Folly Du Jour(22)

‘No idea! She just turned up moments before the performance started.’ George’s mystification was evident. ‘A lady of the night, I assumed. Well – wouldn’t you? Most probably a gesture from the magnanimous John. Whoever he is. Can’t say I approve much of such goings-on! I say – is this sort of behaviour becoming acceptable in Paris these days? The done thing, would you say?’

His words ran into the sand of their silent speculation. Joe paused to allow him to expand on his statement but George appeared unwilling.

He pressed on. ‘You were not able to furnish the Chief Inspector with a description of the lady?’

‘Sadly no. She was wearing one of those fashionable cape things . . . Kept it on over her head. She came in after the lights went out . . .’

‘The lights went on during the interval?’ Joe objected quietly. He was beginning to understand some of Fourier’s frustration.

‘Jolly awkward! I mean – what is one to say in the circumstances? Any out and out dismissal or rejection is bound to give offence, don’t you know! I chatted about this and that – put her at her ease. She didn’t have much to say for herself . . . comments on the performance . . . the new look of the theatre, that sort of thing. I gave her a glass of the whisky I’d ordered in expectation of a visit from my cousin Jack who’s very partial to a single malt –’

‘The lady,’ said Joe. ‘What do you have to report?’

‘Um . . . didn’t like the scotch but too polite to refuse. She’d probably have preferred a Campari-soda . . . I think you know the type . . .’ He paused. His mild blue eye skittered over Joe’s and then he drawled on: ‘French. Yes, I’m sure she was French. Spoke the language like a native, I’d say. Though I’m not the best judge of accents. Not perhaps a Parisian,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Cape all-enveloping, as I’ve said, no clear idea of her features. But – average height for a woman. Five foot something . . .’ He caught Joe’s narrowed look and amplified: ‘Five foot five. Slim. Well-educated. Obviously from a top-flight establishment. Suggest you start looking there. I expect the Chief Inspector is well acquainted with these places? In the line of professional enquiry, of course.’

Joe hurried on. ‘Moving to the finale . . . You say there was a commotion when Miss Baker announced the arrival of the Spirit of St Louis . . .’

‘Commotion? It was a standing ovation! Went on for at least ten minutes. Stamping, shouting and yelling! Quite unnecessary and embarrassing display! And that’s when she disappeared, I think. My unknown and unwanted companion.’

‘And at the true finale – Golden Fountain, you call it? – you observed your acquaintance Somerton to be slumped in his box opposite.’

‘I feared the worst. Well, not the worst I could have feared, not by a long chalk, as it turned out . . . Thought he’d had a heart attack. Anno domini, don’t you know . . . Stimulating show and he’d been twining about a blonde of his own . . .’ George bit his lip at his faux pas, hearing it picked up in the energetic scratching of Fourier’s pen, but he ploughed on: ‘A spectacular girl – I’ve given the description.’

‘Yes, I see it. Remarkably detailed, Sir George. She obviously made quite an impression?’

‘The girl thirty metres away was clearly more vivid to Jardine than the one who was practically sitting in his lap,’ offered the Chief Inspector acidly.

‘Opera glasses, George? . . . Yes, of course.’

‘And she disappeared from her box . . . oh, no idea, really,’ said Sir George vaguely. ‘Sometime before the finale, that’s as near as I can say.’

‘And you decided to go over there in a public-spirited way to see if you could render assistance?’

‘Old habits die hard, you know. Taking charge of potentially awkward situations . . . always done it . . . always will, I expect. Interfering old nuisance, some might say.’

‘Sir George has run India for the last decade,’ Joe confided grandly, probably annoying the hell out of Fourier, he thought, but he pressed on: ‘Riots, insurgencies, massacres . . . all kinds of mayhem have been averted by his timely intervention. Adisturbance in a theatre box is something that would elicit energetic action.’

‘As would intent to murder,’ replied the Chief Inspector, unimpressed.

‘Tell us what happened next, will you? I see that this is as far as you got in twelve hours, despite vigorous encouragement from the Chief Inspector. No wonder he’s looking a bit green around the gills.’