Lucy sat down, suddenly not knowing how to begin. Then she decided to plunge straight in. ‘Solange told me that she had an affair with Tim and that he shot her husband Claude. Isn’t that exactly what you repeated to me?’
Anna stared at her in silence for a while and then said, ‘Yes.’
‘You believed her?’
‘She generally told me the truth. As you will appreciate, that was not her usual style.’
‘Were you close?’ Lucy asked tentatively, the despair sweeping her. Anna seemed to be so reasonable, so convincing.
‘We had become friends. After all, we were the only two women working at Pavilly. It would not have been a good idea to quarrel.’
‘Why did she fantasize?’
‘Solange was ill. I tried as hard as I could to persuade her to get help. But she was stubborn.’ Anna shrugged. ‘She was ill in her head and I’m ill in my body. We made a good pair.’
Lucy realized that she had been right. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Really sorry.’
‘Solange was saving up to send me to America for treatment. There is a clinic in California that has a new regime for cancer. But who knows if it would work. Anyway, it’s naturally very expensive and Solange was not paid that well. So it will remain a dream.’
Lucy didn’t know how to react and sought safety in her next question. ‘Perhaps you were the only person she had a genuine relationship with?’
‘I hope so.’
There was an awkward pause, during which Lucy wondered whether she should leave or go for a walk in the grounds, or even force herself to go back to the hotel. Nevertheless, she pressed on. ‘How did she feel about Claude?’
‘She hated the bastard. He used to beat her. Solange told me she was overjoyed when she got the caretaker’s job.’
‘And Claude?’
‘I get the impression he bided his time until he thought he was in with a chance.’
‘In what way?’
‘To make money. Especially in the war. Especially with the Germans. So he went into local prostitution for lonely Nazi boys. And if Solange objected, he would beat her again.’
‘Why was she afraid of my husband?’
‘I don’t know.’
There was a long pause. Then Lucy blurted out the impossible question, ‘Do you think Tim killed her?’
‘Obviously I was jumping to conclusions when I said that. Now I don’t know what to think.’
‘Has Metand spoken to you?’
‘Yes. He questioned me closely. It was painful and I’d rather not have to go through that again.’
They had reached an impasse and Lucy felt a surge of anger. Why had she led her on, seeming to be sympathetic when she was not?
‘I’m sorry. I must ask you one other question. Do you think Solange could have killed herself and tried to incriminate Tim at the same time?’
Anna sighed. It was as if she had started with the best of intentions but now knew she couldn’t fulfil them. Lucy felt distraught. The conversation had been like wading in cold shallows before plunging into a freezing ocean. She was out of her depth.
‘I don’t know the answers to your questions.’ Anna paused, as if she was making a considerable effort to be amenable. ‘Something inexplicable happened in the war. As a result, your husband and Solange are linked in a way we don’t understand. You must realize that her death is as deeply painful to me as your husband’s disappearance is to you.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Lucy was guilty at her clumsiness yet deeply depressed by Anna’s refusal to help her. Could she be protecting Solange? Looking at her shut-in expression Lucy realized she would never know.
‘Would you like me to show you the archive?’ Anna asked wearily.
Lucy nodded. She still had to pass an eternity of time and she didn’t want to be ordered out into the rain, to drive the lonely roads.
Anna got up and went over to one of the trestle tables. ‘Boxes F to H contain the material relating to the proposed German occupation of Pavilly, the one that Solange staved off. It’s badly damaged, but you might be interested in having a look.’
‘Have you been through all this?’ asked Lucy.
‘In detail.’
‘What were they?’
‘Mainly letters and documents. French and German bureaucracy at its most overbearing.’
‘And what’s that pile of stuff on the central table?’
‘That’s where I do the analysis. I comb the parts of the building I can get into and anything – everything – I bring back here, photograph and file it. I’m a slow worker – but conscientious.’ She bent over the documents with a magnifying glass. ‘Why don’t you have a look?’ Anna was casually dismissive.
Lucy dragged a canvas chair over to the table and opened a box at random. Like the summerhouse, it smelt strongly of charcoal.
The German correspondence between the relevant army departments and the Goutin family were simply scraps of burnt paper stuck in brown folders and barely recognizable for what they once were. Idly she sifted through them. Then something dropped out of one of them and fell on to the floor, rolling under the table.
Lucy extricated the cylinder. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.
Anna looked up impatiently. Then she said sharply, ‘I’ve never seen that before.’ She put on her glasses and came over to the trestle table. ‘It’s a roll of film.’ She looked increasingly bewildered. ‘I don’t understand how this got here.’
‘There was something wrapped round it,’ said Lucy, holding up a small blue envelope. ‘It’s addressed to you.’
Anna tore it open, her hands shaking. She pulled out a sheet of notepaper which she gazed at for a long time.
‘What does it say?’
‘“Dearest,”’ Anna read. ‘“This film is for Lucy Groves. Two of the men are French. The others are British. All my love. S.”’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I. It could only have been put in here yesterday. I would have seen it otherwise.’
Lucy was sweating, the fear crawling. ‘What would I want this for?’
