“I’m so glad you came by,” she said nonetheless with great emotion. “Welcome. We’ve so much to talk about. But right now isn’t the time, as I need to go and get dressed to go to the funeral home.”
And without another word she left the room. Diplomatically, noting the sisters’ self-conscious stance, Jade smiled shyly.
“I brought an album with me. Louis and I worked on it for a while. It’s sort of a journal of our relationship. Actually, we had planned on coming back here to visit as early as next month. Together. So that he could introduce me to everyone. He spoke so much about all of you. About this house,” she added with a sweep around the room of her large hazel green eyes. “I never would have guessed that he was such a good storyteller. Everything is just the way I imagined it. And you must be Lily,” she said, extending her hand to Lily, who had yet to move, mesmerised as she was by the woman standing in front of her. “Has Sophie arrived yet? Her trip is so much longer than mine,” she added empathetically with a faint smile.
Her smile came easily and she appeared without guile. Lily had just invited her to sit down on the seat vacated by her mother when Sophie barged into the room.
“I heard she is already here,” said Sophie, stopping in mid-sentence as she saw a woman rise from the couch.
“Hello,” said Jade, bowing again into a wei. Automatically duplicating her welcome, Sophie introduced herself.
"I’m Sophie. Nice to meet you. Are you all right? Have you now met everyone?’’
“Everyone but your father,” came back the answer.
At that very second, Pierre walked into the room and as unexpectedly as his wife, hugged the young woman, albeit without saying a word. Recovering quickly, Jade stepped back and bowed as was her custom.
“It’s an honour to meet you, sir, though I’m deeply sorry to make your acquaintance in such difficult circumstances. I can’t believe the resemblance between your son and you!” she said, her eyes misting.
No one said anything for a full minute, each waiting for the drama to unfold or for the next ice-breaking moment. Untouched, the album laid on the table. It immediately caught Pierre’s eyes.
“Whose is this?” he queried, flipping open the cover.
“Louis’s and mine, sir,” Jade replied politely. “We made it for you. Louis told me how fond you are of making albums, and I thought it was a good idea as well. It covers our travels over the last few months. That’s when I met Louis; almost six months ago,” she lied.
Touched by the unexpected gesture, with emotion constricting his throat, Pierre met her eyes and asked a bit abruptly, “Were you with him when he died?”
“He didn’t die alone, I assure you. I was there with him. It was very quick. He didn’t suffer. He died in my arms. But before he left, he made me promise to come here and meet all you and tell you about his life over the last few months. He was happy you know…” she added, looking away.
Overwhelmed, Sophie, Lily, Stephanie and their father stared at each other, unable to pronounce a word. Their polite upbringing had just failed them, their usual capacity to talk to anyone in any circumstance eluding them. Mouths slightly agape and with grief-stricken faces, they just stared at the exotic woman standing shyly in front of them and the enormity of what had happened finally dawned on them. They all sat down heavily on the downy sofa and, dumbstruck, listened absentmindedly to the lyrical sound of her voice as she flipped the pages one after the other, recounting stories of the son and brother whom they would never see again, commenting on each photograph with both humour and sensitivity. None of them could even pretend to focus on the images displayed for their benefit, but they, nonetheless, nodded here and there where appropriate. Barely a half dozen words were exchanged for the next 20 minutes. They only snapped out of their collective trance when Theo came into the room, announcing that they were now leaving for the funeral parlour.
Two cars were needed to fit them all. Pierre was driving one and Lily offered to drive the other. Florence had made it known right away that she felt too fragile to ride with a stranger and that she could not possibly be requested to make the small talk required to maintain appearances. Jade thus ended up sitting next to Theo, while Sophie shared the front seat with her father. Stephanie, Lily, their mother and Pierre’s brother, Mathieu, rode together. Sophie was relieved. She loved her father’s company and knew that the atmosphere was likely to be less tense in his car than in the 500 SEC four-door silver grey Mercedes, exceptionally driven by her sister, as their mother did not feel up to it. She smiled at the idea that Lily would be co-piloted all the way to the mortuary. Her sorrow and jet lag would predictably combine in getting her lost, and inevitably she would pay for her lack of attention with verbal criticism; undoubtedly she would arrive at the funeral home in a foul mood.
