The Retreat

by Anne Morgellyn

  The château wasn’t burning. Some heavy vehicle had decimated the rhododendrons on the path to the conference centre. Jacqueline’s dad and another uniformed officer were keeping bystanders at bay. Mackie and Schmidt walked up to Sofka.

  ‘Where are Scout and Roman?’ Mackie asked.

  ‘Scout left after the funeral. For God’s sake, is that all you can think about?’

  ‘Where’s Roman?’

  Sofka winced, and moved away. The Les Oiseaux women were crying.

  Schmidt asked Jacqueline’s dad when they could go and collect their things. He got the usual response: Parlez francais.

  ‘We’re waiting for the procurer,’ Herbert told him. ‘He’ll sort it out. Where’ve you been? You’re with her, I see.’

  ‘Can’t we call a truce?’ Mackie said. ‘At least until the procureur has been and gone? I imagine he’ll want to talk to us all.’

  ‘You would imagine that, wouldn’t you? Imagining like a copper.’

  ‘Guys, please,’ Schmidt said. ‘We’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.’

  An unmarked Citroen saloon pulled up behind them. Mackie could feel the warmth of the engine on her legs. The man who got out was well on the road to retirement. He was very short, with fading ginger hair. He looked as though he had dressed in a hurry. The officers saluted him and stood to attention. He did not return the salute but turned to the the onlookers. ‘Everybody go inside. No one leaves. Allez, marchez.’

  Mackie showed him her ID.

  ‘Et alors? I am in charge here. Le Brun. Go and wait with your compatriots.’ He issued instructions to the officers.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Schmidt called.

  Sofka shook Herbert, who looked dead on his feet: ‘We’ve got to wait in the library.’

  3

  Three hours passed. Nobody said anything. They all looked stunned, except Schmidt, who was tapping his foot and looking at his expensive Swiss watch. He could use it under water. The thought of water made her need for the loo more pressing, and she raised her hand: ‘Toilette?’ The officer who was guarding them blocked the door. He pointed to a chased brass vessel in the corner. She had no choice but to use it. The alternative would be to wet her pants. No one looked when she squatted over the bowl, but they must have heard the sound of her peeing onto the metal. Sofka followed her and held out her voluminous skirt to make a screen.

  Mackie pulled up her pants. ‘Thanks. I’ll do the same for you.’

  She stood in front of the vessel, and spread her arms, like The Angel of the North. Iris and Joanna availed themselves of the facility. When Herbert approached, she went back to sit next to Schmidt. He was laughing.

  ‘You urinated in a spittoon? It’s incredible.’

  ‘There’s a first for everything,’ she said. ‘Spittoon, you say? Well now it’s a chamber pot.’

  ‘It sure is.’

  ‘This isn’t time for flippancy,’ Iris said. ‘Someone could be injured.’

  ‘The conference finished. There’s no one over there.’ A dreadful thought came to her: I sometimes sleep over there when I’m working.

  ‘What time did Scout leave?’ she asked Sofka.

  ‘Roman drove him into town for the six o’clock train. I, for one, am sorry to see him go. I imagine the pay will be better in his new job, but he mightn’t have left us if he hadn’t had so much trouble here recently.’

  ‘Silence!’ the guard shouted.

  Another hour went by without any more conversation. It was growing light. They could hear the birds singing. Mackie loved the dawn chorus. In London, she woke up to the noise of the trains at Euston Station. To hear birdsong at home, you had to go and sit in Regent’s Park. She had spent a lot of time in the Park on the Colston case. She thought of Royston Woods — a victim of injustice. She hoped that Rudyard wasn’t leading her up the garden path when he told her that Woods had been sectioned. An asylum was what he needed. She needed asylum, too, after Albany Street, but the retreat hadn’t given her peace of mind, except for the times when she was in bed with Roman. She couldn’t afford to let herself go. Now she was caught up with another set of male law enforcers who couldn’t see the wood for the trees.