‘I’ve no idea, but I’ve got a dark room here and I could develop it for you.’ Anna was clearly shaken.
‘Why didn’t Solange leave the film on your work table?’
‘I’d told her I was going to add some material to those boxes this week.’
‘How did she know I’d go through it? It was just chance I came here. She wouldn’t – couldn’t – have guessed.’
‘I suppose she guessed I’d be dealing with the material today. She knew how methodical I am. Perhaps she meant me to be the messenger.’ Anna looked intently at Lucy as if gauging her reaction. ‘I’ll develop the film. We’ll soon find out what’s on it.’ She sounded even colder now, her voice distant, and Lucy began to wonder if she had actually planted the film in the box for her to find, if it had nothing to do with Solange at all. But what about the envelope and the note it contained? Surely Anna wouldn’t pretend it was from Solange when it wasn’t? She would be so easily found out.
She led Lucy towards the rear of the summerhouse. To the left was a small, neat bedroom with an elephant nightdress case lying on a gingham quilt. There were Tin-Tin prints around the walls, a Bakelite radio, and a chest of drawers with a photograph of Solange on top, dressed in a cloak and a hat trimmed with artificial fruit. There was also a miniature grandfather clock and a table with a teddy-bear.
The room gave Lucy an uncomfortable feeling, as if she had invaded a special privacy. Solange and Anna. How close were they? How much did they need each other? She thought about them both being ill in their different, terrible ways.
For some time Lucy could see nothing under the fluid in the developing tray. Then she saw the image begin to form and, for a few seconds, gazed down in utter mystification. It didn’t make sense. Couldn’t make sense. The men were playing a game – a game that she couldn’t begin to understand.
‘Dear God,’ breathed Anna.<
br />
Lucy ran to the dark room door, the bile rising in her throat, rattling for a moment at the handle and then opening it, rushing to the bathroom and retching, but bringing nothing up. This was as bad as smelling Solange’s shit, seeing that white, waxy wrist.
She seemed to go on heaving for a long time as she thought about the game that she was now slowly beginning to understand. Lucy saw May’s face as she told Sally and her her suspicions about Baverstock. She remembered Sally’s evasion -and her own.
‘You’d better not come back in.’
Lucy stood at the door of the dark room. Anna had taken the photographs out of the tray and placed them on the bench.
But she was already there, gazing down at the unbelievable, unspeakable images.
‘Who took them?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Anna woodenly.
Lucy couldn’t take her eyes off what the men were doing.
‘They’re in the chapel. You can see the angels dying above them.’ Anna sounded distanced, as if the vile scene was not worthy of her attention, and Lucy could think of nothing to say, still unable to believe what she was seeing. Did May know? What about Sally?
‘Maybe these were meant to be Nazi propaganda.’ She spoke crisply now, with academic detachment. ‘I think the film is German. As you may know, the collaborators were executed because they procured French girls for the Germans and licentious photographs of them were passed around the region to demoralize the community. This could be the same. But different. If you know what I mean. After all, local French boys don’t play such fun and games with escaping British army officers every day of the week, do they? This would be a real propaganda coup for the Germans that could be distributed in England as well as France.’ She paused. ‘You know the Nazis condemned this? They regarded homosexuals as perverts. They would execute them.’
‘But it wasn’t distributed,’ said Lucy.
‘How do you know? There could have been other films showing much the same.’
‘Obviously they were all compelled to – do this terrible thing.’
May’s voice came back into Lucy’s mind. ‘It was a homosexual thing. Some kind of homosexual thing.’ ‘I phoned Frasier about Baverstock,’ Metand had told the men. Then she forced herself to glance at the prints again.
Martin and Peter were astride the young men’s backs. They were naked. Their expressions were ecstatic, absorbed.
‘The angels are dying,’ said Tim. ‘Don’t make me do it.’
‘Looks like buggery,’ observed Anna viciously. ‘They all seem to be having fun, don’t they?’
‘My husband isn’t there.’ But Lucy knew that this wasn’t the answer, that she couldn’t so glibly accept his lack of involvement. Maybe there were other photos in existence showing Tim – She broke off the speculation, unable to bear the horror of it all.
‘Perhaps Tim took the photographs,’ suggested Anna. There was no expression in her voice.
11
31 July
‘They were compelled,’ stated Lucy doggedly. ‘By the Germans.’
Anna didn’t reply. ‘Homosexual acts between British officers and French peasants. Just imagine how the British War Office would react to that? Or even the Free French?’
‘Could Tim have decided to get hold of the film and destroy it?’ Lucy needed reassurance but knew she wasn’t going to get any.
‘Who from?’ Anna chose to be obtuse.
‘Solange. Perhaps she’d been blackmailing him.’
‘Solange wouldn’t do that.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I knew her.’
‘Did you? I thought I knew Tim. I thought I knew Peter and Martin. But I didn’t. So why did she give the film to me?’
Anna ignored the question. ‘Solange wouldn’t blackmail anyone. She had no real need for money and she just wasn’t that sort of person. Please remember how wrell I knew her. And if Tim’s not in the pictures there’s no disgrace for you. Who’s to know or care now who took the film. What are you worrying about?’
