"What would you say to him? Would you confront him with the truth?"
Daniel contemplates this suggestion for a moment, then replies. "I will not betray Niobe’s confidence. It is for her to tell him of the child, if she will at all. It may be best, if no one knows of Paul’s paternity."
"It is good to hear you say so. I would not support such a confrontation either. I gave Niobe my word to tell only you. Let us not make matters harder for her. She is still infatuated with Paul, but she is acting very strong about accepting his decision to separate, and I think she can move on with Yannick to lead a happy life. I hope so at least."
"It will be hard for Yannick once he realizes she still loves another man."
"What makes you think he will? For that matter, what makes you think she will not love Yannick?"
He gives me a wary look. "I don’t, you are right. For all their sakes I hope they will have a loving marriage and family, yet I am not convinced. The child will be a constant reminder of the man Niobe loved, and Yannick will have a constant reminder that he is not this child’s father. What if they have more children? Will Yannick resist the temptation of loving his own more than their first? Will Niobe love her second as much as the one she had with her true love?"
"Really Daniel, you are quite the romantic."
"Not romantic, realistic."
"No. You credit our sex with too much sweetness. Niobe is a shrewd girl. She will be able to move on. In time, she will learn there is much to life beyond a man who will not stand by her."
"Hopefully you are right. However, I still want to speak to Paul and confront him with our knowledge regarding the affair."
"He will probably be at the museum now."
Daniel leans back in his chair, then continues, "Yes, you are right, and I wouldn’t want to disturb him at work today. On the other hand, it will be difficult to speak at home when Rosie is about."
"We can hardly ask her to leave the room," I agree.
"We?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I certainly won’t be sitting here twiddling my thumbs while you’re off interrogating—"
"Not interrogating!"
"Questioning
then, questioning Paul at his home. Do you even know where he lives?"
"I do, as it happens. I have been there before. It is very close by, past Miklos, in the next village, Prinias"
"Let us call on him after work. You can telephone and ask whether Paul will see us."
"I don’t know … " he looks unconvinced.
"You don’t want to waste more time, do you? I’ll even volunteer to drive, if Jeffrey will loan us the motor."
Daniel gives a defeated groan, yet refrains from further argument. I am pleased. Our relationship is progressing as I hoped it would, with me getting what I want, naturally.
CHAPTER 39
The next few hours pass quickly. Daniel goes to Miklos on one of the bicycles to finalize the funaral arrangements at the church. Briony and I spend much of the afternoon hours reading. Briony has chosen
Leaves of Grass
by an American named Walt Whitman. Having myself read this volume of poetry, I am surprised she chose it and am quite keen to hear her thoughts on the, shall we say, rather
incendiary
verse. I am working my way through
A Passage to India,
which sounded so exotic, I could not resist. It started out slow, but after some hours I am entirely absorbed by Dr. Aziz and his fate. I barely register Jeffrey’s arrival, or for that matter, Daniel’s.
Briony, dutiful wife and hostess, leaps from her chair and hurries toward her wan and weary husband. "Jeffrey, dear, how did it go? You look exhausted! Shall I fetch you a drink, and you, Daniel? Sit, sit." She bustles about, practically pushing the men into empty armchairs and pressing generously filled glasses into their hands.
Daniel gives me a curious look. I only shrug. I expect Briony is preparing to tell her husband the heap of fabric on the table in the corner is part of a dress she is making for the child she is planning to adopt. A drink or two may come in useful.
"So," she finally sits down, cheeks flushed, "how did it go?"
"It was tiring." Jeffrey takes a long sip of the two fingers of Brandy sloshing about his glass. "I had to explain in as vague terms as possible what had happened and why we ought to start looking for a new museum curator."
Briony shakes her head in sympathy.
"As you can imagine, there were a lot of questions. I claimed to know very little, only that Darius had been arrested, which opened up a floodgate.
Why? When? What for?
On and on they went. I tell you," he gestures at us, "I have never been so glad to get away."
"And Paul?" I ask innocently … or not so innocently, truth told. "Was he any help?"
"You know Paul." Jeffrey ignores the fact that I hardly do. "He tried, but he knew even less than me, so what could he say."
"Did he go home as well?"
"What? Yes, yes he did." Jeffrey shoots me an odd look, and I smile innocently.
"Jeffrey, would you mind if Evelyn and I borrowed the motor for an hour or so?"
"You and Evelyn?" Jeffrey furrows his brow and Briony glances curiously from me to Daniel, doubtlessly thinking up all sorts of unspeakable scenarios, especially after spending the whole afternoon with her literary marvel of intriguing influence, Mr. Whitman. Heaven knows what is going through her mind!
"Yes," Daniel continues, "I need to drive to the cemetary and find whether—"
"Oh, poor you!" Briony cries out, "Of course, you shall use the car and take Evelyn along … for support," she adds with a completely mortifying wink in my direction. I must speak to her at the nearest convenient occasion, to inform her that her skills in subtlety are in dire need of adjustment.
"Support, yes, right." Daniel responds enthusiastically, and I supplement this by nodding vigorously, all the while guilty of this act of subterfuge. I soothe my troubled conscience by reminding myself of some not insignificant facts. After all, if we were completely honest about our reasons for borrowing the car, we would have to reveal Niobe’s condition, or, at the very least, the affair, which, at this point, may cause further trouble and confusion. Best to speak with Paul and discover what can then be left to his and Niobe’s discretion.
CHAPTER 40
Thankfully, we are spared further awkwardness as Jeffrey decides he is in need of a hot bath to rid himself of the day’s dust, figuratively speaking I assume as he looks clean as a cat. Briony is left to finish her poems or possibly the hem of Areta’s dress as Daniel and I fetch our hats and depart.
