Stewart came in and went to get himself another drink. He was a man of medium height, in his mid-forties with a school-boy’s round face and round blue eyes; but this immature look was counteracted by a deep and expressive quality in his voice, so that as soon as he spoke the total effect was of a certain maturity and intelligence, cancelling that silly round-eyed look.
‘Did you bring these flowers?’ said Harvey.
‘Did I bring what?’
‘These flowers — I don’t know where they’ve come from. The maid — and by the way she’s a policewoman — must have put them there some time this evening. But why?’
Stewart brought his drink to the sofa and sat sipping it.
Harvey’s mind was working fast, and faster. ‘I think I know why they’re there. Have you ever heard of a vase of flowers being bugged?’
‘Rather an obvious way to plant a bug if the flowers weren’t there already,’ said Stewart.
But Harvey was already pulling the flower-arrangement to bits. He shook each lily, each daffodil; he tore at the petals of the irises. Stewart drank his drink and told Harvey to calm down; he watched Harvey with his big blue eyes and then took another sip. Harvey splashed the water from the bowl all over the table and the floor. ‘I don’t see anything,’ he said.
‘From what I understand the police have had every opportunity to plant bugs elsewhere in the house; they need not introduce a bunch of flowers for the purpose,’ Stewart said. ‘What a mess you’ve made of a lovely bunch of flowers.’
‘I’d take you out to dinner,’ said Harvey. He sat on the sofa with his dejected head in his hands. He looked up. ‘I’d take you out to eat but I’ve got to wait in for a call from Ruth. She’s in Paris but I don’t know where. I’ve got to let my uncle in Toronto know the time of her arrival and her flight number. Did I tell you that she’s taking the baby to my Uncle Joe’s?’
‘No,’ said Stewart.
‘Well, she is. I’ve got to arrange for her to be met, and get through to Toronto and give them reasonable notice. And I’ve got to have a call from Ernie Howe, I think. At least he said he’d ring.’
‘How many other things have you got to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why don’t you relax? You’re in a hell of a state.’
‘I know. What are you supposed to be doing here?’
‘Giving you some advice,’ Stewart said. ‘Of course, I can’t act for you here in France.’
‘I don’t need anyone. I’ve got what’s-his-name in Paris if necessary.
‘Martin Deschamps? — I’ve been in touch with him. He can’t act for you in a case like this. No-one in his firm can, either. That means they won’t. Terrorism is too unladylike for those fancy lawyers. I’m hungry.’
‘Let’s sit down, then,’ said Harvey; they sat at the table to eat the cold supper. Harvey’s hand shook as he started to pour the wine. He stopped and looked at his hand. ‘I’m shaking,’ he said. ‘I wonder why Ruth hasn’t rung?’
Stewart took the bottle from him and poured out the wine. ‘Your nerves,’ he said.
‘She must have had her dinner and put the baby to bed by now, ‘Harvey said. ‘I’ll give it another hour, then I’m going to ring the police and find out where she is. Ernie Howe should have rung, too.’
‘Maybe she didn’t stop over in Paris. Perhaps she went straight to the airport.’
‘She should have rung. She could have been taken ill. She’s pregnant.’
‘Is she?’
‘So she says.’
The telephone rang. An inspector of police, ‘M. Gotham? — I want to let you know that Mine. Ruth Jansen has arrived in London.’
‘In London? I thought she was going to stop overnight in Paris. I’ve arranged for her to go to Canada to my —’She changed her mind.’
‘Where is she in London?’
‘I can’t tell you. Good night.’
‘If she didn’t ring you as promised,’ said Stewart the next morning, ‘and Ernie Howe didn’t ring you as promised, and if, in addition, it transpires she went to London, I should have thought you would suspect that the two were together.’
‘You think she has gone to Ernie Howe? Why should she go to him? She is pregnant by me.’
‘She has Ernie Howe’s baby in her arms. It would be natural to take her to the father. You can’t possess everything, Harvey.’
‘Do you know more than you say?’ said Harvey.
‘No, it’s only a supposition.’
‘I’ll ring Ernie Howe’s flat as soon as my call to Canada has come through. It’s hard on my uncle, mucking him about like this. He’s not so young. I’ve just put through a call.’
‘It’s the middle of the night in Toronto,’ said Stewart.
‘I don’t care.’
Anne-Marie arrived in her thick coat, scarves and boots. ‘Good morning,’ she said, and then gave a pained wail. Her eyes were on the flowers that she had left in such a formal display the night before, now all pulled to pieces, even the petals torn to bits.
‘I was looking for an electronic bug,’ Harvey said.
‘I think you are not human,’ said Anne-Marie. She was now in tears, aimlessly lifting a daffodil, putting it down, then a blue, torn iris.
‘Who ordered them, who sent them?’ said Harvey.
Stewart said, ‘I’ll help to clear the mess. Leave it to me.’
‘I had them sent myself,’ said Anne-Marie. ‘To give you some joy after your ordeal with the press and your loss of the baby. My sister-in-law has a flower shop and I made a special-messenger arrangement with her for the most beautiful flowers; a personal present. I thought that with the loss of Madame and Clara you would enjoy those lovely spring flowers.’
Stewart had his arm round the police agent’s shoulders. ‘His nerves gave way,’ said Stewart. ‘That’s all.’
The telephone rang; Harvey’s call to Canada. It was a sleepy manservant who answered, as Harvey had counted on. He was able to explain, without having to actually talk to his uncle, that Ruth and the baby were probably not coming after all, and that any references to him in the newspapers and on the television were probably false.
He put down the receiver. The telephone rang: ‘Hallo, Harvey!’ The telephone rang off. Again it rang: ‘Harvey, it’s Ruth.’ She was speaking in a funny way. She was calling herself Ree-uth, although definitely the voice was hers. It must be the London influence, Harvey registered all in a moment. But she was going on. ‘I changed my mind, Harvey. I had to bring Clara (pronounced Clah-rah) to her father (pronounced fah-thar).’
‘What are you saying?’ said Harvey. ‘You mean you’re not going to my Uncle Joe in Toronto. You’ve decided to shack down with Ernie Howe, is that it?’
‘That’s it,’ said Ruth.
‘Then I think you might have had enough consideration for my Uncle Joe — he’s seventy-eight — to let me know.’
‘Oh, I was busy with Clah-rah.’
‘Pass me Ernie,’ said Harvey.
‘Ernie, do you mind?’ said Ruth’s voice, apart.
‘Hallo,’ said the other voice.
‘Ernie Howe?’
‘That’s me.
‘What are you doing with Ruth?’
‘We’ve just had a tunah-fish salad. We fed Clah-rah.’
Harvey then remembered Ernie’s voice (that’s where Ruth got the Clah-rah).
‘I make a good fah-thah,’ said Ernie; ‘and I don’t like your tone of superiority.’
After a great many more hot words, Harvey began to recollect, at the back of his mind, that he really had no rights in the matter; not much to complain of at all. He said good night, hung up, and returned to the sitting room hoping for some consolation from his friend.
His friend was sitting on the sofa holding hands with Anne-Marie. Harvey was in time to hear him say, ‘May I fall in love with you?’