City of Darkness and Light(97)

“Did he say why?”

“They spoke English, madame. After eighteen years of the master shouting at me in his native tongue I can understand a lot, but not when American people speak quickly together. Anyway shortly afterward the young man went.”

“And did not return again? You never saw him after that moment?”

“I did not. But I told you, after that is all a blur. One horrible nightmare. I can’t bear to think about it. Seeing my poor master there, and that fiend standing over him. I might have been killed too if I hadn’t run out, screaming for help.”

“Did you describe the man you saw standing over him to the police?”

“That’s just the problem. All I saw was the knife in Mr. Bryce’s chest and all that blood and his poor face, his eyes imploring for help. A slim young man, rather dandified. That’s all I could say.”

She looked around the room. “I should be getting on with my work.”

“I’ll help you,” I said. I opened the wardrobe and began to hand her down his jackets and suits. “Do you want them with tissue paper between them?”

She hesitated, not wanting me to get involved but glad to have someone helping her. “Yes, that would be a good idea.”

“So to return to that terrible day, madame,” I said, looking up as I lay a black smoking jacket into the trunk. “Was this model Shosette not there when he was killed? Wasn’t he working on the painting of her at that very moment?”

“She had walked out that morning,” the housekeeper replied. “They had some kind of altercation. I heard raised voices. I heard the front door slam. When I came to the studio to see what was wrong Monsieur Bryce was standing there alone at his easel. He said to me, ‘Silly girl. She’ll be back if she knows what’s good for her.’”

“And did she come back?”

“Not as far as I know. He ate lunch alone and then I had to go to the market to get the meat for his dinner. He was alone when I left him. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Presumably the police have questioned this girl?”

“They tell me nothing, madame. All I know is she was not the one who plunged the knife into him. That’s all that matters.”

“So she was definitely not in the apartment when he was killed?”

She looked around. “I cannot say ‘definitely.’ She could have hidden but I do not see how she could have slipped out past us. I was at the front steps, you understand.”

“There is a way out through the basement, is there not?”

“Yes, but usually it is kept locked and not easy to find for those who do not know the building well.”

I found it, I thought. Others could too.

“And anyway,” she said, looking up as she placed a pile of white shirts into the trunk. “Why would she want to kill Monsieur Bryce? He was giving her employment.”

“You said yourself they had an argument that morning and she went out and slammed the door.”

“Monsieur was a temperamental man. He often fought with people. Perhaps she was temperamental too. That sort often are. But what cause would she have to kill him?”

“That is the main question, isn’t it,” I said. “What cause would anyone have to kill him?”

“I can’t answer that. Perhaps the answer lies across the ocean. One thing I ask myself is why all these people suddenly arrive on my doorstep from America—after all these years?”

I was suddenly alert. “All which people?”

“You, for one,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction. “You arrive, saying you bring a message from his family. That is what the other young woman said too.”

“Which other?”

“The one who resembles the painting in the foyer, with the blonde hair.”

“Ah,” I nodded. “I know the person of whom you speak. She came to visit him the day before he died, no?”

“She did, madame. But he was occupied and told her to go away. He was annoyed that she was here. He said to me, ‘It’s never over, is it, Claudette? Now it starts again. It’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life.’ I asked him, ‘What is, monsieur?’ And he said, ‘That specter.’”

“‘Specter’? He meant the young blonde girl?”

“He said no more. But she returned the next day.”

“The day he was killed?” I could hear my voice, shrill and louder than I intended. I hoped it had not carried to the policeman outside.

“That very day, madame. She arrived when he had just finished his lunch and gone back to his studio. She looked very … flustered. Her cheeks pink. She said she had to see him. It was important. So I took her through to him. He said, ‘Leave us, Claudette.’ And I did. I went through to clean up the dining table—”