Daughter of Riches Page 42

  And then, just when she had least expected ever to fall in love again, she had met Dan.

  She had not realised what was about to happen at that first meeting, of course. She had been far too concerned with the terrible thing that had overtaken Sophia and how best she could support her. The realisation that he was the one man for whom she would have given up her job, her life in London and her much-prized independence had come later, nurtured during the many inevitable meetings, and striking her one day with the suddenness of a bombshell.

  Catherine had, of course, known Dan when they were young but the age gap between them had been enormous – she had still been a child when he was a young man. Now it had closed to the point where it was non-existent and they were simply a man and a woman working to a common end and finding they shared that comfortable unity of mind and spirit that is the basis of so many enduring relationships.

  The trouble was that it was too late for them. Catherine might be free but Dan was not. He was married with a young family, a boy of eleven and a girl two years younger. Although briefly Dan almost succumbed to what might have been the great passion of his life, he loved his wife and children too much to cause them pain and Catherine, who had seen the tragic results of too many shattered families amongst her East End pupils, had known her conscience would not allow her to fight for him. The flame had flared brightly but briefly, illuminating her life for a time with a brilliance she would never forget, but when the trial was over she had returned to London and her old life. For a long while the sense of loss had been almost more than she could bear – to touch such happiness and then deliberately walk away left her in a state of depression that came close to desperation. But Catherine was a survivor. She refused to indulge her pain, burying herself once more in the work she loved and gradually it had begun to hurt less. Over the years Dan Deffains had become a sweet poignant memory.

  When she had heard Dan’s wife had died it had occurred to her to wonder if perhaps when she retired and returned to Jersey they might have the opportunity to finish what they had begun, but ironically Dan himself had died during her last year in London. Catherine had been sad – very sad – when she heard of it but she was too sensible to cry for long for what might have been. Obviously it had not been meant to be. Catherine tucked Dan away in her closet of memories and made the most of what she had.

  Now, however, it all came flooding back; the old excitement quirked deep inside her as she looked at her great-niece and saw only the reincarnation of a dream.

  ‘What a small world it is! Juliet,’ she said softly. ‘How on earth did you come to meet him?’

  ‘Well …’ Juliet hesitated. ‘You remember I told you I would really like to know the truth about Grandma and Uncle Louis? I thought maybe if I spoke to her advocate he would put me in the picture. I looked him up in the phone book and went to see him.’

  ‘But my dear, Dan has been dead for more than a year.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. You didn’t say he was dead. So I asked for Dan Deffains – and met a young man who turned out to be his son – also named Dan. It could have been embarrassing. As it was … well, it turned out rather well.’

  ‘I see.’ Catherine smiled. ‘So you gave up asking questions in favour of romance.’

  ‘Not exactly. At least, not at first. Dan was interested too. Like you he said he was almost certain his father had believed Grandma innocent and he seemed to think that between us we could get at the truth.’

  Catherine shook her head. ‘Oh Juliet, I hoped you would have the good sense to leave well alone. I did warn you.’

  ‘I know you did. And I must say I was beginning to think you were right. I asked Paul some questions about Louis and really stirred up a hornet’s nest. I thought Viv was going to have a fit she was so angry.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. She hated Louis. He was undermining Paul’s position, you see, making it quite untenable.’

  ‘Wasn’t Paul senior to Louis in the company?’

  ‘Senior in experience, yes, but he had no say in the running of it. Bernard had bought out his share years earlier, just as he bought out mine. I spent what I got on a nice little flat and a car, and I invested enough to give me a comfortable income for the rest of my life. Paul, I am afraid, was not so wise.’

  ‘But surely your share should have been worth a great deal more than that?’ Juliet said, a little shocked.

  Catherine smiled ruefully. ‘In those days, no. Oh, I’d have been a wealthy woman if I hadn’t sold out when I did, it’s true, but equally Bernard might not have worked so hard if the whole shooting match hadn’t been his and Langlois Hotels might not be what they are today. I don’t bear any grudges. I have all I want to live on – I don’t know that I’d want more – it certainly hasn’t bought Sophia happiness. But Paul and Viv are different. Viv was used to money – her parents were seriously rich at one time, until her father lost it all on the stock market. So it was the supreme irony that she married Paul – another gambler in his own way.’

  ‘Paul?’ Juliet echoed, remembering the cash book she had found in the attic at La Grange.

  ‘Oh my dear, yes. In his heyday Paul would gamble on anything that moved. His share of the money Bernard parted with to buy him out went that way – in fact I think he may already have been heavily in debt and that is why he didn’t take much persuading to sell. I’m sure it must have been that – after all, he continued to work for the company. For me it was quite different – I was in London, I had no interest in it really. Anyway, to get back to Paul. He was always a gambler and in later years Louis encouraged him, I’m afraid. They spent a good deal of time in one another’s company when Louis was in Jersey and sometimes they flew off together on one of their wild weekends. But this mateyness didn’t do Paul any good when it came to business. Louis had the upper hand and he made the most of it.’

  ‘I see.’ Juliet was very thankful she had a different line of enquiry to pursue regarding Louis’s death. There was no doubt about it, what with the gambling debts she had uncovered and the position Louis had placed him in within the company Paul would have made a prime suspect! she thought.

