The Undertaker's Son

by Bev Spicer

  ‘I… Of course. Do you have my address? When would you like to call?’ She went to the kitchen to get a sponge and coming back without one.

  ‘We are outside your building, actually. If you need time to… ready yourself, we can wait.’

  Estelle went to the window that overlooked the street. There was a tall dark-haired man wearing a thick grey overcoat, looking up at her and holding a mobile phone to his ear.

  ‘Oh!’ said Estelle, moving back into the room and looking around, if not frantically then certainly a little uncomfortably.

  ‘You have nothing to fear, Mademoiselle Dupont. We simply wish to ask you a few questions, that is all.’

  There was something in the man’s voice that reassured her, although she knew she had every reason to mistrust a stranger who wanted to come into her home at a moment’s notice. Did the police work in that way?

  ‘Give me ten minutes, Chief Inspector,’ she said, at last.

  She telephoned Clement and he said that he could be there in fifteen minutes and that she should let no one in until he arrived.

  When Estelle answered the door, the tall man in the grey overcoat held up a police badge. Behind him was Giselle Durant, the girl who handled viewings for Felix Dumas, and with her was a middle-aged man with greying hair, wearing a hat.

  ‘May we come in?’ asked the Chief Inspector, pleasantly.

  ‘Yes, of course. But, Giselle…?’

  ‘Good morning, Estelle. I am Detective Inspector Lafayette and this is Detective Inspector Brun, we are here to assist Chief Inspector la Grange with his enquiries. Would you like to sit down so that we can explain why we are here?’ She took out a notebook and followed Estelle to the sofa, sitting beside her while her superior took the armchair opposite and Brun remained standing behind him.

  ‘What’s this about?’ asked Estelle, when they were settled, not knowing to whom she should address her question and wishing that Clement would arrive.

  ‘Perhaps you already know,’ suggested the young woman who had worked as Felix Dumas’ assistant for the past months.

  ‘This is not a guessing game,’ cut in the Chief Inspector. And, turning to Estelle, he began, ‘We are here regarding a series of suspected frauds on the part of your employer, Felix Dumas. Some of these relate to properties acquired through his offices in Royan.’

  ‘I see,’ said Estelle, looking over to the file on the table behind him, which contained every document she had accumulated to prove Dumas’ guilt.

  ‘We believe that for some time now, Dumas has been amassing property in the area in, shall we say, an unorthodox manner.’ The Chief Inspector raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair, nodding towards his assistant to take up the explanation.

  Before DI Lafayette could begin, there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Perhaps you had better let your friend in, Mademoiselle Dupont, after all, what we are about to discuss concerns him perhaps more than it does anyone else,’ said the Chief Inspector, relaxing once more into the armchair, a wry smile spreading across his face.

  Estelle went quickly to the door and threw her arms around Clement, so pleased was she to see him. The latter looked into the room and, seeing the man in the armchair grinning back at him and the second man standing close by, gently disentangled himself and pushed Estelle aside.

  ‘Go outside, now! Do as I say and call the police!’ he said to Estelle, his expression set so that she did not argue.

  The Chief Inspector rose and advanced towards Clement, stopping in front of him, the grin on his face unchanged.

  ‘Good morning, Monsieur Berger. A pleasure to meet you at last,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  Clement ignored him and addressed the man behind him, who remained at a distance, his face as serious as it had been when he had come to view the apartment: ‘What are you doing here, Schwartz? Did Dumas send you?’ He glanced at the girl on the sofa and then back to the man in front of him.

  ‘Ah, you are on the wrong track, Monsieur Berger,’ said the Chief Inspector, taking out his identification once more. ‘We are on the same side, it appears.’

  Clement looked at the badge and the Chief Inspector chuckled. ‘Perhaps you had better call your young friend back, so that we may find out the best way to ensure that Dumas is made to stop his activities as soon as possible, and so that she doesn’t alert the whole neighbourhood to our presence.’

