by Ivo Fornesa
‘Actually, I came with just one question, but a few hours ago another one came up,’ Laurent said. ‘I’ll be brief, Thierry. Tell me, do you remember the day of the celebration clearly?’
‘I remember it perfectly.’
‘So you’ll recall that, shortly before Shennan disappeared, you came over to the terrace with some mistletoe for Madame Mayumi. When I told you I’d been talking to her husband, you made a face and said you had, and I quote, “no desire to see him”. That came as quite a surprise, since you’ve always been quite friendly with everyone.’ Laurent gave him a prosecutorial look.
Thierry relaxed and smiled, then asked, ‘OK. And the second question?’
‘Just today I learnt that the husband of the woman from the bakery in Lignières was your brother.’
Thierry let out a grunt. ‘It’s funny, everyone refers to her like a character from a novel, “the woman from Lignières”, as if there weren’t other women or other bakers in town. Yes, he was my brother, but that has nothing to do with your question about Shennan. Or do you think they’re somehow related?’ he asked with sarcasm.
‘I don’t know, what do you think? Your brother commits suicide, you start working for the man who led him to do so, and before long he shows up dead under mysterious circumstances. And to top it off, just a few hours before that happens you say you can’t stand the man. How does it look to you?’ asked Laurent, holding his hands up.
Thierry smiled again. He had one of those toothy grins somewhere between sad and melancholy that must have paid off handsomely for him in the romantic realm.
‘Yes, fine, when you put it that way, it does sound obscenely bad, I admit.’
‘So let’s hear what you have to say. I want to cross you off my list.’
‘Wow, so there’s a list? How many others do I share the honour with?’ he asked, clearly mocking him.
Laurent, not always terribly perceptive, didn’t catch the sarcasm. ‘Nine, but I’ve already crossed a few off.’
‘First I’ll answer your second question. Neither Shennan, nor any of my sister-in-law’s many other lovers, is the least bit responsible for the fact that my brother hanged himself. You’re a gentleman, and I know what I tell you will stay between us.’ Thierry didn’t wait for Laurent to agree before he explained.
‘My brother and his wife knew each other since they were kids, and by age fifteen they were already a couple. He was a great person, and so was she. When they got married, my sister-in-law had a rough go of it, because her family, farmers with quite a lot of money and land, didn’t look well on the marriage. Besides, my brother was only a baker’s assistant; he didn’t even have a baking certificate. She stood up to everyone, she even asked for her inheritance early so she could pay for both of them to get certified, as well as to rent the space and equipment.
‘Everything seemed to be going well. They worked hard, and before long they had two beautiful children. And my sister-in-law was very happy, because my brother really was a wonderful person, kind and not afraid of work. Anyway, as you know, bakers work very early in the morning, something that my brother usually did with his assistant, a young guy from Orléans. And one day my sister-in-law couldn’t sleep and decided to get up and take them some breakfast, thinking it would brighten their day.’ Thierry closed his eyes and paused for a moment. ‘Since she had a set of keys, she walked straight in without knocking and found my brother and his assistant on top of the kneading table, buck naked, lips locked … and you can imagine the rest.’
Laurent wasn’t at his most empathetic that day, and he cut in, ‘Just like in The Postman Always Rings Twice, that’s a terrific scene.’
Thierry, a saint, didn’t bat an eye. ‘Yes, sure, but my sister-in-law wasn’t at the movies, and the actor was the father of her children. Understandably, she was furious. The first thing she tried to do was fire the assistant, but then my brother started acting like an idiot: he admitted he’d known he was gay for years, but said he’d always controlled himself, except on occasional hook-ups when he’d had to travel to Paris or other provinces for business. She begged him to make an effort, and she tried to be understanding, but the fool said he’d fallen in love with the assistant, and they ran off, leaving her with the children.’
Laurent’s mouth hung open in surprise. ‘That’s some story, Thierry. Sleepy rural France is a lot seamier than I thought.’
