The Men

by Anthony Masters

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Not now. I just want it to be over.’ May’s voice was a monotone, but the tears were pouring down her cheeks.

  ‘You played a game with Lucy, didn’t you, Mr Latimer?’ said Metand. ‘You were not on a business trip to Birmingham at all. When you phoned her in France you were close to Navise.’

  Martin still gazed ahead, avoiding eye contact. ‘I killed Graham Baverstock. Peter had made a mistake and begun a relationship with him. I’d warned him so many times since we got back. This was his first error of judgement. When Baverstock came to garden for Peter it was like Hersham had spewed out some kind of hell fire demon.’ Martin paused, shuddering, as if he wasn’t going to be able to continue. He coughed, cleared his throat and tried to start again but the words seemed blocked, as if he had a throat constriction. Then he forced them out once more, the sweat pouring down his face. ‘He should have got rid of him directly he clapped eyes on the man. But the temptation proved too great. Peter risked everything he’d built up. With the law as it stands, Baverstock could have milked Peter for the rest of his life.’ Martin paused for breath and then gave a sob, but there were no tears in his eyes. ‘I had to do it. After all, I’d been trained in the army. It really wasn’t difficult. Peter lured him up to the Clump and I was waiting there. Lucy and Sally were right about the burning shed. Peter set fire to it because Baverstock’s attempts at blackmail were rather immature. That was the height of it – the shed. Peter had been holding out. Or trying to.’

  The ensuing silence was a physical force.

  Metand turned to Martin Latimer. ‘Are you a homosexual?’

  ‘I’ve always had – certain feelings.’ His voice was so low that Lucy could hardly hear. ‘I’m very ashamed of them.’

  May’s face was still expressionless.

  ‘And what about Tim?’ asked Lucy suddenly, desperately needing a reassurance that she couldn’t give herself.

  ‘No. He wasn’t. But what he saw and what he eventually did broke him.’ Martin seemed stronger now, as if by reassuring her he had recovered a tiny margin of self-respect. ‘If it’s any help to any of you, I loathe myself. I always have done.’

  You put up a pretty good front, thought Lucy. So good that it was impenetrable.

  ‘Was Solange blackmailing you as well?’

  ‘She wasn’t blackmailing anyone. It was only when Tim arrived in France that things ran out of control, as Peter and I always feared they would. It had always rankled with Solange that he was able to resist her advances, but the fact that she lost money as well rankled even more. I think there was an element of revenge on Solange’s part over all this. Three young men had turned her down flat.’ Martin turned to Lucy. ‘At least you can remember Tim was never unfaithful to you.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened that night?’ asked Metand. ‘And this time I would like the truth.’

  Martin spoke mechanically now, almost as if he was describing someone else’s actions. ‘It was the third day of our concealment at Pavilly. There had been no visits from the Germans and we all – Peter, Tim and I – had a false sense of well-being. Solange had withdrawn and was no longer making advances to us, and that was another reason for celebration. Particularly in Tim’s case. We were in the wine cellar of the château and helped ourselves. It was like the last day of term at a boarding school. We knew we had to move on next day and go back to facing the dangers of the roads that never ever seemed to lead anywhere. Then Claude turned up with his friends Robert and Philippe and asked if they could join the party. They’d brought some more bottles with them and we made them welcome. We didn’t know anything about Claude, except that he was Solange’s husband and she didn’t like him coming up to the château. But we’d guessed she was afraid of him.’

  ‘Where was she at this time?’

  ‘She wasn’t around. Anyway – things went from bad to worse as we all got roaring drunk.’

  ‘But not incapable,’ whispered Sally.

  Martin avoided her gaze and then began to speak with much more deliberation. ‘Philippe had brought a football. We started to play a drunken game but there was no space. Claude decided there would be more room in the chapel so we went there.’

  ‘With angels dying on the ceiling?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Yes – it was a desecration.’ He looked now as if he was at his own court martial, speaking woodenly but the emotion only just kept at bay. Once again, Martin gave the appearance of a reasonable man trying to explain the unreasonable, as if he was determined to distance himself from the reality of it all – and, indeed, from his own feelings.