After driving out of the parking spot, which had been miraculously found right in front of the house, Pierre adjusted his rear view mirror to look at Jade.
“My son continues on surprising me by his impeccably good taste in women,” he complimented. “And I apologise for my wife’s coldness. She is incredibly distraught and she tends to hide her vulnerability under barely veiled aggressiveness.”
“It will pass, I’m sure,” agreed Sophie, reinforcing her father’s words. “Maman is very fragile emotionally. This has been a huge shock and she’s trying to handle it the best she can. I’m sure she is desperately trying to be strong for the rest of us, by maintaining focus. Meeting you is part of accepting her son has died, and she can’t absorb it quite yet.”
She sighed and continued bravely.
“It’s hard on all of us. The whole thing is almost incomprehensible in fact. But we appreciate you being here. I don’t know what I would have done in your shoes,” she reflected. “I couldn’t be easy for you either,” she added with empathy.
“You would have done the same, I’m sure. I heard so much about all of you, and being with you here makes me feel he is still alive, somehow. Anyone in my situation would have done the same thing. I had to be sure he made it home safely, returned to his loved ones.”
This last comment struck Sophie as somewhat odd but she did not say anything. She turned instead to her father, who was staring straight ahead, his face incredibly pale, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. Sophie doubted he was even staring at the road ahead.
“Papa, do you know where you are going?” she questioned gently.
“I used to come to the Pere Lachaise when I was a student to study the tombs’ low relief carving and read the poems inscribed on the walls of the mausoleums to my potential love interests. Believe it or not, the gardens are so beautiful that it was considered quite romantic as a date. Another five minutes and we’ll be there.”
Silence fell in the car like a wet blanket. Fear, apprehension and overwhelming sadness were palpable, and none of them was willing to make the effort to tear away the cobweb which had woven itself around them.
They parked near Lily’s car, who had likewise just pulled in. Her eyes were red-rimmed and the tension in her face was unmistakable. Theo, experiencing great difficulty in containing her own emotions came over to comfort Stephanie, who appeared to be completely lost. Mathieu helped his sister-in-law get out of the car and together they began the short walk to the funeral home. The trees were in full bloom and the lawns artfully manicured. Dozens of people milled around, chatting respectfully as they wove their way between the tomb stones, reading the praises and tributes, admiring the carvings, rubbing here and there a particularly witty inscription or photographing one of the thousands low-reliefs. When the family members, with Jade and Theo in tow, reached the front door of the parlour, a panel indicated the way to the various chambers: there was nothing intimate about the large entrance hall. They had been told that the Little Salon had been reserved for them and they soon deciphered their name on the grey felt covered convention-like panel standing to the left of the entrance.
The Petit Salon contained about 25 seats disposed i
n such a way as to allow easy viewing of the coffin which would remain on display until it was ferried to the church for the funeral. Indian-file, they entered the unexpectedly intimate room with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows. Chairs were lined against the walls. Raised from the floor, on a low platform, a cherry wood coffin, with steel handles, covered with intricate silver filigrees around the corners as well as on the lid, awaited them. The heavy padlocks were impossible to ignore: they all stared at them uncomprehending and at the sight, both Florence and Pierre pulled up a chair to support the weight of their grief. The inescapable reality was only starting to dawn on them by small, feathery but implacable strokes: they would never see him again; they would never be able to even say good-bye by stroking his cheek, or kiss his forehead, or hold his frozen hand. The lack of human contact, the revolting concept of saying good-bye by staring at a box and not touch the brother they had loved so much, was tearing them apart. They could not bear to look at each other, because each of them knew that if they did so, they would uncontrollably break down.
Timidly, Sophie approached the casket and began caressing the grain of the wood, the tip of her fingers following the silver filigree.
