The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(71)

“I don’t know of a Sylvie Bourdin.”

“She was also a friend of my wife’s. Miriam stayed with her in Paris. She suggested I get in touch.”

“Really,” Sonny said witheringly.

Arthur began to feel cross that she was being so inhospitable. “Ms. Yardley, my wife died. Twelve months ago now. I don’t know if you’re aware of that. I’ve been trying to find out some things about her past.”

He kind of expected her to apologize, to say that she was sorry for her manner, but again she didn’t speak. He thought that she must be very angry or was withdrawing her words as some kind of show of power. Perhaps she was still feeling poorly after her illness. So he began to witter again. Words tumbled off his tongue. He told her about the charm bracelet and how tracing the charms had led him to Paris, London and Bath. There were just two charms left for him to discover more about—the ring and the heart.

He could tell that she was still there from the occasional clicking noise, like earrings clinking against the side of the phone. When he had finished, he added, “So that’s the story.”

“I don’t know why I shouldn’t hang up on you, Mr. Pepper,” she said frostily.

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Did your wife ever mention me to you?”

“No. I don’t believe she did. My memory can be a bit rusty, though...”

“I wonder how many other skeletons she kept in her closet. Do you know?”

“I, er, no.” They seemed to be speaking different languages and he was tired of playing games, following leads and not knowing where they were taking him.

“No. It doesn’t sound like you do,” Sonny said. “I shall take pity on you, then.”

“I went to the art college to find you. I saw a painting by your brother while I was there. It was of Miriam. He was a fine artist...”

“Yes, he was.”

“He no longer paints?”

“He is no longer with us. You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Arthur wasn’t sure what she meant. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s a wonderful way to remember him, for his work to be on display.”

“I hate that painting. It’s far too whimsical for my taste. If I had my way, and if my brother wasn’t the artist, it would be removed. Or even burned.”

“Oh, I thought it was rather lovely.”

“Don’t humor me. I really do not have time for this conversation, Mr. Pepper.”

Arthur stood his ground. “I’m just trying to find out about my wife. I feel that there are things I don’t know, stories I’ve never heard...”

“It might be best if you don’t know them. We can end this call. Feel free to throw away the paint palette charm. It is a part of history I’d rather forget.”

Arthur’s mind reeled. His hand holding the phone trembled. It was so tempting to do as she bade him. It was something he’d thought of, too, to get rid of the bracelet and try to return to normal. But he had come so far. “Were you and my wife very good friends once?” he asked gently.

Sonny hesitated. “Yes. Yes, we were. A long time ago.”

“And Martin, too, if he painted her...?”

“It was a long time ago...”

“I need to know what happened.”

“No, you don’t. Leave this be...”

“I can’t, Ms. Yardley. I thought Miriam and I knew everything about each other, but now I feel I don’t know anything. There’s a big hole and I have to find out how to fill it, even if I hear things I don’t like.”

“I don’t think you will like it.”

“But I have to know.”

“Very well, Mr. Pepper. You asked for the truth. Well, here it is. Your wife was a murderess. How do you like that?”

Arthur felt as if he was falling down a giant hole. His stomach plunged. His limbs felt as if they were flailing. “Forgive me. I don’t understand,” he gasped.

“She killed my brother, Martin.”

“That can’t be.”

“It is.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Sonny swallowed. “We’d been friends for a long time, Miriam and I. We played together and did our homework together. When she was having trouble at home, it was me she confided in. I’m the one who listened and offered advice. I encouraged her to follow the Mehra family to India. I bought her the bracelet as a good luck present before she left. I was there to support her when she stayed in Paris. This Sylvie Bourdin’s name is vaguely familiar to me. Miriam and I wrote to each other all the time throughout her travels. We were as close as two friends could be.

“But then, after she’d traveled to Paris and India and London, when she was tired of moving around, she came home. But instead of turning her attention to me, picking up on our friendship, she set her sights on Martin. She batted her eyelashes at him. They started to go out without me. Within a couple of months they were engaged to be married. Did you know that?”

“No,” Arthur whispered.

“Martin wanted to buy her a diamond ring, to do things properly. So he began to save every penny that he could. In the meantime he bought her a charm in the shape of a ring to go on her bracelet.”