  Beside him, May’s tears had been brushed away and she stared blankly ahead. Sally, meanwhile, was watching Martin with such focused disgust that Lucy wondered if she was going to get up and attack him. But she didn’t move, sitting so rigidly that her fury was all too obvious.

  ‘And what happened then?’ asked Metand.

  ‘We had a half-time break and there was more drinking – and some horseplay that got out of control. Solange must have come in without us noticing.’

  ‘What was her reaction?’

  ‘She was angry. But she had already calculated what she would do.’

  ‘She took photographs?’

  ‘With a view to turning the prints over to the Germans. After all, this was a rather juicier form of propaganda than the norm. Solange must have calculated that directly she saw what was happening. She’d had plenty of practice as a main-chancer.’ Martin’s voice shook, and he gazed down at Sally’s expensive carpet as if he was searching for a way out in its deep, deadening pile.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Claude obviously didn’t want those photographs to go to the Germans because he thought he might be accused of being queer himself.’

  ‘What were Claude and Tim doing while – the horseplay was going on?’

  ‘They had gone back to the cellars, looking for more wine. When they got back Solange had just finished using her camera.’

  ‘But what about Philippe and Robert? Were they willing participants?’ asked Metand. ‘Surely it would be very difficult to force them?’

  ‘They were too drunk to know what was going on,’ said Martin. ‘When they began to realize, it was too late. Anyway, Claude went for Solange and she switched off the chapel lights. But he got them on again and began to knock her about. We tried to intervene but were too drunk. It was only Tim who seemed to sober up quickly. He dragged Claude away from Solange but he couldn’t hold him for long.’

  ‘So what did he mean, “Don’t make me do it”?’ asked Lucy hesitantly.

  Martin was controlled again, speaking in a monotone, relieved to be no longer describing the ‘horseplay’. ‘Claude broke away from Tim and went for Solange again, holding her up against the wall of the chapel. He began to bang her head against it. Tim tried to stop him, but Claude was stronger than any of us, drunk or not. Probably stronger because he was drunk. So Tim got his service revolver out and threatened him. He kept saying, ‘Don’t make me do it’, but Claude didn’t listen. He just went on banging Solange’s head against the wall. Then Tim shot him. I think he was trying to shoot Claude in the leg, but he wasn’t sober enough for accuracy. He got him in the stomach, but by this time Solange was unconscious.’ Martin was barely audible now.

  ‘And the film?’ asked Metand.

  ‘We couldn’t find it however hard we looked. She must have hidden it somewhere in the chapel while the lights were out, in some place that only she knew about.’

  ‘What did you do to Philippe and Robert?’ asked Metand.

  ‘Tim didn’t kill them. I took his gun and did it myself.’ This time Martin must have paused for almost a minute, clenching and unclenching his fists, while Lucy looked on in part fascination, part bewilderment. The last of the men was cracking. Their fortress was finally in ruins. Then Martin continued. ‘We dragged them out and dumped all three bodies in a ditch. It took a bit of time and we were terrified a German patrol might turn up.
But we got away with it.’ The sweat was pouring down his forehead and he kept wiping it away impatiently.

  ‘So how did the rumour begin about collaboration?’

  ‘They were already known to be collaborators,’ said Martin.

  ‘But surely the local people would have realized the executions were carried out by someone other than themselves?’

  ‘They must have claimed the killings as their own – it wasn’t a close-knit community so each family probably reckoned another had done it – and there was always the Resistance – the Maquis – to blame if necessary.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Metand. ‘I should have realized that.’ He paused and then asked him, ‘Were you frightened Solange would blackmail you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you searched the chapel thoroughly?’

  ‘We never found the damn film.’

  ‘Why didn’t you force her to give it up?’

  ‘She was in a bad state. Still unconscious and her head was bleeding. We took another risk by phoning a neighbour, although that was difficult because of our lack of French. Nevertheless, we managed to communicate that she was badly hurt. We were gone by the time he came. But we assumed he’d got Solange to hospital where she presumably received treatment for head injuries.’