“Louis, oh my darling,” she murmured, “How could you leave us? It’s not fair. How are we supposed to let you go without saying good-bye?”
Unchecked, tears began to mar her face thankfully void of make-up, while sobs constricted her throat with such power that she could hardly breathe. Unwilling to make a spectacle of herself, she quickly retreated back to a chair against the wall, put her head in her hands and frantically began praying. She was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice that her mother had simply collapsed, her knees buckling underneath her. Mathieu and Pierre had quickly come to her rescue, pulling up a chair close to the head of the casket. Stephanie could not move and Lily held her mother’s hand. Her father sat stone-faced, unable to tear himself away from the sight of the coffin. His face was chalk white and he looked profoundly ill. Gently, sensing his profound yet wordless distress, Sophie stood up and came to sit next to him, taking his hand in hers, putting her head on his shoulder.
“I can’t stand this,” Pierre whispered in her hair. “Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children. This isn’t right. What are we going to do? Sorry, honey, I need some fresh air,” he added, gently pushing her head away.
Together, they silently left the mourning room and on the way out, her father commented on the building’s architecture. Sophie knew she would remember none of it, but she also guessed he needed to talk about something else lest he crumbled.
“What now?” she asked.
“I suppose we go home and prepare for the funeral tomorrow. Church comes first and then we’ll take him to the family grave. Then, I suppose people will come back to the house. I just don’t think your mother will survive this,” he added wistfully.
Sophie though knew her mother to be much stronger than belied her appearance but she also had to admit that she had no idea what it really meant to lose one’s child; she just could not imagine what her mother might be going through. For the first time in her life she felt really sorry for her; sorry for the shock she had so unjustly received; sorry for the physical pain it caused her; for the unending sadness, the indomitable loss and the regrets that came with it.
Drowning in her own thoughts, Sophie wondered whether she should go back to the viewing room. What was the point really? She began walking through the gardens, wondering why the casket was so heavily padlocked, whether the body had been preserved; whether the padlocks were customary with a refrigerated casket designed to prevent the body from decomposing for a few days; whether someone had bothered dressing her brother or whether he was lying there, naked and cold; whether Jade had closed the lid herself and whether she has remembered to put Louis’s personal items with him to accompany him in the after-life, as did the Egyptians. Had she closed his eyes and prayed for him when the lid snapped shut? To break the onslaught of questions, Sophie had stopped to sit on a bench. She vowed to ask the young woman all those questions and check again whether she had been by his side when he died, or did she mention it already? Sophie was trying to recall the conversation that had taken place in the living room a couple of hours earlier but realised that her mind was a complete blank and that she could not remember anything that had been said. She only remembered numbly turning the pages of a photo album. She smiled inwardly at the idea that Louis had taken the time to record his deeds in an album, something their father had done ever since they were children, to commemorate both the important and the trivial moments of their young lives. Perhaps they had not been so different after all.
Noiselessly, Pierre came up behind her, making her jump.
“I’m going back in. To see what your mother is doing; to see whether she wants to stay here a while longer or go home.”
Sophie shrugged, amazed at the banality of the comment. Of course, her mother was in there trying to say good-bye to her favourite child; of course, she would want to stay even if that made no sense at all. She followed him up the path, holding hands. As they neared the building, surprisingly, without a word being exchanged, everyone else seemed to file out slowly, walking back towards the parked cars, in a silence only punctuated by sniffles and stifled tears. No one said anything as they climbed in and they all automatically took the same seats they had on the way in. The drive back was miserable and classical music filled the silence. When they arrived home, Lily asked Jade if she wished to return to her hotel and rest until later. Jade gratefully accepted and Lily told her that she would order a cab to come and pick her up so that she could share their dinner that evening.
