Classical Murder Page 8

  *****

  A cab soon came for Estelle and she left. Marie accepted Imogen’s offer of another coffee, before driving back to Avignon to work the evening shift in the hotel.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Imogen said to Marie. “I have the perfect accommodation in the perfect village. I’m so excited.”

  “It is no trouble. I will keep in touch. You are very welcome to call me if you have any problems,” replied Marie. “Don’t forget that my family is in Maussane, which is very close to here. Also, Sophie can help you. I will take you to meet her partner, Paul – you could ask him, too. He is the owner of the restaurant – or patron, as we call it in France.”

  “I think I saw him. Is he dark-haired, rather short – with a charming smile?”

  “Yes, that’s him. Most of the women are a little in love with him. Sophie told me that he was very busy today as the chef was unwell. Otherwise, I’m sure he would have joined us.”

  “He looks quite a bit older than Sophie.”

  “He is, but I think it is quite a casual relationship. You know, when she is here, they are close, it seems, but then she is away in Paris for a lot of the time and I think they do what they like.” Marie shrugged her shoulders.

  “That sounds like a very grown-up relationship,” said Imogen.

  “Yes, but everyone is different. Anyway, Paul was once married. It is well known that he was married to Sabine Devergne, the writer.”

  “I’ve met her,” was all that Imogen could manage after this thunderbolt. Then, “In fact, I interviewed her for my book. She lives in St. Rémy.”

  “Exactly. She used to live with Paul in Eygalières. He had a smaller restaurant when they were younger. Then, when they split up, she moved to St. Rémy. He became very successful and opened this bigger restaurant. He has other interests in Provence – bars and property. You wouldn’t know it because he is always here running the restaurant, but he has very good managers. He has built a good company.”

  “Is he from this area?”

  “No. I think he came from further south, down near the Côte.”

  “Sabine came from Nice. Maybe he did, too.”

  “It could be. Do you need to know? I can find out for you.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t bother. It was just idle curiosity.” Imogen worried that she had shown too much interest in Paul. “So, Sabine decided to live nearby,” she said, moving the conversation on.

  “Yes. People say it was so she could keep an eye on him.” Marie laughed.

  “What does she think of Sophie?”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t say. In public, they are quite civil. Sabine has even eaten at the restaurant. But when she and Paul separated, there were lots of arguments, so I understand. Anyway, with lovers, who knows. I don’t think he and Sophie are very faithful to each other, so perhaps Sabine doesn’t care. However,” she added, “I must get to work now. I will try to come along at the weekend. Maybe we can have some dinner.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Imogen. They walked to Marie’s car. “Oh, by the way,” she added, “just out of interest…”

  “Yes?” said Marie, pausing before she climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Paul, Sabine’s ex-husband, what is his surname?”

  “Favet,” said Marie. “His name is Paul Favet.” She hesitated, as if she expected Imogen to say something further. On getting no response, she climbed into her car and, with a wave, drove off.

  “Just in case I need to know his surname,” Imogen muttered to herself.

  CHAPTER 10

  It didn’t take Ned long to find his way down to Provence. In fact, he arrived the very first weekend. Imogen hired a car and drove to Avignon Airport to meet him. As they drove out of the airport, Ned wound down the car window.

  “Let me breathe in this wonderful warm air,” he said.

  “It’s not that wonderful, yet,” said Imogen. “We’re on the outskirts of a large town, don’t forget.”

  “But it is warm and it’s raining in London.”

  Ned had flown in city attire, but as they headed into the countryside, he took off his tie, unbuttoned his collar and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

  “Absolutely lovely,” he said, when he got his first glimpse of the Alpilles. “I can see why you like it here so much.”

  Imogen drove straight to Eygalières, as she thought that Ned would want to change and freshen up after his trip. It seemed prettier than ever as they drove through the Alpilles. Ned noticed people paragliding in the warm air currents and, when they reached the lower slopes of Eygalières, he was pleased to see the tennis courts.

  “Is there a swimming pool as well?” he asked. “I really feel like getting some exercise.”

  “You don’t want to go back exhausted.”

  “Energised is the word you’re looking for.”

  “If you say so, but I’m not sure I need too much energising myself.”

  *****

  Eygalières was busier in the centre than it had been mid-week, because people were still coming down for weekends. Imogen parked the car close to the house and showed Ned up to the studio. She had prepared a simple lunch of baguette, cheese, tomatoes and, of course, wine, before leaving for the airport. They took it down to the garden.

  Imogen and Ned ate, drank the wine, snoozed and rested in the shade for much of the afternoon. As the heat began to abate in the late afternoon, they went for a stroll, partly to wake themselves up, but also so that Imogen could show Ned the views over the Provençal countryside from the side of the Alpilles. It was a glorious view. They could see the Alpilles extending far into the distance, with limestone peaks dotted at the higher levels by pines. The sky was still a beautiful blue, with just a few clouds floating by. Even so, there was a hint from the slightly lower sun that Autumn was on the way. They decided to stop for a coffee in the square before going back to change for dinner. It was a chance to raise the subject of Frédéric and the letters.

