The Montmartre Investigation by Claude Izner Page A

with this damp weather you might enjoy a cup of Earl Grey tea. Monsieur Mori orders it for us from London.’
    As Iris took her leave she filled the teacups with the steaming brew and stacked a second saucer with biscuits. To his horror, Victor found himself, hands laden and mouth full, sitting next to the mistress of the house, who had planted herself demurely on the ottoman.
    â€˜Are you acquainted with Élisa’s background? Monsieur Mori wonders whether it is appropriate for his goddaughter to keep her company,’ he managed to ask through a mouthful of biscuit.
    â€˜The little Fourchon girl!’ exclaimed Mademoiselle Bontemps. ‘I do not see why not. She’s a charming girl, and well-liked. Yes, I grant the mother sings, but…’
    Victor recalled one of Kenji’s proverbs: ‘When the monkey is ignorant he feigns understanding and soon knows everything’, and nodded knowingly as he made an effort to swallow a last mouthful.
    â€˜Yes, the singer.’
    Mademoiselle Bontemps chortled.
    â€˜A singer? Don’t make me laugh! L’Eldorado is hardly an opera house, Monsieur Legris; you might as well compare chalk with cheese! She sings those Andalusian popular songs.’
    â€˜What songs are they?’
    â€˜You know, those rather soppy love songs filled with blue skies and dark-haired beauties with flashing eyes, with lovers called Pedro and heroines Paquita.’
    â€˜Does she use the name Fourchon when she performs?’
    â€˜Of course she doesn’t. She uses a stage name, which I have promised not to reveal. It’s a professional secret,’ whispered Mademoiselle Bontemps, who having closed the gap with a surreptitious sideways shuffle was now pressing up against Victor. ‘Would you care for an almond biscuit? Here, try these delicious mint-flavoured wafers. I do love sugar! I can’t resist sweet things. I need tying up! There I go again, giving in!’ she said, and gobbled down three wafers in quick succession. ‘I can’t tell you Madame Fourchon’s stage name, but I might let you guess at my own first name. Aren’t you curious to know what the ‘C’ on my brass plate stands for, Monsieur Legris? What is the mystery contained therein? Camille? Charlotte? Celestine? Do you give up? Corymbe! Do you like it?’
    â€˜Oh indeed!’ said Victor, shifting imperceptibly away from her. ‘It is worthy of a tragic actor. I’ll wager Madame Fourchon’s is far more commonplace.’
    â€˜It cannot hope to compete with mine. Though it is certainly flowery and eye-catching,’ she added, with a beguiling smile. ‘It is curious that we should be discussing this lady and her daughter! I am about to lose a boarder; Élisa is leaving us. Her mother has decided to take her away. I received a letter announcing the bad news this morning. Ah, life does not spare us women on our own, Monsieur Legris. We must struggle to make ends meet!’
    She puffed up like a balloon and let out a deep sigh. This was too much for Victor, who rose to his feet. Mademoiselle Bontemps, saddened by the abrupt nature of his departure, followed him outside. He had already reached the railings around the garden when she came waddling after him.
    â€˜Monsieur Mori’s cane! You were about to leave without it!’
    Hampered by the two canes, Victor made his way in the direction of the town hall, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment. If Élisa were at her mother’s, Joseph’s theory about the dead woman found at Killer’s Crossing didn’t hold up. He chuckled at the boy’s penchant for fiction, and paused for a moment in the middle of the road: the woman with the disfigured face had been wearing no shoes, yet the paper said nothing about her age. Élisa had lost one of her shoes. It could be a simple coincidence…Iris had mentioned this fellow Gaston. But could he trust her after she had