Fatal Pursuit

by Martin Walker

  One memorable evening she had produced for Ivan’s regulars a rijsttafel of a dozen different dishes: chicken in peanut sauce, caramelized beef rendang braised in coconut milk and chilies, duck roasted in banana leaves and pork braised in sweet soy sauce. There had been different kinds of noodles, rice and spring rolls, and while the names of the various dishes escaped Bruno, the meal had lasted for hours, and he had never forgotten it. Tonight’s nasi goreng, which Mandy translated as “fried rice,” was rice with salted dried fish, prawns, hard-boiled eggs and shallots, all generously flavored with garlic and tamarind. Bruno had enjoyed it before.

  “Mandy’s fine, but what about you? Tell me about this stylish new girlfriend of yours, Martine.”

  “Not a girlfriend, just a local woman back for a brief visit to her folks,” Bruno replied. “She’s going to be helping us set up a new rally for next year, so it was a business lunch, at least until Gelletreau decided he wanted to join us and tell stories about her childhood measles and whooping cough.”

  Balzac padded across to greet the middle-aged couple who had finished their meal. They made much of him before calling across to Ivan for the bill in broken French, and Mandy came out from the kitchen to say good-bye to them. But first she introduced them to Bruno, saying they were Americans from California on vacation. Bruno’s English had been improved by his time with Pamela, and it was fluent enough if full of mistakes. He was able to ask where they had been so far, and they enthused about their visit to the Lascaux Cave earlier that day. Like most local restaurateurs, Ivan kept a stand by the door filled with tourist brochures, and Bruno pulled out one for them that listed the main attractions. They left, promising to return for another of Ivan’s meals, and Ivan steered Bruno to a table set for four and went into the kitchen to fetch the tuna salad.

  The nasi goreng was delicious, and the apple pie came with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream. The three of them were chatting over coffee when the door opened and a very late customer came in. Bruno turned to see it was Martine, looking dressed to kill in a little black dress beneath her stylish raincoat, and her eyes blazing.

  “I’m glad to see you here because it’s you I’m looking for, Bruno,” she began. “You only gave me your office phone number or I’d have called your mobile. I came here because I thought after lunch the people here would know where to find you. Sorry if I’m interrupting, but I need to talk about Sylvestre.”

  “Sit down, join us,” he said, pouring her a glass of wine and then helping her take off her coat. “This is Ivan and Mandy, and my dog is called Balzac. Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, thanks,” she said, leaning down to fondle Balzac, who always had a soft spot for women. Maybe it was something about their scent, Bruno thought, as he caught a hint of Martine’s vaguely familiar perfume.

  “A dog like this is just what I need to calm me down,” she said as Balzac licked enthusiastically at her hand. “Sylvestre took me to the Vieux Logis in Trémolat, but other than the food it was a wretched evening. That bastard said he wanted a settlement, but what he wants is just outrageous. And now I know why my dad can’t stand the man. He had the nerve to tell me that if he doesn’t get his way he’ll bankrupt my parents with lawsuits. He said he’s already filed a complaint that my father’s ill treating his geese.”

  “He won’t get far with that,” said Bruno. “Your dad runs a model farm, and he’s well respected. But if this gets serious, I can recommend a good local lawyer, a retired magistrate who probably knows your father and would certainly know his reputation. His fee would be very modest.”

  Briefly he explained the family dispute to Ivan and Mandy, who wanted to know what Martine had eaten at the Vieux Logis, a famed local hotel whose restaurant was said to be on the verge of winning a second Michelin star.

  “The food was great—foie gras, coquilles St. Jacques, roast veal with truffles—but it nearly turned to ashes in my mouth,” Martine said. “He even tried to buy me. Would you believe that he promised me fifty thousand euros in cash if I could persuade my parents to sell the surrounding land to him at ten percent above market price? We were waiting for the dessert, but at that I threw my napkin in his face and walked out. I would have thrown my wine after it, but the glass was empty.”

  “I wish I’d seen that,” said Mandy, laughing. “I always enjoy a good scene in a restaurant.”

