Page 30 of Marble Hall Murders

‘I didn’t kill her! The police don’t want to talk to me. They probably think you did it.’

‘That’s a dreadful thing to say, Cedric. I think you should go to your room.’

‘I hate it here. I’ve got no friends. The food’s horrible. It’s boring. And nobody speaks English.’

‘We’re not leaving yet and that’s the end of the matter. Now go to your bloody room!’

‘Maybe you’ll be next. Or Mummy. Or Uncle Harry. There’s lots of poison in the garden. Lots and lots of it. I know. I’ve seen it.’

‘Cedric!’

But there was no reply from the child. Only the banging of an unseen door.

NINE

Elmer Waysmith was sitting slumped behind his desk in the study that adjoined his bedroom. The energy seemed to have drained out of him. There were bags under his eyes. With his white hair, he had already looked older than his sixty-seven years, but the sudden death of his wife might have added another ten. He was wearing a grey cotton blazer with a silk handkerchief poking out of the top pocket, although from the look of him, he would have been more comfortable in a morning suit. But who brings black to the South of France?

The study was a square room with a single window, which even when fully open did not allow enough air to circulate. Much of the space was taken up by an ornate Mazarin bureau piled high with papers, newspaper clippings, photographs, receipts and certificates. Three of the walls were covered by bookshelves that only added to the sense of claustrophobia. The books largely related to the world of art, with monographs and biographies in several languages, but there were dictionaries, encyclopaedias and reference books covering a wide range of subjects. Elmer had a fountain pen in front of him. He had been working on his new catalogue and there were several pages covered in turquoise ink.

A silk-covered divan with scroll legs had been placedunder the window and this was where Robert Waysmith was sitting. He, too, looked exhausted. He had not shaved and a dark shadow seemed to be spreading across his face. He was examining his father with watchful eyes, waiting to hear what he might say next, nervous of what it might be.

‘We’ll have the funeral in England.’

‘In Norfolk?’

‘Of course it will be in Norfolk. Where do you expect it to be? Paddington Station?’

‘Whatever you say, Pa.’

Elmer wiped a hand across his brow as if to excuse his bad temper. It was grief, of course. Robert knew that he had to make allowances. His father had been married to Margaret Chalfont for six years and although she had never taken his name, the two of them could not have been closer. ‘Madame Dubois will make the arrangements,’ he went on. ‘She’ll know what to do.’

Robert nodded, something almost like a smile touching his lips. Madame Dubois had shipped paintings and sculptures all over Europe. Now she would do the same for his stepmother. ‘I can’t believe this is happening again,’ he muttered, almost to himself.

‘What?’ Elmer looked up sharply, his grey eyebrows rising.

‘Nothing, Pa.’

‘I heard what you said. “Again”. What do you mean by that? Are you suggesting that Margaret …?’

‘The police are saying that someone poisoned her. But isn’t it possible that she could have killed herself?’

‘No, Robert. It is not possible! She would never have done that! She was ill. She knew her time was limited. But she livedevery day to the full and she loved every minute that was given to her. She had no reason to take her own life.’

‘Unlike my mother.’

Elmer gazed at his son with barely controlled fury in his eyes. ‘Your mother was a sick woman, Robert. She didn’t know what she was doing. You know that.’

‘So what’s the alternative, Pa? That someone in the family deliberately killed Margaret? One of us?’

‘I never said that. And the simple truth is that this damn fool detective from Paris has got it wrong. Margaret’s heart gave out exactly as the doctor said and exactly as we knew it would. It was only a matter of time.’ Elmer picked up the fountain pen and clipped it into his pocket. ‘Unless you think I had something to do with it …’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You don’t need to. I can see it in your face. You’re not married. I sometimes wonder if you’re even capable of falling in love. But Margaret and I were perfectly suited. I loved everything about her. I know it was difficult for you, Robert, losing your mother, and maybe you never forgave me for marrying again. There’s nothing I can do about that. But I saw a chance for happiness and I grabbed it. I make no apology. And now – now that she’s gone – I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ There was a break in Elmer’s voice and his eyes clouded over. ‘I have nothing left to live for.’

‘You have the gallery. You have me.’

Elmer said nothing. The room felt hotter and more airless than ever.