The Hunt For Sonya Dufrette Part 10

'Hermione and Michael no longer live there.' Lena took another sip of brandy. 'No ... Poor Michael's dead anyway ... They couldn't have been talking ... n.o.body could have ...'

'Who's "they"?'

Lena started shaking her head. 'No, no, no. Out of the question ... Out of the f.u.c.king question ... They knew they'd be sent to the clink if they did talk about it ... They are no fools ... I mean she - she is no fool.' Lena reached out and tapped the letter that lay before her. 'He is dead. Well out of it.'

'Were the Mortlocks behind it?' Antonia asked. She saw Payne frowning down at the letter, which, she was sure, he could now read without any difficulty.

'The Mortlocks ... Hermione was discreet ... Always very discreet ... He was a pa.s.sionate man. No one would have thought it.' Lena shook her head. 'Hermione feared scandal more than the Devil. I never feared the Devil myself - never! Do you realize? I actually lived with him.'

They had to strain to make out what she was saying now, the slurring had become so bad. Her eyes were almost entirely out of focus. She couldn't last much longer, Payne knew. Besides he had heard someone enter the bar.

He asked, 'Why did you say Sonya's ghost couldn't have been coming from the direction of the river?' Antonia saw him reach out towards the letter.

"Strordinary question. Because -' Lena put up her forefinger -'she was never in the river in the first place. That's why.'

'Where is she? Where's the body?'

Antonia was to think later that had Lena answered the question, their quest would have been over, there and then, anticlimactically, rather flatly, in fact, beside the bar at the Elsnor hotel. She would never have gone to Twiston - and then the murder would never have been discovered.

Only Lena didn't answer the question. As she emitted a gurgling sound and her heavy shoulders started heaving, Payne quickly walked away from her and joined Antonia. Lena's eyes nearly popped out of her head and her mouth opened wide. The retching noises, when they came, were quite appalling. Lena's head wobbled up and down. Suddenly lurching to the left she was violently sick. Then again - and again. Mercifully the bar stood between her and them.

'Badmouthing as usual - in more ways than one,' a voice said behind them. 'How unfortunate that it should have happened now, but then that's Lena for you. Unpredictable, to say the least.'

They turned round. A tall elderly man with very light blue eyes, a high-bridged nose and a mane of silvery white hair brushed back stood in front of them. He was clad very correctly in a blue-and-white striped serge suit and was holding a Panama hat in his right hand and a black Malacca cane in his left. There was something of the grand seigneur about him. At the moment his long face was cadaverously pale and twisted in a squeamish grimace. He raised his neck as if his shirt collar was too tight and he looked away from the bar.

Antonia drew in her breath. This was the man who had visited her at the club library the other day, and asked about books on the Himalayas. The man she had taken for - 'Dufrette!' Major Payne exclaimed.

17.

The Sanity of Lawrence Dufrette Lawrence Dufrette addressed himself to Antonia exclusively. 'Odd thing, b.u.mping into you again, or maybe not so odd?' He dabbed at his brow with the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. The handkerchief bore the initials L.D., embroidered in blue silk, so there was no doubt it was him. 'Mrs Rushton, isn't it? Antonia Rushton? At the Military Club the other day they told me to ask for Miss Darcy.'

She nodded. 'My maiden name.'

'I see. Divorced? Then we do have something in common.' He gave a Mephistophelean grin and patted his pocket. 'My decree absolute. That was the purpose of my visit, to tell Lena in person, lest there be any misunderstanding. Communicating with Lena has always been a nightmare. She never answers any letters or faxes. Not even when they are from my solicitor. Especially when they are from my solicitor. She pretends she has never received anything. It is invariably a long and laborious process getting her on the phone and when I do manage to speak to her, she is either too drunk or too hung-over to make any sense.'

They had turned their backs on the dreadful scene in the bar and were walking briskly through the hall towards the exit. 'Just a moment,' Antonia said. They saw her walk up to the reception desk.

'As a matter of fact we've met before. I used to work in the department that was next to yours,' Payne said. 'You've probably forgotten.'

'I am afraid so. I am cursed with an appalling memory.'

