Sister Beneath the Sheet by Gillian Linscott

Author:Gillian Linscott [Gillian Linscott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2013-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

MY HASTY PACKING IN LONDON had included a dictionary of French legal terms and quantities of note books, but no costume suitable for an evening with the demi-monde. The best I could manage was my Liberty silk dress with the fern print, a new pair of white silk stockings unearthed from the bottom of my case and my straw sun hat with a green ribbon. When I came down the proprietor gave me an odd look and said the gentleman was waiting for me outside. Jules was in the driving seat of a smart gig drawn by a fidgety bay mare. He was wearing a white tunic with a purple cloak thrown over it and had a wreath of bay leaves in his hair.

‘I am determined to resist the motor-car. A chariot would have been better, but this must serve.’

We turned into the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne which runs southwards from the town, parallel to the long line of cliffs above the second bathing beach, the Plage des Basques. Jules, entering into the charioteer spirit, drove standing up and the mare went along at a spanking trot. It was a magnificent evening, with the sun setting over the Atlantic in scarlet rags of cloud and the scent of thyme blowing off the land.

I enjoyed the drive more than I had any right to and couldn’t help thinking about what Emmeline would say if she could see her emissary racing along with one of the most handsome men in Biarritz, his purple cloak flying out in the warm wind like Lord Byron’s in a painting, my hair past praying for. Jules took my laughter for encouragement to go faster. There were other carriages on the road and some motor-cars and we went spinning past them, their drivers shouting insults at Jules in a variety of languages. One open brougham contained a Roman legionnaire complete with plumed helmet and three girls in what looked like ballet costume, possibly dryads. A motorcar had come to a halt at the side of the road, with a chauffeur peering into its entrails and an enormously fat woman in a red wig and golden robes shouting at him in French from the passenger’s seat to hurry up. After about a mile we turned off into a side road and a series of bends forced even Jules to go at a more considered pace. Somewhere along our journey I’d made up my mind.

‘Mr Estevan, did you know a man left Topaz’s rooms between nine and ten o’clock on the night she died?’

He was concentrating on the reins and didn’t turn round.

‘No, I didn’t know. Is that what Demi told you?’

‘And others.’

I didn’t want to put the little man in danger.

‘Do you know who the man was?’

‘No. All I know is that she’d invited somebody to visit her at eight o’clock.’

He turned round briefly, frowning.

‘Eight o’clock. But that was the time on her note.’

‘The … suicide note, you mean?’

I paused before ‘suicide’, as he’d paused earlier.

‘Meaning that you believe Topaz was murdered?’

This time he didn’t even turn round.

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