The French Affair, page 20
‘Which is how he ended up in the unmarked grave?’
‘When my men arrived, the body was nowhere to be found. It wouldn’t have been possible to walk away from such a fall, and so I can only assume the maquis found him and disposed of his body. Eva had led Schiller to a place very close to their camp. It’s possible that one of them heard him cursing after his fall and made sure he was dead before disposing of the body.’
‘And no one from the maquis has ever admitted to anything?’
Monsieur Vallery lowered his head. ‘No, and now they never will. Every one of them died when the Germans set fire to their camp.’
It was the camp where Jack had been. The men he’d called comrades were implicated in Eva’s death. Each tragedy seemed to trip blindly over another’s heels. She swallowed back her tears. It wouldn’t do to think about Jack now.
‘What happened next?’
‘When Schiller failed to appear for duty the following morning, the Germans turned the town upside down searching for him. They wanted to question him over the shooting of the women in the field. Even by their standards it was an atrocity and he had to answer for it.
‘When he couldn’t be found, they assumed he’d been killed in a revenge attack. To prove their displeasure, they dragged Monsieur Legrand out of his office and shot him in cold blood.
‘Eva was distraught, blaming herself for the Mayor’s death. If she’d been able to kill Schiller outright, and make it look like an accident or suicide, then the Germans wouldn’t have carried out the reprisals.
‘Killing the Mayor wasn’t enough to satisfy them, and they came for Eva the next day. They interrogated her for hours, but she told them nothing. She didn’t know where Schiller was, or even if he was dead or alive, and thanks to the intervention of the maquis, neither did I. It tortured me that I had no information to offer to save her.’
‘And so they shot her.’
‘They released her from questioning and we thought she’d got away with it. It was the following day when one of them stole into her garden and shot her. It was the cruellest blow. I’ll never forgive myself for it.’
The tears were running down Monsieur Vallery’s cheeks. He wasn’t to blame for any of it, but her words, however many times she tried to comfort him, meant nothing. His heart was broken, like so many others, and there was nothing Iris could do to mend it.
Chapter 34
Mushrooms
Deadly Web Cap – often mistaken for the chanterelle. Found among heather from August to November. A long-lasting poison which only begins to work two or three days after ingestion. Causes flu-like symptoms, including headache and vomiting. Also kidney failure. Potentially deadly.
Death Cap – found in woodland from August to November. Causes vomiting, diarrhoea and severe abdominal pain from 6–24 hours after ingestion. Also causes kidney and liver failure. Half a cap can kill.
Destroying Angel – pure white and deadly. Found in woodland, usually near birch trees during July to November. Effects are seen 8–24 hours after ingestion. Causes vomiting, diarrhoea and severe stomach pains. There may be a deceiving period of improvement before the effects of liver and kidney poisoning appear.
Funeral Bell – grows in clusters on tree stumps and bark – also on dead and decaying wood from August to November. Causes vomiting, liver damage and death.
Fool’s Funnel – found in meadows. Causes excessive salivating and sweating in large doses – also abdominal pain, sickness, diarrhoea, blurred vision and difficulty breathing – not usually fatal in healthy people.
Panther Cap – found in beech and oak woods from July to November. Causes intense sickness, hallucinations, confusion, a feeling of greater strength, delusions and convulsions. Not usually fatal.
It was Monsieur Vallery reminding her how Eva used to forage for mushrooms that sent Iris searching through Frossard’s Herbal to check which types were safe to eat and which were not. If she was to debilitate Mason enough to assassinate him without it looking like murder, or without sending him on a paranoid killing spree, as had happened with Schiller, she needed a poison that would do more than simply upset his stomach in the small quantities she was able to disguise in her cooking.