'My name is Payne. Major Payne.'

At the word 'Major', Lawrence Dufrette gave a little histrionic shudder. 'I can't say I remember your name. Not at all.' He dabbed at his brow. 'So hot, so d.a.m.nably hot ... Oh there you are, Mrs Rushton. Is anything the matter?'

'No. I told the receptionists that their barmaid was feeling rather unwell and would they see if she needed any a.s.sistance.'

'You are too kind. What Lena needs is a - No, I won't say it. You don't deserve to be shocked. You are a good woman, Mrs Rushton. I remember how sweet you were to Sonya.'

'Have you been to the Elsnor before?'

'Unfortunately, yes. Once ... Lena wasn't always like that, you know. There was a time when she was beautiful - spirited - exciting - fun. I was mad about her. We were that jousting couple, Bened.i.c.k and Beatrice. I adored her. I couldn't bear to be parted from her. I never for a moment imagined that my marriage would end up with the lethal conspiracies of - of -' He broke off unable to find another theatrical metaphor.

'Edward Albee's Martha and George?' Major Payne suggested.

Dufrette shot him a sidelong glance. They were now standing outside the hotel. It was a balmy evening. 'I'd like to offer you a drink,' Dufrette told Antonia and he took her arm. 'May I? We need to talk. Somehow I don't think your presence at the Elsnor was entirely accidental. Something is going on, isn't it?'

'You may put it that way,' Antonia said. 'By the way, Major Payne is a friend of mine. I understand you used to work together -'

'That Italian bar over there isn't too bad.' Dufrette pointed with his cane. The place was called Papa Rodari. 'We need to talk, Mrs Rushton.'

They walked across the road and entered the bar. There weren't many people. They sat at a table beside the window. Payne had tagged along. As far as Dufrette was concerned, he might not have existed, but although he hadn't been included in Dufrette's invitation, he hadn't been excluded either.

'What will you have?' Dufrette asked Antonia.

Again she plumped for a gin and tonic. For himself Dufrette ordered a vermouth. So he and Lena did have at least one taste in common, Antonia thought, amused. Major Payne told the waiter he wanted a scotch with lots of ice. After the waiter had gone, Dufrette turned to Antonia. 'Now then. Why did you look terrified when I spoke to you in the library?'

'It was the anniversary of Sonya's death.' Antonia decided to be as truthful as possible. After all, he had been behaving impeccably towards her. 'I envisaged some unpleasant confrontation. I thought you had sought me out-'

'I hadn't the least notion that you would turn out to be the librarian! It was one of those extraordinary coincidences.'

'I thought you might blame me for Sonya's death.'

His brows went up. 'Blame you for Sonya's death? My good woman. How could you think such a thing? That's absolutely terrible.'

Antonia smiled faintly. 'I was in a highly neurotic state. I wasn't thinking rationally -'

'I felt so sorry for you that day on the river bank,' Dufrette said. 'Lena making a scene, screaming at you. I should have intervened - put an end to her mendacious caterwauling - told her to shut up. I wanted to, but I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think of anything but Sonya. What she would look like when the body was eventually fished out of the water. In a way I was glad that it was never found ... I loved her so!'

'I know.' Antonia touched his arm.

The words of 'Lavender's Blue' floated into her head. If you love me, Dilly, Dilly, I will love you ... She remembered the heavy hints Lena had dropped. I didn't like the way he kissed her. Was there anything in that? Could Lena be trusted? Antonia decided not. Like serenading a lover, Lena had said. Lolita love. That had been Lady Mortlock's way of putting it.

The next moment Antonia recalled that she had heard 'Lavender's Blue' not such a long time ago - only where? She frowned. She had the feeling that it was extremely important that she should remember. When she did remember the place where she had heard the song, she told herself, she would know why it had been important ... Was she being irrational again?

She said, 'I believe I can understand how terrible it was for you. My son was almost the same age as Sonya, you see.'

'I do remember you mentioning your little boy. How is he? What was his name? Jonathan?'

'David.'

'Doing well, I hope?'

'Yes. Not so little any more. He is fine. He is twenty-six. Married - with a child of his own. A daughter.'

