‘I... I’ve been talking to Henri Nanterre,’ Beatrice said.
‘When?’ Litsi asked swiftly.
‘Just now. Upstairs, in my room.’
Both he and I looked at the recording telephone which had remained silent. Neither Litsi nor I had lifted a receiver at the right time after all.
‘You telephoned him?’ Litsi said.
‘Yes, of course.’ Beatrice began to recover such wits as she had. ‘Well, I mean...’
‘What did he say,’ Litsi asked, not pursuing it, ‘that has so upset you?’
‘I... I... He was so charming when he came to see me in Palm Beach, but I’ve been wrong... terribly wrong.’
‘What did he say just now?’ Litsi asked again.
‘He said...’ She looked at him a shade wildly, ‘that he’d thought Roland would crack when you were nearly killed... he asked me why he hadn’t. But I... I didn’t know you’d been nearly killed. I said I hadn’t heard anything about it, and I was sure Roland and Casilia hadn’t, and he was furiously angry, shouting...’ She shook her head. ‘I had to hold the telephone away from my ear... he was hurting me.’
The princess was looking astounded and distressed.
‘Litsi! What happened? You never said...’
‘Henri boasted,’ Beatrice said miserably, ‘that he organised an accident for Litsi that would have brilliantly succeeded, except that this... this...’ She didn’t know what to call me, and contented herself in pointing, ‘he saved Litsi’s life.’ Beatrice gulped. ‘I never thought... never ever... that he would do anything so frightful... that he would really harm anyone. And he said... he said... he thought Roland and Casilia wouldn’t have wanted any more horses killed, and how had she reacted about her horse called Col... and when I told him I didn’t know anything about it, he flew into a rage... He asked if Roland knew and I said I didn’t know... he was shouting down the telephone... he was totally furious... he said he’d never thought that they would hold out so long... he said it was all taking too long and he would step up the pressure.’
Beatrice’s shock was deep.
‘He said the jockey was always in his way, blocking him, bringing in guards and recording telephones; so he would get rid of the jockey first. Then after that, Danielle would lose her beauty... and then no one would stop Roland signing. He said,’ she added, her eyes round and dry again,‘I was to tell Roland what he’d threatened. I was to say he had telephoned here and I’d happened to answer.’
The princess, aghast but straight-backed, said,‘I won’t let you tell Roland anything, Beatrice.’
‘Henri put the telephone down,’ Beatrice said,‘and I sat there thinking he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t possibly spoil Danielle’s face... she’s my niece as well as Roland’s... I wouldn’t want that, not for all the money in the world... I tried to make myself believe it was just a threat, but he did chase after her that evening, and he did kill the horses; he boasted of it... and I didn’t want to believe he had tried to kill Litsi... to kill!.. it wasn’t possible... but he sounded so vicious... I wouldn’t have believed he could be like that.’ She turned imploringly to the princess.‘I may have been foolish, but I’m not wicked, Casilia.’
I listened to the outpouring with profound disturbance. I didn’t want her late-flowering remorse tangling the carefully-laid lines. I would much have preferred her purposefulness to remain strong and intact.
‘Did you ring him back?’ I asked.
Beatrice didn’t like talking to me, and didn’t answer until Litsi asked her the same question.
‘I did,’ she said passionately, asking for absolution,‘but he’d already gone.’
‘Already?’ Litsi asked.
Beatrice said in a much smaller voice,‘He’d said I couldn’t reach him again at that number. He wasn’t there half the time in any event. I mean...’
‘How many times have you talked to him?’ Litsi asked mildly.‘And at what time of day?’
Beatrice hesitated but answered,‘Today and yesterday, at about six, and Thursday morning, and...’ she tried to remember,‘it must have been Wednesday evening at six, and Monday twice, after I’d found out...’ Her voice trailed away, the admission, half out, suddenly alarming her.
‘Found out what?’ Litsi asked without censure.
She said unhappily,‘The make and colour of Danielle’s car. He wanted to know... I had no idea,’ she suddenly wailed,‘that he meant to attack her. I couldn’t believe it, when he said on the telephone... when he told Litsi... saying that young women shouldn’t drive alone at night. Danielle,’ she said beseechingly, turning to her,‘I’d never cause harm to you, ever.’
‘But on Thursday you told him Danielle and I were going to Bradbury races,’ Litsi commented.
‘Yes, but he asked me to tell him things like that,’ Beatrice said fiercely.‘He wanted to know the least little thing, every time. He asked what was happening... he said as it was important to me for him to succeed, I should help him with details, any details, however tiny.’
I said, in Litsi’s unprovoking manner,‘To what extent was it important to you, Mrs Bunt?’
She was provoked all the same: glared at me and didn’t answer.
Litsi rephrased the question,‘Did Henri promise you... perhaps a nice present... if he succeeded?’
Beatrice looked uncertainly at the princess, whose gaze was on the hands on her lap, whose face was severe. No blandishments on earth would have induced her to spy comprehensively for her host’s, her brother’s enemy, and she was trying hard, I imagined, not to show open disgust.
To Litsi, Beatrice said, self-excusingly,‘I have the de Brescou trust fund, of course, but it’s expensive to keep one’s position in Palm Beach. My soirées, you know, just for fifty dear friends... nothing large... and my servants, just a married couple... are barely enough, and Henri said... Henri promised...’ She paused doubtfully.
‘A million dollars?’ Litsi suggested.
‘No, no,’ she protested,‘not so much. He said when the pistols were in production and when he’d made his first good arms deal, which would be in under a year, he thought, he would send a gift of two hundred and fifty thousand... and a hundred thousand each year afterwards for three years. Not so very much... but it would have made a useful difference to me, you see.’
A soirée for a hundred, I thought sardonically. A small rise in status among the comfortably rich. More than half a million dollars overall. One could see the difference with clarity.
‘I didn’t see any wrong in trying to persuade Roland,’ she said.‘When I came over here I was certain I could do it, and have Henri’s lovely money to spend afterwards.’
‘Did he give you a written contract?’ I asked.
‘No, of course not,’ she said, forgetting she was speaking to me,‘but he promised. He’s a gentleman.’
Even she, once she’d said it, could see that although Nanterre was many things from an aristocrat to an entrepreneur, a gentleman he was not.
‘He promised,’ she reiterated.
Beatrice seemed to be feeling better about things, as if full confession excused the sin.
I was anxious to know how much information she’d passed on before the dawn of realisation and the consequent change of heart: a lot of good plans had gone down the drain if she hadn’t relayed what we’d wanted.
‘Mrs Bunt,’ I said diffidently,‘if Henri Nanterre told you he was going to get rid of the jockey, did he say how? Or perhaps when? Or where?’