She slept through until four next morning, waking in confusion, not knowing where she was or what had happened to her. A dim recollection of Monique’s comforting arms slid into her mind, and then she remembered drinking a little soup, eating some bread, drinking some more brandy and talking, talking, talking.
When the memory of the terrible events of the previous day surfaced, she sought protection in sleep again. But this time it was shallow, and Lucy dreamt fractured nightmares.
She woke to Monique’s hand in hers.
‘You were screaming,’ she said. ‘I came as fast as I could.’
I was screaming like Tim, thought Lucy, the sweat pouring off her again. The sheets on the bed were soaked. ‘What was I saying?’ she whispered.
‘The angels are dying,’ said Monique. ‘You kept saying the angels are dying.’
‘Solange –’
‘Don’t talk now.’ She began to rock Lucy to and fro like a baby. ‘Don’t talk now, my darling. Sleep. Sleep in my arms. I’ll keep you safe.’
After a while, Lucy drifted off again.
When she woke, Monique was back in the room. A tray of coffee and croissants and orange juice had been placed on the small table.
‘Shall I draw the curtains?’
Lucy nodded. She felt light-headed.
Monique let the early sunlight dapple the room, enriching its faded wallpaper. Lucy glanced at her watch. It was only eight, yet she felt she had slept for days.
‘You are very good to look after me like this,’ she said as Monique poured out coffee and brought it across. Lucy sipped at it gratefully, needing its comfort. Everything was still mercifully remote.
‘Poor Solange,’ said Monique. ‘I never really thought she’d take her own life.’
The horrendous news of her violent death returned, as if Lucy had stepped out into freezing fog. ‘I saw her earlier. Solange told me she and Tim had an affair and he shot her husband. My Tim? Do all that?’
‘You told us last night. And I told you she wasn’t accountable for what she said. You know how ill she was.’
‘But something happened out here that involved her and Tim,’ said Lucy. ‘It must have been something terrible – no wonder he suffered so much.’
‘And so did she,’ said Monique almost defensively.
‘I spoke to a man called Henri Tissot about her. Do you know him?’
‘Not at all.’
‘He said she wasn’t that ill – that her madness was a revenge. She wanted to hurt people. For all she’d lost.’
‘What had she lost? Claude’s execution did her a favour and the Goutins kept her on. She was lucky. This Tissot is talking nonsense.’
‘Did you feel you ever knew Solange?’
‘No. Not really.’ Monique admitted.
‘That’s how I felt about Tim. Not when we first met, but when he came back. I just didn’t know him. Like I didn’t know the Men.’
‘What do we ever know about other people – even those who are closest to us? I see Louis in a very different light from the way he actually is.’
Her answer was so surprising that Lucy splashed her coffee on the bed and set it down on the table with a shaking hand.
‘What are you saying?’ As with May, she had expected total support. The remark seemed like another betrayal.
‘I’m saying that everyone has some mystery about them and once you take them for granted, you push them into doing something unexpected. I remember, in America, that Louis had an affair with a woman, a waitress in our restaurant, almost entirely because I was sure he wouldn’t. He didn’t even enjoy it.’
‘He did it on purpose? To spite you?’
‘To remind me not to take him for granted. But your situation is different.’ Monique suddenly looked as if she realized she was saying absolutely the wrong thing.
‘You told me not to believe Solange.’
‘And I told you correctly. But if you want to find out what has happened to your husband, you must keep an open mind.’
‘What am I to believe?’ The comfort had gone. The wallpaper was no longer enriched by the sunlight but made to look even more tawdry than it actually was. The table had a patina of dust and the curtains needed washing. Monique’s face was more sallow than before. Why wasn’t she being reassuring? Why had she questioned her need to believe in Tim?
‘You shouldn’t have listened to Solange. But neither should you simply accept what you know of your husband.’ Monique sounded anxious, wanting to make her point clearer.
‘So he could have been the jealous lover? He could have shot Claude? What are you saying?’ Lucy was confused and a feeling of injustice swept her. It wasn’t fair. She only wanted reassurance.
‘No. There is no doubt in my mind that Claude, Philippe and Robert were executed by their own countrymen. We shall never know who they were, particularly as we’re outsiders, but if a British soldier had shot Claude – we would all know. It would be public knowledge.’
Lucy felt a little more reassured. That was exactly what Metand had said. But then the fear came back. Because she wasn’t sure, she almost wanted to accept the worst. ‘How can I know for certain that Tim didn’t have an affair with her?’
Monique didn’t reply and Lucy plunged on.
‘He was in such a terrible state for so many years in England.’
‘There were many reasons for that, I’m sure.’
‘What if Solange was one of them?’
‘You mean she could have had some kind of grip on him? Even if they did have an affair, I don’t think that’s much of a hold, do you? I mean – what would you have done if you discovered your husband had had an affair in wartime? Ask for a divorce? Or do you have some special –’
‘No. It’s not against my religion either. I don’t have one.’
‘You might have been devastated,’ said Monique, ‘but you would also have recognized that men can be unfaithful. And as you obviously love him, you would have made excuses, particularly to yourself.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then what else?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lucy miserably. ‘I just don’t know. But isn’t it too much of a coincidence. He disappears. She dies.’
