The Death of Corinne (21 page)

30

A Star is Born

They looked at him in silence. They had no idea how long he had stood there.

‘You might as well know the exact details. Corinne hadn’t been in touch with her daughter for sixteen years,’ Peverel went on. ‘She was a terrible mother. She should never have had children. She was monstrously egocentric – dangerously self-obsessed.’

He spoke with great bitterness and ferocious passion. Antonia had never imagined Peverel capable of any strong emotions. He looked even paler than when they had seen him last.

‘She wasn’t like that to start with, when I first knew her. Of course not,’ Peverel continued. ‘She was a very confused child, true, but she had sweetness and gentleness as well as the capacity of giving and receiving love. Well, all that evaporated over the years, thanks mainly to her Svengali – the great Mr Lark. It was he who turned Corinne into this stylized, exquisite, equivocal creature. He stunted her emotional development quite on purpose – like those bonsai trees that forever remain the wrong size – like the feet of Chinese women of noble birth that were kept bound so that they could remain small and dainty! That was what the audience seemed to want, that’s what he gave them. More and more of the
same
.’

‘
La petite
fi
lle
with the upturned nose and the big bows and ruffles?’ Payne murmured.

‘Yes. Papa Lark made sure Corinne didn’t grow up. He stopped her from seeing me. I believe that made her unhappy – I am sure she loved me – but she did give me up and accepted her lot, eventually. She did as Papa Lark decreed. I am sure it was under his dictation that she wrote the letter informing me that our daughter had died.’

‘How did you know that it wasn’t true?’

‘One of the nuns told me. Sister Felicia.’

‘So I was right,’ Antonia said. ‘Corinne’s daughter
was
brought up by nuns.’

‘Yes . . . She was sent to the convent outside Lourdes, where Corinne’s aunt was Mother Superior at the time.’

Sister Felicia had discovered some papers in her Mother Superior’s desk after her death, Peverel explained. There was a birth certificate – also letters sent to Corinne’s aunt by Mr Lark. Mr Lark had written that on no account should Peverel be contacted and told that his daughter was alive. Mr Lark had made the convent a number of generous donations . . . The Mother Superior had complied with his wishes and she had preserved Corinne’s guilty secret for more than quarter of a century, but now that she was dead, Sister Felicia saw no reason why the truth shouldn’t be told. Sister Felicia had managed to find Peverel’s address and written to him. ‘She was a good and decent soul,’ Peverel said.

‘Was Monique a nun?’

‘No. She had never taken a vow or anything of that sort, but she lived and worked at the convent. She worked on the administration side – a secretarial job. She seemed to be content. Sister Felicia wrote to me two years ago, on the day after Monique’s thirtieth birthday. She also told Monique about me. She believed a great wrong had been perpetrated and she had made it her mission to set it right.’ Peverel paused. ‘I went to France to see Monique. Sister Felicia met me at the station and she took me to the convent – in an incredibly battered Citroën . . . Monique and I got on extremely well. She was very shy and reserved to start with, but she relaxed eventually. She clearly loved the idea of having a father.’ Peverel smiled. ‘She even asked me for a photograph!’

‘The photograph on her dressing table?’ Antonia said.

‘Yes . . . You do seem to know an awful lot . . . I didn’t let my bitterness about Corinne spill out. Monique hardly knew her famous mother. She bore a striking resemblance to Corinne, only she was blonde. She could also sing like her.
She had the same voice
. You were right about that too . . . As it happens, Sister Felicia and Sister Fortunata had just recorded the video – Monique made up as Corinne. The resemblance was uncanny. The nuns were in their early sixties and they were both great fans of Corinne Coreille. No one else knew what they had done . . . I understand they have died since. Pity. I liked them enormously. They played the tape for me – danced to it. They were totally eccentric. Terribly sweet.’

‘You said they sent a copy of the tape to Corinne too?’

‘Yes – care of her record company. In fact they asked me to post it. We wondered about the effect the tape would have on Corinne. It was sixteen years since Corinne had last seen Monique. Monique had been fourteen then – a gawky, awkward teenager. I learnt that Corinne had been sending money to Monique regularly, so she couldn’t be faulted on that count.’

‘So you have known about the impersonation all along?’

‘No – not all along. Monique only told me this morning. Corinne had sworn her to absolute secrecy. Corinne, you see, went to the convent as soon as she saw the video. Under an assumed name, though no one would have recognized her anyhow. She passed herself off as an aunt of Monique’s. She asked Monique to do a repeat act. Make herself up as Corinne, put on the wig and so on, and perform once more. She was stunned by the result and, I expect, she had her brainwave there and then. That same day she took Monique to Paris with her.’

