‘She is. What you called the old DNA provides the only feasible explanation. Remember that Corinne did have a child,’ Antonia said. ‘By Peverel.’
‘But she lost the baby! That’s what my sister told me.’
‘A story to that effect was put around, no doubt. That was the version of events they presented to poor Peverel. For good measure, it was even suggested that Corinne couldn’t have any more children. I see Mr Lark’s hand in it, don’t you? It was done with the sole purpose of putting Peverel off, of severing all links between him and Corinne. Peverel must have been seen as a threat to Corinne’s career. Corinne could never be allowed the distraction of a boyfriend or a husband. Corinne’s daughter was given away for adoption – or placed in the care of somebody they trusted… Some relative? Wasn’t there an aunt, on her father’s side, who was a Mother Superior at a convent outside Lourdes?’
‘There was.’ Major Payne puffed thoughtfully at his pipe, his eyes following the swirls of smoke as they rose towards the ceiling. ‘The girl grows up looking the spitting image of her famous mother… She has also inherited her mother’s amazing voice. She can sing like her. Exactly like her… Corinne’s daughter is now – what – thirty-two – thirty-three years old?’
‘Yes. She gave herself away last night – remember what your aunt told us?’
‘I do remember. It all makes perfect sense now. Aunt Nellie asked her if she remembered her mamma, by which she meant Ruse, and she received an extremely curious reply. Corinne’s daughter knows nothing about Ruse, who is her grandmother and who died in Kenya well before she was born. (We made fools of ourselves over that one, didn’t we?) She said she remembered her mother’s voice – then she referred to “Love Story”. Her earliest memory of a song, she called it. The first song she really liked. That made no sense at all. It had nothing to do with Ruse, who couldn’t sing for toffee, so Aunt Nellie was taken aback. Corinne’s daughter was talking about her mother, the real Corinne. Then she realized she had blundered and said that of course that was the song she sang in French. “Histoire d’Amour”.’
‘Whereas it was the real Corinne Coreille who sang it… Yes. Corinne’s daughter must have heard the song on the radio, or on television. Somebody – her great aunt – perhaps drew her attention to the fact. Listen – that’s your mamma singing.’ Antonia paused. “‘Love Story”. The song – as well as the film – was extremely popular throughout the ’70s… Corinne’s daughter was born in 1970 or 1971. She must have been three or four when she heard the song for the first time. Her earliest memory, she said.’
Payne had been gazing thoughtfully into the bowl of his pipe. ‘A daughter passing herself off as her famous mother… She even goes and gives a concert in Japan, to great acclaim and not a whiff of suspicion… Well, my love, as Sherlock Holmes puts it, life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent.’ He looked up. ‘Wait – the resemblance between Maginot and Corinne! It was there all right. Their eyes. The way they tilted their heads. I know we didn’t imagine it.’
‘We didn’t,’ Antonia said. ’They are mother and daughter all right.’
‘But – but then that means -’
‘Yes.’
‘It can’t be. No, no, no. Out of the question -’ Payne broke off. ‘Well, it must be. Maginot – is Corinne? Or rather – was?’
29
Beauty and the Beast
‘Correct. That’s why Jonson suddenly relaxed. Jonson knows their secret and for some reason he is extremely protective of it. At first he thought the cat was out of the bag, but then realized that we’d been thinking of the wrong mother and daughter. Not of Corinne and her daughter, but of Ruse and Corinne.’
Payne said, ‘We skipped a generation.’
‘Corinne’s little finger is as long as her index finger. Peverel told us about it – that bizarre detail has been mentioned on one of the websites devoted to her. I noticed it in the greenhouse this morning, when I stood looking at Maginot’s body. Then there’s Corinne’s odd penchant for authoritarian figures. Napoleon – Miss Mountjoy. Corinne did enjoy playing the nagging dragon.’
‘Yes… It might be said that from the very start there was a Maitre Maginot lodged somewhere deep inside her consciousness – screaming to be let out.’
‘Both Miss Mountjoy and Maitre Maginot wore turbans and they liked to boss people round.’ Antonia smiled.
There was a pause. ‘Maginot looked nothing like Corinne. Too tall – too heavy. Could she have changed so much over such a short period of time? Her voice was rasping and crow-like – her face the face of a gargoyle – and she looked much older than fifty-five… On second thoughts,’ Major Payne continued musing aloud, ‘platform shoes would take care of the height – and people can age prematurely, through illness or stress or the wrong diet. Maginot did like her drink. Besides, she’d had a stroke. That too would have altered her appearance… Would it change it beyond all recognition, though?’
‘Maybe not – but something else certainly would. Do you remember where Corinne was believed to have gone – at the time she disappeared from view?’
Payne held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. ‘To Switzerland? One of Peverel’s scouts was of the opinion that she’d had something major done… Good lord! You don’t mean -’
‘I remember reading a hair-raising article once, about what happens if your body proves intolerant to surgical intrusions. The silicone that has been implanted in your face starts moving, your eyes swell shut, your head balloons to the size of the Taj Mahal, then you get gangrene, which in turn may lead to “skin death” or necrosis… If you don’t die, you never look the same.’
‘Plastic surgery that goes wrong…’
‘Here’s a theory,’ Antonia said. ‘For some thirty years Corinne Coreille has been able to have a most successful singing career. Through regular diet, exercise and the latest in beauty care, she has managed to remain “young” – unchanged. She has contrived to preserve a certain memorable image. She has had at least one face-lift, various nips and tucks. However, age does catch up with her, eventually. She is forty-nine now and one day she discovers she doesn’t look right any more – or perhaps the realization has slowly been creeping up on her?’
‘Yes. She can’t imagine going on stage, stepping out under the spotlight, looking haggard, her face collapsed.’ Payne pulled a demented grimace. ‘She cancels one concert, then another. None of the intensive beauty treatments seems able to erase time’s satanic footprints. She grows desperate – decides on a radical solution. She’d have something major. A total image reconstruction. Nothing less would do. She disappears from view. She books herself into a superior Swiss clinic, from which she is confident she will emerge spectacularly rejuvenated from under the knife, thirty years younger – a girl once more!’
‘Only she doesn’t.’
‘She doesn’t… The surgery goes spectacularly wrong – some dreadful infection sets in – she nearly dies. Well, the doctors save her – she recovers – but she loses her face. It is patched up – however, she can no longer be recognized as Corinne Coreille. She looks like Godzilla. Something has gone terribly wrong with her vocal chords too, maybe as a result of the shock. The famous voice – the beautiful voice that had once charmed General de Gaulle – is no more – gone! Corinne Coreille has suffered a permanent extinction de voix.’ Payne started relighting his pipe and he waved his hand as though to say, ‘Over to you.’
He’s enjoying this as much as I am, Antonia thought. She took up the tale. ‘Corinne spends the next five years in the wilderness. She suffers severe depression, has a nervous breakdown, starts hitting the bottle, puts on weight. She becomes a hermit, leads a twilight existence, which for her, after so many years in the spotlight, is a living death. She ages – now she looks ten years older. Maybe she assumes a different name. She realizes that she is finished. She is haunted by the thought – tormented – crazed by it. Her mind becomes somewhat unhinged. Then – then something unexpected happens -’