‘Mind you, the story doesn’t end there: a few months later my brother showed up out of the blue. Apparently the assistant had found someone with a tastier baguette, so to speak. Back home, meanwhile, no one knew a thing, because we’re from Normandy, and my sister-in-law had explained my brother’s disappearance by saying he’d gone to take care of our mother. In short, she allowed him to come back home, in memory of better times, but she told him that just as he’d shown no respect for her, she’d show no respect for him. So she went ahead and shagged any guy she wanted. One of them was Carlos Shennan. Over time, my brother grew bitter, because my sister-in-law treated him with open scorn, and in the end he took his own life. Then she lived unhappily ever after, the end. As you can see, I don’t blame Shennan for anything. My brother was responsible for his own fate and his own mistakes. Does that answer your question?’ Thierry asked, hands on his hips.
‘Yes,’ Laurent conceded, ‘that more than answers it. I’m sure your sister-in-law must feel horribly guilty. Such a sad story.’
‘Don’t worry, she’s strong. Now for the first question,’ he pressed on, ‘I only have twenty more minutes.’
But before Laurent could say anything, Thierry launched into another tale.
‘As you know, I’m quite fond of Solange, the landscape architect. In fact, ever since the first day I saw her in the park in Saint-Chartier, I’ve been mad about her. And while she liked me, I’m sure you can guess that she was fascinated by Shennan’s reputation: he was educated, attractive and what’s more, he’d just placed a blind confidence in her for the landscaping project. Understandably, she felt flattered, and was always going on about Monsieur Shennan this and Monsieur Shennan that. You can imagine how nice that feels, when you’re in the middle of trying to win someone’s heart. Frankly I was sick of hearing about him.’
Laurent tried to reassure him. ‘But she doesn’t fit the type of women that Shennan liked. She’s too young and fragile.’ Though as he said this he recalled the scene in the nursery, and Shennan’s face when he saw Laurent talking to Solange about which fruit trees he wanted to plant.
‘I don’t know, Laurent. The fact is, she loved to go off talking about plants with Shennan, and he was a born seducer, and a tireless one. I think that, even though she wasn’t his type, he wouldn’t have turned her down, if only to add another notch to his bedpost. Honestly, at the time I thought anything was possible. In fact, the day of the party he’d been very attentive, introducing her to everyone as “the genius responsible for the park” and taking her by the arm to talk with his guests. That’s why I was so upset when you saw me. Still, you have my word that after I delivered the mistletoe I spent the whole time with Solange, walking around the gardens, and that later on we met up with a group of young musicians she knows. So I’ve got an alibi and everything.’
Now it was Laurent’s turn to feel uncomfortable. ‘I apologise for wasting your time, Thierry. And for putting you on the list. You don’t deserve to have me come and harass you with these questions. I won’t keep you any longer. Hopefully one day we can get together in more pleasant circumstances. In fact, tomorrow I’ll see Solange, and I’ll suggest we get together for a barbecue or something.’
Thierry looked up, and Laurent saw in his eyes an expression that reminded him of a puma cornered against a rock wall.
‘Why are you going to see Solange?’ Thierry protested. ‘You can’t possibly think she had anything to do with this. Besides, you have my word she was with me the whole time.’
‘I can see she’s a sensitive topic, Thierry. She’s not on my list,’ he lied, w
ell aware that, given their relationship, they might well cover for each other with mutually reinforcing alibis. ‘I just want to find out if Shennan ever told her anything that might have to do with his death. As far as I’m concerned, she’s as harmless as the saint she’s named after.’
That seemed to reassure Thierry, and he offered Laurent his hand.
‘That’s good. Now I won’t have to worry. Thanks for understanding, and yes, let’s get together once you’re finished playing Poirot.’
Back in his car, Laurent thought that his list was turning out to be a disaster, since no one really seemed suspicious. Perhaps the weakest position at the moment was Thierry’s, though his instinct told him that the tree trimmer, or rather arboriste-grimpeur, had nothing to do with Shennan’s death.