'Good to hear that. I am delighted. So you have a granddaughter! How old is she?'

He sounds so normal, Antonia thought. 'Three and a half.'

'Splendid. I would have loved to have grandchildren - read Belloc's Cautionary Tales to them - I can do the voices perfectly.' He gave a wistful smile. 'Sadly, it wasn't to be ... It was absolutely dreadful, that day, when it happened. And the following day was worse - the day we left Twiston and drove to London ... 30th July. The heat. The Union Jacks, as we drove through London. The hordes of delirious fools still walking in the streets, singing, gawping outside Buckingham Palace, shouting, "Diana, Diana." The silly goose wasn't even there ... I told you that marriage wouldn't last, didn't I? I was right! Thank you.'

Their drinks had arrived. He took a sip of vermouth. 'That journey and its aftermath were the stuff of nightmares. Lena got drunk. The grieving mamma, don't you know. I wanted to cry but couldn't. I went into the nursery. Everything was exactly as we had left it. I took out all of Sonya's toys and arranged them on the floor. The one she loved best was a giraffe called Curzon. I had given him the name. One of Curzon's ears still bore an imprint of Sonya's teeth, where she had bitten him. I took Curzon to my room and put him on my bedside table. Then, ten days later, something very odd happened. Curzon disappeared.'

'Disappeared?'

'Yes. He vanished. n.o.body seemed to know where he had gone. We searched everywhere, but couldn't find him. For some reason I was profoundly upset by that second disappearance. I cried then.' Dufrette's hand went up to his mouth. 'Buckets. Couldn't stop myself. I know it sounds ridiculous ...'

'No, it doesn't,' Antonia said.

'Was he ever found?' Major Payne asked over his scotch. 'I mean Curzon?'

'No. He wasn't.' Dufrette turned towards Antonia. 'I wanted to talk to you in the library the other day, but didn't after I saw the expression on your face. You looked terrified.'

Antonia blushed. 'I am sorry. Are you a member of the Military Club? I've never seen you there before.'

'I am a member, yes, but it was ages since I'd been there. I know old Haslett and so on, but I am afraid I rather detest it there, so I never visit it. I am a member of several other clubs. Terrible places, but then I am not your typical kind of clubman.' Compressing his lips slightly, Dufrette shot a pointed glance at Payne as though to imply that he thought him precisely that - the typical clubman, a type he unequivocally despised.

'So you really needed a book on the Himalayas? For your nephew?'

'No, that was only an excuse. I had to think of something. I'd been making a round of all my clubs, promoting my book in my own peculiar way - since n.o.body else would.'

'Promoting your book?'

'Yes. Self-publicity of a particularly furtive kind, I hate to admit, but it is an extremely important book. A warning to mankind.' He paused. 'What I do is enter the library, distract the librarian with some query and then place a copy of my book somewhere handy. Clubs are good because members leave donations all the time, isn't that right?'

'They do.' Antonia gave a little sigh. 'All the time.' She paused. 'The Greatest Secret. You left it in one of my boxes, didn't you?'

'Frightfully infra dig.' Dufrette took another sip of vermouth. 'I get no profit whatsoever, but it's terribly important that people should read my book, that's why I have been going to such lengths ... The threat is imminent ... I don't expect you to have read it, but I do believe you should. Time may be very short now.'

'I have read your book,' Payne said.

Dufrette's face remained blank. 'Really?'

'Yes. I found it fascinating.'

'You did?' Dufrette said in a flat voice.

'Absolutely. It's quite amazing.'

'It's the truth. There isn't a single word in my book which doesn't reflect the truth.' Dufrette delivered this with great gravity. 'Are you sure we are talking about the same book? I wrote it pseudonymously.'

'The Babylonian brotherhood - race of interbreeding bloodlines,' Payne said. 'They established inst.i.tutions like religions in an attempt to imprison the ma.s.ses mentally and emotionally - so far they have operated in secret but they are preparing to reveal themselves and take over.'

