Death in Saint-Chartier

by Ivo Fornesa

  ‘What? That’s outrageous!’ Laurent suddenly turned livid. ‘I had nothing to do with it! Anyone could have gone in and started that fire: hikers, children, whoever, but not me. I’m an upstanding citizen!’

  Tartarin was surprised by his vehemence, but didn’t let that stop him from helping himself to another slice of brioche.

  ‘Monsieur de Rodergues, as I said, I have no doubts about your innocence, but unfortunately the field is in your name, and I’ve checked with Monsieur Salssart, who says that he also didn’t light any fires. What’s more – strange to say – he says he stopped by there late yesterday evening and didn’t see any preparations for a bonfire, or anything of the sort. Whoever lit it did so after ten o’clock at night.’

  Laurent remained silent for a moment. ‘Which neighbour filed the complaint?’ he asked.

  ‘Tonton Boussard.’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea who that is. I don’t know any Tonton Boussard.’

  Clearing his throat, Sergeant Lafonnier contradicted him. ‘I’m afraid you do. From what I’ve heard, you had a run-in with him a little over a month ago.’

  ‘A month ago? But I’ve never had trouble with anyone. I certainly haven’t quarrelled with any—’ He stopped short. ‘Hold on, you don’t mean that fat, rude man who yelled at Madame Shennan and me in front of the city hall the day I met her and her daughters?’

  ‘The very same.’ The sergeant nodded. ‘He’s a difficult man, but all the same I have to admit he’s a responsible citizen: he doesn’t make trouble, he pays his debts on time, he works hard and he rarely speaks to anyone, as he’s a natural loner. But when something does bother him, he’ll find every legal trick in the book to blow it out of proportion. If it’s any consolation, you may as well know that he’s already filed four complaints against Shennan: one for the noise from the construction at the château, and another because he thought one of the workers didn’t have the right permit for operating a crane – unfortunately he was right, much to Monsieur Shennan’s chagrin. He also filed a complaint against the pair of Belgian retirees who live next to the fire station, because one day their dog got off its leash, and … anyway, I’m afraid the list goes from here to Narbonne. In the local police stations everyone knows him, and the annoying thing is he’s always partly right. He’s a professional nuisance, and with foreigners he’s even worse. This week it’s your turn.’

  ‘Couldn’t he have lit the fire himself?’

  The sergeant smiled with a sad sympathy. ‘I doubt it. He’d be stirring up trouble for himself, and that’s not his style. In any event, there’s no way to prove anything, and since you own the land, you’re responsible for the fine, even if we indicate on the report that we’re certain you had nothing to do with it. I do apologise, that’s the most we can do. At the very least, you don’t have to worry about the fine: your insurance company will pay for any damages, so it won’t cost you a thing, except the time for the court appearance. As for Tonton … I think he’s got it in for you because of your friendship with Shennan. He’s waging an open war on them, and it’s heating up.’

  ‘I’ve had it up to here with my “friendship” with Shennan! How many times do I have to repeat that I’ve only ever spoken to his wife and daughters, and only on one occasion? With him I’ve never so much as exchanged a word!’

  ‘Be that as it may, you seem to be the only person in town who’s been invited over for tea,’ Tartarin pointed out.

  ‘To hell with that bloody tea! That was just because of the little incident we had with the dogs, nothing more!’ Laurent was worked up.

  ‘Now, don’t get excited, parbleu! The fine is just a trifle. And now I must be off. Don’t hesitate to call me should you need anything.’ Tartarin got up, then added, ‘One more thing – that brioche is divine. Would you mind if I took another slice?’

  ‘Help yourself, Sergeant. If I can, I’ll bring a whole one just for you when I go to the station to make my declaration. I want to state for the record that I came here to find peace and quiet, not to put up with any knuckle-dragging peasants. But I guess every village has its idiot who wants to fuck the sow.’

