We'll meet again

"Never mind," said Janet. "We'd help, of course. You will, of course, have to leave with us, dear. It's the only way. You will have to go back to your husband. Perhaps he will forgive you.”

"I couldn't," I said.

"But what will you do? You can't stay with that man. I don't suppose he'll want you now he's got this other one. Then you've always got that nice sister of yours-and your mother and father, too. They'll look after you. I know it's not nice having to eat humble pie, but sometimes it's the only way.”

I could see that she was right, and I was wondering where I could work something out.

"Besides," she went on, "what work could you do here? I can see something terrible happening to you if you stayed. No, you've got to come home with us. If you can't go back to your husband, there are your sister and your parents.”

She was right, of course. The more I thought about it' the more I could see that I would go home with her and Geoffrey and in the meantime I would make a plan.

We talked in this strain until Geoffrey came home.

"We are leaving at the end of the week," he said.

He listened to my tale of woe and said, of course I must go back with them. I embraced them warmly and said I did not deserve such good friends.

I stayed the night there and the next morning went back to Jacques's house and packed my clothes. I was hoping to leave without seeing Jacques, but he arrived just as I was about to go.

"I'm leaving," I said.

I fancied I saw a certain relief in his face.

"As you wish," he replied.

"I am going home.”

"That will be wise.”

I felt a certain exultation because I felt no love for him now. I just wanted to forget the whole episode. If only he had never come to Cornwall! "The moving finger writes…” But at least I would be free of him. I would find some way out of this. Violetta would help, as she always had.

"You'll need money," he said. "Your fare ...”

"I can manage, thank you.”

He looked surprised. Then, characteristically, he made that gesture of lifting his shoulders, which had begun to irritate me.

"I would most happily.

"No, thank you. Goodbye.”

"Bon voyage.”

And so I left Jacques.

Violetta had once said that feckless people such as I was often seemed to have helpers who arrive at the right moment. So it was with the Baileys. I have often thought since of that happy incident when the book fell from its place on the shelves. What I should have done without the Baileys at that time, I do not know. I shall always be grateful to them-and how fortuitous it was that they should be leaving at that time!

So the first stage was comfortably managed.

There were certain delays on the trains and we were late on reaching Calais. The ferries were uncertain, too.

"It seems," said Geoffrey, not for the first time, "that we are leaving at the right moment.”

We had to wait three hours for the ferry.

"That will give us time to have a leisurely meal," said Janet.

We went to a restaurant near the docks and on the way Geoffrey bought a newspaper.

"I wonder if there is any fresh news?" he said as we settled down and ordered the meal. He opened the paper.

"Hitler signs non-aggression pact with Soviet Union. That's not good.

It means he's about to launch an attack on Poland.”

"And if he does," said Janet, "that means war. Britain and France won't allow that.”

"Well, we are on our way home, thank goodness. Oh ..." he paused, and went on: "There's been a murder... a body's been found in the Rue de Singe.”

"Where?" cried Janet.

"It's in the Quarter. I remember seeing it once. Odd name. Not a very salubrious spot. The sort of street you'd hesitate to go down after dark. As a matter of fact, I was interested in the name when I saw it and I asked them in the nearby cafe why it was called that.

They said a man who had a monkey had lived there. He used to take it into the street and people dropped money into a cap it held out.”

He went on: "The body seems to be of a man... a Monsieur Georges Mansard, a wine merchant from Bordeaux.”

I was staring at Geoffrey.

"What?" I said. "May I see?”

"You look quite shocked, dear," said Janet.

"I knew him slightly. He used to come to the house now and then.

Jacques used to get his wine from him.”

"It's always a shock when it's someone you know. You never think these things are going to happen to people you know.”

I felt very shaken and I wondered who could have murdered pleasant, inoffensive Georges Mansard.

It was getting late when we boarded the ferry. Wrapped in a rug, I sat on deck with the Baileys and kept thinking of Georges Mansard's body lying in that street ... dead... shot through the heart, it had said. Who had done that to him? I wondered. Was it a love affair... a jealous husband? It was hard to imagine Georges involved in anything of that sort.