‘No. I hardly knew her at all.’
Alice was clearly uncomfortable, but she was saved by the opening of the inner door. Jean Lambert was suddenly standing there, dressed in an old-fashioned suit complete with pocket watch, wing collar and pince-nez, as if he was deliberately trying to model himself on a character in a novel by Dickens – or perhaps Zola.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I apologise for keeping you waiting. Please will you come into my office.’ His English was excellent, if accented. ‘Mademoiselle Carling, you will join us and take notes.’
Fortunately, the office was larger than the anteroom and more comfortable and cooler, with views looking out to the medieval walls as they curved round the back of the town.Jean Lambert took his place behind his desk, with Alice to one side. Chairs had been arranged for the three visitors.
‘How can I help you, messieurs?’ he asked, although in a way that suggested there was very little he could do.
‘You must have been saddened by the death of your client, Lady Chalfont,’ Pünd began.
‘A great shock. Yes. Although, of course, I was aware of her illness.’
‘She had confided in you?’
‘I had helped her with her affairs for many years. I also advised her late husband, Lord Chalfont, when he was purchasing the Chateau Belmar. As you may imagine, a large amount of my work is involved with property because of the amount of development that is occurring here. A great many wealthy Englishmen are purchasing homes in the Côte d’Azur, although rarely are they quite as splendid as the Chateau Belmar. I was most sad to hear that she was unwell, although I had not expected the end to be so soon.’
‘It is my belief that Lady Chalfont may have been murdered,’ Voltaire announced.
Alice Carling looked terrified. As usual, the man from the Sûreté had not minced his words. ‘It’s not true,’ she whispered.
‘Why do you say that, mademoiselle?’
‘I mean … who would do such a thing?’ All the colour had drained out of her face.
Theavocatexamined her, concerned. ‘Are you all right, Mademoiselle Alice?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry. It’s just so hard to believe.’
‘I entirely agree with you!’ He turned back to Voltaire. ‘Iknow the family intimately and I think you are making a grave mistake. Lady Chalfont was a kind and generous woman who was loved by everyone who knew her. Nobody could have had a reason to do her harm.’
‘You are reading the will tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Monsieur Voltaire. I hope you are not going to ask me to reveal the contents today.’
‘There is no need for that.’ Pünd took over the conversation and continued more gently. ‘But there is something that I do wish to know. I understand you arrived at the chateau at exactly the moment that Lady Chalfont died. Can you tell me why you were there?’
‘I can see no reason not to tell you, Monsieur Pünd. I received a telephone call from Lady Chalfont the day before she went to London for a medical appointment. She asked to see me at the villa once she got back and suggested a day and a time.’
‘Did she give some indication of the reason?’
‘She said only that it concerned her will. I had the sense that she did not wish to speak on the telephone.’ Lambert hesitated. He was not the sort of man to overdramatise events. ‘She was under a great deal of strain. She did not sound well at all.
‘At any event, acting on her instructions, I arrived at the villa at the appointed time and was met by Monsieur Harry Lyttleton. I know him well.’
‘He’s a client?’ Pünd asked.
‘He was. I helped him with the purchase of land close to Cap Ferrat, where he was planning to build a hotel, and I also gave him my opinion concerning a number of loans he wasseeking.’ He paused. ‘Sadly, Monsieur Lyttleton did not accept my advice and it was because of this that I felt I could no longer assist him.’
‘You advised against the loans?’
‘I had concerns about the people who were providing them.’
Jean Lambert seemed to have forgotten his earlier reticence. Or perhaps he was making an exception for Harry, owing to their having fallen out.
‘And how was Mr Lyttleton when you met him?’ Pünd enquired.
‘He was in a state of considerable shock. Lady Chalfont had died as she took tea in the gazebo. He urged me to call for an ambulance – and the police. He did not speak French and felt he was unable to do it himself.’