Folly Du Jour - Barbara Cleverly [43]
Once he was inside, she rounded on him. ‘Two interviews in as many hours? What’s going on? I’m a witness not a suspect! Couldn’t you leave me alone to get over it? And why are they sending me the handsome inspectors? Is this a new tactic? Are there any more of you lurking round the corner? I’m not in the chorus line, you know! Though you seem to think so – are those for me?’ She seized the roses and went to put them in a jam jar that she filled with water from the wash basin in a corner of the room. ‘Doesn’t it cross your mind that you might be ruining my good name? Arriving here with flowers? Wish I’d got dressed . . .’
Francine Raissac was wearing a creased white silk dressing gown embroidered – and rather richly embroidered – with black and red dragons. Her eyes were puffy and last night’s mascara smudgily outlined her dark eyes, giving her the comical air of a cross panda. Joe said as much and she looked at him first in astonishment, then with a flash of amusement. He rushed on while he had this slight advantage. ‘Handsome inspectors, did you say? I thought I was the only stunner they could field . . .?’
‘The previous one was better,’ she said, looking closely at him, giving the question her serious attention. Her response told him the light approach was probably the effective one. ‘You’re very nearly handsome. But you’re older and you don’t have a Ronald Coleman moustache.’
‘Ah! I think I recognize my colleague, Inspector Bonnefoye?’ said Joe, trying to keep a tetchy note out of his voice.
‘Jean-Philippe.’ She managed a tease and a confirmation in one word. ‘You mean you didn’t know he was coming here?’ she asked. ‘Doesn’t the right hand know what the left’s getting up to at the Sûreté? Or aren’t you speaking the same language?’
‘We have different roles,’ Joe said, recovering from his surprise. ‘My questions will not be the same as his. He has other fish to fry.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. I understand that.’
‘I am, as you’ve noticed, English. I’m representing the interests of the gentleman who was taken in as a suspect.’
‘Not the interests of the murdered Englishman, then?’ she asked sharply.
‘His interests also,’ Joe hurried to add. ‘Indeed, I am shortly to meet his widow and conduct her to an identification of the body. An inconvenience to the French authorities and an embarrassment to us that what may prove to be a quarrel between two of my countrymen should be played out on French soil. I am doing what I can to assist the Police Judiciaire and working under the auspices of the British Embassy, of course. Interpol also, of which –’
‘All right . . . all right! You’re a big shot! Got it! Will Your Eminence deign to take a seat?’ She heaved an armful of fabrics off a sofa and Joe lowered himself on to it. ‘Oh . . . carry on then! I’m listening. I suppose I should be grateful they’ve not sent old sourpuss . . . the Chief Inspector . . . um . . .’
‘Fourier?’
‘That’s the one!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He interviewed me at the theatre. Looks and talks as though he’s sucking an acid drop.’
‘You take, I detect,’ he said with a grin, pulling a straight pin from under him, ‘more than an amateur interest in couture?’
‘I’m sure you’re not here to count my dresses and check their provenance.’ She sounded slightly on her guard. ‘I’ll tell you straight, Mr Detective, that every last frock you can see has been acquired legally. Working in a theatre, they’re easy to pick up, if you know the right people. Did you know there’s a whole workshop underneath in the basement, sewing away day and night? I go down there sometimes and chat to the girls. They’re always pleased enough to hear news from the world above! The show clothes aren’t much use to