  ‘A word of advice, if I may,’ offered Tartarin. ‘I know that overseas in the colonies, perhaps because of the sailors’ tradition, people tend to employ a saltier vocabulary, but here, on the continent, it’s rather frowned upon, and you in particular have a fondness for coarse language. Just a suggestion, and I’m only telling you because of some remarks I’ve heard from several ladies at the bakery.’

  Laurent was beside himself with rage.

  ‘Sergeant Lafonnier, I appreciate the lessons in urbanity, but I’m not from the French overseas colonies. I’m in my own house, so here at least I’ll do and say whatever the hell I please. I say this with all due respect.’

  Tartarin, unflappable, shook his hand and smiled, then again gave an official salute.

  ‘I understand perfectly. Sometimes when I’m hunting, I can’t help letting slip a few four-letter words myself. I’m just conveying the concern of a few ladies who otherwise find you quite charming.’ He was on the bottom step when he suddenly turned around, as if he’d just remembered something. ‘Say, you haven’t seen Mademoiselle Yael, have you? I know what good friends you are, and we haven’t seen her around town for a few days.’

  ‘No, I haven’t seen her. I know she went to Blois for a few weeks. And we’re just acquaintances,’ Laurent replied somewhat sharply.

  ‘Just curious. A very interesting woman, that Mademoiselle Yael, wouldn’t you agree?’

  And without waiting for a reply, he carefully closed the verdigris gate.

  Laurent walked straight to the kitchen, intending to pour himself a glass of the local liqueur and eat the rest of the brioche to calm down.

  He placed an ashtray among the crumbs on the table and lit one of his Honduran cigars to think. He still hadn’t met Shennan in person, and he’d already been drawn into his orbit. Even odder, every day he seemed to meet someone who adored him and someone else who regarded him with a sectarian hatred. He couldn’t help thinking of Oscar Wilde’s famous bon mot: ‘The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.’

  He took a deep draw on his dark-leaf cigar and exhaled a giant cloud, hoping to see Yael’s concerned face in the wisps of smoke, but his skills as a seer bore no fruit. And though he couldn’t see the face of his lover in the smoke, he did suddenly recall the sergeant’s last question, and he noticed now that he’d asked it in an unpleasantly official tone.

  He put out the rest of the cigar in the ashtray with an advertisement for Ricard anise and headed to the shower.

  SHENNAN AT THE GATE

  Laurent was returning home from a long walk from the restaurant La Petite Fadette in Nohant-Vic, a place he went every Wednesday. The service was good, and so were the prices, and the dining room offered a warm and welcoming space with wainscoting, an oversized hearth and a window that looked out onto the small but distinctive church, the George Sand manor and the bust of Chopin on the corner. After a good meal, with his body warmed by a nice Armagnac and a sizeable veguero cigar that encircled him in a halo of smoke, the stroll back was an added treat. For Laurent, this cross-country promenade, with his grandfather’s hand-carved boxwood walking stick, couldn’t have been more pleasant.

  When he reached the square in Saint-Chartier, from the pathway from the town of La Preugne that led past the washing house, he spotted someone leaning against the wall of his house with some grocery bags on the ground. He continued walking and studied the individual. Seeing how he moved, he felt certain it was none other than Shennan. His intuition was confirmed when the visitor, upon hearing his steps on the gravel, turned toward him, waved his hand and with a booming voice cried out, in Spanish, ‘Don Laurent! It’s about time we finally met!’

  He had a peculiar way of talking and smiling at the same time that made it hard not to fall under his spell. Even Laurent, who was inclined to dislike him because
of the melodrama in the bakery and the fire on his field, couldn’t help but return the smile and spread his arms when Shennan, in the affable Argentine style, went to embrace him. Laurent had seen the world and wasn’t easily fooled, and if even he had that reaction, what hope was there for unsuspecting women?

  After embracing they shook hands vigorously, looking each other in the eyes, examining one another with curiosity and humour, like two wolves who cross paths in the woods. Once they determined they bore no animosity to each other, the Argentine spoke.

  ‘Laurent, after the lives we’ve led, the fact that we both ended up in this tiny village in rural France can only mean that fate wants us to be friends.’

