‘I said, make sure the girl gets enough sleep.’ Melisande raised her voice. ‘Sleep at that age is so very important, James.’
‘I know it is.’ He sighed. ‘Moon’s been under terrible strain. We’ve been trying to contact Stella’s relatives in Bulgaria, but the whole communication business has been a nightmare.’
‘Well, darling, what else can one expect when one goes exploring the unknown rather than exploiting the assured? If people fall below something called a certain standard, they are asking for trouble. No, I am not in the least angry with you, darling. It’s just that I don’t quite see why you should be going out of your way to accommodate that girl. It’s more than clear it’s affected your health. It breaks my heart to see you looking so ill.’
He harrumphed. ‘I’m not as bad as I was.’
‘I think this whole thing was nothing but a ghastly mistake from start to finish. The sooner you realize that, the better. It is my firm belief that once Stella has been buried, and her daughter goes back to Bulgaria or America or wherever, you will start seeing things in a totally different light.’
‘I’m not sure I will.’
‘You’re still in a state of shock, darling. I don’t imagine you’ve been thinking rationally. You really have been your own worst enemy, you know.’
‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘The impulse to destroy oneself is among the most ancient human impulses. It is the crux of most of Shakespeare’s greatest tragedies. The moment of madness – when a great man makes a single decision that sets his downfall irreversibly in train. Macbeth allowing the witches to plant ideas in his mind. Lear preferring his wicked daughters to his good, loving one.’
‘I don’t think I understand-’
‘Clearly insane decisions,’ she said firmly. ‘It is almost as though some bacillus has infected your entire physiology and unbalanced your judgement!’
‘What bacillus? What are you talking about?’
She took another gulp of brandy. I am going to drink myself into scintillations of self-pity, she thought.
‘Remember Malvolio suckered into wearing yellow cross-garters as a supposed aphrodisiac to his employer, Olivia?’
Looking at his blank face, it occurred to her that she might not be adopting the right approach. James wasn’t the least bit artistic or intellectual. Theatrical allusions weren’t exactly his thing. Witty parallels between life and high literature were all but lost on him.
Rising from the sofa, she went up to him and perched on the arm of his chair. ‘I feel for you, James. If you only knew how much I feel for you. My heart bleeds for you, darling. You can kiss me, if you like.’
‘I’d rather I didn’t – sorry, Melisande. I don’t feel terribly well-’
He’d rather he didn’t. She was dismayed. He was off her. He’d always called her Meli, never Melisande. This was the end. He no longer found her attractive. He no longer desired her. He was off her!
She told herself to persist. ‘I admire you for wanting to do the right thing, darling, I really do. You have such a munificent heart. I am sure everything will be all right in the end. You will see Stella’s body transported back to Bulgaria in one of those hermetically sealed coffins, give the daughter a couple of bucks and make sure she is safely ensconced on the plane. After that you will be a free man! The paralysing effect this whole dreadful business has had on your faculties will wear off soon enough and you will start seeing things as they really are.’
‘Moon doesn’t want to go back to Bulgaria.’
‘Well, she’ll have to go! She has no other option!’ Anger surged through Melisande like blood bubbling up through a sharp cut in skin. ‘You’d better impress it on her. You mustn’t allow that little bitch to twist you round her little finger, James, you really mustn’t! She’s taking advantage of your good nature, don’t you see? The brazen gall of it!’
‘She is very young,’ he said again.
‘I am sorry, James, but I have very little patience where that girl is concerned. I find her tiresome beyond endurance. She was outside the house this morning.’
‘Moon was outside your house? Are you sure it was her?’
‘Of course it was her! She was wearing that disgusting shinel.’
‘What was she doing?’
‘Standing and staring, James. Standing and staring. Indulging her penchant for meddlesome intrusion. Spying – writing things down, in what looked like a notebook – trying to intimidate us! She’s got a screw loose, that much is clear. We nearly called the police. Poor Win said it gave her the heebie-jeebies, looking at that girl, though I believe it was me Moon was after. She hates me.’
‘She must have been playing at detectives. She-’
‘She is a bitch, James. A manipulative bitch. She is twisting you round her little finger.’ Melisande smoothed her peignoir with her hand. ‘I am sorry, darling, but sometimes it is best to be brutally honest. Do you know what? I pray for you incessantly. You can move in here, if you like,’ she added casually, giving his earlobe a playful tweak. ‘How about it?’
‘Don’t do that, please.’ The way he drew back, she might have announced a leprous condition. ‘Thank you, but I’m afraid that – that will be quite impossible.’
‘Impossible? I suppose you need more time to recover?’
‘I think so. Yes. I need more time – and space. My own space.’
Melisande rose slowly to her feet. Her expression didn’t change, but the turmoil inside her frightened her. It was only with great difficulty that she resisted the temptation to claw his face or strangle him with his black tie. Examining her long red fingernails, she asked him if he wanted another cup of tea.
‘No, thank you.’
She sighed. ‘We seem to have been overtaken by events,’ she said obscurely. ‘How is the investigation progressing? They haven’t yet caught the killer, have they?’
‘Not as far as I know. There has been nothing in the papers or on TV. I have no idea what is going on.’
‘So they still don’t know who did it. You don’t think it’s the girl?’
‘What girl?’
‘The daughter, James. Stella’s girl. The offensive offspring. Moon. Didn’t you say the police found her hankie not far from her mother’s body and that it was dripping blood?’
‘The police thought it was her handkerchief, but they were wrong. It has the initials MM on it, but it is not her handkerchief. She’s not the only one with the initials MM. It could be anybody’s handkerchief.’
‘Indeed it could be.’ An icy calm descended upon Melisande. ‘It could be my friend Lady Mariota Madrigal’s – only she happens to be in Acapulco at the moment. It could also be Marcel Marceau’s, the French mime artist. Or is he dead? The handkerchief could also be yours, you know.’
‘I am not in the mood for jokes.’
‘Your second name is Morgan. You told me your parents used to call you Morgan when you were a boy and how much you hated it.’ She laughed. ‘Morgan Morland – sounds a bit silly, I agree, but it matches those initials perfectly.’
‘It’s a woman’s handkerchief.’
‘Well, darling, some men get a kick out of carrying feminine articles about their person. Lipsticks and powder compacts and bottles of nail varnish. Some men wear their girlfriends’ silk stockings wrapped tightly about their bodies. It’s called fetish, James. One meets more fetishists than farmers, according to statistics, socially, I mean, though of course, one doesn’t realize it – it isn’t something one sees written on their foreheads. Soft materials can be a particular turn-on-’
‘I am not in the mood for jokes,’ Morland said again.
‘I am absolutely, utterly, profoundly serious. What if I told you it was my handkerchief?’
‘It isn’t your handkerchief.’
‘My unwed and unweddable sister gave me such a peculiar look when I announced Stella’s death to her. Win didn’t seem to believe that it was you who’d phoned me and told me about it. I have an idea she’s been avoiding me.’
‘Why should she want to do that?’ Morland spoke absently. He looked at his watch.