‘How did you know that it wasn’t true?’
‘One of the nuns told me. Sister Felicia.’
‘So I was right,’ Antonia said. ‘Corinne’s daughter was brought up by nuns.’
‘Yes… She was sent to the convent outside Lourdes, where Corinne’s aunt was Mother Superior at the time.’
Sister Felicia had discovered some papers in her Mother Superior’s desk after her death, Peverel explained. There was a birth certificate – also letters sent to Corinne’s aunt by Mr Lark. Mr Lark had written that on no account should Peverel be contacted and told that his daughter was alive. Mr Lark had made the convent a number of generous donations… The Mother Superior had complied with his wishes and she had preserved Corinne’s guilty secret for more than quarter of a century, but now that she was dead, Sister Felicia saw no reason why the truth shouldn’t be told. Sister Felicia had managed to find Peverel’s address and written to him. ‘She was a good and decent soul,’ Peverel said.
‘Was Monique a nun?’
‘No. She had never taken a vow or anything of that sort, but she lived and worked at the convent. She worked on the administration side – a secretarial job. She seemed to be content. Sister Felicia wrote to me two years ago, on the day after Monique’s thirtieth birthday. She also told Monique about me. She believed a great wrong had been perpetrated and she had made it her mission to set it right.’ Peverel paused. ‘I went to France to see Monique. Sister Felicia met me at the station and she took me to the convent – in an incredibly battered Citroen… Monique and I got on extremely well. She was very shy and reserved to start with, but she relaxed eventually. She clearly loved the idea of having a father.’ Peverel smiled. ‘She even asked me for a photograph!’
‘The photograph on her dressing table?’ Antonia said.
‘Yes… You do seem to know an awful lot… I didn’t let my bitterness about Corinne spill out. Monique hardly knew her famous mother. She bore a striking resemblance to Corinne, only she was blonde. She could also sing like her. She had the same voice. You were right about that too… As it happens, Sister Felicia and Sister Fortunata had just recorded the video – Monique made up as Corinne. The resemblance was uncanny. The nuns were in their early sixties and they were both great fans of Corinne Coreille. No one else knew what they had done… I understand they have died since. Pity. I liked them enormously. They played the tape for me – danced to it. They were totally eccentric. Terribly sweet.’
‘You said they sent a copy of the tape to Corinne too?’
‘Yes – care of her record company. In fact they asked me to post it. We wondered about the effect the tape would have on Corinne. It was sixteen years since Corinne had last seen Monique. Monique had been fourteen then – a gawky, awkward teenager. I learnt that Corinne had been sending money to Monique regularly, so she couldn’t be faulted on that count.’
‘So you have known about the impersonation all along?’
‘No – not all along. Monique only told me this morning. Corinne had sworn her to absolute secrecy. Corinne, you see, went to the convent as soon as she saw the video. Under an assumed name, though no one would have recognized her anyhow. She passed herself off as an aunt of Monique’s. She asked Monique to do a repeat act. Make herself up as Corinne, put on the wig and so on, and perform once more. She was stunned by the result and, I expect, she had her brainwave there and then. That same day she took Monique to Paris with her.’
‘Corinne saw in Monique her chance for revival?’
‘Yes, Antonia. The chance to re-create herself – to make a spectacular comeback – to resume her singing career afresh. Corinne had been getting invitations for concerts from all over the world but had been turning them down. Her secret had been well kept – miraculously, there hadn’t been a single rumour about her failed plastic surgery, so no one knew. Corinne wasted no time and started coaching Monique – she taught her her gestures, mannerisms, tastes, everything! Before the trip to England she told her all Monique needed to know about Aunt Nellie – about Hugh as well – where and when they had met, about his sister Amanda and so on… As it happened, Monique proved an excellent student – she became her mother.’
‘It’s a most fantastic thing – relinquishing one’s identity and living somebody else’s life. Becoming one’s mother!’ Payne exclaimed. ‘Not many people would agree to it.’
‘No. Well, Monique was tempted. That’s what she said. She had always wanted to perform. She had dreamt of singing in public, on a stage, in front of an audience, but had been pathologically shy, too shy to do anything about it. She had led an extremely sheltered life, a most secluded provincial existence. She lacked the confidence. She was gauche. What her mother offered her was not merely a chance to sing on stage, but a shortcut to fame – something Monique had never thought possible, never contemplated, not in her wildest dreams! So she jumped at the opportunity. She knew she had a very good voice but she had always thought of it as old-fashioned -’
‘Le gout de papa?’ suggested Payne.
‘You may put it that way. That she sounded exactly like her mother, Monique regarded as something of a disadvantage. She had never imagined she would be able to make a career as herself – not a major one at any rate. It was one thing to have your voice noticed at matins, another to be an international star. But as the celebrated Corinne Coreille she would be able to do it – start as world famous – as legendary! There would be no need for her to establish herself – she would emerge fully formed.’
‘Like a butterfly out of a chrysalis.’
‘She’d sing to audiences that knew her – that were there to adore her – audiences that had been waiting for her – wondering what had happened to her – longing for her voice. She said it was a very peculiar feeling she had in Japan – standing under what amounted to a floral shower, being applauded for her voice, which was also not her voice. The only real problem had been her youth, the fact that she was twenty-two years younger than Corinne, but there were such things as wigs and make-up.’
There was a pause. ‘When did she tell you all this?’ Antonia asked.
‘Last night, or rather in the small hours of this morning. She phoned me on her mobile. We talked for at least an hour. She needed to talk desperately. She was frightened, terrified. The death threats, the anxiety that she might get something wrong at dinner, then her mother getting killed. She couldn’t face being interrogated by the police. Besides, there was something wrong with her make-up. Either that, or it was because her hands were shaking too much. She was in a state of panic. She couldn’t go through with it.’ Peverel paused. ‘That’s why I came. I had to. In case any suspicion fell on her. In case the police attributed her disappearance to guilty conscience. I wanted to see what line the police would take. I suppose I’d have told them the whole story if they got it into their heads that Monique had anything to do with the two deaths -’
‘And hasn’t she?’ Major Payne said quietly.
Peverel ignored this. ‘I also wanted to see how serious Andrew Jonson’s intentions were. They are thinking of getting married. Oh, you didn’t know that, did you? You seem surprised. I thought you knew everything,’ Peverel said with a return of his sardonic manner.
31
A Family Plot?
‘Ah, there you are,’ Lady Grylls said, entering the library. She was holding a glass of brandy in her hand. ‘I’ve been looking for you. We are going to have hot onion soup and ham sandwiches in the dining room. I’ve scrapped the original menu, for obvious reasons. All will be ready in about half an hour, I am told. Hortense is coping extremely well, all things considered. But there’s something else I meant to tell you – now what was it?’ She raised the brandy to her lips and took a swig.
Peverel said, ‘Really, darling, at your age, the consequences of a midday binge could be catastrophic.’
‘Oh yes.’ Lady Grylls turned to Antonia. ‘There’s been a rather sensational development, though I suppose you’ll disagree. I mean, it’s never the person who’s seen leaving the scene of the crime at the crucial time, is it?’
Antonia decided to humour her. ‘You don’t mean somebody’s been seen leaving the scene of the crime at the crucial time?’
‘Yes, my dear. A stranger. That makes the possibility of him being the murderer even more remote, doesn’t it? I can tell from your expressions that you’ve been juggling with conjectures, so you might as well consider this
