Evan And Elle Part 5

He sighed and leaned against the door of his car. "I tell you one thing-I've had it up to here with Peter-b.l.o.o.d.y-Potter. He's been breathing down our necks, calling us incompetent provincials and worse. Apparently he normally has this kind of thing wrapped up in a day or so. He says the method used was the same for both fires, in both cases quite efficient and professional. This was someone who knew a thing or two about starting fires. But the prints don't match to anyone who's known for burning down cottages. So this is a new bloke and I'm d.a.m.ned if I know how to find him. I'm thinking we may have to plant a spy in this extremist group-these Sons of Gwynedd. I was wondering . . ."

"Don't look at me, Sarge," Evan said quickly.

"No, not you. Of course everyone knows who you are. I was thinking of your butcher. He'd be a useful man, if you could persuade him to do his part for law and justice."

Evan chuckled. "The police dragged him into jail kicking and screaming not too long ago-do you really think he'd want to help?"

"You get on with all the locals. We thought that maybe you could persuade him."

"I don't think I've got a hope in h.e.l.l," Evan said. "In fact I suspect that he knows more than he's letting on. But I'll make the suggestion if you want me to."

"What I'd really like you to do is solve this b.l.o.o.d.y case for us, so I can get back to Operation Armada and see a little action for once."

"They haven't caught anyone yet?"

"Nah-they've been lying low, probably waiting for us to lose interest, or pull off our men. But it's only a matter of time. We think they'll be using several small boats and running them into different harbors at the same time-on the theory that the police can't be everywhere at once."

"They're right about that," Evan agreed.

"Criminals are getting too b.l.o.o.d.y smart these days," Watkins growled. "Do what you can, won't you, boyo? Or I might have to suggest to HQ that you'd be great as Potter's full-time a.s.sistant."

When he'd gone Evan locked up and walked slowly up the street, deep in thought. Watkins wanted the impossible. There was no way he'd get Evans-the-Meat to cooperate with the police to nab Welsh extremists. And he had no bright ideas himself. Madame Yvette hadn't called him again with any more trouble. And being stuck on duty in a village hardly gave him the scope to track down terrorists. . . . He felt annoyed and powerless. What he needed now was luck. If a serial arsonist was at work, then it was only a matter of time before he struck again, and maybe the third time might be lucky. Eventually the arsonist would make a mistake or leave a traceable clue.

That night Evan was getting ready for bed when there was a tap on his bedroom door.

"Mr. Evans? Are you in there?" Mrs. Williams asked, although she had seen him go up the stairs half an hour earlier. "Telephone for you-she says it's an emergency."

Evan reached for his dressing gown and ran down the stairs.

"Ees zat Constable Evans?" The voice was tight and breathless. "I am so sorry to disturb you but anozzer note has come . . . just a few minutes ago I see it. I am worried zat zee man ees still outside my 'ouse."

"Keep the door locked and watch out for me," Evan said. "I'll be down there in a few minutes."

He scrambled back into his clothes, grabbed his torch and drove as fast as he dared down the pa.s.s, his headlights cutting crazy curves through the darkness as he negotiated the bends. He parked and switched on the torch. It felt heavy in his hand and comforting in the absence of a weapon as he got out of the car.

He had just completed a tour of the outside of the building when he sensed someone standing behind him. He turned to see Madame Yvette standing at her door, wearing a white satin dressing gown with feathery trim at the neck and matching slippers.

"Oh, you 'ave come. Sank you so much. I am so afraid when I sink zis man might still be zere, watching me."

"Don't worry. I've checked all around the place. If anyone was here, he's gone now." He followed her into the restaurant. What had once been a chapel now contained six tables covered in red-and-white checked cloths. There were curtains at the windows and Impressionist prints on the walls. Evan nodded with approval.

"You say you just got the note?"

"I found it when I went to check zat zee doors were locked for zee night and I call you right away. It was not zere when zee restaurant was open or my customers would have seen it."

Evan looked around at the tables laid with polished silver and white linen napkins, unsure where to sit. It was as if Madame Yvette read his mind.

"I start small," she said. "Only six tables. That way 1 can do wizout 'elp until it gets going. And I live 'ere-upstairs, where zee old balcony used to be. It ees small but how you say"-she spread her hands in a very French gesture-"cozy enough for one person, non? non?"

She crossed the restaurant and pushed open a swing door into a kitchen. Gleaming pots and pans hung above a big stove. Strings of garlic, onions, and bunches of herbs hung over a central wooden table. "Zis way, please," she said. She turned to her left. There was a back door on the far wall and beside it a wooden staircase climbed the side wall. She went up without turning around, her slippers flapping on the bare boards. Evan got a tantalizing glimpse of bare leg as she hitched up her robe.

