‘Do you know more than you say?’ said Harvey.
‘No, it’s only a supposition.’
‘I’ll ring Ernie Howe’s flat as soon as my call to Canada has come through. It’s hard on my uncle, mucking him about like this. He’s not so young. I’ve just put through a call.’
‘It’s the middle of the night in Toronto,’ said Stewart.
‘I don’t care.’
Anne-Marie arrived in her thick coat, scarves and boots. ‘Good morning,’ she said, and then gave a pained wail. Her eyes were on the flowers that she had left in such a formal display the night before, now all pulled to pieces, even the petals torn to bits.
‘I was looking for an electronic bug,’ Harvey said.
‘I think you are not human,’ said Anne-Marie. She was now in tears, aimlessly lifting a daffodil, putting it down, then a blue, torn iris.
‘Who ordered them, who sent them?’ said Harvey.
Stewart said, ‘I’ll help to clear the mess. Leave it to me.’
‘I had them sent myself,’ said Anne-Marie. ‘To give you some joy after your ordeal with the press and your loss of the baby. My sister-in-law has a flower shop and I made a special-messenger arrangement with her for the most beautiful flowers; a personal present. I thought that with the loss of Madame and Clara you would enjoy those lovely spring flowers.’
Stewart had his arm round the police agent’s shoulders. ‘His nerves gave way,’ said Stewart. ‘That’s all.’
The telephone rang; Harvey’s call to Canada. It was a sleepy manservant who answered, as Harvey had counted on. He was able to explain, without having to actually talk to his uncle, that Ruth and the baby were probably not coming after all, and that any references to him in the newspapers and on the television were probably false.
He put down the receiver. The telephone rang: ‘Hallo, Harvey!’ The telephone rang off. Again it rang: ‘Harvey, it’s Ruth.’ She was speaking in a funny way. She was calling herself Ree-uth, although definitely the voice was hers. It must be the London influence, Harvey registered all in a moment. But she was going on. ‘I changed my mind, Harvey. I had to bring Clara (pronounced Clah-rah) to her father (pronounced fah-thar).’
‘What are you saying?’ said Harvey. ‘You mean you’re not going to my Uncle Joe in Toronto. You’ve decided to shack down with Ernie Howe, is that it?’
‘That’s it,’ said Ruth.
‘Then I think you might have had enough consideration for my Uncle Joe — he’s seventy-eight — to let me know.’
‘Oh, I was busy with Clah-rah.’
‘Pass me Ernie,’ said Harvey.
‘Ernie, do you mind?’ said Ruth’s voice, apart.
‘Hallo,’ said the other voice.
‘Ernie Howe?’
‘That’s me.
‘What are you doing with Ruth?’
‘We’ve just had a tunah-fish salad. We fed Clah-rah.’
Harvey then remembered Ernie’s voice (that’s where Ruth got the Clah-rah).
‘I make a good fah-thah,’ said Ernie; ‘and I don’t like your tone of superiority.’
After a great many more hot words, Harvey began to recollect, at the back of his mind, that he really had no rights in the matter; not much to complain of at all. He said good night, hung up, and returned to the sitting room hoping for some consolation from his friend.
His friend was sitting on the sofa holding hands with Anne-Marie. Harvey was in time to hear him say, ‘May I fall in love with you?’
‘She’s married,’ said Harvey in English.
‘Not at all,’ said Anne-Marie in her most matter-of-fact voice. ‘I live with my married brother.’
‘Well, I thought you were married,’ said Harvey.
‘That’s when you thought I was a maid.’
‘If you’re not a maid then what are you doing here?’ said Harvey.
‘He’s exasperated,’ said Stewart. ‘Don’t mind him.’
Anne-Marie took a long glance at the disorderly table of ruined flowers and said, ‘I have to remain here on duty. I’m going to make the coffee.’
When she had left, Harvey said, ‘You’re behaving like an undergraduate who’s just put foot on the Continent for the first time, meeting his first Frenchwoman.’
‘What was the news from England?’
‘Ruth is with Ernie Howe.’
‘What do the newspapers say?’
