Chief Inspector Maigret Visits London by Margaret de Rohan Page A

and exporter.’
    â€˜Of what, exactly?’
    â€˜Er… well… er… all kinds of stuff. And he handles the sales of my paintings in Europe.’
    Megan looked carefully at Nicole before she decided to take the plunge. ‘Nicole, the police
are
already involved.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Flaming Nora,’ Clive Scott exploded in the next room. ‘What the hell does she think she’s up to now?’
    Andy Gillespie sat stunned and silent. He felt he should say something but hadn’t a clue what.
    â€˜This man,’ Megan said, ‘is notthe vicar of St Luke’s. He’s a police officer, and I’m a friend of Louise Maigret.’
    â€˜Louise Maigret?’ Nicole repeated, trying to digest this news.
    Megan stood up and walked over to the double doors. She opened them slightly and said, ‘I think it’s time for you to join the meeting, Philippe.’
    Sacre-double-blasted-bleu,
Clive Scott thought. Now it’s all over, red rover!’
    A second later Philippe Maigret emerged from the dining room. Nicole took one look at him, shook her head in disbelief, then launched herself into his arms and burst into tears. Philippe looked uncomfortable, but patted her gently on the back. ‘There, there,’ he said, or at least that’s what Megan and Andy assumed he’d said, because he spoke in French and Nicole replied in French. But she didn’t stop crying. ‘Help me,’ Philippe mouthed to Megan, who shook her head.
    â€˜Excuse me, everyone,’ she said, ‘I have to make a phone call.’ She left the room and walked quickly into the kitchen where the real vicar and his wife were waiting.
    â€˜How’s it going, Meg?’ David Wainwright asked cheerfully.
    â€˜Don’t ask,’ she said, ‘I’m going for a walk in your lovely garden, David. I need a big dose of fresh air. And I think that any moment now you’re going to be asked to do some major – no, correction –
mega
counselling work!’
    A few moments later she was joined by Inspector Martin who was also looking to escape.
    â€˜Are you alright,
Mad …
er Megan?’
    â€˜I hardly think so, Georges, what about you?’
    â€˜You know we’ll have to go back inside sometime, don’t you?’
    â€˜Yes, but not yet. I’m trying to decide how best to tell her the truth. Not the entire truth of course, but maybe a small part of it.’
    The next minute they were joined by a red-faced Clive Scott. ‘Why did you do it?’ he demanded.
    â€˜Because I was tired of all the lies: it was obvious that every new one would lead to another, and so on, ad infinitum. Philippe was never
happy with the deception. Not from the very beginning, and he was right! ‘Come on,’ she said, taking a deep breath, ‘I guess it’s time to go back inside and face the music now.’
    They re-entered the kitchen where Diane Wainwright, standing with the kettle poised in her hand, asked, ‘Shall I make a pot of coffee, Megan?’
    â€˜That’s a very good idea, Di. And best to make plenty of it: and good and strong with lots of sugar on the side.’
    As the three of them walked into the sitting room they heard Nicole say incredulously, ‘You’re going to marry the vicar’s wife, Philippe? But how is that possible?’
    â€˜Crikey,’ muttered Clive Scott, ‘looks like we made our entrance a few blasted minutes too blasted soon!’
    It took an hour before the explanations, counselling and reconciliation, not to mention the tears (Nicole’s), and the endless cups of coffee (the policemen’s), were concluded to everyone’s satisfaction. From the beginning, Father David Wainwright took the lead, and he used all of his professional skills to accomplish this result. Megan was impressed. I knew he had a psychology degree she thought, but I didn’t realise he was this good.
    Chief