Jade was thankful for the brief respite. The family’s sadness had been more devastating and more touching than she had ever expected. From what she had witnessed so far, Louis had really been loved and she was overwhelmed by the contradictive feelings she was experiencing: she felt guilty and envious, depressed and tired. As soon as she put the key into the hotel room door, she saw the red flashing light of the phone, blinking incessantly in the dark. She closed the door, switched on the lights and dialled her access code. Paul’s voice echoed in the anonymity of the cheerless room.
“Call whenever you get in. It doesn’t matter what time it is. I’m waiting for your call. I hope it all went well.”
Jade braced herself for the call. She took the small Nokia out of her bag and dialled the number she knew by heart.
“Where are you?” demanded Paul dispensing with normal greetings.
“Back at the hotel. For a hot shower. And a catnap. Everything went as planned. The death certificate didn’t raise an eyebrow. Customs didn’t even check the locks. The documents were all accepted at face value. The funeral hearse from the Pere Lachaise was right on schedule. Bruno and Michel were there to meet me. Has the money hit your accounts?”
“All settled. You’ve done well. Congratulations. How’s the family though? Are they at all suspicious?”
“Too early to tell. I’ve to go back tonight for some sort of a wake” her voice chocked. “I don’t know if I can do it. It hurts. I loved him, you know. And I feel so sorry for them. They all loved him so much! What if he made the wrong decision?” she whispered sadly.
Paul, listening to her, was trying hard to evaluate the situation, wondering anxiously whether she was on the verge of cracking. He decided to change tack.
“By the way, I heard from your mother today. It seems that you didn’t go and see her last week. She was missing her usual lacquered box. She sounded quite edgy. I told her you were away; and I took care of it, don’t worry.”
Jade thanked him profusely and told him that she would call him back on the evening of the funeral, once she had confirmed her flight back. As a courier, her job ended when the casket was finally in the ground. She always found an excuse to leave a bit earlier than one would have expected from a devoted girlfriend, but generally the families were too deeply grie
ving to care what happened to the stranger who had just shared their most cruel moments. Jade poured herself a scented bath, undressed and slipped into the perfumed bubbles. She had yet to remove the jade necklace she wore against her skin like a talisman. Only Sophie, earlier that day, had commented on its beauty and its unusual shape, asking her whether she was a mathematics fan, a question Jade had not quite understood at first.
Back at the house, the atmosphere was frantic. The phone rang non-stop and so did the doorbell. Bunches of cut flowers, floral arrangements and telegrams began to arrive en masse. They overheard their mother tell the story over and over again, slight variations and exaggerations thrown in, every time, depending on the interlocutor. Their father had retreated into the study to rewrite his eulogy and proofread one last time the announcement that was going to be printed in next morning’s papers. At 8:00 pm, after a string of relatives had come to add to the confusion, Jade had walked back in and every conversation stopped as if on cue, everyone staring at the stranger. Stephanie was quick introducing her to everyone and relive the temporary malaise. Half hour later, a cold buffet dinner was served in the dining room. A few bottles of wine were quickly uncorked and emotions flowed unabated through the wine glasses.
Jade was mesmerised by all those people, all talking at the same time, barely answering each other’s questions, pursuing their own dialogue out loud, a mode of interaction so foreign to her own. She observed few tears and was shocked to see the pages of her album being flipped through and commented as if a mere curiosity. Few people made an attempt to speak to her, except to see if she wanted any more food or a refill for her glass. Sophie was mortified but did not quite know how to handle the exotic woman either. This could not have been her future sister-in-law, could she have? She knew her brother capable of many eccentricities, yet, at the end of the day, she did not believe he would be so brave as to engage in a lifelong commitment with someone who would never meet her family’s criteria for a suitable partner. Perhaps she was wrong. She admitted she really did not know her brother’s taste in women. She had only witnessed the introduction of a string of women, who all appeared to have been stamped out of the same mould. The majority would never be seen a second, let alone a third time. Anyone could change, but it was hard to believe that he would have kept such a huge secret from his mother, who had always had the knack to ferret out the secrets her children were trying to keep from her. At the same time, she reasoned, it would be just like him to spring it on them without warning.
The Samui Conspiracy Page 6