Rose, Rose Where Are You?

by Nicola Thorne

I didn’t reply, and Michelle was looking uncomfortable, her friendly face creased with embarrassment.

  “It’s because of Rose, isn’t it?” Jeanne went on. “Of what she said about me? You haven’t got Rose’s death out of your mind, have you, Clare?”

  “No. Rose haunts me.”

  “That’s because she was evil,” Jeanne said, turning back to the window and looking seawards, “and evil lives on, even after death.” She saw us to the door and closed it after us with a sweet, forgiving smile.

  “That woman gets my goat,” I said when we were safely down in the hall.

  “You make it obvious. I think she’s teasing you half the time and you know, Clare, she is very religious. How can she be that religious and still have the evil eye?”

  “That’s what they said about Joan of Arc,” I said, “and I’m beginning to think that that Jeanne and this one are rather alike.”

  We halted at the door of the salon, where Nicolas and Laurent were engaged in serious conversation that ceased as soon as they saw us. They didn’t smile, and I knew that something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  They looked at each other and Nicolas shrugged.

  “It’s the boat,” Laurent said at last. “Nicolas examined it when it was brought round from Le Hourdel this morning. He’s pretty sure someone or something tampered with the tiller. The bolts had all been loosened, which was why it stuck.”

  “But the boat must have had an awful buffeting,” Michelle quickly intervened. “How could you possibly tell?”

  “I am a sailor.” Nicolas gave his sister a withering look. “I can tell when a boat has been interfered with. I simply examined the wreck to see if it was seaworthy again and I tell you what I saw. The bolts are very heavy ones and they had been loosened.”

  “We’ve decided not to say anything,” Laurent said.

  “Because you don’t want a fuss,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  “And you didn’t want a fuss about Rose because you are the de Frigecourt family and you have had enough trouble.”

  “It isn’t that, Clare, don’t sound so harsh.”

  “I feel harsh,” I said. “I feel unhappy and frightened and harsh. Everyone’s talking about ghosts and curses and things that go bump in the night, but I feel that something out of the ordinary is going on here. I may be wrong, but I feel it in my bones, and I think you should do more than just pray for peace.”

  At that moment Madame Barbou opened the door and swept to one side with a knowing little smile on her face, and my husband, Tom, walked in.

  CHAPTER 13

  I shall never forget the look on Tom’s face as we all stood there gaping at him. For one thing, I was the only person there who knew who he was, and shock had momentarily rendered me speechless. Laurent took a step forward, looked at me, then stopped. Michelle and Nicolas, looking puzzled, said nothing.

  “Tom!” I said at last, in a squeaky falsetto, then more normally, “Hello, Tom, you gave us a surprise.”

  “More of a shock,” Tom said. “I should have told you I was coming.”

  “Haven’t you a bag?” I said, which seemed an inane thing to say, but I was still not thinking rationally.

  “I left it with Madame Gilbert, who told me you were here. There’s been an accident, it seems.”

  “Laurent, this is Tom; Tom ...”

  I performed the introductions in a zombie-like trance. Why was it that the last person I’d expected to see was Tom? And did I want Tom here at all?

  Madame Barbou interrupted us to ask if we wanted any lunch and that, if we did, a cold buffet was ready in the dining room.

  “A drink,” Laurent said after telling Madame Barbou we’d be ten minutes. “We all need a good strong drink.”

  “It’s nothing to do with you,” I whispered to Tom. “He’s just heard something disturbing. I’ll tell you later.”

  “High time I came, I can see,” Tom said without smiling, but I couldn’t decide whether he meant because of the situation or because of Laurent, whose face had worn a furious frown ever since Tom’s arrival.

  At least we’d decide a number of things in the next few days, I told myself philosophically.

  Jeanne slipped into the room, and after being introduced to Tom, whom she appraised impassively, she stood there sipping Perrier water and doing her best to look mysterious. Tom and I moved to the window.

  “This is the bay,” I explained.

  “Your bay,” Tom smiled. “I can see why you love it.”

