Page 25 of Marble Hall Murders

‘No! No! No! That thought never occurred to me. I still don’t believe it now.’

‘So why, then, did you call for the police?’

‘Isn’t that what you do when someone dies? We both agreed it was the right thing to do. Jeffrey stayed with his mother. It didn’t seem decent to leave her alone. I ran to the house and called for help.’

‘Who was there?’

‘Well, I was looking for Béatrice. I don’t speak French. I had lessons at school, but I never understood a word of it. All thisle,la,lesstuff. Why do the Frogs need so many words for “the”?’

‘Please, Monsieur Lyttleton,’ Voltaire said. ‘Stay to the point.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. I was going to explain things to Béatrice and get her to make the appropriate telephone calls. But she wasn’t on her own. Mr Lambert and his assistant had turned up out of the blue. Apparently, Lady Chalfont had invited him to the house. But it couldn’t have been worse timed.’

‘Who is Lambert?’ Pünd asked.

‘He’s the family solicitor,’ Jeffrey explained. ‘We have two solicitors. One in London, one out here. Jean Lambert deals with all legal matters relating to the chateau and to the gallery in Nice. He’s also advised Harry about his new hotel. And he drew up my mother’s will.’

Voltaire picked up on this. He leaned forward. ‘Had he come here to discuss the will?’ he asked.

‘I have no idea, Monsieur Voltaire. He stayed until the ambulance arrived, but I was too upset to talk to him. He said he had an appointment. That’s all. He was the one who called the police and the hospital in the end. He took over the situation. Maybe you should talk to him.’

‘We will,’ Voltaire assured him.

EIGHT

From thegrand salon, Atticus Pünd, Fraser and Voltaire passed through to the L-shaped kitchen, where they found Béatrice sitting at the table, polishing the silver. It was obvious that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and there were several balls of tissues in front of her. She had already met Voltaire earlier that morning, but the sight of two more strangers had her trembling in her seat.

Pünd sat down opposite her. ‘You are Mademoiselle Béatrice?’ he asked gently, trying to put her at her ease.

‘Béatrice Laurent, monsieur.’

‘This must be a very difficult time for you.’

‘You have no idea, monsieur. Lady Chalfont was always so kind to me. I know that she was ill, but I did not expect this. And I hear them saying that maybe she was poisoned! That is impossible! I will not believe it!’

She reached for another tissue and Pünd waited until she had wiped away fresh tears.

Béatrice spoke no English, so James Fraser had been translating everything that was being said. Pünd waited for her to calm down. ‘You live here in the villa?’ Pünd asked.

‘She lives here for six months when the family is in residence,’ James translated. ‘During the winter months, she comes in twice a week and lives with her brother just outsideNice.’ He frowned. ‘I didn’t quite catch the last part, but I think she said he’s a bastard.’

‘Miss Laurent and her brother live in a stone house,’ Voltaire cut in. ‘The French word for a stone house isbastide.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ Fraser blushed.

‘Would you like me to take over the translation?’ Voltaire asked.

‘That will not be necessary, Monsieur Voltaire, thank you. But if you could point out any other misunderstandings, we would both be very grateful.’ Pünd turned back to the housekeeper. ‘You made the tea yesterday afternoon.’

‘Yes, monsieur. Lady Chalfont liked to take tea in the garden with her family. I made sandwiches and cakes and took them out, as she had instructed. One pot for madame, another for the two gentlemen.’

‘You took everything together?’

Béatrice shook her head. ‘No, monsieur. I waited until Lady Chalfont went into the garden. Then I took out the fish.’

‘The drinks,’ Voltaire muttered. ‘Boissons. Notpoissons.’

‘Sorry,’ Fraser said.

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