The entire party turned and Vallotton rose, almost stepped forward then stopped. Agnes tried to fade into the background. This must be the brother, Daniel Vallotton. Petit hadn’t told her he was in a wheelchair. One glance was enough to see he had recently suffered a severe injury. His right arm was weighted by a plaster cast while his right leg was propped stiffly in front of him, partially covered by a blanket.
“Can’t believe you let me sleep through all the excitement,” Daniel Vallotton said, struggling to turn a wheel with his one good arm. From behind him, still in the dark shadows of the hall, a woman’s voice echoed, “You’ve caught my scarf. Wait, no, I’ve got it.” And the wheelchair lurched into the room.
The dynamic of the room changed, but whether as a result of the startling beauty of the woman or simply pent-up nerves it was impossible to tell. Agnes surmised the woman was Daniel Vallotton’s wife, Marie-Chantal. She nearly had to shake her head to stop staring. Marie-Chantal Vallotton was a living piece of art, not heavily made-up or the creation of a plastic surgeon, but a simple natural beauty.
Daniel wheeled himself awkwardly to his brother and offered his unbroken left hand. “Didn’t think you’d turn up. MC, give your brother-in-law a kiss.”
Marie-Chantal didn’t move. “We’ve already said hello. Earlier, downstairs.”
Julien Vallotton stepped away from the door. He moved to the cabinet where Mulholland had poured a drink and glanced at the bottles. Agnes watched the marquise give him a nearly imperceptible shrug.
“Inspector … is it Inspector?” Daniel said. “My wife told me we were being gathered. I feel positively left out of the excitement. Presumptuous to think a cripple like me wouldn’t want to be involved in the speculation.”
Agnes approached to greet husband and wife formally. The blanket had shifted and she noted the man’s leg was held together with dozens of thin metal rods protruding through his calf. Despite his injuries, Daniel Vallotton looked the picture of health. Weeks of inactivity hadn’t softened his physique or detracted from his charms. He wore casual trousers with one leg cut away below the knee to accommodate his injury and the arm of his sweater was slit and rolled up above his elbow. The trousers were of a fabric and cut from the orient, the V-necked sweater was gray cashmere. After exchanging greetings, Marie-Chantal rolled the wheelchair in front of the nearest fireplace and turned Daniel toward the room. She pulled an upholstered stool close by and sat, long legs extended in front of her, with an arm on the edge of her husband’s chair. A bit incongruously she also wore a long scarf and small hand-knit hat as if unsure about the temperature indoors. In the flickering candlelight she resembled a fairy from a long-past age: delicate and almost too beautiful for earth. The diamond of her engagement ring reflected filaments of light from the fire onto the walls. The pattern was like a scattered constellation. Silently the Great Dane moved to sit near her, head lowered, waiting to be petted, and Agnes watched Julien Vallotton. He looked resentful.
“With the police here I will come clean and admit I took a tranquilizer after lunch,” Daniel said. “Paid a visit to the surgeon this morning and the doctors pushed and probed so much my leg was killing me. I slept through the whole afternoon—”
“And would have slept through tonight if I hadn’t made him get up,” Marie-Chantal said, running a finger along the stiff line of the cast on his arm. While Marie-Chantal continued to talk, Agnes watched the assembled group. The atmosphere of the room had changed. It had electrified. As they arranged themselves it occurred to her that a photograph would tell a different story than the moving picture in front of her. A still shot would capture the cozy intimacy of the Vallotton couple, their faces and figures striking in their perfection; the marquise distinguished on her silver chair in the center of the room; Ralph Mulholland crossing between her and the bottle of sherry; and Julien Vallotton sitting apart, not needing the comfort of a companion to feel at home. That was what a still shot would capture. Ease, comfort, and beauty.
The moving reality was different. The motion of Marie-Chantal’s hand on her husband’s arm took on an edge of nervous tic, Ralph Mulholland’s attention to the pouring of drinks was overdone, and the marquise’s silence was so studied it was loud. Julien Vallotton tried to fade into the background and only the marquise appeared at ease. Agnes considered the two brothers and saw a family resemblance, the younger brother easygoing, the elder more careworn; the resemblance extended to their aunt. A handsome family. When Julien Vallotton glanced at her, Agnes couldn’t help but think that with those looks and that fortune she was surprised he wasn’t married.
Four