‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering ajoli Bourgogne blanc.’
‘Merci. I know you are pressed for time and so I thought this was the best place for us to meet and discuss the Maisy Bell case.’
The inspecteur raised one eyebrow as he poured the wine. ‘Ah, well, like you, my officers have been fielding phone calls and even visits from alleged witnesses who claim to have sighted Mademoiselle Bell.’ He reached down to a bag at his feet and pulled out a neat stack of paper. ‘This whole pile is a list of places Maisy Bell has been sighted.’ He ran his finger down the list to read some examples. ‘With two tall men at Bordeaux train station, taking the Blue Train to the Côte d’Azur, high in the left balcony at L’Opéra. I’m sure you see I do not need to continue.’
‘Yes, Violet is still receiving calls to the reception ofThe Timesand making her own lists,’ Charlie responded, ‘all of which we forward to you.’
‘All?’ The inspecteur sat back in his chair and took a sip of wine. ‘You do not keep any leads to yourself?’
‘We have even fewer resources than you. Besides, London office is pushing George to run features on Churchill and the German economy. You know newspapers, we only run a story when we actually have something concrete to report.’
Bernard chuckled and lifted the basket to Charlie, who took a piece of baguette.
A moustached waiter came and took their orders fordéjeuner légerand they resumed their conversation until two steaming bowls of French onion soup, complete with floating pieces of cheesy toasted baguette, were placed in front of them.
Charlie lifted her soup spoon and took what she hoped was a demure sip, sighing as the tangy liquid slid down her throat.
‘Have you spoken to Clementine Bell this week?’ she asked.
‘Obviously she was very upset after the failed ransom exchange.’ Bernard gave Charlie a pointed look over the rim of his wineglass. ‘The American Consulate has requested more resources for the Bell family investigation and the Sûreté nationale of Paris has also started to make some noise. Nobody has actually offered more resources to help us with the investigation, but everyone with an American connection is insisting the police take on more work in an overworked office.’ He dipped his head and took a sip of his soup before patting the edge of his lip with a white linen serviette. ‘A missing Maisy Bell and a ransom demand, with nothingbut circumstantial evidence to link the two. Perhaps the Bells are playing games.’
Charlie took a sip of her wine as she considered her next words.
‘I saw Clementine after the failed ransom drop. Either she is an excellent actress, or she was genuinely distressed.’ Experience told Charlie it was the latter. The once stout and robust woman had shrivelled; her face was pale and sunken shadows sat under her eyes. ‘Clementine told me a local doctor had prescribed sleeping tablets, which Clementine seems to be taking consistently. You know, there was a piece of me that considered Clementine and her brother had perhaps arranged the kidnapping. It just seemed strange that Mason would come out to help and not Maisy’s own parents.’ Charlie dipped a piece of bread into her soup.
‘I have considered the same thing. Go on …’
‘When Lady Ashworth told me that she knew the family personally—’
‘But not Clementine,’ corrected Bernard.
‘It just seemed implausible that they would not have crossed paths.’
‘Not if Maisy’s parents keep Clementine and Mason at arm’s length.’
‘Well, I managed to get the shareholder documents from a contact on the news desk in Texas. He specialises in financial affairs and it seems that Jimmy Bell has a fifty per cent stake in Bell Oil as the eldest; the other two siblings share the other half. Mason and Clementine have no heirs, so Maisy is the sole heir.’
‘But she would only inherit her father’s share if he were to die. Her uncle and aunt would still be on the board with her,’ interrupted the inspecteur. ‘We don’t know Maisy Bell is heir to Mason and Clementine without looking at their wills. I am assuming by your tone you are suggesting that if Maisy were to not reappear, then Clementine and Mason inherit the rest of the company, being blood relatives? That’s quite a leap.’
‘Sure! But aren’t you curious about why Jimmy and Dolly, Maisy’s parents, have not come to Paris to find their missing daughter?’ Before he could jump in, Charlie added, ‘It’s because Jimmy has emphysema. Lifelong smoker. On his deathbed, by all accounts, and he hasn’t been seen at headquarters for months. Dolly is his carer—along with a discreet team of paid nurses.’
‘I don’t follow exactly what you are saying. If Jimmy Bell dies and Maisy Bell is not found, then surely his wife, Dolly, is the main beneficiary?’
Charlie leaned back as the waiter removed her soup bowl. She pulled the shareholder agreement from her satchel, turning it to the back page. ‘Texan loophole. Apparently old man Bell decreed when he established the company that it could only be inherited by blood relatives. Or sold in its entirety.’ She passed the documents to the inspecteur. ‘I’ve made a copy—you can keep those.’
‘Merci,’ said the inspecteur as he tucked this paperwork and his list into his own briefcase by his feet. ‘Can I ask how you sourced this agreement?’
‘Newspapers stateside are all running this story. Especially in Texas. They asked me for something they could run … I gave them something on the proviso they do not run it yet. They gave me this. Quid pro quo.’
‘No doubt obtained through questionable means?’
‘I never reveal my sources, Inspecteur.’
Bernard gave a brief half smile that made Charlie’s stomach do a tiny flip. ‘What was your side of the bargain with your Texan contact?’
Charlie pulled an envelope from her bag, moved the breadbasket to one side and laid four photographs out in front of Bernard. ‘We asked the photographer to print any photos with Maisy Bell from the night at the Ritz before she went missing.’ She tapped the photo showing four figures: Lady Ashworth and Clementine Bell dressed in sparkly dresses, heads tipped together, smiling as though sharing a private joke; and the young Maisy, speaking to a tallish dark-haired man in an ill-fitting white tuxedo. Maisy’s smile was luminous.
‘Your friend Lady Ashworth never seems to be more than a few steps from strange and mysterious events,’ Bernard said wryly.