about Corinne’s love life, she hoped? She had heard enough bosh about Corinne’s love life already.
Jonson shook his head. No – it hadn’t been that. (Antonia imagined there was a slight change in his expression at the mention of ‘love life’.) It was something completely different. The leak concerned Mademoiselle Coreille’s appearance – her hair, in particular.
‘Ah, the trademark fringe.’
The story that had found its way into the magazine was to the effect that Mademoiselle Coreille’s fringe was not her own – that she had lost all her hair in a fire – that she was completely bald and wore a wig.
‘Like in Ionesco,’ Payne murmured. ‘ La Cantatrice Chauve . . . Am I right in thinking that the bald prima donna never actually appears?’
‘She doesn’t . . . Stop showing off,’ Antonia whispered.
‘I always imagined the famous fringe was insured for millions of francs,’ Lady Grylls said and she urged Jonson to eat. He must be famished after his drive. ‘ Do have some cake. It’s awfully good, usually. Shall I cut you a slice?’ She picked up the knife. Antonia smiled. Lady Grylls was treating Jonson like a growing boy. He might have been the youngest of her nephews.
‘Thank you . . . There was also the more serious claim that Corinne Coreille had lost not only her hair, but her voice as well,’ Jonson went on. ‘It was alleged that she had only mimed to playback during her Osaka concert last November.’
Lady Grylls continued firing more questions at him. It was funny that it was she who was conducting an inquiry and not the other way round, Antonia thought, amused. Why had Corinne employed the services of an English private detective? Weren’t French detectives good enough?
‘Mademoiselle Coreille’s view was that the less her compatriots knew about her private life the better. Besides she did have the idea that English detectives were more efficient than French ones.’
‘Reading too many Sherlock Holmes stories, I expect.’ Lady Grylls went on to ask Jonson if he had known who Corinne Coreille was before she had employed his services.
‘No. I’d never heard about her before.’
Lady Grylls shook her head in a perplexed manner. ‘She is my god-daughter but she’s a bloody enigma. I can’t take the measure of her, really. Rather a strange character. The more I hear about her, the less I feel I know her . . . What did you make of her?’
Jonson’s face remained blank. He hadn’t had the chance to form an opinion, he said. He had seen Mademoiselle Coreille only twice. On both occasions she had been very pleasant to him. Very polite. His dealings had been mainly with Maître Maginot.
‘And did you find Maître Maginot “pleasant”?’ Lady Grylls boomed. ‘Would you say that she was a nice woman? Who is she anyway?’
’Well, I can’t pretend I liked her, but, on the whole, she was perfectly civil to me . . . She is a former barrister of considerable standing. I believe she studied law at the Sorbonne as well as at Columbia University. She has all sorts of diplomas on her study walls. Accolades from various societies. Framed letters of thanks from Henry Kissinger, Elizabeth Taylor and the Sultan of Brunei.’
‘Ha!’ Lady Grylls said derisively.
There had been an odd flatness in Jonson’s voice, which puzzled Antonia; it hadn’t been there earlier on. Did he know something discreditable about Maître Maginot? Antonia wondered what it might be. Were Maître Maginot’s exalted diplomas perhaps forgeries? Could Maître Maginot be an impostor?
‘She holds Mademoiselle Coreille’s power of attorney and the right to act as her spokesperson,’ Jonson went on. ‘She has complete control of Corinne Coreille’s estate, or so I gathered.’
‘How old is she?’
‘I don’t know. Um. Fifty-five –’
‘The same age as Corinne?’
‘No – I mean, she must be in her sixties – maybe older. I don’t know . . . I believe she’s had a stroke sometime
Jonson shook his head. No – it hadn’t been that. (Antonia imagined there was a slight change in his expression at the mention of ‘love life’.) It was something completely different. The leak concerned Mademoiselle Coreille’s appearance – her hair, in particular.
‘Ah, the trademark fringe.’
The story that had found its way into the magazine was to the effect that Mademoiselle Coreille’s fringe was not her own – that she had lost all her hair in a fire – that she was completely bald and wore a wig.
‘Like in Ionesco,’ Payne murmured. ‘ La Cantatrice Chauve . . . Am I right in thinking that the bald prima donna never actually appears?’
‘She doesn’t . . . Stop showing off,’ Antonia whispered.
‘I always imagined the famous fringe was insured for millions of francs,’ Lady Grylls said and she urged Jonson to eat. He must be famished after his drive. ‘ Do have some cake. It’s awfully good, usually. Shall I cut you a slice?’ She picked up the knife. Antonia smiled. Lady Grylls was treating Jonson like a growing boy. He might have been the youngest of her nephews.
‘Thank you . . . There was also the more serious claim that Corinne Coreille had lost not only her hair, but her voice as well,’ Jonson went on. ‘It was alleged that she had only mimed to playback during her Osaka concert last November.’
Lady Grylls continued firing more questions at him. It was funny that it was she who was conducting an inquiry and not the other way round, Antonia thought, amused. Why had Corinne employed the services of an English private detective? Weren’t French detectives good enough?
‘Mademoiselle Coreille’s view was that the less her compatriots knew about her private life the better. Besides she did have the idea that English detectives were more efficient than French ones.’
‘Reading too many Sherlock Holmes stories, I expect.’ Lady Grylls went on to ask Jonson if he had known who Corinne Coreille was before she had employed his services.
‘No. I’d never heard about her before.’
Lady Grylls shook her head in a perplexed manner. ‘She is my god-daughter but she’s a bloody enigma. I can’t take the measure of her, really. Rather a strange character. The more I hear about her, the less I feel I know her . . . What did you make of her?’
Jonson’s face remained blank. He hadn’t had the chance to form an opinion, he said. He had seen Mademoiselle Coreille only twice. On both occasions she had been very pleasant to him. Very polite. His dealings had been mainly with Maître Maginot.
‘And did you find Maître Maginot “pleasant”?’ Lady Grylls boomed. ‘Would you say that she was a nice woman? Who is she anyway?’
’Well, I can’t pretend I liked her, but, on the whole, she was perfectly civil to me . . . She is a former barrister of considerable standing. I believe she studied law at the Sorbonne as well as at Columbia University. She has all sorts of diplomas on her study walls. Accolades from various societies. Framed letters of thanks from Henry Kissinger, Elizabeth Taylor and the Sultan of Brunei.’
‘Ha!’ Lady Grylls said derisively.
There had been an odd flatness in Jonson’s voice, which puzzled Antonia; it hadn’t been there earlier on. Did he know something discreditable about Maître Maginot? Antonia wondered what it might be. Were Maître Maginot’s exalted diplomas perhaps forgeries? Could Maître Maginot be an impostor?
‘She holds Mademoiselle Coreille’s power of attorney and the right to act as her spokesperson,’ Jonson went on. ‘She has complete control of Corinne Coreille’s estate, or so I gathered.’
‘How old is she?’
‘I don’t know. Um. Fifty-five –’
‘The same age as Corinne?’
‘No – I mean, she must be in her sixties – maybe older. I don’t know . . . I believe she’s had a stroke sometime
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