The Judas Kiss (9 page)

"He is welcome to it. He bought three little things and is considering others."

"Good fortune." The drinks were brought and they raised their glasses to one another. They chatted for some time, Jasper saying he had only arrived that day and talking with him about himself. Then another man joined them, a big, rather untidy person. He had a glass of beer with him.

"Ah, Bidaut," he said, "in your usual place with your usual drink. I trust I do not disturb you."

He spoke in French. Jasper understood it better than he talked it.

"I thought you were not coming," Bidaut replied in the same tongue. "My friend is an artist from England."

The man nodded. Then he went on, "The Government, think you it will fall?"

"Tout est possible, Henri."

"Possible! Mon Dieu, it is certain." He proceeded volubly to tell of the parties who would or would not support it. Jasper guessed he was a politician or a journalist, or both.

His torrent of words continued for a considerable time. Then he turned to Jasper. "Vous comprenez, Monsieur?"

"I am afraid not," Jasper owned. "You have so many parties. I do not know what they stand for."

"And in England you have but two. How foolish! Call them black and white. But there are many shades between black and white! We represent them all, so we are the more truly democratic. Is it not so?"

"It is arguable," Jasper admitted, "but it makes it difficult for a Government to carry on."

Then he got up. He felt he had taken this Henri's place and he was not at all interested in his talk. His friend pressed him to have another cognac but with polite remarks on both sides he got away.

"Bidaut, Bidaut," he muttered as he approached his hotel. He had a feeling it ought to ring a bell, yet somehow it did not. It was not until he got inside that he remembered. He had been meaning to enquire if there was a night show worth seeing but now decided against the idea.

Bidaut, My wife Adelaide Michelmore, formerly Adelaide Bidaut neé Pelmore. That was the line in his father's will. Adelaide had come from St. Malo. They had been married in the Cathedral. She had said she had no relations. It was odd that the first stranger he met in the town was a Bidaut. It might be quite a common name but he had a feeling that his new acquaintance might be able to tell him something about Adelaide's past life. He must see him again.

Early the next morning he called on the art dealer. Lanier, very apologetic, said he had been unable to contact his patron but he might have news on the morrow. Jasper said he could easily stay a little longer, and remarked that he had met a friend of his, Lanier's, the night before, a M. Bidaut, a man with a short dark beard.

"Gaston Bidaut, the hairdresser?"

"He looked like it," Jasper said. "Where is his shop?"

He was told and he made his way in the direction indicated. Then he saw it. A fine shop with the wax busts of incredibly lovely ladies in the window, showing the latest styles of coiffeur. Hair could be waved, curled, tinted or treated in other ways. Various cosmetics were displayed, fancy soaps and toilet accessories. There was also an inconspicuous notice in English for the benefit of foreign visitors that Gentlemen could be shaved and have their hair cut. Over the shop in bold letters he read Maison Bidaut.

So it was here his father had had the hair-cut that led to the temporary disinheritance of his family! Yet Adelaide asserted she had no relatives. It was very odd, for she had made no secret of the fact that she had worked in such a shop.

Jasper decided not to enter. He gathered that Gaston had his usual table at the café where they had met the night before. He would be there in time and perhaps enjoy a little conversation before the loquacious Henri arrived.

In the afternoon he crossed on the smart vidette to Dinard and saw the sparkling green water and the beautiful coast line his father had talked about. He returned in time for an early dinner and found the table in the café unoccupied when he reached it. Bidaut soon arrived. Jasper hoped he did not mind his being there and ordered him a Dubonnet.

"Sold another picture?" was the reply.

"I hope so. A little thing called Faith, but I may not know for a day or two. Artists must be patient."

"How true!" Bidaut said. "I also am an artist in my way."

"I know it. Lanier told me of your beautiful shop. I went and admired it. I but paint, you create."

“Perhaps we both improve on nature," Bidaut smiled.

"We try to, but what perfect English you speak!" Jasper thought a little flattery would create a good impression.

"I tell you a secret," was the reply in a lowered voice. "By birth I am English."

"Yet you are the perfect Frenchman too!"

Gaston shrugged, not displeased. "My father was English, my mother French. She taught me all I know. When I started my business I used her name. I became Gaston Bidaut. Could I, as Arthur Smith, create the mode Parisienne?"

"Very difficult," Jasper agreed. "Curiously enough, I know a lady whose name also was Bidaut."

"Ah, who was she?"

"Adelaide Bidaut. Did you ever hear of her? I believe she lived here."

Gaston drew back as though he had been struck.

"My wife!" he muttered.

Jasper was utterly surprised. "Perhaps we talk of different ladies," he said. "The one I know has golden hair, is very beautiful and about twenty-seven years of age. She once worked in an establishment like yours, but she married an Englishman."

"My wife!" Gaston said again. "She had eyes of the Madonna but a false heart."

"You divorced her?"

"Mon Dieu, no! She did not marry your Englishman. He was rich and he stole her from me. Yes, she was beautiful. She was the Beauty Queen of Dinard. Then I married her. In less than two years this monster, this Michelmore, enticed her away. Where did you see her?"

Jasper's thoughts were in turmoil. He did not doubt what he heard; it must be true. It was a shock to hear of his father's deception but might it not turn to his own advantage? He was glad he had never mentioned his name. He must be cautious.

"I met her with Mr. Michelmore," he said. "She told me they were married in your Cathedral."

"She lied. She married me there. She could not marry again."

"Would you wish to have her back?"

Gaston hesitated. He passed his hand over his heated brow. This sudden rebound from the tragedy of his life shook him deeply.

