by Elaine Young
Chapter 15
Thursday 7th November
After a night of dreamless sleep, Ari woke up early to the sound of the telephone ringing. It was Lefevre.
‘I tried several times to get you last night my friend. Were you out?’
‘Yes . . . yes I was, till quite late . . . ’
‘You know the trial started yesterday. I expected to see you there. . .’
‘Euh . . . I . . . I . . . no . . . something came up.’
‘Are you all right, Mayer? Your voice sounds different.’
‘No . . . I’m fine. What happened?’
‘Exactly what was expected. Charges were read and of course, he pleaded not guilty to all of them. Then he was remanded in custody; he’s considered a flight risk. He caused quite a stir because he collapsed just before being led away and he was taken to hospital . . .’
‘Yes . . . I . . . heard about that . . .’ he stopped, took a breath and gathered his thoughts quickly. Gaillard had indicated that Lefevre seemed trustworthy, so it must be all right to tell him something at least. ‘Some concrete evidence against Dubois has come into my hands.’
‘Oh? What is it?’
‘Well it’s an old album with some photographs of the war years.’
‘An album, did you say?’ Lefevre’s voice almost cracked on the word. ‘What kind of album?’
‘It’s a very old red photograph album with thick padded covers. You know the type that was popular at the end of last century.’
‘Has it got any markings in it? Like a name written in it or some other identifying marks?’ His voice betrayed an excitement that puzzled Ari.
‘Actually, I didn’t notice, you understand. I was too taken up with the envelope of photographs. If you hold on, I can look for you.’
‘No matter.’ Lefevre’s voice was non-committal once more. ‘Will you be in later?’
‘No. I have decided to take this to Venice for safe-keeping and I will be leaving on the train tonight. I have some things to do before that so if you will excuse me . . .’
‘Of course, of course. We’ll be in touch. Bon voyage.’ The line went dead.
Ari stood by the phone for a long time. He was feeling very worried now that he had the evidence that revealed Dubois for who he really was. He had also sensed Dougie’s fear of someone or something and this heightened his anxiety. He didn’t feel like taking the journey to Venice once more, especially as now, more than ever, his life could be in danger. He pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples. What could he do? He should get moving and pack an overnight bag and get his things in order. He would have to let Madame Le Roux know that he would be away. He would have to phone his department head and tell him he had been called away on urgent family matters. It was to have been a very quiet day anyway, and he was relieved that the head of department was not in so he could leave a message with his secretary instead.
Libby’s face came to mind while he was dialling the office. Why not ask her to take the parcel? She would be travelling on the same train Michel was to have booked him on anyway. No-one would know that she was the courier and for her own safety he wouldn’t tell her what was in the parcel. He realised he had to drop out of sight for a while; he was aware that was why Michel had suggested he go to Venice for a few days. Well, as to that, maybe he could stay with Rose until he could go home again. With this resolved in his mind, he felt a burden lift off his shoulders. He thought of putting a call through to Venice, to warn them of his change of plans, but at this hour of the day the exchange would be busy, so he tied a knot in his handkerchief to remind himself to do it later.
When Gillian answered the phone he responded to her usual cheerful questions with as much patience as he could muster. Then, when she had satisfied her curiosity, he asked to speak to Libby.
‘She’s not feeling too well. She has a whopper of a migraine. I think you overworked my friend, you old slave-driver, you! I hope she is well enough to travel tonight. She’s lying down, Uncle Aristide, but I’ll call her to the phone.’
A few minutes later Libby came on the line. She sounded as though she had been sleeping.
‘Libby. I am so sorry to get you up. But I have a big favour to ask of you. That is if you are still going to Venice tonight?’
‘Of course I am. Gilly is a fuss pot. How can I help?’
‘Could I drop off a parcel with you, to take to an old friend there for me, please? I was going to take it myself, but I am . . . I, euh . . . have a few things to see to. It is very important that it gets there as soon as possible.’
‘It will be a pleasure, Prof.’
‘Right. I’ll take a taxi over. I will be there in less than an hour.’
Next he phoned Rose. He knew before she spoke, that she would be only too glad to help.
‘I’ve just have some things to do, my dear. Would you mind coming over after four o’ clock? Good. See you soon.’
He scribbled a few letters and prepared the parcel he was sending to Venice. He also left instructions for Mme. Le Roux and then called a taxi.