‘Corinne saw in Monique her chance for revival?’

‘Yes, Antonia. The chance to re-create herself – to make a spectacular comeback – to resume her singing career afresh. Corinne had been getting invitations for concerts from all over the world but had been turning them down. Her secret had been well kept – miraculously, there hadn’t been a single rumour about her failed plastic surgery, so no one knew. Corinne wasted no time and started coaching Monique – she taught her her gestures, mannerisms, tastes, everything! Before the trip to England she told her all Monique needed to know about Aunt Nellie – about Hugh as well – where and when they had met, about his sister Amanda and so on . . . As it happened, Monique proved an excellent student –
she became her mother
.’

‘It’s a most fantastic thing – relinquishing one’s identity and living somebody else’s life. Becoming one’s mother!’ Payne exclaimed. ‘Not many people would agree to it.’

‘No. Well, Monique was tempted. That’s what she said. She had always wanted to perform. She had dreamt of singing in public, on a stage, in front of an audience, but had been pathologically shy, too shy to do anything about it. She had led an extremely sheltered life, a most secluded provincial existence. She lacked the confidence. She was gauche. What her mother offered her was not merely a chance to sing on stage, but a shortcut to fame – something Monique had never thought possible, never contemplated, not in her wildest dreams! So she jumped at the opportunity. She knew she had a very good voice but she had always thought of it as old-fashioned –’

‘
Le goût de papa
?’ suggested Payne.

’You may put it that way. That she sounded exactly like her mother, Monique regarded as something of a disadvantage. She had never imagined she would be able to make a career as herself – not a major one at any rate. It was one thing to have your voice noticed at matins, another to be an international star. But as the celebrated Corinne Coreille she would be able to do it – start as world famous – as legendary! There would be no need for her to establish herself – she would emerge fully formed.’

‘Like a butterfly out of a chrysalis.’

‘She’d sing to audiences that knew her – that were there to adore her – audiences that had been waiting for her – wondering what had happened to her –
longing
for her voice. She said it was a very peculiar feeling she had in Japan – standing under what amounted to a floral shower, being applauded for her voice, which was also
not
her voice. The only real problem had been her youth, the fact that she was twenty-two years younger than Corinne, but there were such things as wigs and make-up.’

There was a pause. ‘When did she tell you all this?’ Antonia asked.

‘Last night, or rather in the small hours of this morning. She phoned me on her mobile. We talked for at least an hour. She needed to talk desperately. She was frightened, terrified. The death threats, the anxiety that she might get something wrong at dinner, then her mother getting killed. She couldn’t face being interrogated by the police. Besides, there was something wrong with her make-up. Either that, or it was because her hands were shaking too much. She was in a state of panic. She couldn’t go through with it.’ Peverel paused. ‘That’s why I came. I had to. In case any suspicion fell on her. In case the police attributed her disappearance to guilty conscience. I wanted to see what line the police would take. I suppose I’d have told them the whole story if they got it into their heads that Monique had anything to do with the two deaths –’

‘And hasn’t she?’ Major Payne said quietly.

Peverel ignored this. ‘I also wanted to see how serious Andrew Jonson’s intentions were. They are thinking of getting married. Oh, you didn’t know that, did you? You seem surprised. I thought you knew everything,’ Peverel said with a return of his sardonic manner.

31

A Family Plot?

‘Ah, there you are,’ Lady Grylls said, entering the library. She was holding a glass of brandy in her hand. ‘I’ve been looking for you. We are going to have hot onion soup and ham sandwiches in the dining room. I’ve scrapped the original menu, for obvious reasons. All will be ready in about half an hour, I am told. Hortense is coping extremely well, all things considered. But there’s something else I meant to tell you – now what
was
it?’ She raised the brandy to her lips and took a swig.

Peverel said, ‘Really, darling, at your age, the consequences of a midday binge could be catastrophic.’

‘Oh yes.’ Lady Grylls turned to Antonia. ‘There’s been a rather sensational development, though I suppose you’ll disagree. I mean, it’s
never
the person who’s seen leaving the scene of the crime at the crucial time, is it?’

Antonia decided to humour her. ‘You don’t mean somebody’s been seen leaving the scene of the crime at the crucial time?’

