is a killer – that he shot that American woman in my greenhouse, and then shot Maginot, who, you say, is Corinne – you couldn’t be more wrong.’ She glared at Payne and Antonia. ‘For once I am on Peverel’s side… Peverel, you can have that damned Pugin stool, if you still want it… You only have to look at Andrew. He is not a killer. I think you should go and talk to him. Put a straight question to him and I am sure you will get a straight answer. Don’t give me such condescending looks, Hughie. I am not drunk.’ Pushing her glasses up her nose, she started heaving herself out of the armchair. ‘No, I don’t need any help… Let’s go and find him.’
32
Love Story
They found Jonson in the drawing room, sitting in a chair beside the fireplace. He had a forlorn air about him. He rose to his feet as soon as he saw Lady Grylls who was leading the procession. He was extremely pale. On a small table beside the chair there lay a folded copy of the International Herald Tribune.
‘Do sit down, Andrew,’ she boomed. ‘Sit down, everybody,’ she ordered. ‘What they have been trying to say -’ She gestured towards Payne and Antonia. ‘What they have been suggesting is that it was you who killed those two women in the greenhouse.’ She paused. ‘Did you kill them?’
‘No, I did not.’
Lady Grylls cast a triumphant glance at her nephew and niece-by-marriage. ‘What did I tell you?’
Antonia couldn’t help smiling. If only things could be resolved as simply as that! And yet, Jonson sounded nothing but truthful and sincere. He looked exactly as his future father-in-law had described him: a good and decent man. Was he, after all, a good actor – or was he a psychopath?
Peverel turned to Jonson. ‘They know practically everything. It’s none of their business, but there it is. They are suspicious of Monique because she inherits Corinne’s money. They are also suspicious of you because you are going to marry Monique. They say people have killed for less.’
‘I see,’ Jonson said.
‘When did you first know that Corinne was not Corinne but her daughter?’ Payne asked in conversational tones. ‘Or was it la Maginot’s cover that was blown first?’
‘It was the kitten in the photograph, wasn’t it?’ Antonia said gently. ‘You knew about Corinne’s allergy to cats?’
Jonson had seemed lost in thought but now he looked up. ‘No. I hadn’t discovered the photograph then. I learnt about the allergy later. Monique told me about it. Oh God -’ He broke off and passed his hand across his face. ‘All right. It was the third day of my investigation of the leaked stories. I had been going to Corinne Coreille’s Paris house every day. It was the afternoon of 7th December. I had left the house and was buying an English paper at a news-agent’s opposite Corinne’s house. I happened to look back and I saw a side door in the wall open and a girl leave. I thought I had seen everybody in the house, but this girl was completely unknown to me. I knew she was not one of the servants. She was very striking-looking. Very slim and fair, with short hair. She wore a silvery-grey belted raincoat. She started walking down the street and I found myself following her. She didn’t take the Metro but walked – all the way to the XVIth Arrondissement -’
‘The XVIth Arrondissement. Am I right in thinking that’s where the Cinematheque Francaise is?’ Major Payne said. ‘That’s where I saw Billy Wilder’s Fedora,’ he added inconsequentially.
‘She didn’t hurry. I kept up with her. We passed by the Place du Trocadero with its illuminated fountains. There were groups of people there – they were watching a juggler – there was also an acrobat doing somersaults. It was only a fortnight to Christmas. A busker somewhere was playing the accordion – a sweet melody – “Plaisir d’amour”…’ Jonson paused. ’At one point the girl stopped and bought a small packet of chestnuts, then she walked on. I continued to follow. She hadn’t noticed me.’
‘Being a detective must have helped,’ Antonia said.
