget paused for a moment and then, with her eyes twinkling said, “It was yours wasn’t it, the watch I mean?”
Tony’s face turned a shade of bright scarlet. “How on earth did you know?” he stammered.
“Just a hunch really, I noticed that you went very quiet the night of Heather’s birthday when we told you how Sultan brought us a Rolex. You were very keen to change the subject. So what was it, an insurance scam?”
“You’re incredible Bridget, I think you’d be wasted as a pastry chef, you should be the chief of police! You’re absolutely spot on, I’m ashamed to say. We were in so much financial trouble that I thought of selling the watch my father left me, it was the only thing of any value I had left. Anyway, I then had this stupid idea that I could pretend it had been stolen, claim off the insurance and then sell it, so I’d get my money twice over. I must have been out of my mind.”
“Yes I think you probably were, with worry about your wife and business. But why bury the watch in the garden?” asked Bridget.
“It was the only place I could think of where I could be sure Heather wouldn’t find it. She’s a demon when it comes to housekeeping and pulls the place apart when she’s on one of her spring cleaning drives.”
“So she didn’t know anything about it?”
“Good heavens no, she’d have killed me. And she mustn’t ever find out. I know it’s asking a lot, but please Bridget, you won’t say anything to her will you? I can’t believe the change in her since Doug offered to help us out with the bistro, I think if she found out how stupid I’ve been, she’d lose all faith in me.”
“Of course I won’t say anything, your secret’s safe with me. But please Tony, don’t do anything like this again will you?!”
“Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson, especially after I heard that Bernard Sellier’s watch had been stolen and that it was a Rolex. I just panicked and didn’t know what to do, I even thought of digging it up but when I went to where I’d buried it, it had gone. And then when you said Sultan had brought you a Rolex and you had taken it to the police, I nearly died! I thought the game would be up if they found my fingerprints on it. I suffered nightmares until it finally dawned on me that my fingerprints aren’t on record.”
“Well that serves you right for being so stupid! If you don’t mind my saying so,” said Bridget.
“You don’t need to tell me Bridget, I’ve been incredibly stupid, naïve, whatever you want to call it. One of the worst things is that I’ve lost my father’s watch for ever, I can hardly go to the Gendarmerie and say, ‘Can I have my Rolex back please?’ can I? Well, not without some sort of explanation anyway.”
“Leave it to me, I’ll think of something,” said Bridget, her eyes twinkling.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gil and Bridget both woke surprisingly early the following morning, despite their heads still reeling from champagne, red wine and cognac but mostly from the story told to them by Agnès. Now that there had been time for things to sink in, the full horror of what had happened to Marguerite and then Agnès seemed all the more shocking. Neither Gil nor Bridget could face eating and they now sat facing each other at the little table on the terrace, sipping strong coffee. Brother and sister were each lost in their own thoughts and unusually, had very little to say to each other.
“More coffee?” Gil asked.
“No thanks, I think I’m awash with the stuff. I’m going to have a shower and pop into the village, there’s a few things we need,” said Bridget.
“I’ll come with you, we haven’t spent much time in the village since, well, since everything blew up. What do you fancy doing for the rest of the day? Looks like it’s going to be another scorcher.”
“Oh nothing much, I think I’ll have a quiet day, maybe do a bit of reading, if I can concentrate that is.”
An hour later saw Gil and Bridget cross the square in Saint-Rémy and enter the mini-market. Since it was Sunday, it would close at midday and the little store was full of shoppers keen to pick up a last-minute ingredient for the big lunch ‘en famille’ that was so much a part of traditional French life.
“I need some eggs,” said Bridget, “but I’d prefer to get the organic ones that Tony and Heather sell,” she said as she popped the last of her shopping into her ‘French market’ straw basket, as she called it. Tony and Heather were both behind the counter of Best of British and they both looked surprisingly fresh.
“Lovely meal last night Bridget,” said Tony, “haven’t had a roast like that for ages, and as for that trifle! You can’t beat good old British food at its best.”
