Murder at the Villa Byzantine

I?’

‘No, you didn’t. Information – you mean information about Prince Cyril?’ She resumed her seat beside the window.

‘Yes. I told you sources were scarce. King Simeon’s office sent a very stiff letter saying he was reluctant to discuss his late uncle with anyone. Anyhow. I’ve been looking for information on the internet and last night I found something.’

‘What did you find?’ She didn’t sound particularly interested.

‘It was an architectural enthusiast’s website. Some Italian – lives in Siena – who seems to be a nut about royal residences. He displays pictures, photos, plans, drawings of European royal palaces, past and present, and so on. There was a picture and a plan of the royal palace in Sofia. A very detailed plan.’

‘I have little patience with detailed plans,’ she said.

‘This Italian had got hold of the original plan somehow, that goes back to the time the palace was first built in the 1880s – after Bulgaria’s liberation from Turkish rule in 1878. The palace was built for Bulgaria’s first German prince, Alexander Battenberg.’

‘I am perfectly familiar with the historical facts, Tancred.’ Miss Hope was looking out of the window, shading her eyes.

‘The palace is very small. I mean, as royal palaces go.’

‘Bulgaria is a very small country, Tancred. Once, centuries ago, it was the largest kingdom in the Balkans, but then it became the smallest. It has had a turbulent history. The Berlin treaty was particularly unfair to it.’

‘The royal palace in Sofia is no larger than a Viennese rentier’s residence, someone wrote.’

‘That is quite true. Here we go again, exchanging bits of not very interesting information, instead of which we could have been talking about things that really matter!’ She was looking at him with great intensity. ‘That’s exactly the point I wanted to make earlier on, Tancred. We could be talking about things that matter.’

‘The plan shows the main building and the gardens around it – but it shows no lodge.’

Miss Hope bowed her head slightly. ‘What do you mean, no lodge?’

‘There are stables and a pavilion or two and a pagoda and what looks like a small ornamental lake, but there is no sign of a lodge.’

‘Where thou lodgest, I will lodge,’ she murmured.

I’ve started slipping up, she thought calmly.

It was inevitable that sooner or later she’d make a mistake. She had always known that, so she was not particularly surprised. Inspector Davidson had caught her out first – then she had given the dog a different name – and now this ridiculous absence of a lodge. Keep your head, she told herself and felt the irresistible urge to laugh out loud. Keep your head. Had Stella ever been given the same advice?

‘Let me show you the plan.’ She saw Tancred, silly boy, pick up a sheet from his desk and half rise from his chair.

She put up her hand. ‘No need. I believe you. I believe you unconditionally. I know you are incapable of telling a lie. Your noble nature would never allow it. Well, what can I say?’ She gave a contemptuous shrug. ‘It is no doubt some busybody’s awkward drawing. I am sure this so-called “plan” you have in your possession will be conspicuous for the absence of a lodge… And what does the absence of a lodge signify to you?’

‘What does it signify? Why – don’t you see? The lodge has played such an important part in your narrative. That is where Prince Cyril and Victoria lived – that’s where Victoria went when she was upset by Giovanna – the party you just described took place at the lodge – it was at the lodge where Prince Cyril made a pass at you!’

‘Of course I see. My dear boy! I see perfectly. The question now is, who do you believe? Me – or some espresso-sipping Sienese?’

‘It strikes me as extremely odd that-’

‘I hope, Tancred, you are not suggesting that I make things up? That all this time I have been perpetrating some infernal swindle?’ Miss Hope seemed greatly amused by the idea. She gazed out of the window. The next moment her expression changed. She gave a little gasp and pulled the blind down.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Tancred, there is a man outside!’

‘What man?’

‘He’s coming up the steps… He is about to ring the front door bell.’ Her voice quavered slightly. She took off her pince-nez and placed it on the little table beside the window seat. ‘Now listen very carefully, Tancred. I wouldn’t open the door if I were you. Please, don’t open the door. Or if you do, on no account allow this man into the house. Something terrible is going to happen if you let him inside the house.’