Twelve Red Herrings by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online Page A

it’s the last thing I do.” This was not the time to
let Hackett know that the final chapter of this story, as I plotted it, did not
conclude with Jeremy ending up in jail.
    Once Williams
had been put on the shortlist for the position of Rosemary’s butler, I played
my own small part in securing him the job.
    Rereading over
the terms of the proposed contract gave me the idea.
    “Tell Williams
to ask for 25,000 francs a month, and five weeks’ holiday,” I suggested to
Hackett when he and Matthew visited me the following Sunday.
    “Why?” asked the
ex-Chief Superintendent. “She’s only offering xz ,ooo ,
and three weeks’ holiday.”
    “She can well
afford to pay the difference, and with references like these,” I said, looking
back down at my file, ‘she might become suspicious if he asked for anything
less.” Matthew smiled and nodded.
    Rosemary finally
offered Williams the job at 3 ,ooo francs a month, with
four weeks’ holiday a year, which after forty-eight hours’ consideration
Williams accepted. But he did not join her for another month, by which time he
had learnt how to iron newspapers, lay place settings with a ruler, and tell
the difference between a port, sherry and liqueur glass.
    I suppose that
from the moment Williams took up the post as Rosemary’s butler, I expected
instant results. But as Hackett pointed out to me Sunday after Sunday, this was
hardly realistic.
    “Williams has to
take his time,” explained the Don. “He needs to gain her confidence, and avoid
giving her any reason for the slightest suspicion. It once took me five years
to nail a drug smuggler who was only living half a mile up the road from me.” I
wanted to remind him that it was me who was stuck in
jail, and that five days was more like what I had in mind, but I knew how hard
they were all working on my behalf, and tried not to show my impatience.
    Within a month
Williams had supplied us with photographs and life histories of all the staff
working on the estate, along with descriptions of everyone who visited Rosemary
– even the local priest, who came hoping to collect a donation for French aid
workers in Somalia.
    The cook:
Gabrielle Pascal – no English, excellent cuisine, came from Marseilles, family
checked out. The gardener: Jacques Reni stupid and not particularly imaginative
with the rosebeds, local and well known. Rosemary’s personal maid: Charlotte
Merieux – spoke a little English, crafty, sexy, came from Paris, still checking
her out.
    All the staff
had been employed by Rosemary since her arrival in the south of France, and
they appeared to have no connection with each other, or with her past life.
    “Ah,” said
Hackett as he studied the picture of Rosemary’s personal maid. I raised an
eyebrow. “I was just thinking about Williams being cooped up with Charlotte
Merieux day in and day out and more important, night in and night in,” he
explained. “He would have made superintendent if he hadn’t fooled around so
much. Still, let’s hope this time it turns out to our advantage.” I lay on my
bunk studying the pictures of the staff for hour after hour, but they revealed
nothing. I read and reread the notes on everyone who had ever visited Villa
Fleur, but as the weeks went by, it looked more and more as if no one from
Rosemary’s past, other than her mother, knew where she was – or if they did,
they were making no attempts to contact her.
    There was
certainly no sign of Jeremy Alexander.
    I was beginning
to fear that she and Jeremy might have split up, until Williams reported that
there was a picture of a dark, handsome man on a table by the side of
Rosemary’s bed. It was inscribed: “ We’ll always be
together- J’.
    During the weeks
following my appeal hearing I was constantly interviewed by probation officers,
social workers and even the prison psychiatrist. I struggled to maintain the
warm, sincere smile that Matthew had warned me was so necessary to lubricate
the wheels of the