Page 71 of Marble Hall Murders

‘But not such a tragedy that he has stayed away from work,’ Voltaire muttered. He glanced at Pünd, who signalled that he had nothing more to add. ‘We will see him now,’ he said.

Madame Dubois picked up the telephone and pressed a button. ‘There are three gentlemen to see you,’ she said in a low voice.

The door to the inner office opened almost before she had put down the phone.

Robert Waysmith walked out with the confidence and poise of a man about to sell an expensive painting to a new client, a look that vanished when he saw Pünd and Voltaire. At once, he seemed to shrink back into himself, as if he hadforgotten that his stepmother had been murdered just a few days ago and was hoping that the detectives had gone away.

‘Mr Voltaire …’ he said. ‘If you’ve come to see my father, I’m afraid he’s not here.’

‘I told them that,’ Madame Dubois intoned.

‘We would have liked to have spoken to him,’ Voltaire admitted. ‘But in his absence, perhaps we could have a few words with you.’

‘Me?’ Robert was alarmed. ‘There’s not very much I can tell you …’

‘Please do not concern yourself.’ Pünd smiled, reassuring him. ‘In a murder investigation, it is necessary to speak to everyone who is involved. Often it is the case that they will remember something even they did not realise they knew.’

‘Well … of course. Come into the office.’ Robert glanced briefly at thedirectrice, then led the way into the back room where he and his father worked. He chose not to sit in his chair. Instead, he remained half standing, perched on the corner of his desk while the three visitors sat around him.

‘Have you made any progress?’ Robert asked.

‘We have made a great deal of progress,’ Voltaire assured him. ‘I would be grateful if you could inform us of your movements on the morning of last Friday, the day your stepmother died.’

‘Starting from what time, Mr Voltaire? Do you want to know what I had for breakfast?’

There was something almost insolent in the way Robert Waysmith spoke. At the Chateau Belmar, in Elmer’s study, he had seemed strangely vulnerable, younger than his thirty-two years and dependent on the father who had looked afterhim all his life. Later, just before the reading of the will, he had been apologetic, dismayed by Elmer’s rudeness. But now he was on his own and, for the first time, Pünd felt that Robert had stepped out of the shadows and was prepared to stand up for himself. He had inherited more than his father’s good looks. Smartly dressed in a suit and tie with a gold clip, he looked very much like the owner of a successful art gallery. This is my domain, he seemed to say. You can ask me questions, but I refuse to be intimidated.

‘When did you arrive at the gallery?’ Voltaire asked.

‘I arrived a little before ten o’clock. I wasn’t here very long. I had to deliver a canvas to a client in Antibes. I drove over and we chatted for about thirty minutes. His name is Lucas Dorfman and Madame Dubois will provide you with his address if you want to confirm this. It took me a while to get back because of the traffic, and I was a little nervous because I didn’t want to be late. In fact, I was here by twelve fifteen.’

Pünd had noticed the second door. He nodded towards it. ‘You came in that way?’ he asked.

‘Yes. There’s an alleyway that leads round to the square. I always come in through the back to avoid meeting customers.’

‘Is meeting customers not the point of your business?’

‘I don’t meet anyone I don’t know, Mr Pünd. Do you really think I want to haggle over the price of one of the Henry Moret canvases you may have noticed in the window? I leave that to Madame Dubois.’

Robert stood there, his hands clasping the edge of the desk, poised for the next question. It came from Voltaire. ‘How was Monsieur Waysmith that day?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘His mood. His appearance.’

‘Do you mean, did he look like someone who was planning to murder his wife? No! He didn’t! And if he had somehow let slip that it was what he intended, do you think I’d tell you, Monsieur Voltaire? He’s my father.’

‘You would protect a killer?’

‘I would protect my family.’

‘If it was not your father who killed Lady Chalfont, who would you think might have done so?’ Pünd asked.

‘I haven’t got the faintest idea. Jeffrey has lost money at the casino. Harry needs help with his hotel. Lola wants to go back on the stage and Judith wants to preserve a monument in the middle of Peru. Finally, there’s my nephew, Cedric. He’s a creepy little kid with an interest in poisons. I suppose any one of them might be a suspect, except for the fact that they all loved Margaret, and as it turns out, there would have been no point bumping her off because they hardly got anything from the will.’

‘Where is your father now?’

‘I imagine he’s gone back to the chateau. He was in a bad mood this morning.’ Robert went behind the desk and sat down. He produced an art catalogue showing a series of blue squares and turned it round for the others to see. ‘These are by an artist called Yves Klein,’ he explained. ‘Pa was hoping to buy them. He’d been offered them at a very good price, but what with one thing and another, he was too slow putting in his offer and he missed out. He was very annoyed.’

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