  Sixty-five

  Lesley called round with some apples on Sunday morning.

  ‘We have so many this year. Are they any use to you?’ she said, holding out a large carrier bag.

  ‘I’m sure I can do something with them,’ replied Martha. ‘Have you got time for a coffee?’

  ‘If you’re sure, that would be lovely.’

  ‘I have the number of my plumber, too, if you still need it,’ said Martha, as Lesley followed her through the hall and into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, yes! Good. That’s good.’

  ‘Here it is. His name’s Robert. Robert Palmier. He can turn his hand to most things, actually, but I think he’s a plumber by trade.’

  ‘Yes, I know the name. His family lives in the old manor house on the outskirts of the village, next to a vineyard that they own and still work, I believe. If he is the elder of the two sons, he is the one who turned down a place at the Sorbonne, to study the Classics. Is he blond or dark?’

  ‘Dark.’

  ‘Then that’s him. The other brother runs the sales side of the vineyard. Yes, so you have a rather distinguished plumber, my dear! I didn’t realise!’ Lesley laughed and asked for a vase to arrange the flowers she had brought. ‘He’s a very handsome man, I hear, as well as being well brought up and educated. Not married, either.’

  ‘Just stop there!’ replied Martha, laughing too.

  All the same, she was surprised that Robert had such an interesting background. The way he had been such a gentleman and his obvious discretion all made more sense now. The idea that he was a handsome man had crossed her mind before. She pictured him and supposed that he was very good-looking, even in his work clothes.

  ‘Well, dear, you don’t want to be stuck on your own forever, do you?’ Lesley put water in the vase Martha found for her.

  ‘I quite like being on my own, actually. And, anyway, I’m off to a party tonight.’ She did not mention Clement. He had not phoned her since the previous weekend, when his father had been too unwell to come to lunch.

  ‘Anyone I know?’ Lesley plonked the flowers into the vase.

  ‘Don’t think so. Would you like tea or coffee?’

  Lesley told her that Brian was putting in a radiator to heat the utility room. She had left him lying on the floor in a pool of dirty water, surrounded by tools that were either the wrong type or the wrong size. He had used most of the curse words he knew, and she had grown tired of offering him cups of tea, so she had left him to it.

  ‘I’ll ring Robert later,’ said Lesley, winking, as Martha closed the door and went back inside the house.

  At six o’clock, Martha lit the wood-burning stove so that it could burn out slowly while she was out and she could watch a late film in comfort if she came back alone. She showered, did her hair and make-up and put on an elegant black dress with a white silk trim around the sleeves and the hemline. She wore red lipstick and red shoes. The colour always gave her confidence and made her feel glamorous. As she moved around the house, it occurred to her that she ought to host a party herself – it was the second time Angeline and Guy had invited her. The third, if you counted the dinner when they had first met. She wondered how many people would be coming to the party and whether there would be any of the people she had met in the summer, when she had first seen Clement. That had been some months ago, and the more she thought about it, the more she came to the reluctant conclusion that, if nothing more than a kiss had passed between them until now, then nothing more was going to happen.

  Marcus had left her, Michel had met someone else, Clement was not interes
ted in her, Guy was happily married. It was difficult to see how she would ever find a partner. But, at the same time, she admitted to herself that none of them was really suitable partner material. And with this thought, she was happy not to be wasting her time on them. When the right man came along she would know; she just had to trust herself and be patient. In the meantime, if there were a little fun to be had, she would not stint herself.

  Sixty-six

  Guy lay in bed, listening to his wife making coffee and smelling the croissants cooking. Adrian was up, playing in his room, waiting for the moment when they would go downstairs and give his mother her birthday presents.