  ‘I wonder if that would explain her behaviour?’ said Metand. ‘Perhaps she had some brain damage.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Martin shrugged apathetically.

  ‘So there was no German capture, no set-ups, no bribery, no organized escape. That was all made up.’

  ‘It was a strategy that Peter and I concocted. A last manoeuvre. Then, when we came home, it was just a waiting game. I felt I had myself under control, but I knew Peter was vulnerable, that he might succumb. We took up a fortified position but we knew the enemy were waiting, slowly moving towards us from the border-lands.’ Martin broke down. There were no tears but muffled, gasping sobs which made everyone in the room freeze.

  May gazed up at him, her lips trembling, as if about to say something but failing to get the words out. Did she pity Martin, Lucy wondered. Or was she condemning her husband for breaking the law as well as a social taboo that was about to damn their future, to terminate whatever might happen beyond this room.

  ‘The border-lands?’ asked Metand gently. ‘Do you mean Hersham?’

  Martin shook his head and fought for control. ‘I mean anywhere.’ He paused and then added, ‘Baverstock came, didn’t he?’ He spoke in such a low voice that Lucy could only just hear him.

  ‘Let’s return to the events in France,’ said Metand impatiently. ‘Solange took the photographs because she saw a chance of making a considerable sum from the Germans – just as she had for setting up the French whores?’

  Martin nodded.

  ‘So how did you leave France?’

  ‘In exactly the way we’ve already described.’

  ‘So there were no lies?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You must have been waiting for Solange to blackmail you all these years. I’m surprised she held off, particularly as Anna had cancer. You could have paid for her treatment in America.’

  ‘Just after the war, Tim had talked several times of trying to get the film from Solange but we put pressure on to keep him from going back.’ Martin spoke slowly, unwillingly, and Lucy knew they were heading for the final, painful details that she had to hear but didn’t want to hear.

  ‘Why?’ asked Metand. ‘Didn’t he stand a chance of success?’

  ‘No,’ Martin replied. ‘I’d taken a discreet trip to Navise in 1946.’

  ‘I would have thought you would stand out,’ observed Metand. ‘A wandering Englishman.’

  ‘I wasn’t wandering. I took care to stay in Honfleur and then made an expedition to Pavilly. I found the château had been badly damaged, the chapel ruined. I watched Solange. I watched her go in and out of that lodge for the best part of a day. She was greatly changed and I couldn’t bring myself to approach her. In the end I took the most appalling risk and went to the Hôtel des Arbres. Peter had already found out that the original owners had left and the new proprietor, a Monsieur Leger, was pleased to welcome me. He showed me the photograph with great pride and gave me a print to take home.’

  And Tim put it behind his books, thought Lucy. Had it been a flimsy piece of evidence that Navise’s memory of the three Englishmen was still untainted?

  ‘Leger was only too happy to talk about Solange. He told me she was ill. Mentally ill. But local people had no sympathy because they suspected she had been a collaborator too although there was no proof. She lived alone at the lodge. I was greatly relieved, and almost managed to convince myself that we were safe, but when I returned home and told Tim and Peter the situation sounded just about as dangerous as it always had. From then on Tim seemed to get worse. He was deeply guilty about Claude, horrified by what had gone on, unable to come to terms with any of it. Then there was Baverstock. Then there was Lucy.’

  ‘So you followed them to Navise?’

  ‘I stayed in Honfleur. But I phoned to check they’d arrived. I knew where he’d go.’

  ‘Did you and Peter speak to Tim before he left England?’

  ‘We didn’t get the chance. He evaded us. Lucy was always there.’ He turned to her and she could see that if Martin had suffered already then he was about to undergo the ultimate pain. Lucy almost felt sorry for him. She certainly couldn’t summon up the righteous anger, the rage that she had anticipated. She still didn’t know what had happened and Lucy wasn’t sure that she wanted to.

  ‘Tell me about France then. What did you do?’ asked Metand.