The upstairs living area was one good-size room, like a loft, above the kitchen. There was a small sofa, armchair, and coffee table at the near end, with a TV on a cabinet in the corner. On the far wall was an unmade bed with various pieces of clothing, including a black lace bra, thrown across it.

"Please. Sit down. Anywhere you like."

Evan perched hastily at the end of the sofa closest to the stairs, with his back to the black lace. "Now about the note, Madame," he began.

"Would you like a gla.s.s of wine perhaps?" Madame Yvette crossed the room.

"Not while I'm on duty, thanks."

"Not even a cognac?" She opened the corner cupboard beneath the TV. "I sink I will have one, if you don't mind. To steady zee nerves."

She poured amber liquid into a brandy gla.s.s and came to sit on the other arm of the sofa. She took a sip, sighed and put the gla.s.s down on the coffee table in front of her before reaching for a packet of Gauloises. "Cigarette?"

"No thanks, I don't."

"Very wise. Feelthy habit. I should quit, but I don't seem to be able to."

She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Evan wasn't sure, but he thought she deliberately blew the smoke in his direction.

"Show me the note you got," Evan said. "Is it the same as the last one?"

She pulled it from her dressing gown pocket. " 'ere it ees."

Evan unfolded it. It was also written in bold letters in black marker. It just said, GO HOME OR ELSE GO HOME OR ELSE.

"Short and to the point." Evan looked up to see her watching him. "It will be interesting to see if the prints on it match."

"Prints?"

"Fingerprints. There were some clear fingerprints on the last note. I presume this came from the same person."

She shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe everybody wants me to go away. I thought it would be a good place. My friend takes zee 'oliday and says Yvette, zere are no French restaurants up in North Wales. Why don't you open one up zere? But now I'm not so sure. I nevair expect zis kind of thing."

"It's only a few extremists," Evan said. "And the Welsh take their time to accept newcomers-especially anyone foreign. But we like to eat. If you serve good food you'll win people over."

"Zat ees what I hoped," she said. "I needed to buy a place where property was not so expensive."

"Did you come here straight from France? Did you have a restaurant over there?"

"No, I once had a restaurant wiz my husband on zee coast in Suss.e.x, but we had nozzink but bad luck. My husband died and I was in zee hospital for a while. I didn't have zee 'eart to start again down there."

Evan nodded in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said. "You must miss your husband."

"My 'usband? Pah! He was 'ow you say-zee b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Zee monster!" she said with great venom. "It was the 'appiest day in my life when I escape from 'im." She paused, reached for the brandy gla.s.s and took a gulp. "I mean, when he die." She slid down to the sofa beside him. "So now I'm all alone," she said. "It ees not easy for a woman alone."

"No, I'd imagine not." He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The sofa was rather snug for two people.

"Maybe I expect too much," she went on, her brandy gla.s.s poised just below her lips. "I sink I will make zee success because I know how to cook. And everysing starts so well too-zee newspaper come to interview me and take my picture. Zee Taste of Wales people come and eat 'ere last weekend. You know about zee Taste of Wales?"

"They give out awards for good cooking, right?"

"Zay say zay might nominate me for Best New Restaurant-pas mat, non? I cook for zem zee Welsh foods, you see. My rack of lamb wiz rosemary and my puree of leeks. Zay were impressed, I could see . . ." Her eyes had been alight as she spoke, but then her face fell again. "But now zis! What good ees to win zee award if people don't want me 'ere?" I cook for zem zee Welsh foods, you see. My rack of lamb wiz rosemary and my puree of leeks. Zay were impressed, I could see . . ." Her eyes had been alight as she spoke, but then her face fell again. "But now zis! What good ees to win zee award if people don't want me 'ere?"

"I'm sure most people want you here," Evan said.

"You sink so?" She put down the gla.s.s but the cigarette still rested between the fingers of her left hand. "I'm 'appy someone want me 'ere."

He felt the silk of her dressing gown brush against his hand and made to get up. "I suppose I'd better be going. There's not much more we can do before the morning."

"You sink not?"

Evan cleared his throat and went on. "I imagine Sergeant Watkins or one of the detectives will want to talk to you about the note tomorrow and then we'll try and match the prints."

She put out her hand and rested it lightly on his arm. "Don't go," she said quietly. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

Evan had an idea of what she was hinting at, but just in case he said, with great professional detachment, "I can understand you'd feel a bit nervous after what happened. I could telephone HQ and see if they could send up a female officer to be with you if you like."

There was amus.e.m.e.nt in her dark eyes. "You Englishmen-toujours le 'gentleman,' n'est-ce pas? It ees not zee woman P.C. zat I want to keep me company . . ."

"I'm not an Englishman. I'm a Cymro-a Welshman," Evan said, "and we're even more reserved, I'm afraid."