“You’d better not let your customers at your bistro hear you say that, or you’ll be out of business before you start!” said Gil with a laugh.
“But it’s true, I know French food is the best in the world but they can’t make a Yorkshire pudding like you Bridget,” said Tony.
“Maybe we’ll introduce it on the menu, Béatrice seemed to enjoy it after all,” said Heather.
“I hope she did,” said Bridget “I was a bit worried that she wasn’t enjoying herself, she was very quiet.”
“I think Agnès’ tale brought back a lot of memories for her,” said Heather, “and they probably weren’t all pleasant ones.”
“Oh dear,” said Bridget, suddenly looking very anxious, “I hope I haven’t upset her again. Maybe I should have told her that Agnès was going to be there too. It must have been quite a shock for her, seeing her after all these years.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you Bridget, I think she’s quite a resilient old bird,” said Tony, “and did you see the way she tucked into your trifle? She ate more than any of us!”
“I hope you’re right Tony. Maybe I’ll call in on her in a day or so, just to check that she’s alright. I could take her some of my cupcakes, I think she liked those.”
“I think that’s a lovely idea Bridget, now what can we get you?” asked Heather.
“Half a dozen of your organic eggs please, no, make that a dozen, seems as if I’ve got some baking to do. Oh, before I forget, I’ve got something for you Tony. It’s that recipe for crème brulée you asked me about last night.” Bridget opened her handbag and handed Tony a small brown envelope. “It’s a family secret so make sure you destroy it after you’ve read it!”
Tony looked puzzled but took the envelope and put it in his pocket. When he read the contents later, he grinned from ear to ear as he read Bridget’s ‘Strategy for reclaiming the Rolex’. “Bridget Honeyman,” he said to himself as he slipped the note back into his pocket, “you are a woman of hidden talents!”
*
Gil and Bridget decided they could both do with a ‘hair of the dog’ before heading back home. So made for the bar at the Mirabeau. They were pleased to see Pete behind the counter, looking very much like his old self. He had been the first of Gil and Bridget’s visitors after they had discovered Agnès at the lake and had been devastated to learn that his barman had been responsible for the murders. Today though, he was laughing and joking with his customers as much as usual.
“With you in a sec,” he called over as he saw Gil and Bridget enter the bar. Bridget found a seat and Gil waited at the bar to be served. “Right what can I get you?” Pete said when he had served the last of the customers.
“Two Bloody Mary’s please,” said Gil.
“Blimey, you two must have been hitting it hard last night, a special occasion?”
Gil listed the guests they’d had round for dinner but made no mention of what Agnès had told them. He and Bridget had agreed that Agnès’ story was hers and hers alone to tell and they had vowed never to speak of it to anyone else.
“So how are you keeping Pete?” Gil asked, propping up the bar with his right elbow.
“Oh you know, so, so. I still can’t believe that I was taken in by that bloke, I’ve known him for years, off and on. And to think I thought I was a good judge of character. Just goes to show. Still, no good feeling sorry for myself, life goes on and I’ve got a business to run. It’s Philippe I feel sorry for, you know, my partner. He’s cruising round the Caribbean with wife number three and I don’t know if he’s heard about Aurelie’s involvement in all of this yet. It’s going to be one helluva shock for him when he finds out.”
“Poor bloke,” said Gil, “let’s hope he doesn’t blame you for introducing his daughter to a killer.”
“Oh cheers mate, that’s made me feel a whole lot better!”
“Sorry Pete, didn’t think, my head’s still a bit thick. I’m sure he won’t think that for one minute,” said Gil, wishing the floor would swallow him up. Since there was little chance of that happening, he turned to Bridget and suggested that they had better be going.
“Yes, in a moment, I haven’t quite finished my drink yet. Pete,” said Bridget, “do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“No, fire away.”
“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you’re not a real Aussie, are you?”
“Bridget!” exclaimed Gil. “What on earth makes you think that?”
