Gently French by Alan Hunter

you.’
    ‘Wouldn’t you say I was enough? I never grew stale with poor Freddy. And I didn’t need to kill him, that’s certain too: if I had grown tired of him, I could have left.’ She let fly with a daisy. ‘So you had better believe me, instead of thinking up such useless questions.’
    ‘I believe anything I can prove.’
    ‘Oh, foof.’ She plucked and loaded a fresh daisy.
    I grabbed her firing-hand. She liked that, and let the daisy fall to the grass. The hand had a cool, consenting feel; it moved lazily under mine. But I dropped it. She lay still, leaving the hand where it fell.
    ‘Tell me about your stay here.’
    ‘Must you waste our time, my friend?’
    ‘Did you know that Freddy had come on a job?’
    She sighed expressively. ‘He didn’t tell me.’
    ‘But you knew?’
    ‘Okay, I knew. Freddy would not have come here just for pleasure. A bourgeois inn wasn’t his style. It isn’t my style, either.’
    ‘How did he propose it?’
    ‘Oh, very politely. He is thinking we would like a week out of town.’
    ‘It didn’t arise from some . . . earlier circumstance?’
    She stared. ‘Of course, he had the tip from Rampant.’
    ‘But nothing else?’
    ‘What should there be?’
    I shrugged. ‘The Bryanston job wasn’t a grand one. I would like to know why Freddy bothered with it. Whether there was something else in the wind.’
    She gazed for a while. ‘You are subtle,’ she said. ‘This is why they make you top man.’
    ‘Have you any suggestions?’
    ‘None, my friend. Unless it is that this Rampant misleads Freddy.’
    I shook my head. ‘Freddy was a specialist. He could cost a job like an accountant. He would have checked the size of the Bryanston labour-force and multiplied it by the average wage-rate. Add a percentage for over-time and N.H.I., deduct a percentage for the sick and absent. The result would give him a minimum figure, probably accurate within a few thousands.’
    ‘Freddy did all that?’
    ‘On his cuff. He’d know exactly what he was going for.’
    She giggled. ‘I think I’m proud of Freddy. I think he really was a clever man.’
    ‘Not so clever with this job, though.’
    ‘Perhaps he does it just to show his skill.’
    ‘You can’t help me.’
    ‘I am so sorry.’
    ‘Right. Now let’s talk about Peter Robinson.’
    Her eyes widened; were suddenly empty.
    ‘Why should we talk about a shop?’
    ‘Not the shop. A man. A man who was at Haughton Thursday evening.’
    ‘But I do not know any Peter Robinson.’
    ‘A man of about your own age. Five-foot-ten, fair hair with sideboards, comes from town, drives a blue Viva.’
    ‘But no, I don’t know him.’
    ‘He spent the night at the Three Tuns.’
    ‘I have never visited that place.’
    ‘He was out during the evening. Perhaps paying a call.’
    ‘I cannot help it – I didn’t see him!’
    I paused, holding her eyes. ‘Where were you Thursday evening?’
    Now she was sitting up straight in the grass. ‘In the hotel, of course – at first on the lawn—’
    ‘With Quarles?’
    ‘Yes! Why should I not say true?’
    ‘And after that?’
    ‘Then we go into dinner – and in the bar – and watch TV—’
    ‘Still with Quarles?’
    ‘Of course! With Freddy.’
    ‘Until you went to bed, never alone?’
    She drew quick breaths, her eyes glinting. Her hands were clasping her flexed knees. I had her going; but suddenly she realized it: suddenly let the tension go. She gave a breathless chuckle.
    ‘Ha-ha! You are trying to bulldoze me, huh?’
    ‘Were you alone?’
    ‘You are fierce, my friend. I adore a man with a touch of steel.’
    ‘Please answer the question.’
    ‘I grow so weak. A man like that can do what he wants with me. I melt for him, huh? A couple of times I go to the loo.’
    ‘Twice?’
    ‘It may be three times. Why do you bore me with such nonsense?’
    ‘Then you could have been available for a brief interview.’
    ‘I prefer the longer ones. All night.’
    I gave it up.