Harvey and Anne-Marie had together put the living room to rights. Ruth had not yet rung him from Paris as she had promised. Where was she? Harvey then noticed something new in the room, a large bowl of early spring flowers, professionally arranged, beautiful. Irises, jonquils, lilies, daffodils; all too advanced to be local products; they must have come from an expensive shop in Nancy. Anne-Marie must have put them there at some time between the clearing up of the mess and her leaving, but Harvey hadn’t noticed them. They stood on a low round table, practically covering it as the outward leaves of the arrangement bent gracefully over the edge of the bowl. Harvey hadn’t noticed them, either, while he was sitting having a drink with Stewart, trying to calm him down, nor while Anne-Marie, anxious about the time, laid out a cold supper that was still sitting on the small dining-table, waiting for Stewart to wash and change. Where did those flowers come from? Who brought them, who sent them? Anne-Marie hadn’t left the house. And why should she order flowers?
Stewart came in and went to get himself another drink. He was a man of medium height, in his mid-forties with a school-boy’s round face and round blue eyes; but this immature look was counteracted by a deep and expressive quality in his voice, so that as soon as he spoke the total effect was of a certain maturity and intelligence, cancelling that silly round-eyed look.
‘Did you bring these flowers?’ said Harvey.
‘Did I bring what?’
‘These flowers — I don’t know where they’ve come from. The maid — and by the way she’s a policewoman — must have put them there some time this evening. But why?’
Stewart brought his drink to the sofa and sat sipping it.
Harvey’s mind was working fast, and faster. ‘I think I know why they’re there. Have you ever heard of a vase of flowers being bugged?’
‘Rather an obvious way to plant a bug if the flowers weren’t there already,’ said Stewart.
But Harvey was already pulling the flower-arrangement to bits. He shook each lily, each daffodil; he tore at the petals of the irises. Stewart drank his drink and told Harvey to calm down; he watched Harvey with his big blue eyes and then took another sip. Harvey splashed the water from the bowl all over the table and the floor. ‘I don’t see anything,’ he said.
‘From what I understand the police have had every opportunity to plant bugs elsewhere in the house; they need not introduce a bunch of flowers for the purpose,’ Stewart said. ‘What a mess you’ve made of a lovely bunch of flowers.’
‘I’d take you out to dinner,’ said Harvey. He sat on the sofa with his dejected head in his hands. He looked up. ‘I’d take you out to eat but I’ve got to wait in for a call from Ruth. She’s in Paris but I don’t know where. I’ve got to let my uncle in Toronto know the time of her arrival and her flight number. Did I tell you that she’s taking the baby to my Uncle Joe’s?’
‘No,’ said Stewart.
‘Well, she is. I’ve got to arrange for her to be met, and get through to Toronto and give them reasonable notice. And I’ve got to have a call from Ernie Howe, I think. At least he said he’d ring.’
‘How many other things have you got to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why don’t you relax? You’re in a hell of a state.’
‘I know. What are you supposed to be doing here?’
‘Giving you some advice,’ Stewart said. ‘Of course, I can’t act for you here in France.’
‘I don’t need anyone. I’ve got what’s-his-name in Paris if necessary.
‘Martin Deschamps? — I’ve been in touch with him. He can’t act for you in a case like this. No-one in his firm can, either. That means they won’t. Terrorism is too unladylike for those fancy lawyers. I’m hungry.’
‘Let’s sit down, then,’ said Harvey; they sat at the table to eat the cold supper. Harvey’s hand shook as he started to pour the wine. He stopped and looked at his hand. ‘I’m shaking,’ he said. ‘I wonder why Ruth hasn’t rung?’
Stewart took the bottle from him and poured out the wine. ‘Your nerves,’ he said.
‘She must have had her dinner and put the baby to bed by now, ‘Harvey said. ‘I’ll give it another hour, then I’m going to ring the police and find out where she is. Ernie Howe should have rung, too.’
‘Maybe she didn’t stop over in Paris. Perhaps she went straight to the airport.’
‘She should have rung. She could have been taken ill. She’s pregnant.’
‘Is she?’
‘So she says.’
The telephone rang. An inspector of police, ‘M. Gotham? — I want to let you know that Mine. Ruth Jansen has arrived in London.’
‘In London? I thought she was going to stop overnight in Paris. I’ve arranged for her to go to Canada to my —’She changed her mind.’
‘Where is she in London?’
‘I can’t tell you. Good night.’
‘If she didn’t ring you as promised,’ said Stewart the next morning, ‘and Ernie Howe didn’t ring you as promised, and if, in addition, it transpires she went to London, I should have thought you would suspect that the two were together.’
‘You think she has gone to Ernie Howe? Why should she go to him? She is pregnant by me.’
‘She has Ernie Howe’s baby in her arms. It would be natural to take her to the father. You can’t possess everything, Harvey.’