  At last, Le Brun came in and beckoned L’Oiseau. His interview took five minutes. Then Herbert was summoned. That took twenty minutes. The interviews with Sofka and Iris took about the same time. Joanna faced the procureur for half an hour. Schmidt was called, and came back quickly, with a face like thunder.

  ‘How did it go?’ she asked him.

  ‘Looks like we won’t be leaving tomorrow. I wanted to call my embassy. The guy refused and told me to wait here. They’re a bunch of amateurs.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll let us go when I’ve been interviewed. They’ll have to. They can’t keep us shut up in here. There’s no cause.’

  4

  The interview took place in Roman’s study. Le Brun had an interpreter with him, a young woman with sleek bobbed hair who looked as fresh a daisy. She must have been on standby in case he ran out of English. Mackie fought to stay alert as the procureur began his inquisition. He began by asking her name, nationality, and profession.

  ‘Immaculata Divine. British. Detective Inspector in the Metropolitan Police.’ She noticed that the interview was being recorded on a dictaphone. She had given no formal consent to this, nor a warning about how it might be used, but she was too tired to quibble.

  ‘What is your reason for coming to this place?’

  ‘I’m taking a break from work. I’m considering my options for the future. Here seemed as good a place as any.’

  ‘What is your relationship with Peter Roman?’

  ‘Is that relevant?’’

  ‘Where were you this afternoon?’

  ‘I was watching the funeral with Herr Schmidt. We were watching from a distance. I was told not to attend the ceremony.

  The driver here — Scout Dingle, has been questioned about arson in the UK. been pulled in for arson in the UK.’

  ‘Was he there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I believe he’s left for Switzerland. Mr Roman took him to the station.’

  ‘What did you do after the funeral?’

  ‘I walked to Pont du Calvaire with Herr Schmidt. We ate at the crėperie then spent the rest of the evening at a bar – Chez la Marse. The fire had already started when we got back.’

  ‘You have not answered the question. What is your relationship with Peter Roman?’

  ‘Did you put this question to the others?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I don’t see why it’s relevant. Roman isn’t here.’

  ‘Please answer the question.’

  ‘I’ve known him for less than a month. He runs things here. There’s no relationship. Scout Dingle is en route for Brest. I suggest you question him.’

  ‘He was not here tonight.’

  ‘Neither was I when the fire started. The juge d’instruction has arrested Scout’s associates. He has enough evidence to question them about the fire there. Scout is catching a plane to Switzerland. He could have engineered an attack on the conference centre. He was answerable to the group who funded it. They’ve stopped funding it very recently.’

  ‘I asked you about your relationship with Mr Roman. You didn’t answer.’

  ‘I told you there was no relationship. I hardly know him. The other residents were upset about my being here, and Roman asked me to leave. I have a flight booked for tomorrow.’

  There was a knock at the door. ‘Entrez,’ Le Brun called.

  Jacqueline’ father came in and passed him a note.

  ‘Ca alors. ‘You can go to the library,’ he told Mackie.’

  ‘Is the interview over?’

  ‘Wait there with the others.’

  The library was less crowded. The l’Oiseau family had gone. So had Schmidt. No one spoke to Mackie as she crossed the room and sat on a window seat, apart from the community
members. Half an hour went by, then Le Brun opened the library door.

  ‘You can go,’ he said. ‘But do not leave the château till we tell you.’

  ‘Are we under house arrest?’ Mackie asked. ‘We have the right to know why we’re being detained. You let Herr Schmidt leave.’

  ‘Your interview isn’t terminated. The others were here when the fire began. You can go to your rooms now, all of you. Wait there.’ He looked as though he might explode any minute.

  It was coming up for five in the morning, but she had lost the need for sleep. She left a message for Rudyard, requesting further orders. She wanted to know if the service would corroborate her reason for coming here if she was questioned about it by the procurer. The drive looked sombre in the emerging light of dawn. The police cars had been replaced by a police van. Le Brun’s vehicle had gone. The ambulances remained. Two covered hospital trollies emerged through the decimated rhododendron path, steered by paramedics. One of them was a woman. A firefighter limped behind them, and got into one of the ambulances. She took a photo on her phone and ran downstairs.