With myself seated, quite naturally, in the driver’s seat of the Delage, we laugh as we realize our mutual relief at having been spared further quizzing by our friends.
"You must direct me," I request, raising my voice to best the roar of the engine.
"It is very easy to find. Follow the main street through Miklos, and then we will turn right and drive up the mountain road."
"Off we go then."
The sun is still lighting our world, beautiful streaks of orange, pink and purple are paint the sky, hinting it will soon turn inky blue. There is little traffic, only a few carts and one other motorcar driving so slowly, I am eager to overtake. This, however, is not a wise idea, since it would mean skirting a good two feet off the road and the edge of the mountain. To my great relief, the rickety contraption remains on the main road right after Miklos where we turn, making our steep ascent.
"What will you say to Paul?" I ask, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the narrow winding lane.
"First we will have to suggest a private conversation, if Rosie should to be present. I know she has a nurse, for when Paul is out or at work, so there is a chance she is with her."
"And then?"
"Then, I think it will be best to simply come out and tell him we know of the affair."
"He may think we are ganging up on him? Ambushing him in his own home. Maybe this is a mistake."
"No." Daniel’s tone is calm and resolute. "I do not plan to attack him, yet my friend has been murdered, and all these secrets may very well be reated to his death. I must know the truth, and if that upsets a few people I can live with it."
I wait a moment to reply, not certain I should have come. Still, it would have been misery waiting at home, reading and rereading the same sentence again and again with anxiety about the events happening only a few miles away. "What do you expect Paul to say?"
"He will hopefully acknowledge the truth. It could be embarassing for him if he did not. Besides, people like to free their minds of guilt. Telling us may be helpful to him."
"Daniel," I venture, my stomach tightening, "what if Rosie is not really … well, not—"
"Not as ill as she seems, you mean?"
I nod. "Most likely I am wrong, but if she knew of Paul’s affair, she may have been very angry."
"Certainly." Daniel agrees. "There are two questions immediately arising out of such a possibility. Why would she go on pretending? Her husband is obviously still devoted to her, he would surely be overjoyed if she regained some of her old self."
"That is true. I suppose the situation has been very difficult for Paul."
"Indeed. Even if she was better and knew of Paul’s indiscretion, what motive might she possibly have for killing Caspar?"
"What motive would Paul have?" I turn the question around as I drive through the gates of the village of Prinias.
"I cannot say. Nor do I claim he is guilty. Still, we cannot deny there is something altogether wrong in this community, and Caspar’s death was the result. If we tell him we suspect Niobe is guilty—"
"But—"
"Just Listen. If we tell him we consider her to be guilty, perhaps he will be more forthcoming. He will not want her to be in trouble. Little does he know, in a manner of speaking she already is."
"Hm … it’s rather deceptive, don’t you think? He may know nothing."
"Maybe not. Should that be the case, I confess, I am running out of ideas. Niobe’s affair with Paul must be important in all of this."
Before I can react, he points to a narrow lane, which barely holds the impressive mass of the Delage.
"Don’t pull in," Daniel advises as I slow the car to make the precarious turn. "Park it here on the side of the road. The house is second on the left."
I let my eyes wander to an elegant townhouse with a slightly faded ochre exterior and boxes of bright purple flowers gracing the shuttered windows.
"Do you think they are out?"
"No, I see Paul’s bicycle. They close the shutters on the lower levels in the evening to prevent crime."
Turning the engine off, we spend the next few minutes sitting in silence. A growing sense of tension and dread is mounting inside of me. Is it right to do this, I wonder? Is it right to disrupt a man’s life by confronting him with his mistakes? He has been through so much, and now … What do we even expect will happen?
I glance over at Daniel. He
needs
to do something. To keep moving, to remain involved. Caspar’s funeral is in two days.
"Let’s do it." He offers me a weak smile.
"Right." Climbing out of the car, we pull up the roof. Daniel’s mention of neighborhood crime makes me feel acutely responsible for the safety of this lovely gleaming block of metal.
Walking to the ochre house, I can hear sounds of a phonogram from beyond the walls. A slow, sad melody fills the air with an atmospheric hum. A breeze whips around the corner, tugging at my skirt. It is cooler up here in the mountains, and I suddenly yearn to be back at the villa. This confrontation, peaceful as we want it to be, worries me and has my stomach in knots. Before I can say
I’ve changed my mind, I’ll wait in the car, thank you very much,
Daniel has clasped the brass knocker and rapped it against the solid wood of the door.
The music continues humming beyond the walls. After a moment, we hear the faint tapping of nearing footsteps. Then the door swings open to reveal a stern-faced woman of about forty, wearing a plain gray cotton dress and flat shoes.
"Yes?" She asks, not disguising her distaste at our disturbance.
"Daniel Harper and Evelyn Carlisle. We are here to talk to Paul, Mr. Vanderheyden. Is he home?"
She narrows her eyes and reluctantly opens the door to let us step in. Without another word she then leads us down the narrow corridor to the back of the house. Paul is sitting on the terrace, smoking a thick cigar and reading in the last of the evening light.
"Mr. Vanderheyden," her tone is flat and sharp, and Paul immediately swivels around in his seat.
"Yes, Miss—" his face tightens for an instant as he registers Daniel and me standing in the woman’s shadow. "Oh, Daniel, Miss Carlisle, what a surprise." He stands, unable to hide the fact that this suprise is not of the entirely welcome variety. I cannot blame him.