  “It was a horrible bay yesterday. Laurent and two of the children nearly drowned.” As I told him the story, his eyes never left my face. “And then, just before you came in,” I concluded, “which was what made your entry so dramatic, Laurent told us that Nicolas thought the boat had been tampered with and that it wasn’t an accident at all.”

  “It doesn’t sound very psychic, does it?” Tom said grimly. “I’m glad I came.”

  “To protect me?” I said.

  “I thought you didn’t need that kind of thing. No, to help sort out this business.”

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “A little. I’ll tell you after lunch, when we get out of here.”

  Where did Tom think we were getting to, I wondered, as the children joined us and we filled our plates, seating ourselves around the large table. I hoped he didn’t think we were simply going to shack up in 33 Rue du Chateau together. Oh, no. Laurent poured the wine. Tom only listened; he couldn’t speak French with any fluency, but I noticed him paying a good deal of attention to Jeanne, who as usual ate little, as though she was on a permanent fast.

  Laurent called for silence and held up his glass. “A toast,” he said, “to providence and to Nicolas Bourdin, who saved us from the sea.”

  A lump came into my throat and I bowed my head. “Thank God,” Jeanne whispered, and we all drank silently.

  The children were in high spirits. Thank heaven indeed that they had never realised what real danger they’d been in. Only Fabrice was sullen, having missed the big adventure, and he tried his best to gain the maximum attention for himself by being naughty until his father threatened to send him to his room.

  Lisa, who spoke very little French, took no part in the conversation. I thought she looked pale, too. The fact that she had not been in the boat and had taken Fabrice had undoubtedly saved all their lives; five people in heavy seas would have been almost impossible to haul aboard. This factor must have weighed on her mind; no wonder she looked pale.

  Noelle was chatting on. “This time yesterday.” She giggled and pretended to shiver.

  “It’s nearly two,” Laurent said. “This time yesterday we were safely aboard Nicolas’ boat. Don’t forget the tide is nearly an hour later today.”

  I was curious. “Noelle, were you frightened at all? Did you ever realise the danger you were in?”

  “But Papa was there,” she said with some surprise. “We knew Papa would not let anything happen to us. Besides, as we passed the chateau we saw Mademoiselle standing at her window looking at us through her glasses, and we knew she would send help if anything went wrong. But it all happened so quickly . . .”

  Noelle went on talking, but I was looking at Jeanne, and so was Michelle. Then Michelle and I exchanged glances. Between the three of us a silent communication was taking place. Of course, Jeanne had been looking at them through binoculars. She could have seen everything as clearly as if it were an arm’s length away, and if she had, then presumably she had gone off to Boulogne, leaving hours of agony to the rest of us.

  I was determined to have this out with her after lunch and to speak to Laurent about her. I would not have any peace of mind so long as Jeanne was with the children.

  “I have to go to Paris this afternoon,” Laurent announced suddenly. “I have business that really can’t wait. Jeanne, is that all right with you?”

  “Of course, Monsieur.”

  “And no sailing.” He smiled.

&n
bsp; “Or climbing trees, Papa,” chimed in Philippe. “Fabrice fell down a tree the other day.”

  “Ah, yes, I heard about that. You must be very good.” Laurent glanced around. “Will you take them up for lessons, Mademoiselle? I want things to continue as normally as possible, and they seem to be perfectly all right.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Cries of protest, but Jeanne got up pursing her lips firmly. You heard your father! To the schoolroom. Vitez!”

  Nicolas and Lisa, who had been sitting together, were deep in conversation.

  “The power of love,” Michelle murmured to me as we got up from the table, “overcomes language barriers.”

  I looked at her in amazement.

  “I noticed he was attracted to her immediately. I told you he always likes older women, and she is not only ten years older than he, but she has that big buxom peasant quality that he likes.”

  “I must say they’re getting on well, I don’t think they’ve even noticed the table is empty except for them!”