  ‘Have you ever met anyone called Frank de Val?’ she asked aloud.

  Catherine looked genuinely puzzled. ‘Frank de Val. I know the name. Well, it’s an old Jersey one, so I suppose I would. Frank de Val. Who is he?’

  ‘He used to be a senator in the Island Parliament.’

  ‘The States.’

  ‘Yes.’ Juliet lowered her voice. ‘ I think he may have been involved in Louis’s death.’

  ‘A senator? Oh no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My dear, I can tell you don’t know senators and justices de greffe. They’re a stuffy bunch. They might bore you to death of course,’ she added with a wicked twinkle.

  Juliet pushed her cup to one side, leaning forward on the table on her elbows.

  ‘This one was being blackmailed by Louis.’

  ‘Blackmailed? Are you sure? Goodness me, how very melodramatic!’

  ‘But it would be a marvellous motive for wanting Louis dead, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Oh my dear!’ Catherine shook her head. ‘I do wish you’d take my advice and stop all this nonsense. I don’t think you understand the harm you may be doing.’

  ‘By trying to prove Grandma’s innocence?’

  ‘By raking up a whole lot of things that are best left alone. I don’t know how to make you understand but I’m quite sure your parents would tell you the same if they were here.’

  ‘I expect they would. They never told me anything about what happened at all, remember.’

  ‘No, and they may well have had their reasons. Think about that, Juliet.’

  Quite unaccountably Juliet shivered. What the hell was this? Why was everyone so determined to keep the subject a closed book even when she was suggesting a totally new theory which had no unpleasant implications for the family? Only Louis came out of it in a bad li
ght and that hardly mattered any more.

  ‘This is all a novelty to you at the moment, Juliet,’ Catherine went on. ‘Please remember it is no novelty to us. We want to forget what happened. And I think you would be wise to do the same.’ Her voice was sharper than Juliet had ever before heard it, the voice of a teacher controlling a class of unruly seven-year-olds. ‘I’m very glad you’ve met Dan Deffains’ son. I would be more happy than you could possibly know to see you fall in love with him. But don’t let him lead you down this path, please.’

  Juliet wrinkled her nose, puzzled. ‘He’s not leading me anywhere.’

  ‘That’s all right then. And now,’ Catherine said with her wonderful capacity for changing the subject, ‘shall we ask for another of those delicious pastries? Or do you think it is time I started considering my figure?’

  Dan tapped a final sentence into his word processor, checked it on the screen and sat back, rubbing his eyes. He had worked too long, not even stopping to eat. Now he was hungry and his eyes ached but it had been, in his opinion, well worth while. Tomorrow he had an appointment with Centenier John Germaine and he wanted to be well prepared for it. His father and the centenier had been good friends, he knew, despite the fact that they had been on opposing sides of the courtroom on more than one occasion. But he could not rely on that for goodwill any more than he could rely on their mutual respect. It was vitally important that he correlate all the bits of information he had so far gathered so that he could judge how best to approach the centenier. Now a simple print out would give him the main points in one concise list – might even trigger his brain into spotting some new connection that had escaped him before.

  Dan put the word processor into print mode and sat back, stretching his arms above his head. He felt good, pleased with himself from almost any angle you cared to name. The investigation into the Langlois case was progressing and the same antennae that had made him a good policeman and which now monitored his journalistic progress told him that things were beginning to move and there was much more just waiting to be uncovered. On the personal front too things were looking definitely promising. Only yesterday it had looked as if Juliet was a lost cause, now, suddenly it was very much all systems go again, and the knowledge gave his spirits the sort of lift he had not expected to experience ever again.

  The word processor clattered to a stop. Dan ripped out the finished sheet, heaved himself out of his swivel chair and went in search of a beer. Apart from the array of cans the fridge looked depressingly empty; he’d have to go out later on for a pizza or a Chinese if he wanted to eat, but for now the beer would satisfy him nicely. He yanked at the ringpull and threw himself down on the sofa, propping his feet up on the low table. Then he drank direct from the can, at the same time studying the print out.

  LOUIS LANGLOIS KILLING

  Possible suspects

  Family: Brothers Robin and David Langlois

  Sister-in-law Molly Langlois

  Uncle Paul Carteret

  Aunt Catherine Carteret (supposedly out of Jersey at the

  time) Mother Sophia Langlois (always possible she was telling

  the truth!)

  Others: Raife Pearson (alibi but had v. seedy contacts)

  Frank de Val (reputation on the line – powerful motive)

  Louis’s lady loves (more investigation needed. Louis was a

  known womaniser)

  Dan raised the can again, swigging thoughtfully. The women in Louis’s life had been one area on which the Jersey Post had thrown nothing up. It was, after all, a local newspaper, not a scandal sheet. But there had been a photograph, a group at some gala or other, which had showed Louis, handsome and well-groomed, in evening dress, with a young lady on his arm. In newsprint the photograph had not been sufficiently good for Dan to identify her though he felt there was something vaguely familiar about the pretty face beneath the tumbling hair, but he was working on it. A photographer friend – also ex-police – had promised to work on an enlargement though whether it would be any clearer was doubtful and Dan had also persuaded the girl at the Jersey Post to plumb the archives in the hope of discovering a copy of the original. Meantime he could exercise his imagination – what might that young lady look like twenty years on – always supposing she was still in Jersey, of course. By now she could be anywhere in the world.