  “So,” said Ned. “Sabine’s ex-husband lives here and comes from the South of France. Sabine and Elodie also come from there. Nice and Marseilles are the two names that keep cropping up. These three people are definitely linked.”

  “But none of these facts are actually evidence. Lots of people’s lives are interconnected without them killing each other,” said Imogen.

  “Yes, but don’t forget the letters. Elodie undoubtedly found them disturbing and they have the wording that Sabine used in an article. I’ve still got it. In fact, I’ve brought it with me. Shall I go and get it?”

  “No,” Imogen replied, laughing. “I can remember it. Yes, things are linked, but what I’m saying is that being linked doesn’t constitute proof of murder or anything even approaching it. They could be words that are quite often used in France, although I suppose that Frédéric would have told me if that were the case. Still, perhaps I should check with someone while I’m here. I would love, more than anything, to find out who sent them because I feel very sorry for Frédéric.”

  “I think it’s worth working at it. Not because I have any sympathy for Frédéric, but because it would be intellectually satisfying. Presumably the British Police will do their job, but it’s still interesting to work things out in our own way. By the way, I would be careful whom you ask about the words. Don’t forget, they were used by Sabine. She is a chief suspect and is very close to a lot of people round here.”

  “Good point.”

  “Which brings us to Paul. We know nothing about him and yet he really interests me. He was married to Sabine and the three of them were at college together. I’d like to know a bit more about him.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll see him tonight at the restaurant. I might bounce some of the words off Marie. She told me that she was born locally and went to college in Aix, so she seems to be independent o
f it all.”

  “Great.”

  “I think now it would be a good idea to go and get changed. We can have an apéritif before dinner,” said Imogen.

  “You read my thoughts.”

  *****

  Imogen had booked a table at Paul’s restaurant for 9pm, as nobody seemed to dine before then. As they walked towards it, they could see the lights in the trees and hear the strains of a jazz quartet playing in the square. What bliss to be in Provence on such an evening! Imogen was wearing a very pretty dress. It was rather expensive, but she had treated herself to it from a boutique in Avignon. It was pale pink crepe, with a slightly flared skirt and a silver, sequinned belt. Needless to say, she had also treated herself to matching silver sandals. Her hair was twisted into a chignon on the nape of her neck. Ned was more casual in cream trousers and a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt. Charmed by the environment, Imogen could tell that Ned thought this was the perfect evening to advance their relationship. However, as always, she found herself keeping that little distance between them, fending off any attempts at a more intimate relationship with humour. He would just have to wait until she was ready – that is, if he was willing to.

  *****

  “Good evening,” said Sophie, extending her hand to Ned. She gave him a welcoming smile, which he returned tenfold. Dressed for the evening, Sophie was wearing a scarlet wrap dress, which contrasted well with her dark colouring. A gold necklace and gold hoop earrings complemented the dress. Ned, of course, loved the attention, but Imogen, finding it a little disconcerting, took her seat and pretended to study the menu.

  Sipping an apéritif, Imogen and Ned decided to start with some salad, followed by chicken in a white wine sauce. Paul appeared with the wine menu and introduced himself. He was dark-haired and on the short side, and was obviously someone who worked out. He was very muscular and, Imogen reckoned, wore a short-sleeved shirt to prove the point. His hair was close cropped and although he seemed very charming, Imogen couldn’t imagine Sabine falling for such a man.

  “I have heard from Sophie that you are staying in Estelle’s house,” he said to Imogen. He looked at Ned. “And you also?”

  “I am just over for a couple of days,” said Ned. “I was just lucky I had a break in my work.”

  “Oh, but you need to have a rest sometimes,” said Paul. “It is so lovely here and there is so much to do. You can walk in the Alpilles or visit the monuments, or eat at my restaurant.” He laughed.

  “I agree,” said Ned. “I have a few days and I’m going to enjoy them as much as I can.”

  “Excellent,” said Paul. “You must come to us if there is anything you want to know. Sophie, of course, will also be happy to help you.”

  Sophie smiled at Ned – Rather alluringly, thought Imogen – then she and Paul left to go back into the restaurant.

  “What lovely people,” said Ned. “They seem very keen to help you.”

  “And you, if I’m not mistaken,” said Imogen.

  *****

  After a lazy meal, Ned and Imogen sauntered back through the village and walked to the side of the Alpilles to look at the stars.

  “Beautiful,” said Ned. “We seldom see a night sky like this in London.”

  “Well, it should be good,” said Imogen, “since van Gogh painted his ‘The Starry Night’ just over there.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, he was staying in the hospice, which is just between St. Rémy and the Alpilles. Quite a few of his paintings were done while he was there. We can go and visit it one day, if we have time.”

  “I’d like to, although we don’t actually have very much time. We must also go back to the restaurant. I loved it.”

  “I must say, I think our waitress took a shine to you,” said Imogen.

  “Women generally do,” said Ned, but he reddened.

  “There you are,” said Imogen. “Don’t tease me about Frédéric.”

