DEATH IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE an utterly gripping murder mystery by LESLEY GRANT-ADAMSON

Author:LESLEY GRANT-ADAMSON [GRANT-ADAMSON, LESLEY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Ostara Classics
Published: 2023-11-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

‘That was not one of your greatest successes,’ Oliver West said to Rain Morgan as the door slammed and Tarquin Poulteney-Crosse ran downstairs.

She poured coffee, saying: ‘He didn’t pretend I was wrong about him being on the yacht that evening.’

Oliver spooned sugar. ‘They couldn’t, surely, have been arguing about him repeatedly popping up and wanting to talk to her. There must have been something else.’

‘Yes, I’m sure of that. She probably did tell him to go away and stop following her around, but that wouldn’t be a reason for him screaming he’d kill her.’

She looked at the clock. It was time to ring Holly Chase at the office with a brief story about the faintly ducal connection roughing it on the beach.

‘Hi!’ said Holly. ‘How’s the suntan?’

‘I’ve been far too busy to look for one of those,’ Rain said. ‘I tried you at home earlier — hasn’t anyone mended your cable yet?’

‘Oh, sure. Normal service was resumed yesterday morning. Then the water board came and dug the cable up.’ Peals of laughter.

Rain gave Holly a couple of paragraphs. Holly sounded disappointed. ‘Is that all?’

‘No, but it’s all that’s fit to print.’ She left Holly to wonder about that, and rang off.

Oliver said: ‘What did Cobalt want?’

‘Someone’s tipped him off that Sabine Jourdain was painting Durance’s pictures. He wanted to know whether that was as wild as it seemed.’

‘Fancy him asking you. Why didn’t he keep it to himself?’

‘I was the quickest way of checking it. He wouldn’t want to waste his time chasing that story if I’d already done it, and I can get a story into print more quickly than the British magazines he supplies. Even so . . .’

Oliver nodded. ‘Even so, you didn’t help him. You didn’t confirm it.’

‘I need to know a bit more. With Tim here I couldn’t ask him.’ She began to dial a Nice number. While it rang she said: ‘There was something else, too. He’s found Barbara Coleman.’

Oliver rolled his eyes. He was weary of Barbara Coleman and her elusive behaviour. After a minute or two Rain replaced the receiver. ‘No answer. He must have gone out.’

‘Good,’ said Oliver. ‘Then we can finish packing and go to the airport. If you want to phone Cobalt you can do it easily enough from London.’

‘You wanted a day in Nice. I can offer you half a day and then we can take the later flight.’ Then: ‘Better still, let’s dash off to Nice now and have one more night here.’

He was willing to be persuaded. ‘But supposing Cobalt isn’t at his flat?’

‘I know where I can find him around lunchtime.’

Minutes later they were on their way in high good humour, Oliver thumbing a guidebook and choosing the things he wanted to see.

‘If you can find Cobalt quickly and finish with him equally quickly, then you’ll be able to come along,’ he offered.

‘I’ll probably have to pump him, he refused to be explicit on the phone so I don’t think he’s keen to tell me everything.

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