  The telephone shrilled suddenly almost startling Dan and he dumped the print out on the low table and went to answer it.

  ‘Dan Deffains.’

  ‘Mr Deffains. My name is Catherine Carteret. You won’t know me but I used to be a friend of your father’s. And I believe you know my niece, Juliet Langlois.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve been seeing her in fact.’

  ‘I have, yes, but …’

  ‘This may sound like the most dreadful cheek but are you … fond of her?’

  Dan shook his head in disbelief. ‘Miss Carteret, I can’t see what business that is of yours.’

  ‘No, I know. I knew it would come out all wrong, but I can see she is very taken with you and I was hoping … What I am trying to say, very badly, is that I am concerned about her and I was very much hoping you might help me.’

  ‘Help you? In what way?’

  ‘Oh dear, this is so dreadfully difficult. I’m quite sure at this moment in time you think I am just an interfering old woman. But it’s not that, I promise you – at least, not in the way you think. Mr Deffains – Dan – it really is very important. I must talk to you.’

  Those warning prickles were rising once more on the back of Dan’s neck. He hooked out a chair with his foot and sat down.

  ‘Very well, Miss Carteret, fire away. I’m all ears.’

  By the time she had finished Dan had almost unconsciously crushed the empty beer can in his hand. He replaced the receiver, returned to the computer print out and wrote on it in biro, a mass of almost illegible scribble and some bold underlining of the printed script. Then he went over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky. Beer was all very well – at this moment he felt he needed something a good deal stronger!

  Chapter twenty-eight

  Juliet looked at Dan across the table in the candlelit bistro, puzzled and slightly hurt. Yesterday she had been so sure he had felt as she did, so excited by the attraction that had flared between them; today there was something different about him and she did not know what it was.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked eventually. ‘ You seem very far away.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re … preoccupied. It’s not very flattering.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve had a heavy day.’

  ‘Heavy how? You were going to see the centenier, weren’t you? Did you find out anything interesting?’

  ‘No.’

  His abruptness shocked her. ‘Sorry for asking!’ she said shortly. ‘If you’re so tired out perhaps you’d like to go home.’

  ‘Oh hell, Juliet …’ He reached across the table, covering her hand with his. ‘ I didn’t mean to upset you. But I thought you wanted to drop this post mortem examination of the past.’

  ‘That was before I found out this senator man was involved. It throws a whole new light on everything.’

  ‘I’m not sure that it does. I’m not sure he was involved. I asked John Germaine, the centenier, point blank whether any pressure was exerted on him to leave well alone where de Val was concerned. He denied it and I believe him.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘De Val had something to hide, that’s true, and it could make an interesting story. But I doubt very much if he had anything to do with Louis’s death.’

  A tiny frown creased her forehead. ‘What do you mean, an interesting story?’

  ‘I think he was involved in some very un-Senator-like junketings. But that doesn’t make him a murderer,’ Dan said, cursing himself for his carelessness. Though he knew the time was coming when he would have to tell her what he did for a living, a public bistro was not the place
for it.

  ‘But it’s a really good motive,’ she protested.

  ‘I think half Jersey probably had a really good motive. It doesn’t mean they killed him. And even if they did, how likely is it we’d be able to prove anything after all this time?’

  She stared at him, bemused. ‘That’s not what you said before. You were really keen to get to the bottom of it. What’s changed?’

  ‘Oh …’ He toyed with a bread stick. ‘I’ve been thinking, looking at it rationally. If an outsider killed Louis they must have followed him home. He’d been out that evening, remember – he was often out – and Sophia was often in. No one in their right mind would have gone to La Grange with the intention of murdering Louis. They simply wouldn’t have known when to find him there.’

  ‘But if it was done in the heat of the moment … Suppose Louis was blackmailing this Frank de Val and de Val went to see him to try and get him to lay off. They could have quarrelled and he could have shot him.’

  ‘With Louis’s gun? The one that nobody but his close family knew he had? And no witnesses ever came forward, remember. The housekeeper was asleep in bed and heard nothing. Neither did David, who was suffering from influenza and had gone to bed early with a hot toddy and a bottle of aspirin. Nobody came forward to say they’d seen a strange car on the road or someone in the area who shouldn’t have been there. It was November, remember, the island wouldn’t have been full of tourists, it would have gone back to being parochial Jersey where practically everyone knows everyone else. That would have been even more true twenty years ago than it is today.’

  Juliet was trembling. She pressed her hands down hard on the chequered table cloth.

  ‘Are you saying what I think you are saying – that my grandmother was guilty after all?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying I don’t know. But I think maybe that after so long it would be best to forget the whole thing – leave it alone. Ah!’ he looked up as the waiter approached with the desserts they had ordered, ‘at last! Service is very slow here tonight. Do you want coffee, or shall we go home and have it there?’