The jars of mushrooms were lined up on a high shelf at the back of a cupboard in the cellar, the contents looking like dried chips of leaves, and harmless. The poisonous specimens, which Eva must have picked specifically for Schiller, had a tell-tale red dot in the corner of their label. The Destroying Angel seemed the most promising. The fact that it had a deceiving period of improvement before the effects of liver and kidney poisoning became evident would avoid the suspicion that the poisoning was directly due to anything she’d fed him. As the effects could take a while to manifest themselves, she had to plan ahead.
When Mason came for dinner that night, she served white mushroom risotto, strictly made to Eva’s recipe, using locally sourced dried mushrooms. She only had to mention that it was one of Eva’s recipes and he was guaranteed to gorge on the food, as if he knew he was being given something special and didn’t want anyone else to have a share of it. Fame was a powerful thing when it came to influence.
He tucked into the first mouthful, his eyes gleaming with greed rather than pleasure. ‘I’ve decided to stay the night. It’s time you showed me how pleased you are to see me.’
Nothing in the world would induce Iris to sleep with him. With Jack still missing, her pledge held stronger than ever. So far, she’d kept Mason at bay with a combination of excuses and poison, but she couldn’t hold him off forever without making him suspicious. She lowered her eyes, straightening her napkin on her lap, the butter from the risotto glistening on his lips too revolting to look at.
‘You’ve been very patient. Losing Eva has affected me in all sorts of ways.’
He lifted his fork, holding it midway between the plate and his mouth. ‘I don’t want any more excuses. You’ve agreed to be my wife. I have rights. I won’t take no for an answer.’
She had to think fast. She couldn’t betray Jack again, not knowing the pain she’d caused him. She simply couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Having recovered from his recent stomach troubles, Mason wolfed down the risotto without bothering to taste it. Frossard’s Herbal said it would take between eight and twenty-four hours for the Destroying Angel to have an effect, which meant she couldn’t rely on it to incapacitate him quickly enough to stop him forcing himself on her that evening. She needed something to work much faster if she wanted to keep him out of her bed.
‘Is there enough parsley in the risotto, do you think?’
She doubted he’d noticed it, even though she’d used it lavishly as a garnish. Not everyone was keen on the strong taste of mushrooms, and the herb was meant to add freshness to the dish and cut through the garlic, among other things, which might have been a little heavy-handed.
He looked up, wiping away a grain of rice that had escaped from the corner of his mouth, eyeing her untouched plate. She’d deliberately served him a small portion, knowing it would leave him demanding more.
‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’
She pushed her plate towards him. ‘The flavour of the mushrooms is too strong for me.’
He gave her a superior look. Even if it wasn’t poisonous, she wouldn’t have been able to stomach it, knowing what he expected from her later.
‘They’re an acquired taste. Your palette isn’t sophisticated enough.’
‘That must be it.’
His eyes roved around the dining room to see what else there was to eat. Already his mind had moved on to dessert, wondering which other recipes of Eva’s Iris had conjured up.
‘There are peaches poached in a little wine to follow.’
‘Fruit? Is that all?’
‘I didn’t think you’d want anything too heavy on top of the risotto.’
‘And tomorrow’s picnic? You haven’t forgotten about that.’
Mason had invited her to visit the Château Guillard, to see if it would make a suitable home for them. It was one of the largest houses in the area, with twelve acres of formal gardens and woodland, the surrounding vineyards and farmland having been sold off two generations ago. It had been unoccupied since the family fled to Switzerland at the start of the Occupation. As far as Mason was concerned, he had the right to claim it as his own.
They were to make a day of it. Iris had said she’d bring the picnic if Mason brought the wine. She planned to make sure he was taken ill in the vast grounds, where there was no one to come to his rescue, where his death could be made to look like an accident. Things couldn’t go on like this any longer. She had to finish the job before he realised what she was up to, and the mushroom risotto was just the start of it.
Excusing herself from the table, she went to prepare the peaches, her mind spinning as she tried to figure out a way to avoid sleeping with him that wouldn’t ruin her plans for tomorrow. If Mason was too ill, or upset with her, he’d cancel the trip to the château.