"But the same fire burns underneath, I sink?" She crossed her legs and the tip of one bare toe touched his leg.

"I really should go," he said. He was finding the room uncomfortably warm.

He tried to stand up, but her hand put pressure on his arm. "Why do you deny that you would like to stay 'ere wiz me tonight? I can see in your eyes zat you desire me-and what is wrong with zat? You are a healthy young man and I-I am a woman of experience. And we are both alone and unattached. It would be very good, I a.s.sure you."

"I'm sure it would . . ." Evan managed to extricate himself from her grip. "But I'm really not the kind of bloke who . . . I don't go in for casual . . . I mean I'm sort of dating a girl."

She laughed at his embarra.s.sment-a deep throaty laugh. As she leaned back on the sofa Evan was pretty sure she wasn't wearing anything under the robe. Get out of here now-he could hear the warning voice echoing through his head.

"You are engaged to zis girl?"

"No-it hasn't got that far yet."

"In France it is considered de rigueur de rigueur that a man has a wife and a mistress, and maybe a girlfriend as well. Besides-who ees to know if you stay 'ere tonight?" that a man has a wife and a mistress, and maybe a girlfriend as well. Besides-who ees to know if you stay 'ere tonight?"

Evan laughed shakily. "Everybody. You don't know North Wales yet. Everyone will already know that I was called down here. They'll all know the exact time that I get back."

"So zat ees what worries you?" She got up, too, and moved closer to him. "Your fine, upstanding reputation wiz zee citizens? Then it doesn't have to be the whole night, if zat's what you want. In fact I'm sure we could be very quick if you wanted to, and no one would ever know . . ."

"I'd know," Evan said. "And it really wouldn't be fair to the girl I'm seeing, would it?"

"She's a lucky girl, zen." Madame Yvette put her hands on his shoulders. "I hope she keeps you satisfied?" Without warning she moved her hands to his face, pulled him toward her and planted her lips firmly on his. Then she released him again. "If you ever change your mind, you know where you can find me. And I'll show you the difference between a girl and a woman."

She gave his cheek a playful pat. He had no recollection of how he got down the stairs and out to his waiting car.

Chapter 8.

By the end of the week the investigation was apparently no further along. At least if it was, n.o.body had bothered to tell Evan, who felt his isolation, stuck in the Llanfair substation with nothing more to do than warn Rev. Parry Davies that Mrs. Powell-Jones had complained about his van blocking the street again. Evan could only presume that none of the prints had been identified and that no more fires had taken place. However, he reminded himself that the last two had happened at weekends. This weekend he was going to be on the alert.

On Sat.u.r.day morning the women of Llanfair a.s.sembled again in Madame Yvette's kitchen. Yvette looked around at the group.

"I see zere are not so many ladies zis time. Zay are perhaps busy?"

"Their husbands won't let them come," Betsy said bluntly.

Yvette was instantly alert. "Zay do not like it zat I am here? Zat I am zee foreigner?"

"No, it's nothing to do with that," Betsy said. "They didn't like the French food."

"Not like zee food?" Yvette put her hand to her breast. "Zat is zee same leek puree I serve to zee Taste of Wales judges and zay say it was magnifique magnifique."

"It wasn't what they were used to, I think," Bronwen said gently.

"And it wasn't enough," Mair Hopkins added. "My Charlie had to make himself a couple of cheese and pickle sandwiches when he'd finished what I'd cooked for him."

"Ah. It ees not enough? Je comprends Je comprends. Nevair mind. Today we make zee cla.s.sic boeuf bourguignon and zen zee eclairs-I guarantee zay will satisfy all 'usbands."

They began chopping vegetables and cutting beef into cubes.

"It's just like a lamb cawl, but with beef," Mrs. Williams muttered to Mair Hopkins. "I don't see what all the fuss is about, personally."

"Zen we take zee red wine," Madame Yvette said, lifting the bottle. "A Bordeaux would be preferable, but any red wine you have around zee house will do."

Mrs. Williams looked horrified. "We're chapel! We don't have wine around the house!"

Madame Yvette smiled to herself. "Maybe zee 'usbands would not complain if zay 'ave a gla.s.s of wine wiz zair food." Then her smile faded and she looked up thoughtfully. "When you say zee 'usbands forbid, I sink maybe zat one of zee husbands write me zee note."

The women looked up from their cutting.

"You hear, I suppose, zat someone write me zee notes, telling me to go 'ome."

"No! My, but that's a nasty thing to do," Mrs. Williams exclaimed. "It better not be anyone from Llanfair who's doing it or he'll get a piece of my mind!"

"Who'd do a thing like that?" Mair Hopkins asked.

"There are people around here who'd want to get rid of her because she's foreign," Betsy said. "I could name some."

"I think Constable Evans is already looking into it, Betsy," Bronwen said quickly.