Free Those in Peril by Margaret Mayhew Page A

the painting in progress – not of the sea view, as he might have expected, but of the house and part of the garden. Bold slabs and blocks and daubs of colour with no fine detail at all. Not to his personal taste.
    â€˜I have plenty of time.’
    He indicated the bench facing the view to the sea. ‘Could we sit down, perhaps?’ It was a lovely garden, he thought, looking round at the shrubs and ferns and the bed of roses. And a palm tree lent a sub-tropical feel to the place. A garden was something he had missed out on in London and in life. He offered a Players but the Frenchman produced his packet of Gauloises. When their cigarettes were lit, he said, casually, ‘I believe you have already talked with Lieutenant Reeves on your arrival.’
    â€˜He still has my passport and my identity card.’
    â€˜Actually, I do now. He passed them on to me. I wonder if we could just go over what you have already told the lieutenant – just to make sure we’ve got it right.’ The slightly acrid smell of the Gauloise brought back his golden memories of France, and the language was returning more easily now; the odd mistake wouldn’t matter, so long as he made himself clear. ‘I’ve seen your boat Gannet . It must have been quite a trip all the way from Pont-Aven to here, on your own.’
    â€˜Not quite on my own.’
    â€˜Oh? I understood . . .’
    â€˜I had a companion – a small black and white cat. A stray. It stowed away in France. Did you notice it hanging about the boat?’
    â€˜Now I come to think of it there was one sitting out on the deck. Extraordinary. Amazing what cats will do.’
    â€˜Perhaps it thought England was a safer place to be.’
    â€˜I’m sure it did. Tell me, Monsieur Duval, are you an experienced sailor?’
    â€˜Lieutenant Reeves asked me the same question. On the contrary, I have used the boat to potter round finding things to paint, that’s all. I stuck to the coastline.’
    â€˜Then you are familiar with that part of the coast – around Pont-Aven, Lorient, Quimper? You know it well?’
    â€˜Yes, you could say so.’
    â€˜And how long have you lived in Pont-Aven?’
    â€˜Nearly six years.’
    â€˜So you are also familiar with the town and the countryside around?’
    â€˜Yes. I have done a good many paintings in the region.’
    â€˜And you’re acquainted with a number of people there?’
    â€˜You could say that, yes . . . but I’m not a very sociable person.’
    â€˜But you know important people in the town?’
    â€˜Important to me. The manager of the bank, the owner of a very good bistro, the man who cuts my hair, the one who sells me paints, the woman who runs the boulangerie which bakes wonderful bread . . . people like that. Oh, and I do know the mayor. He bought one of my paintings once. He’s what you might call a fan of mine.’
    â€˜And where do you live? Do you own property?’
    â€˜No, I rent the top floor of a house. It makes an excellent studio.’
    â€˜Who is the owner?’
    â€˜A Mademoiselle Citron. Citron by name and sour as a lemon by nature. She lets out the other rooms below as well.’ Duval smiled. ‘She is not at all like Madame Hillyard.’
    â€˜What did you tell your landlady before you left?’
    â€˜That I was going south – so were many others, to get away from the Germans. I asked her to keep the studio until my return. I paid her six months’ rent in advance. I also left paintings there, and other things.’
    â€˜So she has no idea that you planned to come to England?’
    â€˜None at all.’
    â€˜You told no-one?’
    â€˜Except my wife.’
    â€˜Ah . . . your wife. She lives in Paris, I believe.’
    â€˜Yes, in the rue de Monceau. But, as I told Lieutenant Reeves, we have been separated for many years. We live different