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Authors: Suzette Hill
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about where you were going or who you were?’
‘Well, they asked the usual questions as travellers do. Wanted to know if we were on holiday and were we visiting any particular area in France, all that sort of thing.’
‘I see … and did you volunteer any information?’
‘ Volunteer information? You sound like an intelligence officer! I merely said we were going somewhere in the Auvergne to look at an old ruin that Francis was interested in. I certainly didn’t say that he was the actual owner or that he had the deeds.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I interrupted, looking up from my steak, ‘I certainly do not have the deeds. They were appropriated, as you may remember, by someone else sitting not two feet away.’ I glared at Nicholas who naturally took no notice.
‘Oh well, as good as,’ she replied. ‘Though, as a matter of fact, when I mentioned that my brother was a clergyman they did seem very eager to know your parish, and I remember that when I told them what it was, Mullion had laughed and said, “Ah, yes, of course, the Reverend Francis Oughterard of Molehill – that’s the name. I remember.”‘ She turned to me: ‘Don’t know why he should exactly, but I suppose you were in the papers over that frightful Crumpelmeyer rumpus … Or only being in the next county perhaps he read it in one of those dreary diocesan magazines they strew in dentists’ waiting rooms – though can’t say he seems the type to read that sort of thing. On the ferry he kept muttering about how nice it was to be out of “blinking uniform”, and it crossed my mind he might be a fireman or one of those cinema commissionaires …’ She broke off, looking towards the pink lady. ‘I say, have you ever seen such an enormous gâteau! My goodness, I can’t resist it, I shall have to have some.’ And picking up the menu she started to peruse the dessert section with avid concentration.
‘Hmm,’ said Nicholas, frowning slightly, ‘think I’ll just settle for a smoke and a Scotch – although blowed if I’m paying inflated Frog prices when we’ve got our own supply in the car. I’ll see you two later.’ And he got up and strolled towards the door, ignoring Climp and Mullion but flashing the pink one a smile of lavish charm. When this was beamingly reciprocated over the mound of gâteau I was reminded of how adroit he was at handling old ladies. Perhaps if I had possessed the same talent I should now be a free agent and in thrall neither to him nor to nightmares. As it was …
After coffee in the lounge I bade goodnight to Primrose, exchanged a few pleasantries with Climp and Mullion, and went out to the car to retrieve Maurice. With a pang of guilt I realized I had completely forgotten to get him any food and felt nervous about my reception. A pinpoint of light glowed near the car and I smelt the familiar scent of a Russian Sobranie. Nicholas was leaning against the bonnet, cigarette in one hand, plastic cup of whisky in the other.
‘So there you are, dear boy,’ he greeted me. ‘Thought you’d forgotten the cat. Not that it matters – little bugger’s fast asleep. In fact, you could probably leave him there all night.’
‘No fear! He’d make a mess deliberately, just to show who’s boss.’
‘Ah – well, that’s the last thing we want,’ he said nervously. ‘Better get him out pronto!’
I opened the door and yanked out Maurice while Nicholas rootled for another cup and poured a generous ration of whisky. Given the amount stashed in the boot this seemed an entirely proper offering. We sipped in silence and I kept a straining eye on Maurice as he prowled around the shadowy car park.
And then Nicholas said quietly, ‘Your sister hasn’t been too bright, has she?’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Pouring out our business to those two.’
‘I would hardly say “pouring it out”. Anyway, why worry? The main thing is she didn’t reveal that I had been left the deeds by Mrs Fotherington and am
‘Well, they asked the usual questions as travellers do. Wanted to know if we were on holiday and were we visiting any particular area in France, all that sort of thing.’
‘I see … and did you volunteer any information?’
‘ Volunteer information? You sound like an intelligence officer! I merely said we were going somewhere in the Auvergne to look at an old ruin that Francis was interested in. I certainly didn’t say that he was the actual owner or that he had the deeds.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I interrupted, looking up from my steak, ‘I certainly do not have the deeds. They were appropriated, as you may remember, by someone else sitting not two feet away.’ I glared at Nicholas who naturally took no notice.
‘Oh well, as good as,’ she replied. ‘Though, as a matter of fact, when I mentioned that my brother was a clergyman they did seem very eager to know your parish, and I remember that when I told them what it was, Mullion had laughed and said, “Ah, yes, of course, the Reverend Francis Oughterard of Molehill – that’s the name. I remember.”‘ She turned to me: ‘Don’t know why he should exactly, but I suppose you were in the papers over that frightful Crumpelmeyer rumpus … Or only being in the next county perhaps he read it in one of those dreary diocesan magazines they strew in dentists’ waiting rooms – though can’t say he seems the type to read that sort of thing. On the ferry he kept muttering about how nice it was to be out of “blinking uniform”, and it crossed my mind he might be a fireman or one of those cinema commissionaires …’ She broke off, looking towards the pink lady. ‘I say, have you ever seen such an enormous gâteau! My goodness, I can’t resist it, I shall have to have some.’ And picking up the menu she started to peruse the dessert section with avid concentration.
‘Hmm,’ said Nicholas, frowning slightly, ‘think I’ll just settle for a smoke and a Scotch – although blowed if I’m paying inflated Frog prices when we’ve got our own supply in the car. I’ll see you two later.’ And he got up and strolled towards the door, ignoring Climp and Mullion but flashing the pink one a smile of lavish charm. When this was beamingly reciprocated over the mound of gâteau I was reminded of how adroit he was at handling old ladies. Perhaps if I had possessed the same talent I should now be a free agent and in thrall neither to him nor to nightmares. As it was …
After coffee in the lounge I bade goodnight to Primrose, exchanged a few pleasantries with Climp and Mullion, and went out to the car to retrieve Maurice. With a pang of guilt I realized I had completely forgotten to get him any food and felt nervous about my reception. A pinpoint of light glowed near the car and I smelt the familiar scent of a Russian Sobranie. Nicholas was leaning against the bonnet, cigarette in one hand, plastic cup of whisky in the other.
‘So there you are, dear boy,’ he greeted me. ‘Thought you’d forgotten the cat. Not that it matters – little bugger’s fast asleep. In fact, you could probably leave him there all night.’
‘No fear! He’d make a mess deliberately, just to show who’s boss.’
‘Ah – well, that’s the last thing we want,’ he said nervously. ‘Better get him out pronto!’
I opened the door and yanked out Maurice while Nicholas rootled for another cup and poured a generous ration of whisky. Given the amount stashed in the boot this seemed an entirely proper offering. We sipped in silence and I kept a straining eye on Maurice as he prowled around the shadowy car park.
And then Nicholas said quietly, ‘Your sister hasn’t been too bright, has she?’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Pouring out our business to those two.’
‘I would hardly say “pouring it out”. Anyway, why worry? The main thing is she didn’t reveal that I had been left the deeds by Mrs Fotherington and am
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