  Tom was standing the Laurent, who was pointing out spots of interest in the bay and telling him where the accident happened. Tom was nodding and commenting and I thought the two men were getting on well. Michelle started pouring the coffee and I joined them.

  “I was just showing Tom Le Hourdel.” Laurent turned to me, smiling.

  “I thought you might be. Thanks, Michelle.” I took the coffee cup from her. “Tom has his black, please.”

  Laurent suddenly looked at me and I saw an expression of surprise on his face. Did he care so much for me, I wondered. Was that why he’d gone all stern when Tom appeared? Did he sense, and perhaps resent, my proprietary air about Tom? Those familiar little things that husbands and wives know about each other – black or white coffee, milk or sugar, the right or left side of the bed. The trivia that make up a shared life together, that can cement it into a firm relationship or cause it to break up. The trivia had upset the relationship between Tom and me; our personal lives had been disorganised because neither of us had been willing to give in to the other. Yet, after two months away from Tom I could appraise him afresh and, as he stood beside Laurent, I compared them.

  Tom was about two inches taller than Laurent, standing well over six feet. He was always aware of his height and seemed to walk with a permanent stoop which grew even more pronounced when he was depressed. Tom was not conventionally handsome as Laurent was. He had a naturally pale complexion, permanent dark rings under his eyes and a great beak of a nose which dominated a face which, in my tender moments, I used to call craggy. His hair – ash-blonde, not golden like Fabrice’s – was generally badly cut and fell about his ears like the proverbial mop. It was his eyes that made Tom – great luminous blue eyes that registered deep emotion and often made me think he should have been on the stage.

  Despite his lack of obvious sex appeal, Tom had an indefinable quality that made him very attractive to women. He always had several female students in love with him who wrote him long love letters in the guise of psychological essays. As far as I knew, Tom, though flattered, hardly noticed, and was impervious to it all. His work came first, then his ideal wife, then me, the imperfect wife. Tom wanted everything perfect, and no amount of psychological training had ever convinced him that it couldn’t be.

  I suddenly realized that Michelle was staring at me, and I smiled at her.

  “Are you pleased to see him?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you don’t know.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Laurent,” I called lightly. “Do both of you come and talk to us. Tell us more about the Burgundian curse.”

  “Ah, you think we’re in the middle of it, don’t you.” Laurent laughed and sat opposite us on one of the deep sofas.

  “Something like that.”

  “It is the legend that one of our ancestors, maybe Jehan de Frigecourt whom I described to you and who made a lot of enemies, had a curse put on his line. When things are bad, we call it the Burgundian curse, and when things are good we conveniently forget about it. I don’t think we’d have lasted so long if the line were really cursed. It’s a sort of family joke.”

  “And you don’t know who put the curse on Jehan?”

  “No, some old necromancer of medieval times, I imagine.

  “When did the curse begin this time?” Tom asked quietly.

  “Well, we’ve had a run of bad luck. My wife had an automobile accident and has died, our nanny had an accident and died; Fabrice fell out of a tree; we nearly got drowned. Add them up, and I don’t know if it amounts to anything.”

  Tom was looking at him gravely.

  “Clare thinks it does.”

  “I do think Jeanne is bad for the children,” I said. “I am convinced Rose was right. She told a whopping lie about yesterday. She went to great trouble to demonstrate to Michelle and me that she couldn’t have seen the accident, and then Noelle said at lunch today that she was looking at you through binoculars and could have seen the whole thing.”

  “Yes, we did see her looking at us. She waved to us and we waved back. But why should she pretend not to have seen the accident if she did see it?”

  I shrugged. “It isn’t logical,” I said.

  “I mean she couldn’t have caused it, could she?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Could she, Clare?”

  “What about the screws?”

  “How could Jeanne have got near the yacht? I only decided to sail in the morning. I was the only one with a key to the boathouse. I don’t think Jeanne even knows where the boathouse is. What’s more, she said she didn’t think we should go; so there.”

  “Tell us what did happen,” Tom said. “If someone tampered with the bolts who could it have been?”