  ‘What choice do we have? This isn’t Patagonia, and it’s impossible to live here without running into people at all hours of the day,’ joked Laurent.

  ‘Speaking of run-ins, I understand you had a memorable one with my wife and daughters. I brought you a few bottles from my cellar; they’re from Chile and very good. I hope they’re to your liking,’ he said, pointing to the bags at his feet.

  ‘Why don’t we go inside and find out?’ Laurent picked up one of the bags and noticed it was quite full.

  Once inside, he invited Shennan to sit on one of the wing-back chairs and asked him to open whichever bottle he liked, while he went to light the hearth.

  Shennan decided to play it safe and opened a Montes Alpha. Soon they were raising their glasses before the fire, searching for common ground in their past and sharing stories from the south.

  ‘I should apologise on more than one account, Laurent. First for the construction noise – you must be at your wits’ end – and then for not coming over to introduce myself sooner. And finally for all the gossip you’ve heard about us, which you must find a colossal bore. Besides, I understand that you ran into some trouble with one of your fields, and I suspect I’m to blame.’

  ‘To answer in the same order, I can say the walls are thick, both inside and out, and I rarely hear any noise. As for your second point, it’s equally true that I haven’t introduced myself either, mostly because I assumed you were very busy with the construction, your family and your business. And as for the gossip, while I have heard a lot of things, perhaps you’ve heard some things about me as well, so we’ll call it a tie – though I’m afraid what they say about me is much less interesting than what they say about you. And finally, I actually would appreciate some news about that trouble in the pasture, because it caused me a tremendous bother.’

  ‘Yes, this business with the field is absurd, and it’s all the fault of that insufferable farmer who’s got some grudge against me – because I’m a foreigner, I suppose, and because I bought the château, and above all because I refused to sell him the fields next to his. When he wouldn’t drop the matter, I told him that not only would I not sell them, but that you too would sell me yours before you leased them out to him. I know I had no right to say that, much less without having asked you, but you know how it is: sometimes in the heat of an argument one gets carried away, and my fiery Irish blood is always spoiling for a fight.’

  ‘So that’s all it was?’ Laurent said. ‘Regardless, even if you did say that, he has no right to raise such a fuss, especially one that’s going to cost me time and money. I hope he gets kicked by a cow.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Shennan reassured him. ‘I’ve got it under control. As I understand it, he’s going to withdraw the complaint, and then we’ll all live happily ever after.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Laurent was astonished. ‘Tartarin said that he had it in for you, that he was going to do everything in his power to make your life impossible.’

  ‘That’s right, but my lawyers in Paris are very resourceful and well connected.’ Shennan’s impish smile, accentuated by the play of light from the fireplace, gave his handsome face a slightly Satanic mien. ‘And I can say, based on the information they’ve provided, that from now on Tonton will be downright chummy with us, because if he continues to raise a fuss, certain private affairs of his will come to light, and it seems they’re quite scandalous.’

  ‘I’m dying to ask what those “affairs” are, but I’d rather drink to having the matter settled. And thank you – on my behalf you needn’t have bothered.’

  ‘Not at all, Laurent. What he did to you was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ve always ignored Tonton to avoid trouble with the town,’ Shennan confessed, frowning with a rather fierce expression, ‘but when I saw he was starting to cause trouble for other people simply because they knew us, even tangentially, as in your case, I realised I had better put a stop to it now and teach him a lesson, give him something that’ll sting for a bit. As for the other gossip, I assume it all has to do with women or with my business. You must have heard about the woman in Lignières, I suppose?’

  ‘You have to admit, it’s pretty bad.’

  ‘See? Everyone wants to believe the version that makes me out to be the villain. For your information, Françoise, the baker, has been doing her own thing for years, and I was just one affair of many. I wasn’t even the only one at the time, though I was perhaps the most conspicuous.’

  ‘But is it true what they say about the baguette with horns?’ asked Laurent, since that detail had been etched on his mind.

