called C.C.J. Hawkshaw, with whom she now lived in London’s Docklands.
‘They came on a visit last month. They meant well, no hard feelings and all that, but it was a mistake. Provost has clearly neither forgotten nor forgiven. He walked about handing round drinks, saying nothing, looking shell-shocked – acted as though he had no idea who they were. The boy ran off and shut himself in the potting shed and wouldn’t come out. I think I smelled pot, but I may be wrong. Nicholas did behave oddly afterwards. Poor souls,’ Lady Grylls said again.
‘Why don’t you raise their wages, if you pity them so much?’ Major Payne said as he stirred his tea.
‘Can’t afford to. Shirley was unrecognizable. She’s shaved her head and she and C.C.J. sported identical tattoos on their arms. It was fairly obvious she was preggers as well,’ Lady Grylls went on. ‘We always got on well – sex-mad, of course – and I thought her new consort a pet. His full name is Clive Junior, but for some reason he hates being called that. He wouldn’t say what the second C stands for either. He’s terribly sensitive about it.’
Antonia asked, ‘Hasn’t Corinne got any idea as to who might be sending her the death threats?’
‘If she has, she didn’t tell me. All she said was “anonymous notes”… So annoying, isn’t it? Who do you think it is, my dear? You are the expert.’
‘I am nothing of the sort.’ Antonia said.
‘Poor Corinne reminds me of the man who walks on a lonesome road in fear and dread,’ Lady Grylls said.
‘Because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread
…’ Payne murmured.
‘Is that The Ancient Mariner? Awfully gruesome… Hate poetical effusions.’ Lady Grylls paused. ‘Who could it be?’
Major Payne stroked his jaw with a thoughtful forefinger. ‘It could be someone from Corinne’s past.’
‘Corinne hasn’t got a past! Not in the sense I think you mean. All she’s ever done is sing. La chanson, c’est moi. That’s Corinne’s motto. She’s had it embroidered on her sofa cushions and handkerchiefs and things. I don’t think Corinne’s ever had time for a private life.’
‘Could the death threats have something to do with Corinne’s singing then?’ Antonia frowned. ‘No – that’s silly.’ We must talk about something else, she thought.
‘Shall we explore possibilities?’ Lady Grylls looked round. ‘Such fun. Do let’s.’
2
Look to the Lady
‘Well, the whole thing might turn out to be something silly and trivial,’ Antonia said after a pause. ‘The death threats may have been written by a fan whose request for an autograph Corinne ignored.’
‘Or it might be something really twisted and diabolical,’ said Payne. ‘The Machiavellian Maginot may have done it in order to tighten the screws on Corinne – to increase Corinne’s dependence on her?’
‘The Machiavellian Maginot, that’s right.’ Lady Grylls nodded approvingly over her cup of tea. ‘I like it when an unsympathetic character turns out to have done it. Maginot strikes me as exactly the type… Have you ever hated someone without ever having clapped eyes on them?’
‘Corinne might have written the letters herself,’ Antonia went on. ‘She might be obsessed with death, as her interest in funeral wreaths suggests… Some kind of death-wish. Or the death threats might be a publicity stunt – aimed to revive public interest in her – an ageing, self-dramatizing diva’s attention-seeking ploy.’
‘What a splendid idea,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘I adore ploys. Such fun, having you here. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come. I really don’t. I would have been bored to sobs.’
‘The death threats might turn out to be the work of a rival diva. Somebody who’s still jealous of Corinne,’ Payne suggested. ‘One of those legendary cat-fights that go back a long way?’
‘The dilemma… of the deadly diva?’ Lady Grylls shot a sly look at Antonia.
Antonia bit her lip. We are being damned insensitive, she thought, treating this as though it were some sort of parlour game. We are providing entertainment for a bored baroness – like the court jesters of old… Corinne Coreille, despite all her oddities and great riches, was a human being, at the moment no doubt a terribly frightened one. Were they so incapable of understanding, empathy and simple compassion?
‘The death threats might turn out to be what is known as a “cry for help”,’ Major Payne was saying. ‘Corinne may be mired in misery – on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She may feel her career is on the skids – she may be convinced that she has reached the end of the line.’
Lady Grylls said she was sure Antonia could make any of these theories work if she were writing Corinne’s story up in a book – the plot would be one of those complicated clockwork affairs with a hundred moving parts and interdependence absolute – she could, couldn’t she? Lady Grylls had always maintained that detective story writers were terribly clever.
‘Not necessarily. Anyone with basic writing skills, a devious mind and amateur knowledge of psychology can do it.’ Antonia hoped she didn’t sound too terse. She knew there was more to detective story writing than that but she was annoyed. They should talk about something else, really. ‘Who is Bobo Markham?’ she asked.
Lady Grylls laughed. It was Major Payne who enlightened her.
‘Sir Robert Markham is a widowed baronet who considers himself a good catch. Markham Manor is on the other side of Chalfont Parva,’ he explained. ‘Old Markham’s been trying to get Aunt Nellie to marry him. He’s been after you for a long time, hasn’t he, darling?’
‘Oh dear, yes… Heart of gold, but such an old bore. He’s nearly eighty,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘A man who continually asks a woman to marry him and can’t make her change her mind, is a man who secretly enjoys devotion to lost causes.’
‘He had a good war, apparently,’ Payne said. ‘He told me he excelled at Dunkirk.’
‘I daresay the Charge of the Light Brigade would have suited Bobo much better! I know I am being awfully unkind. I am not a good person. Bobo’s a splendid old boy, actually, but if I ever married again at my age, it would be to a younger man. Somebody of, say, sixty-four.’
‘Darling – a toy-boy,’ Payne murmured.
‘And he must on no account breed pigs.’
‘Does Sir Robert Markham breed pigs?’ Antonia was not in the least interested, but she was glad to have managed to steer the conversation in a different direction.
‘Listen to this. Corinne might be planning to get rid of the overbearing Maginot who has some hold over her.’ Payne paused thoughtfully. ‘It is Maginot who will die violently. Corinne is the killer and she has been making it appear as though she is the intended victim… It’s going to be one of those cases where it looks but only looks as though the killer has made a mistake.’
‘And I’d lay you long odds it’s Jonson who’s behind the death threats,’ Lady Grylls wheezed. ‘Jonson’s agency is going bankrupt. He needs money desperately.’ Lady Grylls pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘The first time Corinne employed him, she paid him a fortune in fees, so he sees her as the goose that lays golden eggs. He conceives of a scheme – he sends her threatening letters in the hope that she’ll employ his services – which she does!’
There was a pause. Well, we seem to have exhausted all possibilities, Antonia reflected – and felt cheered by the thought. Whatever happened now, there’d be no surprises…
‘Do you and Corinne speak in French?’ she asked.
‘No – English. Corinne speaks English like one of us, on account of Ruse – I mean her mamma. Her mamma was English. Le falcon – her father – was French. That’s Franglais.’ Lady Grylls fumbled with the pack and lit another cigarette. ‘Le falcon,’ she repeated.
There was another pause. An unaccountable change had come over Lady Grylls, Antonia noticed with surprise. Lady Grylls had ceased looking jolly. There was a faraway expression on her face. Her eyes had narrowed – her lips trembled slightly. Antonia was visited by an idea -
There was one fantastical possibility they hadn’t considered. Had they perhaps been persuaded to look at the case… the wrong way up?
Lady Grylls sat smoking in silence. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on the mantelpiece – was she looking at the photos of Corinne – or at the Riff knife whose point was pressed against one of them? Hugh said something, but she didn’t seem to hear.
