The Last Judgement

Rouxel held up his hand. ‘Goodness, no. I have no intention of bothering the police. I did have a word with one I knew when it was stolen and he told me, frankly, that it would be a waste of time to try and get it back. Now I have got it back, it would be perfectly pointless.’

Jeanne re-entered, bearing a tray with a pot of steaming coffee, milk, and sugar. And three cups. Rouxel looked at the tray with a frown.

‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘I said two cups.’

‘I want a cup myself,’ she said.

‘Oh, no. I’m sorry. But you know how pressed I am. Stop being a gossiping woman and get back to your work. Those letters really must be finished today. Please attend to them.’

She retreated once more, flushed with humiliation at the publicly dismissive tone of his order. Argyll could well understand why. It hardly matched up with the glowing portrait she’d sketched out the previous evening. Far from being the highly valued, indispensable organizer of his life, the devoted and doted-on granddaughter, it seemed that in reality she was little more than a secretary. A bit awkward to have her fantasies unveiled in such a way.

Rouxel carried on as though this small domestic scene had not happened, returning to the conversation as though there’d been no break in it at all. The charm was back in full force.

Then the litany of questions, buried in the running account of the case so far. And at each point, Rouxel shook his head. Muller didn’t ring a bell. Nor Ellman. But at the mention of Hartung, he nodded.

‘Of course, I remember the name,’ he said. ‘It was quite a cause célèbre. And as I was involved with the prosecutor’s office in Paris at the time I knew of the case.’

‘What happened?’

He spread his hands. ‘What can one say? He was a traitor, who caused the death of many, many people. He was arrested and would have been tried. And, I’ve no doubt, found guilty and guillotined, had he not killed himself first. A bad business, all around. There was a hysteria in the air then. Lots of old scores to be paid off, many collaborators and traitors to be rooted out. Fortunately it died down quickly, but we French are still a little sensitive on the question of what happened during the war. It was not a happy time.’

Now there was an understatement, Argyll thought.

‘So what are your conclusions?’ he asked with a smile. ‘You seem to have done a considerable amount of hard work on my behalf over this.’

‘The only thing which makes sense is that Muller was completely potty,’ he said. This was a bit disingenuous, but he had decided he didn’t wholly like or trust the old man. Just prejudice, and he certainly didn’t have the full facts, but he was almost shocked by the way Rouxel had spoken to his granddaughter. Families have their own little ways, of course, and it is a foolhardy outsider who rushes to pass judgement on them. But Argyll did not approve of the contrast between the cold family man and the warm, charming version being presented to him. Too much of the politician, there.

‘And you have no idea what Muller was after?’

‘All I know is that somebody else took it seriously enough to kill him. And you now have the picture. It’s none of my business, I know, but I would beg you to be a little more careful. I would never forgive myself—’

Rouxel waved his hand dismissively. ‘Pah. I’m an old man, Mr Argyll. What possible point could there be in killing me? I shall be dead soon enough anyway. I’m sure I’m in no danger at all.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Argyll replied. Then he got up to leave, an exit accompanied by a satisfying jousting between Rouxel who wanted to ply him with cheques for having been so kind and helpful, and Argyll who, desperately as he needed the money, felt it would spoil his gesture if he accepted. He parted instead with a heavy hint that, if ever Rouxel wanted to sell some pictures and needed an agent...

Back in the garden, after he had left Rouxel, he spied Jeanne Armand again. She was clearly waiting for him, so he gave her a wave and waited for her to come over.

‘How are you this morning,’ he asked breezily, noting that she didn’t look so happy.

‘Quite well, thank you. I wanted to explain.’

‘You don’t owe me any explanations, you know.’

‘I know. But it’s important to me. About Grandfather.’

‘Explain away, then.’

‘He’s under enormous pressure at the moment. What with the preparations for the prize, and being on this international financial committee and all the rest. He overdoes it, and that reminds him that he’s getting old. So he gets ill-tempered sometimes.’

‘And takes it out on you.’

‘Yes. But we really are very close. He’s such a great man, you know. I... I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m all he has. His one close relative. Close enough to be irritable with.’

‘Right,’ said Argyll, thoroughly mystified by why she felt obliged to tell him this.

‘And of course he’s never really forgiven me.’

‘What for?’

‘For not being a grandson.’

‘You’re not serious?’