  She gravitated towards the kitchen — the broken heart of the house. Sofka, Herbert, Iris, and Joanna sat around the table in silence. She stood respectfully in the doorway, waiting for an invitation that she knew would not come.

  ‘Where’s Schmidt?’ she asked at length. ‘We were going to share a taxi.’

  ‘He’s skedaddled,’ Herbert said, breaking the silence. ‘He’s one of your lot.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘We were fine till you came. Then he came. You can’t go until the procurer says so. We’ve got to put up with you for a bit longer.’

  ‘I didn’t burn down the conference centre.’

  ‘You brought death into our world and all our woe,’ Sofka said.

  ‘I don’t understand. Are you quoting something at me, Sofka?’

  ‘Schmidt’s in the police, like you,’ Herbert said. ‘Why do you think they only talked to him for five minutes?’

  ‘He’s a businessman. He’s got an MBA from Harvard. He hadn’t been here five minutes. He probably had nothing much to say. Has Roman come back yet?’

  Sofka put her head in her hands.

  ‘I saw two people being taken into the ambulances.’

  Joanna began to cry. Iris put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Hush, dear. It wasn’t Roman. He’ll have stayed in town last night after taking Scout.’

  ‘They won’t be able to tell who it is yet. There’ll have to be a post mortem.’

  ‘They don’t need a post mortem,’ Herbert said. ‘They burned to death in there.’

  ‘Pardon.’ Mackie stepped aside. Jacqueline had come. She looked much younger in jeans instead of the formal trouser suit. She excused herself for the intrusion but told them that she would have to notify future delegates that the conference centre was no longer available. She needed Roman’s computer to access the addresses.

  ‘Did he ask you to do this?’ Mackie asked her. ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘He told me to take his computer to make the cancellations. He said he was going away. He told me to work at home.’

  Iris stood up. ‘Mademoiselle Jacqueline,’ she said. ‘Could you drive Mrs Divine to the station?’

  ‘Haven’t we been told to stay put?’

  ‘The sergeant said they are suspending the investigation till after the post mortem. We are free to come and go.’

  ‘All of us? I’ve not been told I can leave.’

  Jacqueline smiled at Mackie. ‘My father won’t worry. Monsieur le Brun is my godfather.’

  ‘If she stays here one more day, I won’t be responsible for my actions,’ Sofka said. ‘Everyone knows what she is.’

  ‘I’d like a lift then, if you’re alright about it. I’ll get my bag and wait for you in the hall.’

  There was still no message from Rudyard.

  Jacqueline had an old Renault Cinq, into the back of which she stowed Roman’s laptop and Mackie’s holdall. She seemed remarkably calm for someone who had just lost her place of work. She would not have been so calm had Roman died in the fire. Scout, with his connivance, had probably laid the fire on the orders of the funders. They would know about insurance dodges. If Roman was complicit in it, that would explain why he’d gone away somewhere. It wouldn’t take a competent investigator to put two and two together, but neither Duroc nor Le Brun took an interest in the most obvious suspects. If Roman was a party to insurance fraud, he was guilty of manslaughter — murder, even. Two people had died in the blaze. Who were they? She speculated.They could have been cleaners on a night shift. She didn’t want to admit the possibility that Roman was there. It could have been suicide, but he had outlined his plans for the future to her. Whose was the other body?

  When they reached the turn off into town, Jacqueline became voluble: ‘Marie-No was arrested.’

  ‘Marie-No? Surely not. That can’t be.’

  ‘My father told me. She made a confession to Mȃitre Duroc. She went with her parents to see him at his house. That’s why you can go.’

  ‘Marie-No confessed to burning down the conference centre?’

  ‘Ca m’étonne pas. She has the door code. She’s a cleaner there, She works at night and in the morning. She saw Lucie go into the centre with Monsieur Roman. Lucie was his mâitresse.’

  Mackie felt as though someone had stepped on her grave.

