Before they could speak she was rattling on: ‘Give her a choice. She can either make an oral confession here, at once in front of us, and then get straight into a police car to take her to Avignon or—’ her tone chilled and she spoke emphatically—‘we make her face a much more terrible authority.’

Joe was mystified. ‘You’re calling on God?’ he asked.

‘No! Divine retribution takes far too long. And the thunderbolts never land where you’d like them to land. Not God—Guy! You could summon Guy de Pacy to have an interview with her. Here in this room. When you’ve told him exactly what she’s done—leave them alone together. Let him ask the difficult questions: Why did you kill the woman I loved? Why did you kill the child I would have loved? Why did you think I would spend the rest of my days with a conscienceless killer?’

‘No! No!’ Joe protested. And, seeing his way through: ‘Impossible! Guy is wounded to the heart and suffering dreadfully. The words he delivered over the corpse of Estelle constantly come back to me: “I want this killer, Sandilands,” he said. “I want his guts. I want to see the light die in his eyes; I want to hear his last gasp.” He has a filthy temper. And—let’s remind ourselves—he’s something of a killer himself. We couldn’t leave her alone with him, the woman who murdered his child.’ Joe shuddered. ‘Out of the question! I won’t be held responsible! This woman’s ruined his life. In the grip of a red rage he would throttle her!’

Jacquemin picked up his cue. ‘It would be a crime passionnel, Sandilands. Crimes of passion! I am aware that we French are generally condemned for our too ready understanding and forgiveness of such uncontrollable flare-ups!’

He pursed his lips, shook his head and came to a decision.

‘Martineau, go and fetch de Pacy.’

Chapter Thirty-Six

Joe settled down at the table in the deserted hall with a cup of tea brought to him by Nathan Jacoby and, in return for the kindness, launched again into an account of the confession and arrest of Jane Makepeace.

Nathan’s reaction of: ‘Good Lord! I don’t believe it! But she was kind to Estelle! None of the others were. A fine woman, I’d have said,’ was completely at odds with the rest of the reactions he’d listened to. Everyone else, on hearing the news, suddenly put on an expression of omni-science. Of course, they’d always had their suspicions. She was just too good to be true, wasn’t she? Oiling her way into the lord’s confidence like that. And what a way to treat poor Guy who’d been so good to her …

‘A fine woman,’ Nathan had insisted. ‘Are you quite sure, Joe?’

‘She admitted her crime to the Commissaire rather than face Guy de Pacy and account for her foul act,’ said Joe.

‘But why?’

‘She loved him. As far as that woman is capable of finer feeling, I truly believe she did. For the first time—and quite late—in her life, she found a man she could admire. But I don’t think he would have come in for such close attention had he not been on the brink of inheriting all this.’ Joe waved an arm around. ‘She really fell with a bang for Silmont. And for the wonderful things it contained. For their own sake, I’m sure. Greed of a monetary kind was not, I think, a spur to murder. She handled the silver, the china, the tapestries every day … knew them better than their owner possibly. She wanted them for her own. Quite desperately. And was ready to sacrifice three lives she considered worthless to have them.’

‘Glad to hear you’re counting correctly, Joe.’

He turned to find Dorcas had come up silently behind them.

‘But it was very nearly four, you know,’ she pointed out.

‘Marius?’

‘Yes. When she found out he’d caught a glimpse of her in the chapel, she decided to get rid of him too, didn’t she?’

‘She certainly volunteered to walk the boys down to their grandmother’s house. And perhaps that was out of character.’

‘It certainly was! The boys can’t stand her. She could just have intended to question Marius on the way down and check that he hadn’t remembered anything incriminating. She was safe from suspicion as long as he held to the story he was telling everyone that it was a man who’d come into the chapel. In his village world, women just don’t wear trousers. And, being a tall woman, her feet are larger than the average woman’s. But had he heard her voice? She couldn’t be certain and had to find out.’

‘We’ll never know exactly what her intentions were. But what I do know is that you stepped between them, Dorcas, and put a stop to it. I begin to think you have a more insightful knowledge of the human mind than the psychiatrist’s daughter!’

Joe had waved goodbye to the charabanc party with disguised elation. He was staying on for a day, he told them, to catch up with his notes and help Commissaire Jacquemin. Orlando and his mob would be on their way to Aix when he’d finished a painting sometime in the next few days. Petrovsky and his merry band were staying the night also, held over not through duty but necessity. The diligent Martineau had taken it upon himself to crack open the boot of his grand car and discovered there many items of interest to the local PJ. Cocaine, rude pictures, even a rude ciné film in which certain faces at least were clearly recognizable. He and his party were being detained until the morning when he could give a full statement of his activities to the Avignon police.

And Joe had settled to closing down the murder case for any of those guests who wished to speak of it.

‘I’m hoping, Nathan, you’ll fetch up in London one of these days,’ said Joe. ‘Let me give you my card. We’ll spend a boozy evening remembering Estelle.’

He took out his note-case to find a card and the photograph of Laure and her friends slipped out. Nathan seized on it at once and began to identify and criticize the unknown photographer’s equipment and technique. The men were startled to hear a gurgling exclamation of surprise and amusement behind them.

A hand reached out over Nathan’s shoulder and took the photograph from him. ‘But how on earth, Mr Jacoby, did you come by this? I last saw one of these ten years ago on my mother’s mantelpiece. I hardly recognize myself!’

Joe turned to find Petrovsky’s duenna laughing down at them. ‘Nathan found it in an old postcard sale in Avignon,’ he invented.

‘That’s right. The fair in front of the Pope’s Palace,’ Nathan added, puzzled but gallantly decorating Joe’s lie. ‘I collect old photographs.’

‘Anyone you know on this, Madame … er?’ Joe asked with a show of polite interest.

‘Carla is my name. I know everyone! Gracious! How dreadful to be a collectable item! It’s my confirmation class. Can you guess which one is me?’ she asked with a touch of flirtation in her voice.

‘Easy,’ said Joe. ‘I’d recognize those handsome features anywhere. But it’s the feet that are the real give-away!’

‘I got a ticking-off from the other girls, I can tell you! Showing off and spoiling the line like that. And they were right—I was showing off. My parents could afford the ballet lessons, you see.’

‘And do you remember the names of the others?’

‘Of course! There’s the twins Babette and Berthe on the left. They married neighbouring farmers and I still see them from time to time. And my best friend, Marie-Jeanne Du rand, on the right. Poor Marie-Jeanne. She got into a spot of bother and we none of us spoke to her for years. Unkind. But after the War to end War, a little thing like a romance that turned sour seemed not so dreadful … water under the bridge. She’s fine now and I always make a point of coming up here to see her again when the company’s in the neighbourhood. I’d never volunteer for this tedious duty otherwise!’