She put a saucepan on a low heat, adding a little wine and the peaches, while she tried to work out a plan to keep him out of her bed, but based on everything she’d already given him, there was nothing that would do the trick. While he waited for his dessert, she poured him a large glass of brandy, hoping he didn’t notice her hand shaking as she gave it to him. Having pacified him with the drink, she slipped next door to ask Clemence if she had any ideas.
Clemence chewed her bottom lip while she thought about it. ‘Eva didn’t have this problem with Schiller. Any woman over twenty-five was of no interest to him.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Nearer to Eva’s age than he was to twenty-five, let’s put it that way.’
They were getting off the point and Iris didn’t have much time. If Mason wandered into the kitchen and realised she was missing, she’d have even more questions to answer.
‘Do you have any idea what I can do to knock Mason out? He’ll get suspicious if I try plying him with too much alcohol and there’s no guarantee it’ll work.’
Clemence nodded, her eyes sparkling with an idea. ‘Send him to Verona.’
Flippant answers weren’t helpful. Didn’t Clemence realise how serious this was, and how dangerous it could become if she didn’t handle Mason properly? ‘I’m sorry, Clemence, I don’t understand what you mean.’
Already Clemence was rummaging in her handbag. ‘I’m sure I have one left. I kept it for just this kind of emergency.’ She pulled out a tiny leather purse, her fingers undoing the clasp and digging to the bottom.
‘Here it is.’ She presented a small tablet on her upturned palm, her face full of triumph. ‘I knew there was one left.’
‘What is it?’
‘Veronal. Before the war, Doctor Bisset used to hand them out like sweets to anyone who couldn’t sleep. Get this into his stomach and it’s guaranteed to knock him out for the night. He might be a bit sluggish in the morning, but there shouldn’t be any other effects.’
Iris gave Clemence a hug. It was a mistake to have doubted her. ‘Thank you. I can’t tell you how much you’ve saved me tonight.’
There was leftover carrot cake in the pantry. Iris cut a large slice and broke the pill into tiny pieces, tucking them deep into the sponge. She then made custard, using an egg from one of Clemence’s hens, and poured it over the cake. If Mason gobbled it down quickly enough, he’d swallow all traces of the pill without detecting it.
He raised his eyebrows when she placed the pudding in front of him. ‘This isn’t peaches.’
‘You didn’t fancy them, so I made you this instead. It’s a proper English pudding with custard, like you used to have at boarding school.’
He stabbed the edge of his spoon into the cake and began shovelling it into his mouth. Iris sat with a bowl of poached peaches in front of her, watching as each mouthful slithered down his throat, hoping the pill was still potent and counting the minutes, wondering how long it would need to take effect. He’d drunk plenty of wine and brandy over dinner, surely that should help.
Playing for time, she poured him another brandy and started clearing away the plates. ‘I’ll wash up and tidy the kitchen before we go to bed, so I won’t have to do it in the morning.’
‘Leave it. It can wait.’
‘But …’
He grabbed her wrist, forcing her to put the dirty crockery back on the table and led her through to the sitting room.
‘The washing-up can wait. I can’t.’
He pulled her to him, kissing her roughly, his hands digging into her shoulders as he held her against her will. She tasted the sweetness of the vanilla on his breath, felt the smear of custard on his tongue as his kiss grew more insistent. How long would it take for the barbiturate to work? How far would she have to go with this charade? How long until the drug knocked him out and he released his grip?
Coming up for air, she angled her face as far away from him as she could get, playing for time. ‘Would you like coffee?’
Coffee was probably the wrong thing to give him if she wanted him to sleep, but it was too late, she’d offered it to him now. Hopefully, the Veronal would already have knocked him out by the time it was made.
‘Not now. Let’s go to bed.’
He grabbed her arm, dragging her through the sitting room and up the stairs. She gripped the handrail, stumbling as they went, hardly able to catch her breath, her legs turning to liquid with fear.