‘It may be a coincidence, but I wouldn’t count on the connections. The main thing is to find your husband. That’s what the police are trying to do now.’
‘There’s more.’ Lucy felt that she was testing Monique’s loyalty to her in a singularly pathetic way. But she needed it so much. Now, however, she was about to be her own saboteur, to shoot herself in the foot, as Tim would have said.
‘She had a piece of material in her hand. I had to identify it.’ Lucy let the damning statement fall into the lake of complacency they had created together. ‘It was torn from Tim’s shirt. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I. But it’s a fact. Solange was clutching a piece of his shirt.’
‘There has to be an explanation.’ Monique was shaken.
‘I hope to God there is,’ said Lucy, her eyes filling with tears.
‘I feel for you so much. You’re in a terrible position. What –’
‘Metand wants to go to England and talk to Peter and Martin. He seems to think they will be able to help. I’m going with him.’
Monique clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘My God. I forgot to tell you. Peter Davis phoned last night. I keep failing to communicate. Perhaps I’m trying to protect you from them. Anyway, I said you had gone to bed and were asleep and that Tim hadn’t been found. I didn’t tell him anything else.’ She paused, waiting for Lucy to explode with rage as she had done so violently last time, but she simply gazed at her passively and Monique continued. ‘I’m sure you should go back. Metand will need to get to the roots of this.’
‘And Peter and Martin are the roots?’
‘Perhaps they might be a little less reticent if he questions them.’
‘If only
they’d confided in me before.’ She paused. ‘Of course I’m coming back.’
‘You will be very welcome to stay here again.’ Monique smiled at her affectionately.
‘I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing. I know how badly I’ve coped with all this. And then there’s Anna Ribault – I created a scene. She seemed to believe Solange. Surely anyone could see what a consummate liar she was?’
‘They were very close. Anna was the only person to really know Solange.’ Then she saw how uneasy Lucy was becoming again and hurriedly reassured her. ‘But I expect Anna was only reacting out of shock.’
‘What kind of person is she?’
‘I don’t know her well. The Goutins gave her this job a year ago and she’s based in the summerhouse by the lake, working on documents that the salvage people rescued. She is restoring them – or trying to. Most are badly damaged.’
‘So she and Solange are the only staff at the château?’
‘Except for the old gardener.’
‘I’d like to go and apologize to her.’
‘You’ll do no such thing. You have your croissants to eat and Monsieur Davis to phone. I’m sure Metand will be here soon, so you’d better hurry.’
Ten minutes later, Lucy dialled the Davises’ number and the phone only rang a couple of times before Peter picked up the receiver.
‘Thank God. We’ve all been out of our minds with worry.’ He sounded anxious and slightly indignant. ‘You said you’d phone last night. In the end I rang the hotel and spoke to this Monique Dedoir. Is she the proprietor?’
‘With her husband.’
‘She was very proprietorial over you. She told me there was no news and she couldn’t disturb you. So what’s the latest?’
‘Nothing about Tim. But other – things have happened. I’m coming back to England with the policeman who’s in charge of the case. François Metand. He wants to talk to you.’
‘Right-ho. Any particular aspect?’
‘Solange Eclave.’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s dead.’
At last he didn’t seem to have anything to say.
‘Did you hear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Before she died she told me Tim was her lover.’
‘Nonsense!’ Despite the shock, he was reassuringly angry.
‘And that he had become jealous. So much so that he had shot her husband Claude.’
Peter laughed derisively. ‘I don’t think Tim’s capable of a crime passionnel, do you?’
‘There’s something else. Solange fell from a window in the burnt-out château and she had a piece of Tim’s shirt between her fingers.’
This time the silence seemed to last for a very long time.
‘Don’t be absurd.’ He sounded taken aback.
‘He was wearing that shirt when we started out. That awful check one that made his neck look so horribly thin. I’ve always hated –’
Peter’s voice, rigid with authority, cut through her own. ‘Lucy. This is all rubbish. You do understand that, don’t you?’ She was under orders. ‘When they find Tim, all this will be cleared up. There’ll be a proper explanation. He’ll straighten it all out. Do you see?’
‘No,’ she said coldly. ‘I don’t.’
‘You’re in shock.’
‘So was Tim. For years. What do you know about this, Peter? What does Martin?’
‘I know only one thing, Lucy. I trust Tim.’
‘That’s about the only point we’ll ever agree on,’ she replied cuttingly.
‘I do wish you wouldn’t invent conspiracies.’ He sounded pained but understanding, an attitude that infuriated her. But she was determined not to lose her temper again.
‘When you’ve heard all the facts, Peter, you won’t be able to think of anything else but conspiracy. If there’s something you know, you must tell me now. Can’t you understand how I feel?’
‘Yes, I can. I do realize how dreadful it is for you over there. After all, I did offer to come out.’ He paused, waiting for her to speak, to admit some dependence on him. Deliberately, she didn’t reply and eventually he carried on, a little more briskly. ‘Let me try to reassure you again. When we arrived in Navise we spent a night at the Hôtel des Arbres. Then we moved into the Château Pavilly for a couple of days, where we were hidden in the cellar by Solange. After that we moved on to Celin, a village about ten miles away.’