Dufrette looked at him again. 'Well, the danger is imminent. They were behind Diana's murder. Of course most of the royal family are brotherhood members. You see, she knew. She was foolish but remarkably intuitive. Why hasn't it occurred to anyone that the Pont d'Alma tunnel is not the way to Dodi al Fayed's flat? It takes you away from that area. I checked personally. I went to Paris and walked the route the Mercedes had taken that night. There are thirty pillars in that tunnel and the Mercedes. .h.i.t the thirteenth because it was meant to.'

'The Babylonian brotherhood throughout the centuries has had an obsession with the number thirteen,' Major Payne explained to Antonia with a deadpan expression. She managed a grave nod.

'That's absolutely correct. Diana, on the other hand, had an aversion to it, and she would not allow a thirteenth lot in her dress auction at Christie's the June before she died. Well, Henri Paul was directed to pick out the thirteenth pillar at the highest speed imaginable. It was inevitable that he should. His subconscious had been programmed.' Dufrette took a sip of vermouth.

Payne cleared his throat. 'Your research was impressive, the details you provide fascinating.' Dufrette remained silent and continued sipping his drink, but it was clear he was listening carefully. He's b.u.t.tering him up, Antonia thought. Suddenly she saw them as Humours: Vanity exploited by Cunning.

'I found the chapter ent.i.tled "Knights of the Black Sun" of particular interest. Although the information you communicate is of the kind that stretches one's sense of reality to breaking point,' Major Payne continued, 'you treat your readers with tremendous respect.'

'I do?'

'Yes. You must be one of the very few possessors of this truly astonishing data - yet you do not for a moment patronize the reader, rather you leave them to edit the information for themselves. Besides, you are brave enough to stick to your guns while you make it abundantly clear that you expect great opposition to your ideas.'

'Well, I have been described as a raving lunatic - as a "highly dangerous nutcase" - and so on,' Dufrette said with an indulgent smile. 'I am perfectly aware of the fact. Still, even if one is in a minority of one, the truth is the truth.'

'Is that Gandhi?'

Dufrette cast him another glance. 'An intellectual Major, eh? What an oxymoron that is. Like - like "premeditated spontaneity", or Nature Morte Vivante.' He gave an unexpected whinny of a laugh. 'What did you say your name was?'

'Payne ... That's a Dali, isn't it?'

'What? Oh, the painting! Still life moving. Yes ... You are showing off now, Payne. Still, better an intellectual braggadocio than a philistine ignoramus. Incidentally, do you know where "braggadocio" comes from?'

'Marlowe? No - Spenser. Faerie Queen. A boastful character who -'

'Yes, yes. Stop showing off. You seem to be quite different, Payne. Generals are pompous a.s.ses, the colonel's a bore - but majors, majors I abhor,' Dufrette recited gleefully. 'Either rogues, b.u.mbling fools or cads - or downright crooks.'

'In fiction, certainly.'

'No, not only in fiction. There's Diana's awful love rat ... And the one who fathered the fat d.u.c.h.ess - he has a penchant for ma.s.sage parlours, hasn't he? I personally knew a Major Yeats Brown, who was an occultist and a numerologist. He drank himself to death. He favoured the kind of Cyprus brandy that could take the sh.e.l.l off an egg. Then of course there was Nagle who as good as killed his wife. He was a s.a.d.i.s.t.' Dufrette turned to Antonia. 'Do you remember friend Nagle?'

She said she did. Once more she saw the stock-still figure at the window, looking down at her and Sonya.

Dufrette's eyes remained on her. 'What exactly brought you to the Elsnor?'

'We wanted to talk to Lena ... I hope this won't cause you too much distress, but we have reason to believe that Sonya did not just wander down to the river and drown that day.'

'You have been - investigating?' Dufrette looked from Antonia to Payne.

'Well, we've been visiting people - asking questions.'

'And have you reached any conclusions?'

'Yes.' Antonia took a deep breath. 'We have. There is still a lot we don't know, but - we don't think Sonya drowned. She never went anywhere near the river that day. Her nanny was paid to leave her unattended. Your - Sonya's mother too was paid a large sum of money.'

'Go on.' Antonia saw Dufrette's eyes narrow.