  Martine turned to Bruno. “Remember that Indian friend of his at the chartreuse, Freddy? Do you think they’re gay?”

  “I have no idea, but it seems the more I hear about Sylvestre the less I like him,” Bruno replied. “If he’s being aggressive with you, it’s time to counterattack. We can check in the morning, but I’m pretty sure the land around his chartreuse will be zoned for residential use, since there are already buildings there. Your dad can apply for a construction permit to build half-a-dozen very cheap bungalows for social housing all around the chartreuse. He doesn’t have to build them, just get the permit. It’s his land. He could use it as a threat. The cottages would destroy Sylvestre’s views and his setting, and when he hears the term ‘social housing,’ he’ll fear the worst.”

  “You mean he’ll imagine being surrounded by unemployed families and immigrants with lots of noisy children who’d sneak into his swimming pool and puncture the tires on his car?” asked Martine, her face lighting up with a mischievous grin that Bruno enjoyed as much as it surprised him. She might sound like a Parisian businesswoman, but he was beginning to recognize the depth of her Périgord roots.

  “Yes, that’s the idea,” Bruno replied. “You said he gave you his proposal. Did you have an alternative plan to make to him?”

  “Yes, I spent a lot of time talking my dad into it, as a deal that could work for both sides of the family. But it would mean we’d all have to cooperate, and Dad is reluctant to have any dealings with Sylvestre. I put the plan to Sylvestre over dinner. I suggested that we all cooperate to develop the chartreuse and our farm for ecotourism as a unit. Sylvestre would contribute the house, and we’d contribute the farm. We’d create a new company in which we held equal shares, and the company would pay my parents a salary for running the farm. There wouldn’t be a cost because the farm makes a good income as it is, but my parents aren’t getting any younger, and this way we could run the whole thing as a commercial enterprise.”

  “It sounds very reasonable, and when your parents retire you could hire a young couple to take over the farm,” Bruno said.

  “Exactly, and the deal would give them the prospect of getting some equity in the company or the right to buy one of the houses. I thought it was a decent compromise, but Sylvestre turned me down flat and said the only deal he’d accept was one that let him buy the land around the chartreuse. That was when he tried to bribe me, with a nasty smile that said he thought anybody could be bought, including me. Frankly, I don’t think I could bear to work with him at all.”

  She turned to Mandy and Ivan, who had been following the exchange with interest. “Sorry to inflict my family feud on all of you. I must be spoiling your dinner, but thanks for letting me get it off my chest.”

  “Not at all, it’s been interesting,” said Ivan. “We’d better think about closing up for the night, and we’ll look forward to seeing you again and hearing the next episode in the family saga.”

  “Maybe the best plan is to bring your cousin to eat here, and I’ll put some ground glass or something in his food,” said Mandy. They all erupted in laughter.

  “If Bruno hadn’t heard that, I might have taken you up on it,” said Martine before rising to her feet. “Maybe it would be better to sprinkle a heavy dose of laxatives over it, preferably just before he goes off to race one of those fancy cars of his.”

  Ivan waved aside Bruno’s attempt to pay for his meal. Bruno thanked him and left a ten-euro note as a tip. He helped Martine back into her coat as they said good night to Mandy. Escorting them to the door, Ivan noticed that a light rain was falling and handed Bruno an umbrella.

  �
�Where’s your car parked?” Bruno asked her, opening the umbrella and holding it over their heads. Balzac was looking up at them, wondering what these humans planned to do. Bruno was asking himself the same question.

  Martine gestured down the street. Then she looked at him, flashing that mischievous grin again. “Good thing I rented a car—otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to walk out on Sylvestre.”

  Bruno laughed, took her in the arm that wasn’t holding the umbrella and leaned forward to kiss her good night on both cheeks. To his surprise, as he drew back she leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the mouth, her lips surprisingly soft and a sound like a purr coming from deep in her throat. It lasted only a moment, but it touched him.

  “That was a lovely surprise,” he said. “Just as lovely as the sight of you when you walked into the bistro. You took my breath away.”

