‘Unless she exaggerated her bad eyesight …’
There was a pause. ‘Lord Remnant had been receiving death threats,’ said Payne. ‘It may have been one or more of the locals who killed him, though would they have been able to get hold of his gun?’
‘The black major-domo might have given it to them.’
‘Indeed he might … Still, the murder was committed with Lord Remnant’s gun, which suggests it was an inside job.’
‘Louise Hunter may be afraid of taking any direct action. Do you think she would talk to us?’
‘She might. Let’s try to beard her as she has tea at the Matroni tearooms in Kensington, shall we?’ Payne suggested. ‘Or you could do it by yourself — less threatening, perhaps?’
‘I don’t know what she looks like. I never saw that videotape,’ Antonia reminded him.
‘She wore a helmet. She looked preposterous. Far from prepossessing.’
‘She is not very likely to be wearing a helmet when she has tea at Matroni, is she? I doubt a helmet is a permanent feature of her toilette.’
‘You will recognize her, I am sure. A large lady with vague hair and big feet.’
‘London is full of large ladies with big feet.’
‘True. Gosh, how depressing.’ Payne rubbed his chin. ‘Well, I could come with you, point her out discreetly, then withdraw. How about that? She has tea at Matroni every Thursday afternoon … What day is it tomorrow?’
‘Thursday.’
‘Is it really? Now, isn’t that lucky? We’ll do it tomorrow,’ said Payne. ‘I don’t think we should waste any time. We shall hunt down the Hunter! She is probably expecting someone to approach her anyhow.’
‘There is something else that struck me as curious,’ Antonia said thoughtfully. ‘Why was Clarissa so frightened when she imagined it was a man who was phoning her? Is Clarissa expecting a call from someone? Is that in any way important?’
After Stephan rang off, Louise Hunter remained sitting very still. She told herself it was all nonsense. It was one of Stephan’s drug-fuelled fantasies. He had been imagining things. Seeing things. He had been under the influence of heaven knew what lethal cocktail. The Grimaud was nothing but a preposterous superstition, a myth. The Grimaud didn’t exist …
Despite herself, Louise felt disturbed. She felt — chilled. She had heard about the Grimaud. She believed she had seen a crude drawing of the Grimaud somewhere. A terrifying-looking creature … Of course it didn’t exist. But Stephan had sounded so positive.
Should she have some ice-cream? She always had ice-cream when she was perplexed about something …
Three minutes later she resumed her seat, a tub of Haagen-Dazs in front of her. American ice-cream was the best. Yummy. Better than Italian ice-cream. Better than Belgian ice-cream. Louise was something of an expert on ice-cream. Midnight cookies was her favourite flavour.
Stephan claimed to have seen the Grimaud with his own eyes. And there was something else. Two things, in fact. Lord Remnant’s hands. The laugh Basil had heard in Lord Remnant’s dressing room. She couldn’t say why, but she believed all three were connected somehow … Though how exactly were they connected?
No, Basil wouldn’t listen to her. Basil found her annoying. Basil detested her. Through the binoculars she had seen him walk in the direction of Remnant Castle. She had caught a glimpse of his face. There had been a closed, cagey look about him — an air of — of suppressed yearning.
Basil was mad about Clarissa. That much was clear to her. Perhaps he was trying to engineer a meeting with Clarissa? How she hated Clarissa! Clarissa — with her sidling seductive walk — with that indescribably rampant look in her eyes-
Whore, Louise mouthed. Slut.
The tape. Had Gerard Fenwick received it? Had he watched it and, if he had, had he seen the gun showing through the window curtains? Most importantly, what was he going to do about it? Well, he would get in touch with Clarissa and ask her what it all meant. That would be the logical course of action, wouldn’t it?
Louise rather liked the idea of Clarissa being pushed into a tight corner and asked awkward questions.
My brother was killed, wasn’t he? You know who shot him, Clarissa, don’t you? You must know. I am sure you are behind it. However did you manage to get a death certificate signed by two doctors?
The tape was not the only thing Louise had sent. There was also the anonymous letter to Clarissa. She had cut the letters out of Country Life and the Field. Well, the more harassed and harried Clarissa felt, the better. People, women in particular, aged prematurely when they were kept in a state of anxiety. Women lost their allure fast. What was it Lady Wishfort said? Why, I am arrantly flayed; I look like an old peeled wall!
Arrantly flayed. She would love to see Clarissa arrantly flayed!
Things between her and Basil hadn’t always been as bad as they had become. Only a couple of months back they had talked. They had agreed there was nothing like the last days of summer — those beautiful hot days that had within them the seeds of their own fragility. She told him how much she enjoyed waking up to a mild pinkish dawn and watching the mist lifting from the garden. He said there was nothing like an autumn sun shining out of a cloudless blue sky, without glare and without brilliance-
Louise Hunter fumbled for her handkerchief. Odd thing, memories — rising at such unexpected moments, quite unsolicited — exploding on the surface like bubbles.
And then, without rhyme or reason, she remembered something else that had happened at La Sorciere.
It had been about an hour and a half after lunch. She and Hortense had happened to walk past the open door of Lord Remnant’s study. Louise had been talking about the farm. Friends of Hortense’s had apparently just bought a farm in South Africa.
They had caught sight of Lord Remnant sitting at his desk, a startlingly gleeful expression on his face. In his hands Lord Remnant had been holding-
20
The Conundrum of the Curious Codicil
Unlocking the front door, Gerard Fenwick let himself into the house. His nose twitched. How terribly peculiar, someone had been smoking a cigar — one of his cigars. His thoughts turned once more to his vanished cigar cutter.
‘Felicity?’ he called out. He went into the drawing room.
He looked at the TV. What was that rigmarole about a videotape showing his brother’s death? His brother hadn’t died naturally, Felicity had said. Well, he was perfectly aware of the fact-
He rang the bell. Their maid appeared.
‘Ah, Goda. I would like a cup of tea.’ He spoke slowly, making it sound like a sentence out of an English grammar book. ‘And something to eat. A plate of sandwiches, perhaps? Have we got smoked salmon?’
‘Sir?’
‘People eat a lot of fish in Lithuania, don’t they?’ He tapped his forehead with a forefinger. ‘Must be terribly brainy, Lithuanians.’
‘Sir?’
‘Awfully good for the brain, fish. Is my wife in?’
‘My wife?’
‘My wife.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Lady Remnant.’
‘Lady Remnant is upstairs.’
‘Upstairs? It’s starting to rain again, now isn’t that a bore? Does it rain a lot in Lithuania? I know it snows a lot, doesn’t it? I understand parts of the Baltic freeze in winter, is that correct? I suppose skating parties are terribly popular in Lithuania? Skating’s jolly graceful, if one does it properly. Do you miss Lithuania?’
‘Everybody know Miss Lithuania, sir.’ Goda beamed. ‘Miss Lithuania is very beautiful girl. Her name Ugne Tautvydas. I see Miss Lithuania on television. My sister say to me, you look like Miss Lithuania!’ Goda laughed. She shook her head vigorously. ‘My sister joke.’