  ‘Marie-No had a flamme for him too.’ `Jacqueline went on. ‘She detested Lucie because she gave her a hard time at school. We were there together. We are the same age.’

  ‘You don’t seem shocked.’

  Jacqueline shrugged. ‘Le juge believes her.’

  ‘Is he a good employer, Monsieur Roman?’ .

  ‘He was kind to me, but he was exigent, especially when the funders came.’ She braked hard as they turned down the slope to the station.

  ‘Did you know they’d stopped funding the business?’

  ‘Of course. I have found another job in a caisse d’épargne. I will start next month. Voilà, on arrive. What time is your train?’

  ‘In an hour.’

  ‘I am going to stay with my grandmother till Monday. She lives near Tours in the region of the Loire. It’s a five hour drive to her village. I’ll go non stop because she is waiting for me.’ She opened the car door, but Mackie got out first.

  ‘Please don’t get out. I’ll get my bag.’

  She bent down under the hatch and stuffed Roman’s laptop into her holdall, replacing the blanket that Jacqueline had tossed over it. It was technically theft, but she’d soon be out of the country.

  6

  Had it been Scout who was having it off with Lucie, or one of the Dutch bikers, she’d have understood it. For some crazy reason she thought of Virginia Woolf. An idle, upper class, neurotic twit. When she wrote about a woman’s need for a room of her own, was she thinking about the working class women crammed into two-ups and two-downs, with outside khasis? She was not. Was she thinking about women in the munitions factories, filling shells with high explosives to use in a pointless war that was run by idiots? She was not. No more than Roman was thinking about dockers. Her Da had worked his socks off, but he ended up penniless because of his injury. No big insurance pay out for him. He and his kind couldn’t even dream about buying a château and setting up a retreat for people who didn’t know what to do with their lives. They could afford to get out of the rat race and be idle. Her anger showed how resentful she was towards the community. They had rejected her. All of them, including Roman. He could have been the love of her life. She scrabbled in her bag for a packet of tissues. It was a job. Just a job. The steward asked her if she’d like some water.

  She texted Niall from the arrivals hall. The eagle has landed. He’d be at the theatre by now.

  The house was stuffy, so the first thing she did on arriving home was open all the windows. She could hear the trains at Euston, but that was the price you paid in London for
something resembling fresh air. There was fresh air aplenty at the château, but that place was stuffy in a different way.

  She sat in the kitchen, drinking gin and tonic and staring at Roman’s laptop which she had placed on the table. She’d made several attempts to get into it, trying the names of philosophers, Babel, but none of these passwords worked. She would have to surrender it to Rudyard.

  She rang him up. He was there. He was always there, waiting for intelligence.

  ‘The conference centre burnt down,’ she said. ‘Two people are dead. One of them might be Roman.’

  ‘Interesting. Have you seen tonight’s news about the fire in the immigrant camp at Calais?’

  ‘No. Apparently, the cleaner confessed to torching the centre. I don’t buy it. I’ve got Roman’s laptop but I can’t get into it.’

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘I stole it from the secretary. It was in the boot of her car.’

  ‘You sound upset.’

  ‘I was up all last night. We had to wait in the library for Le Brun, the investigator. He questioned us one by one.’

  ‘It was a coup to get the computer. I’ll send someone to get it.’

  ‘Now?

  ‘Yes now. It could contain crucial information. The forces of terror don’t sleep.’

  A bike came within the hour, and took it.

  Niall came home at eleven fifteen, traces of khol around his eyes. There was still time to order an Indian takeaway so he went back out to fetch it while she laid out the plates. He said he was starving.

  Half an hour went by, and there was still no sign of him. She tried his mobile, but it went to voice mail. She gave him ten more minutes, then went outdoors to look. In the light of the street lamps, she saw a group of scallies with their hoods up, kicking a man on the ground. She raced towards them.

  ‘Stop! Police.’

  All the scallies in the neighbourhood had brushed with her. They were in for it now. They ran off, like the cowardly scum they were. She attended to the man who was down. There was curry all over the pavement.