  “I don’t think it was anyone. I know Nicolas knows what he’s doing, but that yacht got a very rough battering. I’m sure it could have worked loose at sea.”

  “If Nicolas says it couldn’t have, I don’t think it could have,” Michelle said firmly. “I’m convinced about that.”

  “Go on,” Tom persisted, “give us the sequence. You decided to sail when, at breakfast?”

  “Yes, it was a nice day and I felt like it. I knew I was going back to Paris today and it would be a treat for the children. Jeanne agreed they should be released from school, but she didn’t want to go herself and advised me not to. She said it looked calm, but it wasn’t the right weather. I explained I knew the bay like the back of my hand, but I was relieved in a way because two adults and three children was a much better balance for the boat than three adults and three children.

  “The kids got into their warm clothing and I went down and opened the boathouse, which is just by the jetty. Lisa and the children came down, and I went to get help from one of the sailors. I don’t have a slip and you have to lift the boat into the water.”

  “I should have thought Lisa was as good as any sailor,” I murmured.

  “That’s my girl, the perfect bitch.” Tom smiled at me.

  Laurent flushed but went on quietly. “No, I couldn’t ask Lisa; the boat actually needs two other men. I got them in a couple of minutes and we lifted the boat onto the water. We saw Nicholas, who helped hoist the sails, and we passed the time of the day with him and that was it.

  “It seems most unexceptional,” Tom agreed.

  “Are you disturbed about Jeanne, Michelle?” Laurent seemed to notice her almost for the first time that day.

  She blushed and lowered her head. Yes, she was like a schoolgirl, flattered that she had been noticed.

  “I ... er ... not so much as Clare. Not at all, in fact, though it’s true she did try to show us she couldn’t have seen the accident, because she never mentioned binoculars and we never thought about them.”

  “But what have binoculars got to do with it?”

  “She said she saw you turn, and it was just after you turned that your boat began to list, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but we turn
ed twice; we did two complete tours of the bay, and it was the first time past we saw Jeanne.”

  Hell, I felt an idiot now. “You didn’t see her the second time round?”

  “I didn’t look. But we all clearly waved the first time because we came very near the chateau, and I’m sure that if she had still been there the second time the kids would have noticed her and we’d all have waved again.”

  “You’ve lost your case, Clare.” Tom got up. “Clare and I have a lot to talk about,” he said to Laurent. “Would you excuse us?”

  I thought for a moment Laurent was going to do nothing of the kind; his eyebrows knotted in a frown, but good breeding won out, as of course it would. I was irritated by the way Tom had taken the initiative. How did he know I wanted to go?

  Lisa and Nicolas had disappeared and Madame Barbou was clearing the table.

  “Lisa is going to be like Rose,” she said to me darkly. “If she has a man, we shall not see much of her.”

  “Oh, I think Lisa is a very different kettle of fish,” I replied. “I don’t think she’d neglect her duties. Laurent, could I have a word with you before we go?”

  “Certainly. Let’s go into the library.”

  Now it was Tom’s turn to scowl, but I ignored him and left the room with Laurent.

  Laurent closed the library door and we stared awkwardly at each other.

  “It’s nothing personal,” I said quickly. “Don’t be afraid, but Laurent, I want to stay here if I may.”

  “Of course! Not with Tom?”

  “No. If Tom thinks I’m going back to the house to sleep with him, I’m not. We are separated, and if we decide to divorce I don’t want to compromise my relationship with Tom.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Laurent came nearer to me. Looking into his eyes I knew the strength of his attraction for me, and I suddenly wondered about my own feelings. The arrival of Tom had thrown everything into confusion so far as emotions were concerned; he seemed to have precipitated something between Laurent and me that had been lying dormant until now. He was looking at me so intensely I thought he was going to kiss me, and I backed away.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea, Laurent. Tom could go to the hotel, but I know you won’t be here so I shan’t be compromised here either. Oh, it’s all ridiculous, isn’t it? I want time on my own to think. I’d also like to be near the children while you’re away.”