Death in Avignon by Serena Kent

Author:Serena Kent
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-01-04T00:00:00+00:00

19

EVERY SLENDER CYPRESS TREE IN Gordes was perfectly shaped. The houses were all splendidly repointed. Penelope drove the hire car past terraces of immaculate gardens.

There was no problem parking in the centre, close to the château. She was opening the door when, out of nowhere, the red Mini Cooper screeched up beside her.

“Who’s the other person coming to lunch?” asked Penelope as they got out of their cars. “You said ‘we’ . . .”

“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“It’s not M. Valencourt, is it?”

“Alas no, he is very busy at the moment, in Paris. But we have the next best thing!” She smiled and waved to a figure standing outside the restaurant just beyond the square. Laurent raised his hand, looking dashing in a black leather coat.

The trio was seated immediately next to a window with a dramatic view of a renovated farmhouse on a hill spur with the Petit Luberon in the background. It was like a magnificent landscape painting.

Gastronomic interests were attended to first, after a long, silent perusal of the menu.

Laurent leant forward, a twinkle in his eyes. “As they say, a jug of wine, a loaf of bread . . .”

“And thou,” supplied Penelope without really thinking. Then she became self-conscious and embarrassed at her unintentionally flirtatious tone, and tried to change the subject quickly, whilst ignoring the hint of a smile on Laurent’s face. “Omar Khayyám, the Rubáiyát.”

Clémence got in first. “So Laurent, what do you think of recent developments?”

“Developments in what sense?” he asked, managing to sound positively seductive.

Penelope told herself to get a grip. It had only been a week incarcerated with the family and she was acting like she was on day release.

“Scarpio—poisoned. Who could have done it?” said Clémence firmly. “Nina—arrested and allowed to go. Was she released due to lack of evidence?”

Speculation on the poisoning was put on hold to focus on a bottle of Vacqueyras that suddenly appeared and was opened. The mayor swirled a little of the powerful red wine around his glass and held it up to the light. “You can always tell how old this wine is by its colour. The older it gets, the deeper red it becomes.”

Also true of middle-aged Englishwomen, thought Penelope, hoping that her face was not showing similar roseate tendencies. Laurent nodded at the waiter to pour.

“You know, I was there with her when she was arrested?” Penelope said to Laurent. “Reyssens was none too pleased with my presence.”

He grinned at her.

Clémence was determined to announce her news. “I have heard a rumour about Nina Chiroubles. This is incredible, but did you realise that she and Don . . .”

“Were secretly married.” Penelope completed the sentence with some satisfaction. “Don and Fenella divorced back in July. Nina told me.”

The other two were clearly impressed, though she had well and truly stolen Clémence’s thunder.

“Phuket,” added Penelope.

“Sorry?”

“Phuket, Laurent. That was where they got married.”

“So Don and Nina were married, but they were not living together,” said Clémence. “Don was on his own at his studio in Ménerbes while she was living in her gypsy caravan in the commune.

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