‘Don’t you want to digest your dinner first?’
‘Don’t tease me, Iris. Not now you’ve got me all worked up.’
The plan wasn’t working, the pill was taking too long to knock him out, or it had lost its potency. She had no idea how many years Clemence had been keeping it.
He kissed her again at the top of the stairs, his hands pulling at the buttons on her blouse. ‘Which is your bedroom?’
There had to be a way out of this. ‘You need to give me a minute.’
Ignoring her words, he rushed at the nearest door, lifting her off her feet and throwing her onto the bed. Already, he was forcing off his shoes, undoing the buckle on his belt. She tried to move away, but he grabbed her wrists, forcing himself on top of her and pinning her down. His weight was too much, the feel of him like razors on her skin. It was all she could do to stop herself from crying out and begging him to stop.
She had to think quickly, before he took off any more of his clothes, before he started to remove hers. She began to cough, acting as if she was choking, forcing him to let her sit up, doubling-over as he let go of her wrists, coughing as if she were about to be sick.
Knowing any kind of illness revolted him, she played to his phobia, relieved as he moved away, inching towards the edge of the bed. Now she was free of him, she slid off the mattress, straightening her clothes and not bothering to cover her mouth as she forced out another spluttering cough.
‘I’m so sorry, Mason. I’ll be fine in a minute. Take your clothes off and make yourself comfortable in bed while I fetch a glass of water and wash my face.’
He nodded, his manner suddenly more subdued. Had her violent fit of coughing dampened his passion, or had the Veronal begun to take effect?
She slipped downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water, taking her time, wondering how long it would be before he fell asleep. She gave it five minutes and then ten. The fact that he hadn’t come looking for her was a good sign. Quietly, she crept upstairs, holding her breath as she slowly pushed open her bedroom door and peered inside. The evening light had gone and the room was almost in darkness. Mason was flat on his back in bed, perfectly still, but for the regular up and down of his chest, and the grunting snore that escaped every now and then.
She’d done it. She’d staved him off, at least for now. But this couldn’t go on. This had to be the last time she put herself at risk. Tomorrow would be the day. Tomorrow would be the end of Mason.
Chapter 35
Iris was already packing the picnic when Mason got up the next morning, claiming to have slept well, and too embarrassed to mention that he’d been overcome by sleep rather than passion the night before. Much to Iris’s dismay, he seemed perfectly well, despite the Destroying Angel he’d digested in the risotto.
She wondered if the mushroom had lost some of its potency. There was no way of knowing how long ago it had been collected and dried, or even if Eva had labelled the jar correctly. For all she knew, she might actually have fed him chanterelles. She had to put her trust in its delayed reaction, and hope that when combined with the picnic, the poison would finally have its effect.
It was one of those still, late summer days where the heat hangs heavily and there’s hardly any air. Mason appeared uncomfortable in his uniform when they set out for the Château Guillard, but since he’d arrived in France, Iris hadn’t seen him wearing anything else. The fear of being mistaken for an Englishman must have weighed heavily on him. Knowing who he really was, she couldn’t see it as anything other than a form of fancy dress, a barrier to hide behind. She even questioned whether he knew how to fire the pistol that was permanently strapped to his side.
The Château Guillard was only a few kilometres outside the town, but it could have been another world. It was mid-morning when Mason swung the car through the tall iron gates, which had been propped open at an unruly angle, as if someone were expecting them. As they passed through, Iris noticed the lock had been broken by previous hands, and she wondered if Mason had visited before, and whether the house had already been ransacked, not only for its objects, but for its soul, as France itself had been.
When she asked him if it was his first visit, he seemed agitated, and cursed the humidity as he wiped a smear of perspiration from his forehead.
‘I came to look around a few days ago, why do you ask?’
She’d asked because she wanted to know if she should list housebreaker and vandal alongside his other crimes, but she couldn’t say it. The day needed to go smoothly if things were to work out the way she’d planned.