The taxi was prompt but he was very cautious as he left the safety of his apartment block, but he didn’t see anyone close by. It being mid-morning, most people would be about their business anyway
When he’d puffed up the stairs to Gillian’s apartment, the maid let him in and showed him into the salon where a fire was burning brightly. Gillian rose from a chair next to the fire and greeted him warmly. ‘My dear uncle. Come and sit and toast your toes! You must be frozen! I won’t be surprised if we get some snow by Christmas . . .’ he asked the maid to fetch Libby and she drew Ari to the chair on the opposite side of the fire. ‘Will you have some coffee? It’s freshly made . . .’
He accepted a cup but sat perched on the edge of his chair. Gillian could see that he was not himself, but made no comment and they spoke about the weather until Libby came into the room. Ari hastily put down his cup and rose to greet her.
‘I am so grateful that you are taking this parcel to Venice for me, Libby. I can’t thank you enough.’ He gave Libby the parcel, explaining about the address on the front, ‘It is to be delivered to Gillian’s uncle Ettore Bragadin. His phone number is on the parcel. I will phone later and warn him I won’t be coming and that you will bring the parcel to him,’ He looked at her pale face. ‘You are still going, aren’t you?’
She smiled shakily. ‘I’m going back to bed now and I’m sure I’ll be fine when it’s time to leave for the train!’ She wrinkled her nose at Gillian, who protested that it would be better if she waited a few more days.
Ari was sorry she wasn’t feeling well, but he was anxious to get the photos to Bragadin in Venice as quickly as possible. The two women could see he was distracted. He soon took his leave and bundled down the stairs, almost running to the corner where he hailed a taxi.
He was home within the hour. He then spent a while packing some things into an overnight bag. The doorbell rang several times but he ignored it. He supposed it would be Dougie but he did not want to see him and eventually he heard footsteps retreating down the stairs. He put his ear to the door and it sounded as though the caller had left the building. He phoned the concierge and asked him not to admit anyone who enquired for him.
At midday he made a lunch of Dover sole, gently fried in clarified butter with chopped parsley and lemon wedges. He also made little potatoes boiled in their jackets accompanied by steamed spinach and finished with an excellent cup of espresso. He couldn’t relax enough to lie down for any length of time as he had an overwhelming feeling that there was something he had omitted to do. He was very keyed up and kept on looking at his pocket watch as he paced from room to room. Another hour dragged past until at length he decided he would walk slowly over to Rose’s and meet her there at four.
He took a final look around the apartment. Everything was in order. As he stood at the door, he took his keys out of his pocket and with them came his handkerchief. When he saw the knot in it he realised that he
should have phoned Bragadin to tell him of the change of plan. He turned back to the room, but a slight noise outside the door distracted him. Probably Antoine with the post, he thought. Whistling softly through his teeth, he flung open the door. There stood Yves Lefevre.
‘How . . . how . . . did you get in, Lefevre? Antoine has instructions . . .’
‘The good Antoine won’t be remembering instructions for quite a while! Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
‘What are you doing here?’
Ari moved aside automatically and then spotted the small gun in Lefevre’s hand. It was apparent that the man was in a state of excitement. He was perspiring and the gun in his hand was anything but steady. In that moment, Ari realised that his own senses were fully aware of every detail, as though the world had frozen and he had time to examine everything around him. He could smell the stale odour of strong cigarettes that clung to Lefevre’s clothes, that the man had a nerve twitching in his cheek, and that he had obviously not shaved that morning. Far away, he could hear a taxi’s horn.
‘What are you doing, Lefevre? Have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘I want that album!’
Ari hesitated, nodding slowly, his mind racing, his eyes not leaving the younger man’s face.
‘Why do you have to hold me up at gun-point? I thought we were working on this together. I would have shown it to you,’ he said quietly.
‘Well I don’t just want to see it. I want it, so give it to me now and you won’t get hurt!’ Lefevre’s voice was cold, no longer friendly. With his free hand he lunged at Ari’s valise that was on the table by the door, but Ari clung to his arm and attempted to wrest the gun from his hand. Suddenly there was an explosion and Ari fell to the floor with a loud thump, blood seeping through his shirt. He looked up at his assailant, his eyes wide with surprise. He mouthed something. Lefevre put his ear close to Ari’s mouth.
‘It’s on its way to Venice,’ he whispered and then went limp. Lefevre opened the bag and threw out the contents. There was only clothing and a sponge bag on the floor. He tossed the bag on top of the scattered garments and kicked Ari’s inert form in frustration. He then turned on his heel and strolled casually down the stairs.