Meg swallowed hard. ‘Would you like us to keep it a secret?’ she asked, knowing she’d find it very hard to do so.
‘Certainly not! Keeping secrets is very wearing, darling,’ said Ambrosine.
‘Are you very tired?’ asked Justin.
‘At my age one is always tired,’ said Ambrosine. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I can add a bit to your story that you may not know. But I can tell you tomorrow, if you’d rather.’
‘My dear young man, it’s hardly worth me ordering tomorrow’s copy ofThe Timesin case I’m not there to read it.’ She had brightened up. ‘Tell me now!’
‘Well, you know my father is looking for a mystery Frenchwoman, whose name no one recognised? No? Well, he is! Because my grandfather left you a third of the hotel in his will.’
Meg stared at Justin. ‘So Ambrosine is the missing person?’
Justin nodded. ‘Mme Fauré-Dubois.’
‘Heavens to Betsy!’ said Ambrosine. ‘What a very strange thing! Why would he do that?’
‘It’s not at all strange. My grandfather wanted you to be secure for the rest of your life. He wrote a letter. It was among his papers. It didn’t mean anything to anyone because until now, no one knew who he was talking about.’
‘But he knew I’d got married again,’ said Ambrosine.
‘I gather from my father that my grandfather was getting rather vague towards the end. I suppose he’d known you longest as the woman married to Count Fauré-Dubois.’
‘That would explain it. My second marriage was very short,’ said Ambrosine. She gave a sudden shuddering yawn. ‘Now I think I might need to rest,’ she said. ‘Would you mind …?’
‘Of course!’ Meg and Justin got to their feet. Ambrosine had closed her eyes and on impulse, Meg went over to her and kissed her cheek. It was wet with tears.
They were in the town having driven away from the hospital and found somewhere to park. They hadagreed they needed time to think about what they had heard before they went back to Nightingale Woods.
‘Is it too early for a drink?’ said Justin, glancing at his watch. ‘The pubs should be open now. I’d like to talk it all over, digest it a bit. That was all quite a shock.’
‘I agree,’ said Meg. ‘I know people did amazing things during the war but imagine having Nazis for dinner when you’ve got secret agents in your attic. What a nerve!’
‘But if anyone could do it, Ambrosine was the one,’ said Justin.
They approached a teashop, apparently full of ladies halfway through their morning’s shopping. ‘What about in here?’
He shook his head. ‘I know a pub where we can talk privately. I don’t want to be overheard.’
The King’s Head had the characteristic smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke that pubs always have when they first open. It felt chilly and unhospitable. Justin found them a table and then went to get drinks and just for a few minutes Meg missed French cafés which would have smelt of fresh coffee and would already be bustling. But they weren’t here to absorb the atmosphere, they were here to help each other understand what Ambrosine had done before she was an eccentric old lady living as a resident in a small country hotel.
‘I’m so touched she chose us to tell her story to,’ said Meg, sipping her lime juice.
‘It was you she wanted to tell. I was just there,’ said Justin.
‘It was just as well you were there. I wouldn’t have known she was the third person in the will.’
‘Odd that she didn’t know either,’ said Justin.
Meg shrugged. ‘She hadn’t seen the will and no one had any idea that she’d once been married to a French count.’
‘One thing is certain, my uncle Colin won’t be happy about Ambrosine being the third person.’
‘Why not? He’s known for a while that the hotel is to be split three ways.’
‘He hasn’t accepted it,’ said Justin. He was drinking lime juice too. ‘I think he was hoping that the mystery woman could be declared dead, and he doesn’t get on with Ambrosine. Also, he’ll be worried about who she’ll leave her share to when she does shuffle off her mortal coil. It could be a favourite nephew, or a cat’s home.’