‘I’m worrying there might be more.’ Again May’s and Sally’s faces swam into her mind. Could they know? Would they have known all this time without telling her?
Anna took over half an hour checking through the cardboard boxes on the trestle tables. She came up with nothing, but Lucy felt mentally drained and deeply relieved when she had finished. If Peter and Martin had known about the film’s existence, then it must have been a time-bomb ticking away, always ready to confront them. Lucy remembered how the men had seemed to guard Tim. Had he been the weak link, or was he really the strongest of the three? ‘I need to talk to Metand.’
Anna walked across to the phone, her face once again set and expressionless. Til ring his office. They’ll find him.’
As she dialled, Lucy went to the window. The sky was overcast, bulbous with rain, and even as she watched the first drops began to fall, rippling the surface of the lake, slowly at first and then in a torrential downpour. Soon, the sound began to penetrate the windows of the summerhouse and she saw that one of them leaked slightly, water dripping down the inside of the pane. The horrendous detail in the photographs hammered away in her mind.
She listened to Anna talking and wondered about her. What did she know? Was she an accomplice? Had all this been prearranged? But the adrenalin was once again flowing and Lucy grimly realized she had made a breakthrough. Or had Solange made it for her? If only she had never insisted on Tim’s journey back into such a past.
‘Metand’s already on his way out here,’ said Anna. ‘They wouldn’t say why.’
Lucy’s mind reeled. Events were moving so quickly now that she felt punch-drunk. She was reminded of unpeeling an onion, layer by layer. Again and again the dreadful images recurred.
Anna joined her, gazing out at the rain.
They had nothing more to say to each other.
The wait was interminable. The minutes ticked past with a hollow resonance and Lucy drank pale tea that Anna made with Elephant teabags. They still didn’t speak, preoccupied with their own thoughts.
Eventually Lucy was relieved to see Metand arrive. Like Anna, the expression on his face gave nothing away as he hurried up the path to the summerhouse. When he came in, however, he was his usual immediate self. ‘They’ve found your husband’s shirt. I need you to identify it.’
Lucy didn’t immediately take the information in. She felt in too great a state of shock.
‘Where’s Tim?’
‘We only found the shirt. It’s a step forward, don’t you think?’
But she didn’t know what to think and Metand seemed tense.
‘Where is it?’ Lucy managed to ask.
‘On the derelict farm that once belonged to Claude Eclave.’
‘Hadn’t the place been searched?’ She found shelter in indignation.
‘There are extensive woods at the back of the buildings. I ordered another, more concentrated search this morning. The shirt was under a bush, torn into small pieces. Will you come and make an identification now?’
Lucy nodded, but then she saw something in Metand’s face that made her realize there was more.
‘I’m afraid the shirt is bloodstained.’
She gazed at him hopelessly, her heart pounding.
Anna intervened. ‘Before you go, we’ve got something very unfortunate to show you.’ She went away into the darkroom.
While she was gone, Lucy forced herself into a stumbling explanation, although she was thinking about Tim’s shirt at the same time. The ominous discovery only slightly overlaid the impossible images.
‘I found the film in one of these document boxes but Anna says it couldn’t have been there long. There was a note from Solange. She wanted the film to be given to me and then Anna developed it. She’ll show you. I can’t.’ Her words were falling over each other at a ridiculously fast pace until she came to a grinding halt as Anna returned with one of the prints. She gave it to Metand who scrutinized
it carefully while Lucy watched the revulsion spread across his face.
‘Dear God,’ he muttered. ‘This is dreadful. I had no idea that –’ He broke off.
‘They’re Martin and Peter,’ said Lucy woodenly.
‘You’ll remember the Nazi propaganda photographs that began those executions?’ Anna prompted.
He nodded.
‘Could these be for the same purpose?’
Metand didn’t reply and the rain pattered at the glass.
‘Very likely. This must have been the most appalling shock for you both.’ Then he turned to Lucy. ‘But at least Tim wasn’t involved.’ Immediately Metand looked as if he shouldn’t have made the statement.
She replied slowly and haltingly. ‘I was afraid there could be another film, but we didn’t find one.’
Metand seemed to be trying to work something out. ‘If Solange left the film for Anna to find and pass on to you, maybe she really did feel threatened. Otherwise she would have given it to you herself.’
‘But Tim wasn’t involved. Thank God,’ Lucy repeated. She was hanging on to his absence like a talisman, but she also knew how wrong she might be.
‘Suppose he seized that opportunity we’ve been talking about so much? Could he have come here to persuade Solange to give up the film?’
‘And she refused? Why then did she suddenly decide to leave it out for me?’
Metand hesitated, but Lucy was sure she knew what he was thinking. Solange had arranged for her to have the film because she knew Tim was already dead.
The silence lengthened. Then he said, ‘Let’s go and see if you can identify the shirt.’
But Lucy was still struggling to come to terms with the dreadful possibilities. ‘What was Tim going to do with the film if he did manage to get Solange to hand it over? Destroy it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Metand. ‘And neither do you. There’s no time for this sort of speculation now.’ He was unusually agitated which made Lucy feel doubly anxious.
The Men Page 18