SOLANGE VARTEL
Solange had arranged to meet him on a Tuesday, the day of the market at Saint-Août. Laurent thought they could take a walk around the main street, something he always liked, because he enjoyed seeing the stalls selling animals. He’d order a suckling pig from Monsieur Fiett, and then they’d eat at Chez Sandrine Jamet, a surprisingly good eatery.
They’d arranged to meet in the plaza in front of the church, and since he arrived a bit early, he decided to poke around inside. The church boasted a spectacular wooden baldachin originally made in the Franciscan convent in Châteauroux, and apparently dismantled and hidden in this church by a group of the faithful during the Revolution. Laurent found it perhaps a bit out of proportion for a parish church, but it was still impressive, as was the fact that it had been spared the revolutionary flames.
When he stepped outside again he saw Solange. When she wasn’t mucking around in flower beds she had an amusing style of dress that always reminded him of Mary Poppins. Black was the essential element in all her outfits, which usually consisted of tall laced boots, hats topped with feathers and beads, flowing skirts with frills and embroidery and delicate lace, frock coats whose wide lapels were always graced with a cameo brooch of agate or ivory, and finally, to tie it all together, an old-fashioned umbrella with an impossibly intricate handle. Anyone else would have looked outlandish in such a get-up, but on Solange the clothes came together in a coherent ensemble that didn’t strike anyone as odd. The fact is, in spite of her fragile appearance, she was a woman who inspired respect. Nothing about her suggested weakness – quite the contrary.
Perhaps because it was a market day, that morning Solange had chosen an audacious hat with golden pheasant plumes that elicited crows of approval from the roosters in their cages, like catcalls from rowdy inmates.
‘Good morning,’ Laurent said. ‘Your hats never disappoint.’
Solange was one of those women who rarely laughed, but she knew how to give a warm embrace of a smile.
‘Thank you. Every day I wonder if my hats are the only thing you like about me.’
Laurent gave a hearty laugh. ‘Be good now, don’t get me going. We don’t want your prince charming, the arboriste-grimpeur, drowning us in the ocean of his jealousy.’
Solange had a knack for comedy, and feigned a look of surprise.
‘Thierry? Poor thing! You don’t think he’s jealous, do you?’ And for the first time since he’d met her, he witnessed the miracle of her laughing at her own joke. Then she said, ‘Shall we look around the market before they take down the stalls?’
That Tuesday the market was packed, and they spent a lot of time greeting people they knew. Solange, to his surprise, stopped by a sausage-maker’s stand to buy an enormous blood pudding and a breaded pig’s trotter.
‘I’d never have imagined you’d buy such a thing. You don’t seem like the kind of person who likes cuisine canaille.’
Solange corrected him at once. ‘Laurent, cuisine canaille refers to tripe and offal. Totally different from this fresh boudin. And just because I’m skinny doesn’t mean I don’t like to eat. I just don’t stuff myself, unlike some others I know, who have noticeably put on weight since they moved to France.’
Laurent felt attacked.
‘True, I have put on weight,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t know whether it’s the peacefulness or the scenery, but I’ve always got an appetite.’
A good while later they went to Sandrine Jamet’s, a restaurant whose delightful owner ran the place with her parents. Laurent always admired her conscientiousness and diligence, along with her unfailing kindness. Sitting at the table, Solange looked at Laurent and revealed, ‘You know, Thierry called and told me why you wanted to see me.’
Now it was Laurent’s turn to feign shock. ‘I can’t believe my ears! Why would he do such a thing? Please, Solange, I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’m also not the dullest. I knew from the start that he’d call you.’
‘In that case, since I know why you’re here, and since Carlos’s death also left me with a bad feeling in my bones, why beat around the bush? Ask away.’
The way she spoke roused Laurent’s curiosity. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, ever since I learnt he was dead, I was certain it wasn’t just an accident. Everything felt too strange, almost unreal: the inauguration of the château, all those guests, the gauchos roasting meat, the music group, the security detail that looked like something out of an action film … even the fact that they held you as a suspect itself struck me as suspicious.’
