The Marshal at the Villa Torrini by Magdalen Nabb Page B

The furniture seemed to agitate Forbes a great deal more than the funeral.
    'It was meant to be a surprise, that was the whole idea-it was a present and yet you'd think—who told you about it anyway?'
    'Told me about it?'
    'Somebody must have—La Torrini, I imagine, I know you went to see her.'
    'Yes, I did.' What was the matter with the man? 'We didn't discuss your furniture.'
    'Fucking hell!' He suddenly turned his face and covered it with one hand. He was weeping.
    The Marshal waited in silence. It wasn't just when he was drunk, then. Why, though, should he have burst into tears at the mention of his furniture? After some moments, a possible explanation occurred.
    'You say these things were a present. Were they for your wife's birthday?'
    Forbes pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and blew his nose loudly. 'Sorry. No, not her birthday. For Christmas.'
    'I see.' The Marshal watched him rub a hand over his face.
    'I just thought you'd have bought something for your wife that day.'
    'What day?' He was reaching for his coffee cup, pouring more from the octagonal pot he'd left close to the fire.
    'The day she died. It was her birthday.' !
    He hesitated, almost dropped the coffee pot, burned himself saving it. 'Christ! I've burned myself!' He jumped up and went to the other end of the room which served as the kitchen. Still swearing, he opened the ice compartment of the fridge and put his hand inside.
    'You'd forgotten?'
    Forbes pretended not to hear.
    'Have to put something on it . . . ' He ran up the spiral staircase at a speed the Marshal wouldn't have thought possible. He was used to it, of course. He was running away from the question, too. Well, there was no hurry.
    Even so, he wasn't finding out anything and perhaps he never would. He had no idea how to tackle this Forbes chap, and he was afraid his dislike was making itself felt. That could result in a complaint, protests from the consul, the ambassador . . .
    He could hear Forbes fiddling about upstairs. He was gone for quite some time and came back with his right hand inexpertly bandaged by his left. The Marshal made no comment on this, but continued, as though Forbes had never moved.
    'I was saying that you forgot your wife's birthday. I hope she didn't take it too badly.'
    'She didn't . . . know. I mean, she never mentioned it so I suppose she'd forgotten it herself . . . ' His eyes were shifting rapidly about the room. The Marshal, trying to make out where he was looking, concluded that he wasn't so much looking at something as for something.
    'Funny,' he said slowly, 'all her friends forgetting, too, though if you forgot and they didn't, perhaps she avoided saying. Women are like that, don't you find?'
    'I've no idea,' snapped Forbes. 'If there's nothing else— I did tell you I've work to do.'
    'One or two things,' the Marshal said carefully to the settling fire. He didn't move. He felt, rather than saw, that Forbes's frantically seeking eyes had frozen. Settling back just a little in his chair, he spotted it too. A brown leather handbag. It was hanging from the back of a straight chair.
    'I should explain,' he said, 'as you weren't feeling too well at the time, and probably didn't notice, that our technicians examined everything in the house for evidence—in particular, evidence of suicide. Note, pills and so on.'
    Forbes fell silent. He thought for some time and then his eyes glanced off the Marshal's as he tried to look him in the eye, man to man, and failed.
    'She always picked up the post. They leave it in a box near the gate. That day she stuffed it in her bag. She said there was nothing interesting . . .'
    'Very tactful.' The Marshal took out his notebook.
    'What are you doing?' said Forbes in alarm.
    'Don't worry,' said the Marshal calmly, 'I'm not making a note of the fact that you forgot your wife's birthday. But last time I was here, you were in no state to give me a statement of the events of the day which ended in her death. Can I take it