Strange Images of Death by Barbara Cleverly Read Free Book Online Page B

and open-necked shirt. A dark-haired, brown-eyed man in his late thirties, he was chatting amicably with the people about him and blended in with the group in all respects but one. He was the only man at the table who had monitored the comings and goings of the servants, with the discreet but all-seeing eye of a butler.
    Joe took a moment to scan the company and then whispered in Estelle’s ear: ‘Got him! Do you see the man who’s the spitting image of Albert Préjean? The film star?’
    ‘Albert who …? Oh, yes, I know who you mean! He played the pilot in Paris Qui Dort , didn’t he? Craggy good looks. A real heartbreaker. That’s a more perceptive insight than I think you realize.’
    ‘Yes, that’s the one. And I’m guessing that the gentleman who so resembles him is the man who sits at the lord’s right hand.’
    Estelle giggled. ‘He usually hovers behind his left shoulder. And you’re quite right. Well done! I’ll take you over to meet him after the meal. He’ll expect it. Oh, and may I warn you? He shakes hands with his left. Right arm badly burned. He was with the Aviation Militaire in the war. One of the Cigognes Squadron. Meanwhile, although he’s nattering away with Nathan in apparently complete absorption, he’s actually giving you an ever-so-discreet once-over. Smile for the seneschal, my dear! He likes handsome men.’
    Something in her tone alerted and annoyed Joe. He found he was torn between satisfying his curiosity and discouraging the girl’s loose gossip. He chose the safer path of distracting her. ‘Tell me two things, Estelle … what is the gentleman’s name and was he late down to lunch today?’
    ‘Late to lunch? What is this? My first interrogation?’ she gurgled. ‘How thrilling! I’ve no idea. I’m almost always the last to arrive so it’s hard to say. I don’t believe anyone came in after me … Let me think. Guy—that’s his name: Monsieur Guy de Pacy—was already here. He came in through the kitchen door over there. I heard him shouting at one of the staff before the door banged shut. Then he fixed his suave smile on and entered stage left. Something on your mind, Commander?’
    ‘Only the desperate hope there’ll be enough of this delicious stuff left for second helpings,’ he said. ‘And why not call me Joe?’
    ‘Here, have some bread to soak up the gravy, Joe. It’s quite all right to do that over here.’
    ‘Thank you, I shall. And thirdly I’m curious to know how you managed to get caught up with this stimulating company. Are you an artist?’ he asked.
    ‘Lord no! I’m an artist’s model. I take my clothes off in cold studios and sit or lie for hours on end while some oaf at an easel turns me into something he’s dreamed up—a stick insect, something on a butcher’s slab or, at best, an odalisque in a silken turban and a bangle commissioned for some wealthy client’s boudoir or bar. In the real world, Commander, you wouldn’t know me. You might recognize my family name but they no longer recognize me, I’m afraid.’ She shrugged a shoulder. ‘I’m what’s known back home as “a bad lot”! Kicked out of school, banned from darkening any paternal doors ever again. I’ve been adrift in Europe for the last five years. And I’m having a wonderful time!’
    ‘And which of the company are you attached to—professionally, I mean?’ Joe thought it wise to enquire.
    ‘Nathan. The photographer. I came down from Paris with him. Nat’s a sweetie-pie! He’s not at all possessive and he’s perfectly ready to lend me out to one of the others.’ She nodded towards the gallery. ‘You’ll find two or three pictures where I’m just about recognizable … the girl and the unicorn on the beach … the concubine in red harem pants … the bride in Frederick’s fresco … But I prefer sitting for Nathan. He makes me laugh and he doesn’t … ogle. Not really possible, I suppose, when it’s all over in—literally—a flash! And at least with a