  *****

  The following morning, Imogen suggested a trip into St. Rémy to visit the Saturday market. Arriving in the town mid-morning, they found it was packed with visitors, but managed to park on one of the roads leading out towards the Alpilles. As they walked into the centre of town, there were already quite a few people coming away from the market.

  “Wow, they’re early birds,” said Ned.

  “They’re probably locals. A local woman my parents knew took great pride in getting in and out before the tourists arrived.”

  The market was large, spreading down through all the narrow streets of the old town and out onto what was the inner ring road. It was thronged – mainly, it seemed, by visitors – and there were times when Ned and Imogen came to a standstill because the crowds were so thick. There was the scent of various foods in the air – roast chickens, spices and freshly baked bread. Several jazz bands and solo singers added to the noisy buzz.

  “This is such fun,” said Ned. “I honestly think one could buy anything here, from fish through local wine, to jazz CDs and accessories. I love the fact that some local people have just come in with, say, a load of strawberries from their terrain to sell from a table. All of the local produce seems excellent – cheese, fruit, olive oil. I could go on.”

  “I think you have,” said Imogen.

  “No, but really. I’ve never seen a fresh fish stall with a whole tuna on it – or, at least, what was a whole tuna before a lot of it was sold.”

  “I think we’d better sit down and have a coffee before you get over-excited – that’s if we can get a table somewhere.”

  “But don’t you agree?”

  “Of course. Look, I can see a free table outside that Italian restaurant. Let’s grab it.” Imogen made her way towards the table.

  *****

  Imogen and Ned ordered their coffees and then, while Imogen watched the world go by, Ned started to read Le Figaro, which he had picked up as they strolled through town.

  “Imogen. Bonjour.”

  Imogen looked round to see Marie, who was just about to sit at a neighbouring table.

  “Why, hello,” she said, surprised. “Please join us.”

  “Thank you,” said Marie. “I am just waiting for a friend. She has some more shopping to do, but I have given up.” She laughed.

  “This is Ned, a friend from London,” said Imogen.

  “I am so pleased to meet you,” said Marie. “How long are you staying here?”

  “I’m afraid it’s just a long weekend,” said Ned. “I have to get back to work. Actually, it’s rather lucky that you’ve joined us. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you for some help.”

  Looking taken aback, Marie said, “Not at all.”

  “It’s just that Imogen and I have been discussing some French phrases that we don’t really understand. Perhaps you know them. It may be that they’re very colloquial.”

  “I’m happy to try,” said Marie.

  “Well,” said Imogen, reddening, as she hadn’t really decided that it was a good idea to bring the subject up with Marie – or with any of her other French acquaintances, for that matter. Trust Ned to jump in feet first. She mentioned some of the words in French, giving the impression that she was having trouble remembering them. “We were wondering what they refer to.”

  Marie slowly shook her head. “They’re not really phrases I’m familiar with.”

  “Do you have any musical knowledge?” asked Ned. “We thought they could have a musical connection. Maybe even from the opera.”

  “Then you should ask Paul. He knows so much about opera.”

  “Oh, really?” asked Imogen.

  “Oh, yes, it is his passion.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself,” said Imogen. “It’s of no importance. I wonder, would you like to meet us for dinner this evening?” She was keen to change the subject
. “At Paul’s restaurant, say at 9? It would be lovely if you could join us.”

  “I’d be very happy to. I’ll see you there,” said Marie, rising to leave as she saw her friend approaching.

  “Bang goes my romantic candlelit dinner engagement,” muttered Ned, under his breath.

  Imogen and Ned then walked to a small bakery on the edge of the square and bought a tomato and aubergine tart, a croque monsieur and meringues.

  “Lovely grub. So fiddly to make, but obviously beautifully prepared,” said Ned.

  “Well, you’ve certainly bought enough of it. We are eating out tonight.”

  “It won’t be wasted. We can eat it for breakfast if we don’t finish it now. Anyway, I’m only here for a short time, so it doesn’t matter if I overindulge a bit.”

  “Yes, but I’m here for a month.”

  “You can go on a detox when I leave.”

  *****

  Later that evening, and after another lazy afternoon snoozing in the garden of Estelle’s house, they made their way to Paul’s restaurant. Marie was already waiting for them, looking great in a cream crepe dress with a printed pattern of small black stars. Her fair hair hung loose to her shoulders and she had a necklace of what seemed to be large jade beads. Imogen had dressed down a little in a grey silk shift dress with a white cardigan, while Ned had stuck with his chinos and a long-sleeved pink and white striped shirt. Marie smiled so charmingly at Ned that Imogen wondered whether the smart outfit was really for his sake – especially when Marie asked whether they were living at the same address in London. Ned seemed rather pleased with the attention, at least until the menus arrived.

  “So what’s it to be?” said Ned, perusing the menu. “What agony, I’ll never be able to choose!”

  “I can choose for you,” said Marie, laughing. “What do you recommend?” she asked Sophie, who had arrived to take their order, looking fabulous in a simple, black jersey mini dress and gold necklace.