Page 64 of Marble Hall Murders

‘He didn’t say anything bad about you, if that’s what you’re asking.’ Once again, I was tiptoeing around the truth. I seemed to have done nothing else since I had been introduced to the Craces. ‘He told me you were very imaginative and he hoped the book would be a success.’

I had already decided I wasn’t going to say anything about my meeting with Dr Lambert. Nor did I tell him that I had just come back from the office in Kingston Street, where I’d met both his brother and his uncle. I didn’t want Eliot to think that I was snooping around, asking questions about him behind his back. He looked worn out. I was keen to get him out of the house so that I could read the new pages, and perhaps he sensed this. He drank some more of the coffee, yawned and stood up.

‘I’ll leave you to get on with it,’ he said. He looked around, as if noticing his surroundings for the first time. ‘Nice place you’ve got.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You live here alone?’

‘Yes.’ I’m not sure he meant to offend me by asking me that, but I still found the question intrusive somehow. What business was it of his who I lived with or if I didn’t live with anyone? He probably knew about Andreas and me. Elaine would have told him. Not for the first time, I got the sense that I was being drawn into something more than the editing of a continuation novel. But it was too late to walk out now. Michael Flynn might never forgive me and it would certainly be the end of my career at Causton Books.

We walked to the door.

‘By the way,’ he said. ‘I’ve had an invitation to go onFront Row.’

‘On the BBC?’Front Rowwas a magazine programme broadcast on Radio 4. It covered books, films, TV … everything to do with the arts. When I was working at Cloverleaf, I’d often tried to get my authors invited.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sure you should do it, Eliot,’ I said. The news really troubled me. ‘It would be much better to wait until next year when the book is published. Why talk about the book now when we haven’t got any copies to sell?’

‘They don’t want me to talk about my book. They don’t even know I’m writing it. You reminded me just now when you mentioned the anniversary. Twenty years since her death. They want me to talk about my grandmother.’ He breathed out and once again I smelled cigarette smoke and the dregs of old white wine, now mixed with coffee. It was an unpleasant combination. ‘I’ve got a few stories I could tell that might surprise them,’ he added.

‘I recommend you don’t do that, Eliot.’ It occurred to me that I was doing exactly what Jonathan wanted – but it wasn’t the estate I was protecting. It was Eliot. ‘If you say bad things about your grandmother, it won’t help you. Quite the opposite. When we come to publicise your book, it’ll really help that you’re her grandson. Whatever you may think of her, she still sells millions and if only one per cent of her readers decide to give you a go, that’ll push you into the bestseller lists.’

‘You don’t think the book is good enough on its own?’

‘That’s not what I’m saying. I told you. I love what you’re writing and I can’t wait to start on the next section. But it’s too soon to go onFront Row. If people think you’re being negative, that’s simply going to turn them away from you. Please promise me you’ll reconsider and that you won’t do it.’

‘I haven’t given them an answer yet.’

‘Would you like me to call them for you? I’ll be happy to talk to them and we can ask them to have you later in the year. Please take my advice. I don’t think a radio appearance right now will do you any good at all and that would be a shame after all your hard work.’

He stood there, clearly wondering whether to be annoyed. Then he relaxed. ‘All right, Susan,’ he said, with a lopsided grin. ‘You don’t need to worry. I’ll call them. I didn’t want to do it anyway.’

He reached towards me and I thought he was going to kiss me goodbye, but instead he patted me clumsily on the shoulder. Fishing out his car keys, he disappeared through the door, and with a sense of relief, I closed it.

Should I call Jonathan? Or Michael Flynn? When it comes to media appearances, you always have to be careful. What can look like a marvellous piece of publicity can all too easily turn into a trap. Twenty years ago, I’d published a book about a Sinhalese detective and I still remember sitting outside the studio, listening in horror as the discussion turned into a barrage of accusations about cultural appropriation, with the author completely out of her depth. It was a series that had extended to exactly one book. These days, publishers are much more in tune with what is and what is not acceptable, but we all know that a single step over a line that’s so ill-defined as to be practically invisible can cause all sorts of problems, and that there are any number of ambitious young journalists out there keen to make headlines.

I picked up my mobile phone and my thumb hovered over the speed dial, but in the end I didn’t make the call, and I’m afraid that was a mistake I would soon come to regret. Eliot would never have forgiven me if I’d shopped him to his uncle and I still thought there was a chance he would take my advice and ignoreFront Rowuntil there was a reason to go on it. I persuaded myself that I was acting in his best interests and put the phone down.

Instead, I opened the manuscript and began to read.

TWELVE

‘We have found thepharmacie!’

Frédéric Voltaire was pleased with himself and didn’t try to conceal it. He had been waiting in the reception area of the Grand-Hôtel when Pünd and Fraser came out from breakfast, sitting beside the main door, smoking a cigarette. From the way he told them the news, it was as if outsmarting the famous Atticus Pünd mattered to him more than making a breakthrough in the investigation.

‘So, where is it?’ Fraser asked.

‘In Nice. The Rue Lafayette. We interviewed more than fifty pharmacists in the area. To begin with, this fellow was reluctant to admit that he had provided the poison which killed Lady Chalfont. And with good reason! He may lose his licence.’

‘The Rue Lafayette.’ Pünd might have ignored everything else the detective had said. ‘That name is familiar to me.’

‘It is a small street, only a short distance from the Galerie Werner-Waysmith.’

‘That is certainly interesting. Have you spoken to the pharmacist?’

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