  ‘You even heard about that stupid baguette? Good God!’ Shennan moaned. But seeing Laurent’s expectant look, he went on. ‘Yes, it’s true. When I’d go to the bakery she’d hand me the loaf over the counter and say, in front of the other customers, “Here’s your bread, Monsieur Shennan, soft and warm just the way you like it.” I’d die of embarrassment, but when I’d see that mischievous face of hers, her chest, her hips … What can I say? I couldn’t control myself. She was worth it, no doubt about that, but you had to play by her rules. I’m not making excuses, please don’t misunderstand me, but if you’d met her I’m sure you’d have ended up making a pilgrimage, too.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. Of course, I’m in no position to judge, but what her husband did is really unfortunate,’ countered Laurent.

  ‘Of course, but how could I have imagined the guy would go off and do a thing like that? Françoise always said he didn’t care what she did, and even if he did, he deserved whatever he got for something truly bad that he’d done in the past. And since the guy looked so meek and resigned, I chose to believe that there really wouldn’t be any trouble.’

  ‘And your wife never caught wind of it?’

  ‘Oof, knock on wood,’ said Shennan sheepishly. ‘If Mayumi found out, the veil of the temple would be torn in two. Thankfully she’s not very sociable, and with her aloofness, no one’s going to run and fill her in. She’s got quite a temper, but I imagine even if she did find out, her sense of decorum would prevail. She never lets herself lose control. Besides, in Japan, where she’s from, no one expects model behaviour of the men, which is a plus. But even though I’m shameless, I love her and wouldn’t want to offend her for the world.’

  Laurent took a drink from his glass, thinking back to the conversation with Madame Mayumi and wondering about all the things Shennan knew about the world outside the wall of his fortress, and all the things he was unaware of within them. Still, he preferred to remain silent. This wasn’t the first time he’d met a married playboy who made the mistake of thinking his excuses were airtight. Shennan brought him back out of his thoughts with another confession.

  ‘As for the rest of the affairs chalked up to me, it’s true I’ve had some, but not as many as I’d like, and almost never with the women I really want.’ After this he settled into a mysterious silence, emerging a bit later to raise his glass in a toast. ‘So that’s me, Laurent. Please accept my welcome to Saint-Chartier, along with my invitation to have a drink in my home. I’d love to show you my collection of South American artefacts. I understand you’re a marvellous rider, and a lot of what I have is equestrian gear.’

  ‘I’d be delighted to, Carlos,’ he replied, and seeing him get up, Laurent di
d the same, shaking his hand to show he did in fact accept Shennan’s offer. Then, before his guest left, he remembered he wanted to ask him something. ‘Your row with the worker the other day was quite something. How is it that you speak Arabic?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ he said, trying to look modest, but his eyes gave off sparks from his stoked ego. ‘I had some business in that part of the world, and I’ve got a knack for languages. Though I don’t remember seeing you in the crowd that day. I did notice a gorgeous woman with curly hair, however.’ Noting Laurent’s expression change, he continued. ‘I see, you must have been the guy standing next to her. I confess, I didn’t notice you then. She took up all my attention. Where did you meet her? Is she from around here?’

  Laurent was surprised Shennan hadn’t noticed Yael in Saint-Chartier. He preferred not to go into detail and instead played coy.

  ‘Not exactly. One day I’ll tell you the story.’

  Alone again, Laurent reflected on his first encounter with Shennan. He’d tried to resist, but he had to admit he’d been won over by the man’s charm.

  FLORA AND FAUN

  A few days later Laurent visited a plant nursery in Châteauroux. After talking to the Green Goddesses one evening in their snug home, he’d gotten it into his head that he should plant some fruit trees on part of his land.

  He was comparing possible trees when he happened upon the landscape gardener from the château. He caught sight of her from afar and confirmed his first impression: the young woman had an exceedingly romantic aura, as though she went through life on cottony clouds that let her float over the world without being tainted by it. Her eyes, almond-shaped with extremely long lashes, had an absent, melancholy look that made him think of those medieval poems that speak of a doe wounded by an arrow.