Before Bridget could answer, the sudden rush of colour to Pete’s cheeks told Gil that his sister had got it right, again.
“She’s good, your sister,” Pete said to Gil, “she’s really good! She’s got me banged to rights, well half to rights, if that makes any sense. Nope, I was born in the east end of London, only a few streets away from where Nick grew up as it turns out. I supported West Ham though, not Spurs like Nick, hence the claret and blue polo shirts I chose for the staff here. I left school at 16 and took an apprenticeship as an electrician but I’d always had itchy feet so I decided to become a ‘Ten Pound Pom.’”
“I’ve heard of that,” said Gil, “wasn’t that an assisted passage scheme to get skilled people to move to Australia? But I thought that was introduced just after the war, wouldn’t you have been too young?”
“It was,” Pete replied, “but it carried on until the early eighties, which is when I went. I worked for a couple of years in Darwin as an electrician, but as I said, I had itchy feet and the regular hours bored me to tears so I moved on again, further south this time and I ended up working in a little bar in Brisbane. Anyway, when the business got too much for the old guy who owned it, he sold it to me, at a knock down price. Which is where I first met Nick Webster.”
“But you sound more Australian than an Australian, what with all your ‘G’day mates’ and ‘Poms and possums’, if you don’t mind my saying,” said Bridget. “Was that deliberate or are you just one of those people who pick up accents very quickly?”
“A bit of both I guess, when I first arrived in Oz, there was a bit of hostility to us Poms so I quickly learned that the best way to get on was to sound like one of the locals. I’d always been good at mimicry, even at school, so within no time I had picked up the lingo and was speaking it like a native, never looked back and I guess it just stuck. So there you have it Bridget, my dirty little secret!”
“I’d hardly call it that” said Bridget with a laugh. “But I did have you on my list of suspects at one point you know, I thought you sounded too Australian, if you know what I mean, and that made me suspicious. I’m very glad I was wrong though, for once!”
“Strewth, I’m very relieved to hear that! I think I need a stiff one myself now!”
“One thing that puzzles me Pete, if you’ve known Nick Webster for a few years, how come you didn’t know his mother was French?” Bridget asked.
“I’ve wondered that myself Bridget, if I had known, it could have saved a whole heap of trouble. Don’t forget, Nick is a lot younger than I am and when he wasn’t working he would hang around with guys his own age, as you would expect, so we never really spent that much time socialising. Nick was always the night owl so he usually did the late shifts whereas yours truly is an early bird so our paths didn’t cross that much. I was his boss too don’t forget, so there was that bit of added distance between us. Besides, when us blokes get together there’s usually only three topics of conversation, birds, booze and sport, we don’t usually run to all that deep stuff the females of the species seem to love. So as far as I was concerned, he was a good worker, popular with the punters, especially the sheilas, so I didn’t need to get his bleedin’ life history!” Pete replied, clearly a bit put out that Bridget seemed to be blaming him for everything.
Now it was Bridget’s turn to be horrified. “I’m so sorry Pete, I didn’t mean to imply any criticism, how could anyone have known all those years ago that such a charming young man could turn into a brutal killer? You have nothing to reproach yourself for.”
“Sorry Bridge, and for my language, I over-reacted, I know you didn’t mean it like that. Truth is, I do feel guilty about what happened, when you think about it, the Mirabeau was at the centre of everything, Nick was an employee, Agnès was a guest and Nick’s partner in crime, Aurelie, was my partner’s daughter, strewth, I couldn’t be less involved if I tried!” Pete was clearly struggling with his emotions, which he had successfully managed to hold in check until now but now that it was all virtually over, he suddenly looked much older than his years. He took a sip of the whisky he had just poured for himself and, regaining some of his composure he went on, “Now I come to think of it, I do remember asking Nick once about his ma, he talked quite a bit about his dad as I’ve told you, but even then, it was usually about footie. I can’t ever recall him mentioning his mother much though. I think he said something about them never being close, so I didn’t pursue it. That makes sense now, looking back, Marguerite wasn’t his natural mother so maybe she resented having to leave home and move hundreds of miles away with a little nipper in tow. Maybe they never ‘bonded’, isn’t that the term they use these days?”