‘I see,’ said Laurent. ‘Though the fact that I could have been found guilty didn’t seem to cause you much distress.’
‘Don’t say that; I was always certain you had nothing to do with it, and that they wouldn’t end up arresting you, which they didn’t. Though I might also point out I was more convinced of your innocence than you are of Thierry’s or mine,’ said Solange with a teasing glance. He replied with an amusing expression.
Sandrine placed two plates of duck gizzard salad before them.
Solange speared a piece of the salad and added in a low voice, ‘Besides, I think I know what you want to ask me. You want to know exactly what kind of relationship I had with Carlos Shennan, isn’t that right?’
‘Not only that. Since you’ve given the matter some thought, I’d also very much like to hear what theories you have.’
Solange nodded. ‘My relationship with Carlos was strictly professional at first, but I won’t deny that the man had many charms, and once when we were visiting greenhouses up north, we had a one-night stand. The problems is, I took it to be a one-off, whereas Shennan chose to take it more seriously, which led to some misunderstandings between us.’
Laurent shook his head. ‘Goddamn Carlos. Never in my life have I met someone who had so much trouble keeping it in his pants.’
‘Please, Laurent, we’re both grown-ups. Besides, I was the one who put the moves on him. One of the things I liked most about him at first was that, despite being a professional seducer, with me he acted totally differently – he showed me a sort of reverential respect. The night we spent together was one of the best experiences I’ve ever had, sexually speaking, and the way he acted … let’s just say that had he not been married with children, I wouldn’t have let him get away.’
When he heard her speak, Laurent recalled the words of Father Gérard and wondered whether she might not be the woman Shennan had fallen head over heels for.
‘Who’d have thought? Poor Carlos,’ said Laurent playfully. ‘In the end, at least as far as you were concerned, he ended up being “the hunter hunted”.’
Solange made an exasperated face. ‘What makes you say that? Do you think I’m unable to seduce a man or take the initiative in a relationship? Ever since I was a kid, people have insisted on seeing me as some sort of character from Jane Eyre. It’s the story of my life. Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not true. I can’t stand how everyone thinks they have a duty to protect me. I’m not some porcelain figurine, nor am I a saint. If someone tried to hurt me, I guarantee I’d know how to defend myself, and even how to punish them, should it come to that.’
A new Solange appeared before h
is eyes. And he couldn’t help feeling presumptuous – foolish, even. Ever since the moment he’d met her, he too had felt inclined to protect her.
‘I’m glad to know you’re such a tiger,’ he joked, mostly to make her forget her anger. ‘That’s a real weight off my shoulders. Now I won’t feel guilty when I put the moves on you.’
She burst out laughing.
‘You’re just like Carlos, Laurent,’ she said finally. ‘You both know how to make a woman laugh, and that’s a gift that opens many doors.’
‘I appreciate the compliment, Solange, but there’s one thing I still don’t understand. If you liked Carlos so much, why didn’t you continue the affair?’
‘Basically for two reasons: first, I’m more practical than I seem, and my job is sacred to me. What I was doing for Shennan was a project that totally absorbed me, and I wasn’t about to lose my head over some silly infatuation. And second, because I’m not a bad person. I like Carlos’s wife and daughters, and I was always clear that I was there to design a park, not to wreck a home. Besides, once Carlos started playing the submissive lover, he lost some of his appeal.’
‘And Thierry? What part does he play in this whole drama?’
Sandrine came by to take away the plates, and they both sat in silence for a moment. That was when Laurent saw that Solange’s eyes were gleaming with delight. She was having a ball.
‘As in any good movie, you need a knight in shining armour, and Thierry came along with his curly golden locks at just the right time. He’s a good man, he’s sweet, and he’s gorgeous too. Besides, his job is related to what I do. He’s someone who needs to love, and he has the added appeal of not having a family – a perfect equation. I appreciate how we haven’t been clingy or cloying in our relationship, except of course when he starts acting like the defender of my honour. When he does, I make fun of him and call him “the Guardian of the Sublime Porte”.’