‘Yes, my dear.
A stranger
. That makes the possibility of him being the murderer even more remote, doesn’t it? I can tell from your expressions that you’ve been juggling with conjectures, so you might as well consider this one as well.’ Lady Grylls paused. ‘The boy Nicholas – Provost’s son – is certain he’s seen the killer. Of course he didn’t know at the time it was the killer . . . He doesn’t want to talk to the police about it because, you see, he doesn’t
trust
the police.’

‘Nicholas believes he has seen the killer?’

‘That’s exactly what I said. Yes.’ Lady Grylls raised the brandy glass to her lips once more. ‘Man in a car. Looking bleached.’

Peverel said pointedly, ‘Conspicuous consumption.’ It wasn’t clear whether he meant Nicholas and drugs or his aunt and alcohol. Antonia suspected it was the latter.

‘Darling, shouldn’t you start at the beginning?’ Major Payne said gently.

‘Last night Nicholas left early. We hadn’t finished dinner yet. I didn’t mind. I thought Provost was perfectly capable of coping on his own. Anyhow, last night Nicholas said he was going to this disco in the village. It’s organized by the youth club, apparently. He went on his bike. As he was coming back, at about half past two, he saw a car coming out of the gates and he nearly crashed into it. He fell off his bike and the car slowed down but didn’t stop. There was a full moon. Nicholas saw the driver very clearly. The driver turned his head and gave him a look. It was a young man.’

‘A young man?’

‘That’s right. A pale thin young man, with short cropped hair that was very fair, almost bleached white. Ghostly pale. Liquid eyes that gleamed in the moonlight like a cat’s. Somewhat effeminate – “girlie” was the way Nicholas put it –’ Lady Grylls broke off. ‘I’m afraid I don’t feel frightfully well. It’s been a ghastly morning. Absolutely dreadful. Just a minute ago Bobo Markham phoned and said he’s got two new pigs and would we all like to go and see them!’

Payne suggested that she sit down. He led his aunt to one of the grandfather armchairs. ‘
Her glass – take it away
,’ Peverel whispered.

‘Thank you, Hughie . . . Well, it’s an extraordinary story, you’ve got to agree . . . No, leave the glass. I haven’t finished . . . Leave it, I said . . . At first I thought that Nicholas must have had a drug-induced mirage of some sort,’ Lady Grylls went on. ‘Heaven knows what substances he took last night. Now you wouldn’t believe this, but my second thought was that the young man was that American woman’s son. Eleanor’s son. She expected him to appear, didn’t she? That’s what she wrote in one of her letters.’

‘You thought the young man with the car was Griff?’

‘I imagined his ghost might have come back from the dead, yes.’ Lady Grylls shook her head. ‘This is all terribly embarrassing. Totally unlike me . . . Nicholas said he saw the car moving but he
didn
’
t hear a sound
. . . You see, Corinne and I talked about ghosts last night – Cynthia Drake and so on –
that
’
s
what must have put ghosts into my head . . . Incidentally, who
was
Cynthia Drake?’

‘The Hon. Cynthia Drake? The social editor of
Weekend
Whirlwind
– a magazine now defunct,’ Payne said. ‘Back in the ’50s, I think.’

‘All those satin chairs . . . How peculiar. I wonder whether Rory – Anyhow. There are no ghosts. It’s obvious what happened. He – that young man, whoever he is – must have turned off the engine. The drive slopes – from the house to the gates, what’s left of them, it’s all downhill. He clearly didn’t want anyone in the house to hear him, so he pushed the car and jumped in.’

‘That makes perfect sense,’ Antonia agreed. ‘ Who could this young man be?’

Payne had gone to the window and was standing beside it, looking out. ‘Jonson’s car is gone. Do you know where it is? He’s still here, isn’t he?’

‘Andrew? He is here, yes,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘Saw him a minute ago, in the hall, talking to someone on his mobile. He was looking terribly worried, poor boy.’

Payne turned round slowly. ‘Terribly worried, eh?’

Peverel cleared his throat. ‘The “girlie” young man Nicholas saw last night was in fact a girl. It was Monique. She was in Andrew’s car. Andrew let her use it. Monique’s hair is very fair and she’s had it closely cropped, she told me. It makes it easier to put on the wig. Without her makeup and wig she’d be unrecognizable. She looks bleached, almost. Not unlike Jean Seberg in
Bout de Souf
fl
e
. Remember her?’ He smiled. ‘I imagine she’d look like a delicate boy in the moonlight. And I believe she was crying – that’s why her eyes “gleamed”.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Lady Grylls asked. ‘Who is Monique? I believe that was the name of the person Andrew was talking to on the phone. He walked into the drawing room as soon as he saw me. Didn’t want me to overhear, clearly.’

