Jérôme 1 said nothing.
‘Incidentally, he was black too. Dumas. His father was from Haiti. A little-known fact that people often tend to forget. Or perhaps they’re just not aware of it. The black count, the French used to call him. At least I think that’s what they called him. Lucky that he wasn’t playing for Queens Park Rangers against Chelsea, eh? John Terry might have called him something else. What do you think? I mean, you’d be the man to ask.’ I smiled thinly. ‘Forgive my manners but I’m just a bit pissed off to discover that you and your twin brother have been playing me for a cunt. And after all your earlier protestations of honesty. That hurts. I mean, I really did come here to help you and now I find that you’ve been taking advantage of me.’
‘It’s not how it looks at all,’ he repeated.
‘Isn’t it?’ I grinned. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, you mean there’s actually a plausible explanation that makes this all right? At the risk of being played for a cunt again, why don’t you tell me what that is? Fess up, son. Or is telling the truth just something that’s just way beyond your abilities? Only I feel I should warn you. My patience is almost gone. If what you tell me sounds or smells like bullshit I shall walk out of here, get on that plane and go home by myself. And you can stay here and rot on this grubby little island. Like fucking Napoleon.’
‘It’s like this,’ said Jérôme. ‘You see—’
‘No, wait a moment. I’d like Tweedledum to be there when Tweedledee starts to talk. I mean, I’ve no way of knowing which of you is the real deal. Come on. Let’s go and wake him up. I want to make sure I get more than fifty per cent of the story. Maybe he’ll contradict you. Who knows? I somehow got the impression earlier that Jérôme Dumas is not such a great guy. That he’s a selfish prick.’
We left the beach house and walked up the lawn to the main building.
‘By the way, what’s your brother’s name? Is he Jérôme Dumas, or is that you?’
‘I’m Jérôme. His name is Philippe. Philippe is older than me by about five minutes. And wiser, too, probably.’
‘That makes us practically related.’
Jérôme was about to go upstairs and fetch his twin brother when I caught sight of the Mont Blanc on the table where I’d left it last night.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘Let me see the palm of your right hand.’
He hesitated.
‘It’s all right,’ I said, picking up the pen. ‘Much as I’d like to, I’m not going to stab you with this. I just want to make sure who I’m talking to.’
He held out his hand; there was still some ink on his forefinger. But I still wrote a large letter ‘J’ onto the back of his hand blew on it to help dry it off, and then inspected my handiwork.
‘There. That should keep things straight for a while. I wouldn’t like you two bastards to work a switch on me again. Now go and get your doppel-fucking-ganger and let’s see what’s what. And don’t take long about it. I’m in no mood to be patient here. Come on, move it. If I had a football boot in my hand I’d throw it at you, kid. I really would.’
29
Oddly, I hadn’t met many twins since leaving school, but I’d never met twins who looked as alike as these two did. Two peas in a pod just about covers it, provided you could find two peas that were also perfect specimens of pea. There’s something weird about some twins — but not these twins, who were both perfect physical specimens. My earlier, conceited confidence ebbed away more than just a little as the two men came downstairs and faced me silently, as if intent on convincing me that I might be seeing double.
In spite of all this it didn’t go unnoticed by me that Philippe Dumas was holding a large hunting knife in his hand. There was a line of sweat beads on his forehead and the muscles in his neck and arms looked about as tense as steel hawsers. And there was a meanness in his brown eyes I hadn’t seen before.
Suddenly I began to perceive the obvious difficulty in my situation. Apart from Grace Doughty, no one knew where I was. Barcelona had sent a jet to meet me at the airport, in Pointe-à-Pitre, but other than that they really hadn’t a clue as to my exact whereabouts. My email to Jacint had informed him only of the circumstances surrounding Jérôme’s disappearance — which bore no relation to the present facts. I hadn’t thought to give them an exact address for the simple reason I didn’t know what it was. For all they and PSG knew I could have been anywhere on the islands, which have a land area of more than sixteen hundred square kilometres, much of it jungle-covered hills.
It was only now that I remembered why the father of these twins was in jail. He was accused of murder. Maybe murder was not something brother Philippe was unfamiliar with. And I began to feel afraid, like I was back in the nick and facing down some racist bastard with a home-made shiv. As close to the sea as this there would be no problem getting rid of my body; they probably knew a boat they could borrow to take my corpse out beyond the island and dump me over the side. The local fish would eat me and I’d probably never be seen again.
But if there is one thing I’ve learned in football it’s never to show your fear, because it’s a mistake to think of it as just a game; football is about mental toughness, about saying and doing whatever you need to help your team win. I guessed that I was going to need a lot of that now.
‘What, are you going to kill me? Is that it? I should be easy enough to kill. Two of you, one of me. That’s one way of making this problem go away, I suppose. How about it, Jérôme? Are you ready to add a stabbing to your list of crimes and misdemeanours?’
‘You don’t speak to my brother like that,’ said Philippe, grabbing hold of my shirt collar with his empty hand. I took hold of his thick wrist and tried to twist my collar from his grasp but he was much stronger than I had supposed. ‘You don’t know him. You only think you do. He’s not a criminal. He’s a good man.’
‘I don’t doubt it, since you’re the man with the knife in his hand. But his career is over if you kill me. That much is certain.’
Jérôme looked at his brother carefully. ‘No one’s going to kill anyone,’ he said, which seemed to be as much for Philippe’s hearing as for mine. ‘All right? We’re cool here. So, put the knife down, Philippe.’
But Philippe’s grip merely tightened on my shirt collar and on the handle of his knife, which was one of those with a black blade and a serrated edge — the kind you expect Rambo to pick his teeth with. I expect there was a useful compass in the handle, just in case you got lost at the local supermarket. I started to look for the exits, wondering if I could make it to the bottom of the garden before the twin with the knife caught up with me and cut me a new smile.
‘I don’t think Grace will be too happy if she finds out that she’s become an accessory to a murder,’ I said. ‘How’s that going to affect her chances of running for political office? Not well, I’d have thought.’
‘Shut up,’ said Philippe. ‘Leave her out of this. You’ve done enough talking, Englishman.’
‘Oh, I agree,’ I said. ‘But consider this before I shut my mouth. Or before you do it for me. Barcelona and PSG know where I am. I sent them an email from Jumby Bay telling them I was at the house of Gui-Jean-Baptiste Target. Not to mention the limo driver who’ll be back here at five a.m. wondering where I’ve got to. I bet that even the Guadeloupe police could solve that crime. If I disappear, this address is the first place they’ll look. And it won’t just be your father who goes to jail, it will be the two of you. If you’re lucky they’ll give you twin beds in the same stinking cell. And in twelve months’ time the only balls you’ll be kicking are each other’s for being dumb enough to kill me.’