  Martin paused and the silence in the room was threatening. Then he burst into flurried, halting speech. ‘I hid myself outside the lodge again and reckoned I could be in for a long wait. Fortunately Tim turned up quite quickly. Solange opened the door and he went in. After about half an hour he came out, looking distraught. He was about to walk back to the hotel when I caught up with him. Naturally, he was alarmed to see me.’ Martin got up and walked over to the window. He gazed out into the darkening garden as if to some extent making himself witness the terrible events again. Lucy watched him with a mounting curiosity. She felt completely detached. ‘I’d kept our secret. I’d kept it too long. So protection was the most paramount thought in my mind. I knew then that I would do anything to keep my marriage, my home, my job – my life as I’ve lived it here since the war.’

  The cricket club, Lucy added to the list. The bullying.

  ‘What reason did you give Tim?’

  ‘That I wanted to help.’

  ‘What was his reaction?’

  ‘He was horrified. I asked him what had happened between him and Solange and Tim told me that she had the film and was going to hand it over to a local newspaper. In other words, she was enjoying playing with him. She said she’d been waiting for us. For a long time.’

  ‘So she was afraid,’ said Metand.

  ‘She was also taking pleasure in the hold she had over us. Immense pleasure.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I told Tim that we’d both go and get the film. And that if she didn’t give it up, we’d kill her.’

  ‘And he disagreed?’

  ‘He said he’d try to reason with her again. But I knew it wouldn’t work and so did he. Then we had a row and Tim said that if I tried to harm Solange he’d call the police and give me up. He was the old Tim. The honourable Tim.’ Martin was still keeping his back to them, gazing out unseeingly.

  Lucy felt the first stirring of pride and of involvement with Tim. The detachment had gone.

  ‘But why kill her? After all, as you say, what happened was an abberation. It was wartime and you were abroad. Did you have so much to lose?’

  Martin swung round, and for the first time seemed angry, as if he had a point of view that his audience had wilfully chosen to ignore. ‘I had everything to lose. If the film was released, I’d be arrested. So would Peter. There
would be a trial, newspaper headlines, imprisonment. Not only would we lose everything but so would Sally and May. You can see the headlines, can’t you. British officers in sex scandal. Of course we would have been all right if it had been the right kind of sex. But this was the wrong kind, wasn’t it? The forbidden kind.’ Martin’s voice rose but more in fury than hysteria. ‘I can’t help what I feel. Neither could Peter. We were born that way.’

  ‘You could have tried,’ said Sally.

  You could have gone easy on Tim, thought Lucy. But even she realized what a threat he had posed to the other two men. If only she could hate them, but her pride in Tim’s unexpected strength and courage surmounted all her other feelings. She glowed inside for the love of him.

  ‘What happened with Tim?’ she asked.

  Martin met her eyes, sounding as if he was an army official bringing her the news of his death. And, of course, that was exactly what Martin was doing. ‘I told Tim we needed to talk and took him off for a walk in the woods. I didn’t have a strategy until then. But I suddenly realized I had to kill both of them. Solange would enjoy playing games. Tim would be bound to protect her. If I killed him, I might be able to create a number of options to keep the police guessing for a long time. Hopefully for ever. I would make it look as if Tim had killed Solange and during the struggle she ripped away a fragment of his shirt. That was the first option. The second might seem as if she killed Tim and then committed suicide, trying to implicate him.’ Martin’s eyes didn’t leave Lucy’s for a moment. ‘Tim wanted to get back to you and was sure you’d already be terribly worried. I told Tim I wouldn’t keep him long and I didn’t.’

  May began to cry again, the tears rolling down her plump cheeks.

  ‘Afterwards I slept the night in the car and in the morning I went to Pavilly, but Solange was out. There was another woman in the summerhouse and I kept out of sight until she drove off in a car. Then I broke into the lodge and waited. When Solange got back I insisted she should give me the film, but she said it had been destroyed. I couldn’t tell whether she was playing games or not. In desperation I managed to persuade her to walk up to Pavilly and show me the fire damage, and when we got outside the château Solange told me that she had never destroyed the film, that she had been waiting for a time when it would come in useful as a weapon against us. Now that time had come. Apparently her friend Anna had cancer and Solange wanted to pay for this new treatment in America.’