  “Play your cards right, and it might not be the last of my surprises,” she said, taking his hand. “Come on, you and Balzac can walk me to my car. Unless, that is, you want your friend Ivan to keep on watching.”

  Bruno turned to see Ivan locking up while giving Bruno a wink, Mandy standing beside him grinning widely as she made the thumbs-up sign.

  “Our shameless behavior will be all over St. Denis by lunchtime tomorrow,” said Martine.

  “Sooner than that,” said Bruno, smiling as they walked on, huddling together beneath the umbrella. “They’ll talk about your loose Parisian ways, taking time off from Michelin-starred restaurants to lead the innocent town policeman astray.”

  “Innocent, hah! You forget I was born here. They’re more likely to talk about the wicked policeman and the helpless maiden.” She stopped as they reached her car.

  “If this rally project goes ahead, you’ll be spending quite a lot of time here,” he said, not letting go of her hand. “There’ll be plenty of time to get to know you. I’d like that.”

  “And I’d like to get to know you,” she replied, turning into his arm. In her high heels, she was as tall as Bruno, but somehow she found a way to nestle into his chest. She raised her face to be kissed before sliding from his grip and opening the door of her car. Once installed, she gave Balzac a last pat and blew a kiss to Bruno as he closed the car door, and he and his basset hound watched her drive off into the wet night. As he walked back to his own vehicle, he remembered that he’d again forgotten to give her his mobile number.

  15

  The next morning Bruno took Hector on an unusual route, a bridle trail that ran past the village of Audrix and then through the woods that led to St. Chamassy. From there it was an easy canter to the ridge above the Oudinot farm. He dismounted to go through an old-fashioned wooden gate whose catch was too low to reach from the saddle and walked Hector the rest of the way. He put Balzac on a leash, knowing that otherwise the ducks and geese would be too great a temptation. He hitched Hector to the fence around the sheltered vegetable garden and loosened his saddle, casting an envious eye on Odette’s still-healthy crop of lettuces and tomatoes, and knocked on the kitchen door. Martine opened it, and her face lit up with pleasure before she glanced down at her dressing gown and carpet slippers, put her hands to her hair and said, “Oh no, Bruno, you could have given a girl notice.”

  “You look wonderful to me,” he said, but she was already bending down to welcome Balzac, who was clearly delighted to renew the acquaintance.

  “Come in, Bruno, come in, we’re just having breakfast, and there are lots of brioches left for you,” called Fernand as Martine darted through the archway to the living room and up the stairs to the guest rooms. Bruno took a seat, and Odette poured him coffee and pushed toward him a plate of brioches, still warm from the oven.

  “I always make them for Martine,” she said. “They’re her favorite, ever since she was a little girl.” Alongside the brioches was a bowl of fresh butter, probably churned by Odette, and pots of homemade jams.

  “She never eats all the ones I make, so maybe your dog would like one.” Without waiting for his reply, she handed Balzac a brioche, probably the first he’d ever tasted, and he took to it gladly, wolfing it down in two bites and looking up hopefully for more.

  “Sorry to call so early, but I heard that your compromise offer to Sylvestre went nowhere, and I thought I’d better ask what you plan on doing next,” Bruno said. “I have to report back to the mayor—you know he’s taking an interest.”

  On the ride over, Bruno had wondered how to advise the Oudinots, now that Sylvestre was heading into such serious legal trouble. But that was not something he could reveal to them.

  “Martine talked me into making that compromise offer, but it doesn’t surprise me that Sylvestre turned it down flat,” said Fernand as Odette brought a pot of fresh coffee. “And would you believe he tried to offer Martine a bribe of fifty thousand euros to reach a deal she could get me to swallow? It’s shameful, trying to turn her against her own parents.”

  “I gather he’s trying to buy some of the land from you, which would at least mean you need have nothing more to do with him,” said Bruno. “How much is he after?”

  “He wants all the land up to the ridge, about three hectares in all, which would give him that land where I’ve put the geese, the woodland all the way down to the road and about a hectare on each side of his buildings.”

