‘Did you?’
‘Yes! I left a voice message. Just before I set off.’
There was a pause as Payne produced his mobile phone. ‘So you did, old boy. At… five to eleven… This may be important.’
‘You think that I’ll have to prove I have an alibi?’
‘It’s possible. The police may want to make sure. How long did you stay at the British Library?’
‘An hour or so… I browsed in the bookshop, then had a cup of tea
… I thought that Miss Hope might say something important – that she might confess to the murder! That’s why I went. Lord. I keep calling her Miss Hope… She didn’t turn up of course… She never intended to go to the British Library, did she?’
‘No. Winifred Willard intended to come to the Villa Byzantine. She wanted you out of the way,’ said Payne. ‘Why? I think my wife may have the answer. At least she looks as though she does.’
‘I believe this is yours, Mr Vane.’ Antonia had wrapped her handkerchief round her hand and was holding up a black notebook. ‘Your initials are on the flyleaf.’
‘Yes. It’s mine. These are my notes for the blasted biography. Where was it?’
‘Inside Winifred’s bag.’ She pointed.
‘She took my notebook?’ Vane blinked. ‘But – why? Why?’
‘Maybe because it contained lies? All the stories she made up for you… I imagine she meant to destroy it,’ Antonia went on slowly, ‘so that you should not be put to shame. Perhaps she realized that she had acted irresponsibly and that you would become the laughing stock of the literary world? I believe she did it out of consideration for your reputation as a biographer – since she loved you so much – she was very much in love with you, you know.’
‘Was she really in love with me?’
‘She was mad about you,’ said Payne. ‘She was contemplating a spring wedding.’
‘Was there a deadline for what you had written?’ Antonia asked. ‘Were you expected to send any of it to your publisher?’
‘No… Actually, yes… Yes!’ Tancred Vane’s hand went up to his forehead. ‘Professor Goldsworthy was going to read my notes. Professor Goldsworthy is a historian – an expert on East European monarchies – knows his Bulgarian royal family inside out, or so I’ve been told… He was to act as a consultant… He had agreed to look at what I’d written
… My editor had made arrangements-’
‘Did Winifred know about Goldsworthy?’
‘I – I told Miss Hope I was going to send him the biography by the end of the week. Via email. As an attachment. She knew, yes.’
‘That explains it. That’s most probably the reason why she came here.’
‘I’ve got it all saved on my computer-’ Vane broke off. ‘You don’t think she-? She couldn’t have-?’
‘You’d better check,’ Major Payne said.
The royal biographer staggered towards the desk and turned on the computer. ‘She called it “that silly biography”. I thought she was in an odd mood that day.’ He gazed at the screen and his hands became busy. ‘It’s not here. It’s gone. All gone. The whole file. You are right. She’s deleted the Prince Cyril file! She’s destroyed it! She’s even emptied the Recycle Bin! I have no back-up!’
Payne regarded him sympathetically. ‘It wouldn’t have been any good to you, would it, given that it was all untrue… Shall we go downstairs? We’ll need to call the police. It would look jolly peculiar if we delayed any further.’
‘The police… My God… I don’t think I’ll be able to explain all this… About Miss Hope… They won’t believe me… They’ll think I’m mad
… They’ll say I did it… They’ll take me away… Would you – would you stay with me?’
‘Of course we will, old boy.’
‘Should I call my solicitor?’
‘No, not yet. It would be wrong to put the cart before the horse, you know. Don’t let’s rush things. Festina lente and all that rot. Perhaps I could use the phone in the hall?’
They walked down the staircase in silence. Major Payne picked up the phone. Antonia and Tancred Vane went into the drawing room. Vane produced two globular cut-crystal glasses and silently poured out brandy.
He spoke. ‘Who killed her? Why did they kill her? What reason could anyone have had for wanting Melisande Chevret’s sister dead?’
Scared out of his wits, Antonia thought. She watched him gulp down his brandy. He choked and started coughing.
‘Would you like some water?’ Antonia asked.
‘No. I’m fine… What’s going on? Who killed her? Do you know?’
‘Well-’
Antonia wondered about him. Could he have left the British Library early, come back and surprised Winifred in his study? What if he had caught her red-handed? He might have got so distraught, so angry at the destruction of his brain-child, that he flipped. He might have picked up the owl and ‘Do you believe it’s the same person who killed Stella Markoff?’ Tancred Vane asked.
‘It’s got to be the same person,’ said Antonia. ‘It would be an incredible coincidence if Winifred’s murder turned out to be unconnected to Stella’s. I don’t think we are dealing with two different killers.’
‘Could her sister have done it?’
‘Melisande? That’s an interesting idea. Well, she certainly had an excellent motive for killing Stella. Melisande was jealous of Stella. She is still intent on getting her fiance back… Yes… But why should Melisande want to kill her sister?’
‘Perhaps Miss Hope – Winifred – knew something about Stella’s murder – what if she had proof that Melisande had done it?’ Tancred Vane suggested. ‘What’s Melisande like? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Not now.’ He took a sip of brandy. ‘Did you say she was an actress? I used to have a thing about actresses-’ He broke off.
There was a pause.
Major Payne came into the drawing room. ‘The police will be here in about twenty minutes. They remembered at once that they had been to the Villa Byzantine once before.’
‘Of course they’d remember. It was only last week,’ Antonia said. ‘It’s an unusual enough name.’
Tancred Vane put down his glass. ‘They will think it’s me. I know they will. They’ll put me in handcuffs.’
‘They won’t. Don’t be an ass. They wanted to know who I was, what I was doing at the Villa Byzantine and so on. They were rather tedious about it… Brandy, eh? I could do with some brandy. May I? Thank you… I say, old boy, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you – what happened to those letters and diaries? The ones that had belonged to Stella’s grandmother.’ Payne spoke conversationally. ‘You didn’t manage to persuade her to sell them to you, did you?’
For a moment Tancred Vane looked blank. He didn’t seem to know what Payne was talking about. ‘Oh God, no. No.’
‘Did you really offer her fifty pounds for them?’
Vane wetted his lips. His eyes shifted their gaze from Payne to Antonia. ‘As a matter of fact Stella suggested an exchange – the diaries for the sword, but I said no – wouldn’t have been an equal exchange – the samurai sword is much more valuable than the diaries. Besides, I wasn’t entirely convinced of their authenticity-’
‘I know who the killer is,’ Antonia said suddenly.
‘You do?’ Payne raised the brandy glass to his lips.
‘There is only one person who could have killed Stella and Winifred.’
Payne cast a glance at their host. Tancred Vane had given a little gasp. His forehead glistened with sweat.
‘I have an idea Stella’s murder wasn’t premeditated – was it?’ Payne said quietly.
‘I don’t think it was. Something precipitated it. I believe an event took place,’ Antonia went on slowly, ‘either in the car or soon after they arrived at the Villa Byzantine. I may be wrong, but I believe that Stella made a discovery. I think she tumbled to a certain shocking secret-’
There was a scraping noise. Tancred Vane had risen to his feet and pushed back the elegant velvet-upholstered spoon-shaped chair with carved arms and legs, in which he had been sitting. He was holding his hand to his mouth. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to be sick-’