‘No, thank you. Don’t believe in gorging myself. Have you ever considered spending a day without eating?’
‘Do you think I should go on a diet?’ It was clear he found her fat. The thought plunged her into the depths of renewed depression and self-contempt.
‘Do you good, I should think.’ He rustled his paper. ‘Wouldn’t call it a diet. Not exactly.’
‘What is it then?’
‘One whole day without eating. Perhaps two. Or three. Why not four?’ Basil Hunter went on, warming to his theme. ‘Thinking of giving it a try myself. Apparently one wakes up the next day bright as a button. Mental faculties a great deal sharper. Starving encourages the flow of extra blood to the brain.’
‘That’s what happens when you stand on your head,’ she said.
He shook his teaspoon at her. ‘You will feel as though you are beginning to float away. And you find yourself laughing for no apparent reason.’
‘Sounds marvellous,’ Louise said. ‘Absolutely enthralling.’
Two red spots had appeared on her cheeks and now she felt a surge of excitement. Why, this seemed like old times! They were having a conversation.
Her joy, however, was short-lived. Basil failed to answer her question about the new heifer he had bought. He didn’t address her again and then she saw him gazing towards the window once more.
There was a silence.
Louise helped herself to a Danish pastry. She sighed. How she wished she had a narrower gullet, if not a supermodel’s inhibited appetite. Her thoughts returned to her conversation with Stephan. Stephan claimed to have seen the Grimaud, the immaculately dressed homunculus that was said to turn up at the house of the doomed in a coffin.
The Grimaud was a malevolent spirit, some Caribbeans said the Devil himself. The Grimaud had sleek black hair, three rows of teeth and burning red eyes. The Grimaud was conjured up by a man’s enemies and sent to his house to ‘claim’ him.
Nonsense. All nonsense, she told herself. Stephan had been under the influence of heaven knew what cocktail of drugs. Stephan had been hallucinating. Stephan had been seeing things that hadn’t been there.
Still, the fact remained that strange things had happened at La Sorciere on the day Lord Remnant died …
How did one explain the hands? And how exactly did one account for the laughter?
23
‘There she is, the big girl at the far end, the table on the right. The vanquished Valkyrie.’ Payne pointed. ‘Gosh, look at that turban of trumpeting vermilion!’
‘Where? Oh yes. Goodness.’
‘She’s eating as though her life depends on it — what’s that she’s having? Blini? With dollops of what looks like blackcurrant jelly. I didn’t think I’d ever live to see such an outrage.’
‘I am large, I contain multitudes … Walt Whitman. Sorry. Perhaps she is terribly unhappy,’ Antonia said. ‘She’s drinking tea out of a saucer.’
‘I would be unhappy if I had to drink tea out of a saucer. Well, there you are, my love. The mighty Hunter is doing exactly what Hortense said she would be doing. It is clearly something of a ritual with her. This,’ Major Payne said didactically, ‘is what happens when people turn their backs on God.’
‘You don’t know if she’s turned her back on God.’
‘I am sure she has. You only have to take one look at her. This is actually quite exciting. The hunter becomes the hunted … Make sure she doesn’t eat you,’ Payne whispered in Antonia’s ear. ‘Don’t forget to report back to base.’
‘I won’t.’
He kissed her. She watched him hold up his umbrella and hail a taxi.
Matroni clearly translated as ‘matrons’ and Antonia wondered if the Russian word held the same disparaging connotation as the English. What were matrons exactly? Motherly ladies? Respectable middle-aged women? Matrons were usually staid and stout. Was she a matron? She hoped not — not yet. Was Louise Hunter a matron? Most decidedly.
I will introduce myself as Antonia Rushton, she decided. She had been married to a Richard Rushton once.
A smiling young waiter with high Slav cheekbones, pale blue eyes and fair hair bowed disconcertingly low and asked where she would like to sit.
‘Over there, perhaps?’ Antonia waved towards an empty table alongside Louise Hunter’s.
She bravely ordered a pot of Tibetan tea and a piece of gooseberry pirog. She was aware of Louise Hunter stealing a glance at her. The clothes Louise Hunter wore had presumably been constructed by a dressmaker of the better class, but it was hard to believe that she could have been adequately fitted out by anyone less spacious in his methods than Omar the Tent Maker.
As their eyes met, Antonia smiled at her. ‘Excuse me — Mrs Hunter? It’s Mrs Louise Hunter, isn’t it?’
‘Yes?’ The fat woman in the red turban looked startled. ‘Yes? I am sorry but I don’t — have we met?’
‘We haven’t. My name is Antonia Rushton. I believe we have friends in common. The Fenwicks. Felicity and Gerard,’ Antonia improvised. ‘He is now the Earl Remnant.’
‘Oh.’ Louise Hunter suddenly looked frightened.
‘Felicity and I were at school together. Gerard is awfully nice. Both of them are awfully nice,’ Antonia prattled on. ‘As it happens, I was at their place about an hour ago.’
‘Actually, I don’t know them awfully well … What — what did they say about me?’
‘They pointed you out-’
‘Pointed me out?’
‘I am so sorry! That sounded awful. Do forgive me, Mrs Hunter. It’s just that we were watching-’ Antonia broke off. ‘Sorry! I shouldn’t have mentioned it at all.’
‘What were you watching?’
‘I was asked not to talk about it. It is an extremely delicate matter.’
‘What delicate matter? What were you watching?’ Louise’s hand was at her heaving bosom.
‘Well …’
‘Please, tell me.’
‘I am far from convinced I should.’
‘You must tell me!’
Antonia pretended to hesitate. ‘Felicity showed me something. She wanted my opinion, you see. She was a bit unsettled — out of her depth.’
‘She showed you the tape. This is all about the tape, isn’t it? I know it is.’ Louise leant forward. ‘She let you watch the tape.’
‘All right. Yes. She let us watch the tape. I am sorry, Mrs Hunter. I shouldn’t have referred to any of it at all. None of my business. It’s just that Felicity wanted my advice. No, I don’t work for the police. We — my husband and I — have what you might call a consultancy … Ah, here is my tea at last!’
‘You are private detectives? You and your husband?’
‘For fear of inviting ridicule we never call ourselves that … I have never had a pirog before, but I like trying new things.’
Louise Hunter seemed to reach a decision. ‘Would you like to come over and sit at my table? I must talk to you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive!’
Antonia rose.
‘It is true what they say, that in this life we never know what may be waiting for us around the next corner … So what did you make of it? You saw what happened, didn’t you?’ Louise asked in a low voice. Her lips were the colour of ripe German plums, Antonia noticed; her eyebrows perfect geometric arches. She really was a large lady.
‘It is quite extraordinary, to have captured a murder live on camera,’ said Antonia. ‘Without intending to!’
‘You saw the gun?’
‘Yes. A murder that takes place within full view of everybody! Quite incredible … Why exactly did you send the tape?’
‘What makes you think it was me?’ There was a crafty glint in Louise Hunter’s eye. I would have put it on YouTube if only I knew how, she was thinking. For the whole world to see.