Payne was looking at his cousin. ‘Where did she go?’

‘To London. To Andrew’s Maida Vale flat.’

‘In the middle of the night?’

‘She couldn’t face the police, I told you.’

‘Who
is
Monique?’ Lady Grylls asked.

There was a pause. Major Payne said, ‘It’s been assumed that the Merchant shot Maginot in her panic, having no idea who she was, but what if she killed her because she somehow knew that Maginot was Corinne? What if she did manage to take her revenge? Could somebody have told her? Somebody who
knew
–’

‘Jonson knew,’ Antonia said.

‘What d’you mean,
Maginot was Corinne
? Is this some game?’ Lady Grylls said, looking round. ‘Or have all of you lost your marbles?’

‘Jonson was well aware of the impersonation,’ Antonia said. ‘I personally don’t think Eleanor killed anybody . . . How did Monique know that her mother had been killed?’ Antonia turned to Peverel. ‘You said she phoned you in the small hours of the morning . . . Was she perhaps in the greenhouse, when it happened? Or did her husband-to-be tell her about it?’

‘She wasn’t in the greenhouse –’ Peverel broke off. There was a silence.

‘Does Monique inherit her mother’s fabulous fortune?’ Payne asked his cousin.

‘I have no idea,’ Peverel said. ‘What business is it of yours?’

‘Corinne Coreille was an extremely rich woman . . . A fabulous fortune, yes . . . An outlandish wallop,’ Payne went on in a thoughtful voice, ‘to be shared by Monique and her husband-to-be. Do forgive me the old cliché, old boy, but people have killed for less.’

‘You are being a bore, Hugh,’ Peverel drawled. ‘Are you suggesting that Monique killed her mother?’

‘She might have – or he might have. I mean Jonson. They had a good motive. I mean, they both stand to gain by her death. It isn’t as though either of them was particularly fond of the good Maître.’

‘You are being a terrible bore, Hugh.’

‘Eleanor Merchant brought a knife with her,’ Antonia said slowly. ‘I doubt if she ever had a gun in her bag –’

‘So much like Cluedo, isn’t it?’ Peverel interrupted in mocking tones. ‘Mrs Merchant, the mad American widow, with a knife.’

‘On the other hand,’ Payne said, ‘Mr Jonson, the English private detective, could easily have obtained a gun and brought it with him from London. One with a silencer.’

‘Andrew has nothing to do with the murder. Nothing at all. Better get that notion out of your thick head. Andrew is a good and decent man.’ Peverel sounded exasperated.

‘He knew about the impersonation. He was well aware of Corinne and Monique’s secret, and yet he kept it carefully. He colluded with them.’ Payne paused. ‘Why didn’t he expose them as frauds? If he is indeed, as you say, a good and decent man?’

‘He is in love with my daughter, that’s why he kept her secret. Why are you acting like an oaf, Hugh? Didn’t you hear what I said?’ Peverel raised his voice. ‘
They are getting
married
. Andrew knew it would cause Monique great distress if their secret became known. He was afraid that it might get her into trouble.’

Payne nodded. ‘I can certainly see why he should have her interests at heart . . . What about Corinne? Are you suggesting she wasn’t aware that he knew their secret?’

‘Corinne had no idea that he knew their secret –’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Peverel looked as though he regretted having uttered them.

‘Corinne didn’t know that he knew?’ Antonia said. ‘So Jonson and Monique –’

Lady Grylls cut her short. ‘I don’t know what this is all about – it all sounds totally potty to me, but you seem to be trying to cook up some ridiculous rigmarole against Andrew! Now then, if you’ve got it into your heads that he is a killer – that he shot that American woman in my greenhouse, and then shot Maginot, who, you say, is Corinne – you couldn’t be more wrong.’ She glared at Payne and Antonia. ‘For once I am on Peverel’s side . . . Peverel, you can have that damned Pugin stool, if you still want it . . . You only have to look at Andrew. He is
not
a killer. I think you should go and talk to him. Put a straight question to him and I am sure you will get a straight answer. Don’t give me such condescending looks, Hughie. I am
not
drunk.’ Pushing her glasses up her nose, she started heaving herself out of the armchair. ‘No, I don’t need any help . . . Let’s go and find him.’