  “Construction land is going for about eight euros a square meter these days,” said Bruno. “But most of the land you’d be selling is too hilly to build on. And forest land is barely a thousand a hectare. You could squeeze three or four units of social housing onto the flatter bits but that’s all. So the market price for your three hectares would be around twenty-five thousand. And if he’s prepared to pay another fifty thousand on top, that would add up to a decent offer.”

  “That’s just what I was saying when you arrived,” said Odette, looking crossly at her husband. “But he won’t have it. And it’s not as though you were using that land for anything. It’s just patchy woodland.”

  “I grant you that a direct sale would mean we never have to deal with him again but it leaves out all the other matters I was telling you about,” said Fernand stubbornly. “There’s the loan to his grandmother, the interest they never paid, the family furniture they took. And since he really needs that land I won’t sell it for market price. He’ll make money from the timber alone. No, I’d want a fifty percent share of the timber sale.”

  “Say you ask him for forty thousand euros for the land plus the fifty he offered Martine,” said Bruno. “Add it up, throw in ten thousand for the timber and you’re getting to a nice, round number, a hundred thousand.”

  “That’s exactly what I told him this morning,” said Martine, making an entrance in jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, her hair brushed. Bruno’s glance lingered on her, remembering how soft her lips had been the previous evening.

  “I’ll have to talk to him, but I’m pretty sure the mayor would support that,” Bruno said. “It’s a very good price and would settle the feud. What’s more it would spare you those lawsuits he’s been threatening. That’s an aggravation and an expense you don’t need. Shall I tell the mayor you’re thinking about it?”

  Fernand looked unhappily at his wife and daughter and then back at Bruno. “You can say I’m thinking about it, but I’m not making any promises. And this is my decision to make, not for the womenfolk.” He rose and headed for the door, taking a jacket from a row of coat hooks. “I’d better go and see about the geese.”

  Bruno rose as well, but as the door closed, Odette said, “He’ll come around. I know him, he just said that to save face.”

  Bruno nodded and said to Martine, “You’ve met my dog. Do you want to say hello to my horse before I head back?”

  “Love to,” Martine said and plucked a carrot from the vegetable basket as Bruno kissed her mother good-bye and thanked her for the delicious brioches. “I’ve never met a horse yet that didn’t like carrots.”

  “Do you ride?” he asked, as they left the house.
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br />   “Not for years, but if I’m coming back here more often I’d like to take it up again,” she said, and then stopped in her tracks as they turned the corner and saw Hector gazing calmly as they approached. “He looks magnificent. What’s his name?”

  “He’s called Hector, and he’s got his eyes on that carrot.”

  Without a trace of hesitation Martine advanced on the horse and began stroking his neck as she fed him the carrot. He joined her, patting his horse’s neck but keeping his eyes on Martine’s profile. She might have changed out of her dressing gown, he thought, but she hadn’t bothered with any makeup. Her complexion didn’t need it. Hector had finished his carrot and was enjoying Martine’s gentle scratching of the soft flesh under his jaw.

  “Would you be free to join me for dinner this evening?” he asked.

  “Yes, so long as it’s not a fancy restaurant. I had enough of that last night.” She turned from Hector to look at him, that cheerful mischief in her eyes again. “And if we go back to Ivan’s the gossips will never stop. I’m surprised some busybody hasn’t already called my mother.”

  “I thought I’d cook for you, and you could see my place,” he said, and held his breath as he waited for her reply.

  “I’d like that,” she said, serious now. “But I’d better be back early, otherwise my mother would probably start planning a wedding and naming her first grandchild. And you should know that’s definitely not in my plans. I love my mom and dad, but they drive me crazy sometimes. You heard that stubborn father of mine—not a decision for ‘womenfolk.’ ”

  Another independent woman intent on her own career, Bruno thought. Why is it they’re always the ones to whom I’m most attracted?

  “In that case we should start early, about seven, so you can be home by ten or so. Do you know where I live, or should I pick you up?”