  After having no rest on Thursday night, Guy had slept soundly, not remembering much about the previous evening, except that he had spoken to his wife only when necessary and had not been able to look into her eyes. He had gone to bed early and had fallen into a deep sleep immediately. It was almost nine-thirty now. He stared at the ceiling and let his mind go blank. He did not want to think about anything. But, as he dozed, he remembered sitting in the gardens, listening to Monsieur Valerie telling him about Clara. It was all very well to advise him that he should forgive his wife, but there was an enormous difference between Clara and Angeline. Clara had allowed herself to be carried away for one afternoon. How many times had his wife gone to the notaire’s house? He did not want to know how many times. It made him feel sick to think about it.

  ‘Papa, can we give Maman her presents now?’ asked Adrian, who had slipped into the room like a ghost and was standing beside him.

  Guy looked at the boy’s fresh face and wanted to kill Angeline for putting him in such an impossible position. ‘Yes, just give me a minute, my boy,’ he murmured, doing his best to hide his true feelings.

  Very well, he would give her the present. And he would watch her open it. Anything was better than seeing his son disappointed. He dressed and went to the porch, seeing the gift hidden in one corner. He pictured how it would break into pieces if he dropped it. Outside, the sky was blue and the pale sun was doing its best to heat the air a little, nevertheless Guy shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the horror of the day ahead.

  Angeline served his breakfast and put a maxi pain au chocolat on a plate for Adrian.

  ‘Thank you, Maman!’ said the child, his eyes aglow.

  When she sat down at the table with them, Adrian began to fidget, so that Guy was forced to speak.

  ‘We have a present for you,’ he said, and Adrian carried the large, heavy box, wrapped in silver paper, carefully from the porch and placed it on the table in front of his mother.

  ‘Thank you, my cheri,’ she said, looking from the boy to her husband, whose head was bowed over his coffee.

  The surprise on her face, when she saw what was inside, was mixed with an unmistakable sadness, which even Adrian, in his wild enthusiasm, could not fail to notice.

  ‘Don’t you like it, Maman? I got you a CD, too. It’s Adele,’ he said, handing her the gift, embarrassed that he had blurted out what it was before she had opened it.

  ‘Thank you, mon ceour. It is a most wonderful present.’

  ‘Can we play it now? Would you like to hear the new CD?’

  And so Guy found himself setting up the speakers and showing his son how to insert the CD and select ‘play’.

  Adele sang ‘Skyfall’ and Angeline was glad that she could not understand the meaning of the words.

  Sixty-seven

  ‘Happy Birthday, Angeline,’ said Martha, handing her a gift of her favourite perfume.

  ‘Thank you. Please, come in. Guy will get you a drink.’

  The atmosphere in the house was warm, with the idle buzz of conversation between friends who knew each other well. Martha cast about for Clement, noticing a few faces that she recognised and going over to greet everyone.

  ‘Martha! Great to see you,’ said Guy, handing her a glass of champagne.

  ‘You missed your lesson yesterday,’ she said, with a mock frown, and noticing that Guy seemed to have had a fair amount to drink already.

  ‘Yeah, it’s a long story,’ he replied, faltering for less than a second. ‘Have you met Gerard and Lise?’

  She chatted to the guests, enlivened and delighted to be amongst them. She looked over to Angeline and smiled, raising her chin to ask if she needed a hand. Angeline waved her away, shaking her head. She had everything under control. So, Martha listened to how Gerard and Lise had met, laughing at the way Gerard tutted and insisted that it had been a matter of pure chance that he had walked into the bar just as Lise had slipped on a piece of lemon. They ran the scene in a practised re-enactment, correcting the smallest detail for each other, obviously amazed and delighted to have found each other in such a ridiculous way. They asked whether Martha was seeing anyone, and she told them that there was no one special, which brought a kind of hiatus to the conversation, at which point, as if for dramatic effect, Clement arrived with a girl on his arm. It was the girl Martha had seen him with outside the café.

  He saw her and came over, unembarrassed. ‘This is Sofia, everyone. We work together. She wanted to eat out tonight, so I thought this would be a cheaper option…’

  Angeline shouted something from the kitchen that was lost amongst the hoots from the other guests and their enthusiasm to find out about this pretty girl who had a brilliant smile and, obviously, a very good sense of humour.

