had spike-like rafters protruding beyond the roof-line. Each cottage had only a few small windows and the doors were painted, again thickly, in blue.
Tweed stared. The sunlight gave the brilliant colours a powerful blinding effect. A mass of cacti were placed close to the front walls. They turned a corner and now the steeply slanted roofs were painted red. It was not like England at all. They felt they had been transferred to another world.
'Someone round here likes Van Gogh,' Tweed observed. 'This village is like one of his paintings.'
'There's someone working inside this one,' Paula pointed out.
'So we can ask about the General,' Tweed said and walked inside, followed by Paula.
Another surprise. The large room was a potter's working area. The potter, working a wheel, was a small heavily built man with a crooked face, one side of his jaw lower than the other. He stopped working and gave Paula the pleasantest of smiles. His gnarled hands were enormous. He wore a white smock, woollen leggings and suede slippers smeared with white paint.
'Welcome to France,' he greeted them. 'I am Francois. I hope you like our village. The General paid all the costs. General Lucius Macomber. He loves France.'
He sat on a three-legged stool, indicated for them to sit in wicker chairs. Tweed lowered himself gingerly but the chair was solidly constructed. He introduced himself and jumped in with a reference to the General.
'I was intrigued by the sculpture of a cat on one of his pillars. The cat with its head the wrong way round. Rather unusual.'
'The story behind that is unusual, even macabre. The General has three offspring, Nelson, Benton and Noel. This goes back to when they were boys, approaching their teens.
There was a cat the General worshipped, called Tommy. An old name for army privates. The General used to feed Tommy – no one else could give it milk or food. I had better demonstrate…'
Francois picked up a large chunk of malleable clay from a table. Paula watched, fascinated, as he used his large hands skilfully, moulding the clay until, quickly, it became a cat. He held it up so they could see how lifelike it looked. He then did something which horrified her. He took hold of it by the neck, slowly twisted it until the head was the wrong way round.
'That,' he said quietly, 'is what one of the offspring did to the cat.'
'How beastly,' Paula exclaimed.
'The General went almost out of his mind with grief and fury. He did everything possible to find out which of the boys had committed this atrocity. He never did. So, to punish the culprit, he asked me to create that sculpture in stone, to fix it to the top of the pillar. His idea was that every time the culprit walked out of the grounds they would see this aberration.'
'I think that too is quite horrible,' Paula muttered. 'So he never knew who was responsible?'
'Never.'
'What about his relationship with his three sons now?' Tweed asked.
'Not all is as it seems.'
'I don't understand.'
'The General is a virile man, even now when he is eighty. His wife died three years ago. Years before that he had an affair with a woman called Horlick. She became pregnant. He told his wife, a remarkable woman. She agreed to tell the neighbours she was pregnant and went on to the mainland. When Mrs Horlick gave birth to Noel the General's wife came back with the baby and everyone thought that it was hers.'
'So Nelson and Benton never knew the truth?'
'Not then. When they were grown up they did find out. I'm not sure how.'
'So how did they react to having a half-brother instead of a real one? Not pleasantly, I imagine.'
'You're wrong there,' Francois told him. 'First, Noel turned out to have a brilliant brain, especially on the planning front. He also took wrestling lessons at a specialist gym on the other side of the island. Nelson is pretty tough but he wouldn't mix it with Noel. If he did he'd end up with a broken arm. When none of them would own up to screwing the cat's neck the General took his revenge.'
'The stone sculpture, you mean?' Tweed suggested.
'More than that. The General is rich. His father was a billionaire, left it all to him. The General used a top lawyer in London to create three trusts. One for each of his offspring. Every year the boys get a handsome amount which enables them to live well – but nothing like a fortune. They were furious. Greed. The General never sees any of them when he goes on one of his three-day trips to London.'
'You did say,' Tweed began, phrasing it delicately, 'that the General is virile. Has he still an interest in women? These trips to London.'
Francois stopped what he was doing. He stood up suddenly and Tweed was surprised to see him standing straight as a ramrod.
'That is personal. The General's private life is his own business.'
He stared hard to Tweed, cocked his head to one side as though he couldn't quite make Tweed out. He sat on the stool again, still gazing at Tweed.
'What is it about you, sir? I'm telling you things I've never told another soul. I presume you will never repeat any of this to anyone. And my real name is Frank. The General calls me Francois to fit in with the atmosphere of the Crooked Village.'
'I give you my word I will never repeat anything you have told me,' Tweed said firmly, his eyes fixed on Frank's.
'You didn't introduce me to the charming lady,' Frank said, gazing at Paula.
'I'm sorry,' Tweed said quickly. 'My manners must be slipping. This is Miss Paula Grey, my confidential assistant.'
'May I call you Paula?' Frank suggested, taking off his working gloves and extending his hand.
'Of course you may,' she said with a smile, shaking his hand.
'I can tell,' Frank went on, 'that she is a trustworthy and most able assistant. Tight-lipped, I am sure.'
He didn't seem bothered about Newman, who had been standing a distance away by the open heavy door at the entrance. Newman kept glancing outside. He had posted Harry with his weapon at the entrance to the village to warn of any intruders. He also had very acute hearing and had heard every word.
'You're going now?' Frank said as Tweed held out his hand. 'I was going to offer you some refreshment.'
'Thank you, but I want to have a word with the General. Is it all right if I tell him we have been here, that we chatted with you about your pottery and the village?'
'Of course it is. He is very proud of his village. When it was built he brought over architects and workmen from France. They advised me about the paint to use. The colours are deliberately exaggerated – the light in Provence is so much stronger than here. Go well…'
14
In a daze, Paula turned to look at the village they had left. The startling effect of being in France seemed stronger than ever. She took out her camera, pressed the button three times.
'That was a unique experience,' she said to Tweed with a lilt in her voice. 'And I liked Frank.'
'He liked you. Otherwise he wouldn't have told us so much. A shrewd old boy. And one of the happiest men I've ever met.'
They walked quickly, Harry in the vanguard, his eyes everywhere. Behind him Newman strode briskly along, also very alert. He was worried about Paula. He hoped they wouldn't have another grim experience. To Tweed's surprise the wrought-iron gates guarding the General's estate were swinging open. He stopped, listening.
Thud…
Thud…
Thud…
The sounds were coming from round a curve in the wide drive. For no reason he could fathom Tweed thought of the trip to the mortuary, and what Professor Saafeld had said about the murder of Viola Vander-Browne.
Tweed walked round the bend. He was in the lead and Paula was close behind him. He stopped abruptly.