“Yes, but Alan isn’t his natural father either but, from what you’ve said, they had a very good relationship,” Bridget retorted.
“You’re right, of course, but I think maybe it was the footie that brought them close, I think Nick really loved those Saturday afternoons when it was just him and his old man, so perhaps that made the difference.”
“I think you’re right there Pete, for a brash Aussie from the East End you’ve got some sensitivity after all!” Bridget said with a laugh.
“Well that’s a back-handed compliment if ever I heard one, you’ll be accusing me of being in touch with my feminine side next!” Pete replied with a chuckle.
“Just one more thing Pete, please tell me if you think I’m being nosy,” said Bridget, deliberately avoiding the look of thunder which she knew would be on Gil’s face, “but I’ve always wondered what brought you to France? From what you’ve said, the bar was doing well, so why leave to come half way round the world?” Although she had never said as much to Gil, Bridget had half thought that somewhere in Pete’s past a mystery might be lurking. Despite feeling the full weight of Gil’s disapproval, she had no intention of stopping now. Not with her prey so close.
“No, it’s a fair question, I’ve often wondered the same thing myself. There was a woman at the bottom of it of course, isn’t there always! I won’t bore you with the details, but I made the mistake of mixing business with pleasure. I should have known better than to start a relationship with the woman I had taken on as manager. Oh, things were fine to begin with, we were very happy, even started to think about marriage. I don’t know when it all started to go wrong but I had my suspicions that Tania, that was her name, was seeing someone behind my back. Turns out my suspicions were right, I confronted her and she didn’t even bother to deny it. I told her to pack her bags but she told me it was over and begged me to forgive her. I tried, believe me I tried, but the trust was gone you see Bridget, so I had no choice. I put the bar up for sale and booked myself on a flight to London. I spent a couple of w
eeks looking up family and friends while at the same time trying to work out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. The bar sold quickly, no surprise as it was in a real peach of a spot, so with a fair amount of cash on the way, I started to think about buying another little business somewhere. I had no ties so the whole world was literally my oyster. Sometimes too much choice is as bad as too little. Then one day, I was lying on my hotel bed watching daytime TV with nothing else to do when one of those programmes came on about buying property overseas.”
“Ooh I love those,” Bridget interjected excitedly. “I still watch them even though we’ve got our own place abroad. I can’t resist looking around other people’s houses.”
“Well it was the prices of some of these places that got me interested,” continued Pete. “The programme was about France and I couldn’t believe how much bang you could get for your buck compared with the UK, or even Oz come to that. So the next thing I know, I’m in Calais looking at a map and wondering where to make for first. After a few days, I found myself in Saint Remy looking for something to eat…”
“Oh that’s just like us, isn’t it Gil?” said Bridget. “We just stopped off for lunch too, what an amazing coincidence. And to think we both found our dream homes here by accident. Isn’t that what they call serendipity?” Bridget glanced at both men but it was clear neither of them had any idea what she was talking about.
“Yes, well whatever you like to call it, it was the best spur-of-the-moment things I’ve ever done. Like you, I liked the look of the place and decided to stay over for a couple of days so booked myself into the Mirabeau. I got talking to the owner at the bar on the first evening and well, one drink led to another and he told me that he was looking for an investor to do the place up.”
“This would be Philippe, Aurelie’s father,” Gil asked.
“Yes, that’s right. The place was in a bit of a state back then, but I could see through all the faded paintwork and dated furnishings, I knew it had potential. The rest, as they say, is history. I’ve never looked back, not that it was all plain sailing of course. Philippe and I did quite a bit of the work ourselves to save money and whoever tells you that these things always cost twice as much and take twice as long as you think certainly isn’t lying! But we got there eventually and, although I’m not one to blow my own trumpet, I think we did a pretty good job.”