The anger had festered overnight, and by mid-morning I stomped down to the cellar. A previous owner had decorated the walls with heavy walnut panelling, although why was anyone’s guess, when there were serviceable rooms on the ground floor. Most of the walls now were hidden behind crates, boxes, and broken furniture. I pushed a trunk out of the way and chalked three concentric circles on the wall. My housekeeper, Sabela, was competent. She cleaned, she cooked, she provisioned the kitchen, and no doubt she informed on me. To Matthew, and whoever else bribed her. The holes in the wall were one of the things I made certain she knew nothing of.
I unsheathed Alex’s sgian dubh. It had become second nature to strap it on in the mornings. I knew how to stab, to shoot, but I’d seen this blade fly, and that could be useful. Pacing to the far side of the room, I remembered what Alex said, and mimicked his stance from memory. Turned, and flung the knife at the wooden panelling. It landed with a soft thunk, quivering just inside the largest circle. I was nowhere near as proficient as he had been, but with practice, I was improving. Halfway through the session, the telephone rang. Leaving the knife in the wall, I raced up the stairs for the receiver.
‘Yes?’
‘Good afternoon, Solange. Did I interrupt you?’
Yes. ‘No.’
‘Oh. I wanted to see how you were. After yesterday . . .’
‘I’m fine.’ I wasn’t, and even Claudine could hear it in my voice. Who would be after pulling a dead man from the sea? ‘I’m not, of course, but I will be. It was just a shock.’
‘Your husband was killed at sea, wasn’t he? That was why you went into the water?’
‘Yes.’ I surprised myself with my own candour. ‘It doesn’t matter which uniform those men wore, they deserve a decent burial. I’d really rather not talk about that. I’ll be fine.’
‘Good. I’m glad to hear that.’ She cleared her throat and forged on. ‘I was wondering if you had plans for this evening.’
‘Claudine, I’d rather not go back to the casino.’
‘Oh, that’s good. I wasn’t about to suggest that. There’s a small soirée tonight, a slightly different set from the people you met at the Ribauds’. I know it’s rather last minute, but they really are nice people. One of Christophe’s friends has found himself dateless, and I hoped –’
My mouth sagged open. ‘You’re trying to set me up?’
‘Oh no. Nothing of the sort. Just something to take your mind off that. Come, Solange. Do this as a favour. For me. Can you really picture me at a boring German soirée, with pompous German officers and their frumpy German Frauen? You know how much they detest Frenchwomen! I won’t have a single person to talk to!’
‘I thought you liked the Germans.’
‘I do. In small doses. Please say you’ll come.’
Let them come to you, Matthew had advised. Well, thanks to Claudine the invitations were coming, along with the bufos. At the prospect of, perhaps, meeting Bendixen, a faint tingle crept up my spine.
‘Very well, Claudine. I’ll go.’
*
The doorbell rang at ten o’clock. I fastened the second sapphire earring and stood back to inspect myself. The matching necklace grazed the top of a low décolletage. My own jewellery was back in London, and over the last few weeks, I’d spent part of my casino winnings building a collection.
The Lanvin gown was stunning in its simplicity, cut as if it was made to order. Thick silk straps perched at the edge of my shoulders and crossed over my breasts. The waistline was fitted and the full skirt, captured at each hip, gave the impression of an A-line dress with a small train. Deep blue wasn’t my favourite colour, but it turned my skin to alabaster and made my eyes enormous. Long kid gloves and silver ribbons in my hair completed the ensemble.
The bell rang again. I dabbed perfume at the base of my neck and applied a coat of red lipstick and opened the door, hoping the Deschamps’ friend wasn’t too awful.
Claudine kissed my cheeks and Christophe smiled, the emotion not reaching his eyes.
‘Solange, may I present Major Schüller? Haydn, my lovely neighbour, Solange Verin.’
Ah, the Haydn he had drinks with the other night. I held out my hand to the major with the cat eyes.
‘Haydn?’ I asked. ‘Like the composer?’
‘Just so. A pleasure, Frau Verin.’
Claudine held up a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, sweating in the evening heat.
‘A quick drink before we go?’
Christophe opened the bottle, pouring the champagne as the major wandered around my parlour, pausing at the gramophone.
‘You look beautiful tonight,’ I said.
Claudine’s gown was a pale gold taffeta, sleeveless, with a high quilted neck and beading at the hem. Eye-catching, but not enough to camouflage the deepening lines on her face.
Her smile was wry. ‘Do you really think so?’
The major clinked his glass against mine. ‘Prost. To new friends.’
His slow smile told me what sort of friend he was after, but I was determined to be polite.
‘Where are you from, Herr Major?’
‘Vienna. Have you ever visited it?’
‘Once, when I was fourteen. It’s a beautiful city. The opera house is exquisite.’
His eyes cut first to the piano and then to the gramophone, which now played a piano sonata composed by his namesake. At least he had a sense of humour.
‘You like the opera?’ he asked.
‘No, Herr Major, I love the opera.’
He inclined his head. ‘And who do you prefer? Bizet? Wagner?’
I was unable to prevent myself from needling him.
‘Carmen was the only thing Bizet wrote worth remembering. And Wagner is too heavy for my tastes. I confess, I prefer the Italians – Verdi, Donizetti, Rossini. Not a bad note between them.’
‘Italians,’ Christophe muttered.
‘Whatever you have to say about them, Christophe, you can’t fault their music. Or their gelato.’ Claudine flashed a fake smile and put her empty glass on the sideboard. ‘Come, darling –’ she linked her arm