  Martha slipped away and went over to where Adrian was playing on his computer with a friend who had come to keep him company. They explained the game to her and she feigned interest, wishing suddenly to be anywhere but there.

  ‘How are you, Martha?’

  Clement stood beside her, watching the game with her.

  She turned to look at him. He looks like a wolf, she thought. ‘You said she was your cousin!’

  He was amused. ‘Hey, what are you, my mother?’

  She wanted to slap him.

  ‘The guests are kindly requested to be seated,’ announced Guy.

  Martha moved quickly and chose a seat as far away as possible from Clement and Sofia, finding herself between Guy and Gerard, with an elderly couple opposite, who lived next door. It was not the evening she had envisaged. A pettiness grew inside her and she wanted to react, to stamp her feet and bring her fists down on the table. It was maddening to have everyone so unaware of the reason for her mood.

  The food was delicious and the meal went on and on. There were jokes, stories and general hilarity. Adrian insisted on playing the new Adele album on the hi-fi system, putting it back to the beginning as soon as it had finished. After the dessert, it was suggested that they play Uno.

  Martha needed some air. She would have liked to leave. Perhaps, after another half an hour or so, she would be able to slip away.

  Clement found her in the porch when he came out for a cigarette.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be!’

  ‘Listen Martha, please. You are a good friend. Sofia is, well, she’s just a girlfriend, you know?’

  She felt that she should understand, but she didn’t want to. She thought of the money she had paid to Maison Verte, for his father and for him.

  He moved closer, touching her on the arm and smiling irresistibly. ‘We can go to bed. If you want to. But, after that, it will not be the same.’

  She looked at him with eyes blazing. ‘If you think…!’

  ‘Oh, it would be amazing. Yes, I know. But then you would be unhappy. Perhaps I would too.’ He took out a cigarette.

  She watched his fingers as he lifted it to his mouth and for a moment she thought she might faint.

  Guy came out then, to smoke.

  ‘I thought you’d quit,’ said Clement, easily.

  ‘Well, I’ve just started again!’ replied Guy. And, with that, he walked out into the courtyard and left them alone.

  ‘I want to be friends,’ said Martha, suddenly, afraid that she would drag him into the garden and devour him, if she did not s
peak.

  ‘All right. We will be friends,’ laughed Clement.

  She smiled and pretended that it was as easy a decision for her as it evidently was for him.

  Inside, the cards were dealt and the evening took on a new mood. Martha still felt uncomfortable, but this time she knew that Clement was right, and she was reluctantly grateful for his frankness.

  Angeline slipped away to her bedroom and lay on the bed, hoping that she could keep back the tears that threatened to destroy her. She listened to the sound of her friends gathered together and thought of her husband, alone under the stars, miserable and hurt, and, for the first time, she was sorry for what she had done. Not just for herself, but for him and for Adrian. Her mind worked back to the reasons she had used to justify her affair to herself: the money in her account would make a better future for them all; the notaire meant nothing to her. But, all at once, these reasons seemed inadequate and shameful. She thanked God that she had not spoken of them to her husband. Her mother had always told her that she should not lose her freedom. That no man was her master. And she had misunderstood. Guy was not her master, but her husband. He was a man of integrity, loyal and honest, who deserved a better wife. She got up then, went to the bathroom and washed her face, re-applied her makeup and went down to rejoin the party. She would speak to Guy when the guests had gone. She knew that he loved her and would forgive her in the end. This thought gave her strength, although it was edged with a terrifying sliver of doubt, which had the effect of increasing the volume of her laugh so that her closest friends noticed and asked her quietly whether she was all right.

  When Guy came back into the kitchen, he saw his wife, carefree and happy, and, taking a new pack of cigarettes from his other jacket, he went back outside.