"Would she come? She was beautiful, yes. In bed she was all a man could desire, but she would not get up! She was lazy. One wants a wife to help in one's business. Some times she would sit in the window while I dressed her hair. Everyone watched. Sometimes she would attend in the shop. But often she would refuse. 'I am not a servant,' she said. This reptile came. She left me a little note; she was tired of it."

"Perhaps you have consoled yourself?"

"A man is a man. But Adelaide, " He did not finish the sentence.

"You want her back?"

"I, I do not know. Why do you ask?"

"I ask," Jasper said slowly, "because Mr. Michelmore is dead. He was killed a short while ago in a motor accident."

"Mon Dieu! Where can I find her?"

"I may have the address somewhere in the hotel. If not, I can send it you. I may be leaving to-morrow."

"You will not forget?"

"I will not forget."

With a quick gesture Gaston pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"See," he said, "I still have her photograph."

Jasper glanced at it. Adelaide without a doubt, in the minimum of a bathing costume she had probably worn as the Beauty Queen.

"Yes," he said, handing it back. "It is the same."

"She was not hurt? Not disfigured?"

"No. He was knocked down on the road. She was not with him."

"I shall hear from you?"

"Surely."

"And your name is?"

"Jasper."

"Thank you, Monsieur Jasper. She is well?"

Before he could reply the ugly bulk of M. Henri loomed up. Gaston hastily put his wallet out of sight. Jasper rose.

"Your seat, monsieur," he said, and he escaped.

When he had come to St. Malo his mind had been full of his pictures. He had not thought of tracing the shop where Adelaide said she had worked. Why should he? But now, thanks to his meeting with Gaston, the extraordinary truth had come to light. His father's behaviour astonished him. He had always been popular with ladies but had never seemed to give a thought to any other woman while his wife lived. Then after his illness he had met Adelaide. He could not marry her but he could run off with her and say they were married. Who in their Suffolk home would doubt it?

Much of what Adelaide had said had been true. She had been married in that Cathedral, but to someone else. He again recalled the curious line in the will, my wife Adelaide Michelmore, formerly Adelaide Bidaut, nee Pelmore. He had not given it much thought before, there had been so much else that seemed important. Emerald had noticed it.

"So she was a widow," she had said to him.

'Doesn't make much difference," he had replied. "Perhaps she specialises in old men."

But it might make a big difference! She was not his father's wife; she never had been. Did the will hold good? He must hurry home and find out. Bidaut could wait!

In the morning he again saw M. Lanier.

"Good news for you," the dealer said. "My client does not care for Grief. He thinks that style is already old-fashioned, but he likes this."

He held up the picture that Jasper called Faith. Dimly in the background one saw a cross or the shadow of a cross. In the foreground were two hands stretching towards it. The long sensitive fingers painted with delicate detail, were striving, straining, but were grasping nothing.

"Cynical," Lanier commented, "but that is the mood of to-day. It has an idea behind it. I can give you 70,000 francs for it. If you accept, he will try to exhibit it in Paris. He says the hands are after Rembrandt."

Jasper took the money and dashed for the boat.

"NAN, your hands brought me luck. I sold the picture." He took each hand and kissed it.

"Don't make fun of me, Master Jasper. Who would want to buy my hands? And you showed 'em worse than what they are."

Nan's voice was a little softer than usual. If she had a tender spot in her heart for one of the family more than the others, it was for the young artist.

"It is all true, my Nan. I will buy you the nicest pair of gloves you can find to prove it. What has been happening here while I have been away?"

It was nearing lunch time and he had just arrived home from his trip to France.

"Mostly nothing," said Nan. "She still keeps herself to herself. Posterated with grief she pretends, but I don't believe it, seeing that according to all accounts she only knew the Master for a few weeks."

"Still it was a shock for her."

"Maybe it was, but is it true, as Miss Emerald says, she is trying to hold on to the money that should go to all of you?"

"That seemed the idea when I went away," Jasper said.

"Then I call it a downright wicked shame. I don't say anything against the Master. She bewitched him. But he would have done different if he had lived a little longer. I'd put it right myself if I could."

"Good of you, Nan, but perhaps we shall be able to persuade her to be more reasonable. Who will be in to lunch?"

"All of 'em. She of course has it upstairs. Posterated but still got a good appetite. Don't think I can carry on much longer. And if I go Teague goes too."

"Love's young dream?" Jasper smiled. "How appropriate! But wait a bit; we may be able to arrange it and you both stay here. I want to see the others."

"Lunch is nearly ready."

They all welcomed him, especially when they heard of his success with some of his pictures.

"You are now the rich man of the family," Emerald remarked.

"For a week or two," he grinned.

"I congratulate you," said Garnet, who had seen his picture of Faith. "It is good work but I do not like the title. You might have called it Despair, seeing that the hands grasp nothing."

"It is jolly well painted," Pearl declared. "I hope it is shown in Paris. More orders may follow."

"Get on with your food, mes enfants," the artist said complacently. "I have big news for you when you have finished."

It was a simple but satisfying meal. Possibly Nan would have made it more elaborate had she known he would be back. No one had much to say; the domestic tension was not without its effect on all of them.

"Any of you made any fresh approach to Adelaide?" he asked when they had finished.

"No," Emerald said. "She doesn't give us much chance. But I soon may."

"Wait till you have heard what I have to tell you," he said, conscious of his coming triumph. He proceeded to relate the story of his strange meeting with Gaston Bidaut and all that he had learned from him, doing full justice to his own adroitness in the matter. They listened and made exclamations but did not interrupt.

"Good for you, Jasper," Emerald said when he stopped. "I always felt there was something crooked about it. Always."