‘That doesn’t tell me anything,’ she said.
‘Solange’s husband, Claude, was a pig-ignorant farmer, the son of a pig-ignorant farmer. He intimidated Solange continually. Beat her up, too. She had rejected the farm for the château. She wanted to make something out of her ill-educated self and I suppose she succeeded. Her husband was extremely jealous.’
‘How did you gather all that? Over three days –’
‘Solange tried to seduce all of us. One by one. She failed.’ For the first time he sounded vulnerable. ‘We all had commitments at home. Women we loved. None of us would soil our hands on her. But obviously we were grateful to her for hiding us and at least she eventually had some vestige of honour.’
‘Honour?’ The boy scout in Peter had surfaced again. A chap’s integrity was paramount. But Lucy also thought she could detect an artificiality in his voice. Or was it her imagination?
‘She could very easily have given us away to the Germans. They came through Navise every day and made regular visits to the château. And that’s before the patrol arrived to review the buildings as a possible Gestapo headquarters.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’
‘Why on earth should I?’
‘I thought you were going to say that you were bound by the Official Secrets Act,’ she sneered.
‘Solange was ambitious. That’s all the information your Frenchman will get out of me because that’s all the information there is.’ Then his voice softened. ‘I’m very anxious about Tim. As to her clutching a piece of his shirt, it’s inexplicable. But I’m quite certain he neither slept with her, shot her husband nor killed her. It’s a monstrous travesty and I know you don’t believe it yourself. There’s nothing wrong in being afraid, but don’t let it affect your judgement.’
‘Some of the evidence is difficult to explain away,’ she said flatly.
‘If I was there I could sort it out.’
‘Don’t be so absurd. Of course you couldn’t – and you’re not to come. Monsieur Metand will be phoning you to arrange a time to talk in England tonight.’
‘Hasn’t he got an inquiry to run out there?’
‘He has a second-in-command.’
Peter sighed. ‘If he wants to come we’ll talk to him.’
‘Tell me one more thing about Solange. Did she lie? Tell you bizarre fantasies?’
‘No.’ He sounded surprised. ‘I thought she was rather self-contained.’
‘I must go now.’ Lucy wanted to ring off, to think it all out yet again.
‘Keep in touch, Lucy,’ snapped Peter as if talking to a recalcitrant child. ‘Just keep in touch.’
Muttering a conventional farewell, she put the phone down and then had another unsettling thought. If Peter was so forceful, why didn’t he disobey her and simply get in his car and drive to the ferry, bringing Martin with him? Why wasn’t he being his usual overbearing self?
Gradually she became certain that Peter had beat a tactical retreat, letting the enemy take ground but not too much.
She, of course, was the enemy. Lucy knew she had to make another foray, get another advantage, before she could learn any more.
8
30 July
The graveyard was ornate, despite the simplicity of the Romanesque church. Monique had suggested the walk. As a result Lucy was now convinced that she was under instruction from Metand to keep her occupied until he arrived. But rather than being annoyed or patronized she felt touched by their concern.
‘There were several big houses near Navise, but they were either
abandoned or turned into farms years ago. The château was the only fine building that hadn’t been spoilt – until it was burnt down.’ Monique’s tall figure was draped in a dull print dress which, along with her thick stockings, made her look rather matronly. Lucy was wearing the same clothes as yesterday which she had simply dragged on for her telephone call to Peter, vaguely wondering if they smelt.
Most of the graves were neglected, the gravestones rearing out of the long grass and largely made of slate or granite with moss covering up the lettering. The family mausoleums were in much worse condition; nature was gradually taking over, the stonework crumbling and the faces of the saints obscured by strands of ivy.
The graves of the three collaborators, however, were in surprisingly pristine condition.
Reading her thoughts, Monique said, ‘They were punished. Now they have to be remembered.’
They had certainly been remembered with considerable devotion. The three graves adjoined each other, their headstones made of white marble, names and dates engraved without comment.
CLAUDE ECLAVE 1916–1941
PHILIPPE GERARD 1916–1941
ROBERT SOUTIN 1915–1941
Stone pots were filled with carnations, while three fresh bouquets of roses lay on the gravel.
‘Their mothers come here each week.’
‘It must have been terrible,’ said Lucy. ‘Claude and Philippe were twenty-five and Robert only twenty-six. Did they have to be executed? Couldn’t there have been some other punishment?’
‘Not at that time. The Germans were hated. Surely you can imagine how high feelings ran?’ Monique sounded reproving.
‘What about the girls?’
‘They were horsewhipped. It was all a tragedy. But the reason I’ve brought you down here was to make something clear to you. Look at these graves. If Claude had been killed by an Englishman, everyone would have known. Can’t you understand?’
Lucy didn’t feel particularly relieved, simply uncertain. She was grateful, however, for the renewed show of support.
‘I gather that Philippe procured his own sister,’ Monique continued. ‘Madame Gerard has that to bear as well.’
‘God!’ Lucy shuddered. ‘It’s just so terrible.’
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