‘Perhaps.’ Jonson managed a smile. ‘She was like someone who was enjoying their freedom, after a long period of incarceration. It was the way she raised her chin, shut her eyes and smelled the air – like a puppy. It was also the way she looked round, with delight and wonder. She finally sat down at a cafe – part of the monumental Palais de Chaillot, where the Cinematheque is. I sat down at a table not far from hers. I heard her order a cup of Earl Grey tea. Eventually she looked down at her watch, paid her bill and got up. I followed. She went back exactly the same way, only this time she didn’t stop anywhere. When she reached Corinne Coreille’s house, she took out a key and let herself in through the door in the wall… It was clear she was an insider, though I had no idea who she could be.’
‘You didn’t recognize her?’ Antonia said. ‘I mean as Corinne Coreille?’
‘No. The idea never occurred to me. I had met Corinne Coreille only once – very briefly – in a darkish room. Her hair was dark and done in a fringe, and she had heavy make-up on. She was a completely different physical type… The next day I asked one of the gardeners if they knew whether a fair-haired girl worked at the house, or whether there was a visitor of that description, but he said no.’
‘You were interested in the gel? You found her attractive?’ Lady Grylls gave an approving nod.
‘Yes. I was interested in her. I also wanted to find out who she was. That afternoon I stationed myself some distance from the house and again I saw her come out – at exactly the same time – half past five. The same journey as the day before. She went on to the cafe next to the Cinematheque and, again, she sat at a table by herself and ordered a cup of Earl Grey tea. This time, as luck would have it, most of the tables were occupied and I found myself standing beside her table, asking her if I could sit on the chair opposite her. It was then that it happened.’
‘You recognized her?’
‘No.’ Jonson smiled. ‘She recognized me. It was very disconcerting, the way she looked at me. She blinked and her eyes opened wide. She gasped. Her hand shook and she spilled some of her tea. I saw her hands clench into fists and she hid them under the table. As she told me later, she had been convinced that someone was paying me to expose her and her mother for the frauds they were. I sat down and ordered a cup of coffee. I couldn’t bear to see the girl looking so frightened. She was trembling, like a little bird. I kept my eyes on my coffee -’
‘You spoke to her?’ Payne said.
‘She spoke to me. She gave a little gasp and said, Please, tell no one. She spoke like a child. I looked up – there was an expression of absolute terror on her face. She was staring at me. Her eyes looked imploring. I opened my mouth but I couldn’t say a thing. My mind had gone blank. Then, suddenly, I knew. The thought came into my head. It was her scent, I think. I’d smelled it when I’d met Corinne Coreille
… Violets…’
‘That was the real Corinne’s scent,’ murmured Antonia.
‘I said nothing. I knew I was dealing with impersonation, but I was damned if I was going to do anything about it. I didn’t care… We remained sitting. We went on staring at each other. I don’t know for how long. Probably only for a minute or so, but it seemed much longer. She was trembling. It was then that I – I -’
‘Reached out and held her hand?’ Lady Grylls suggested. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve enjoyed a story more,’ she told Antonia as an aside. ‘I am a silly old romantic.’
‘Yes. I held her hand. She let me. Neither of us spoke… I can’t remember what exactly happened next. I think she blurted out the whole story. I am Corinne’s daughter. She told me what had happened – about the nuns and the video. She even told me about you.’ He turned to Peverel.
‘She had her father’s photograph on her dressing table,’ Antonia said.
‘Yes. We sat talking for a long time. I told her about my fiancee who had died five years ago in a car crash. She admitted that she’d never had a serious boyfriend. I can’t say how long we sat like that. Then suddenly her mobile phone rang. It was her mother, asking where she was and did she know what time it was. Then she had to run.’
‘You did see her again, didn’t you?’ Lady Grylls said.
‘Yes. The next day. That was when I found the photograph in Emilie’s locker. Maitre Maginot – the real Corinne Coreille – was there of course, so we couldn’t talk at all. I handed over the photograph and the film. I had made a copy of the photo for myself – I wanted to have a photo of Monique. As she thanked me and shook my hand, Monique managed to slip me a piece of paper with her mobile phone number and her email address. I tried to
