by Aileen Izett
“Don’t give me that,” Tom’s eyes were wild with rage. “No man is ever going to call my mother a whore and get away with it.”
We talked long into the night, that night.
“Perhaps we should have asked more questions.”
“We were only children.”
“I thought they told each other everything.”
“She didn’t tell him how Dad died.”
“How do you know?”
Tom shrugged. “He asked me.”
“And?”
“I told him to look at the newspapers of that time. It was for her to tell him.” His eyes shifted away from mine. “Besides, I was too young when it happened.”
*
In all the weeks I had been at the château, I’d never been down to the lake. I decided to go for a swim. I asked Eveline if she would like to come with me but she said she would wait for Tom to return. She lay on her bed, looking utterly exhausted.
I walked through the gates except there were no gates — the lack of gates would now be Tom’s worry, not mine. I went down the hill. I crossed over the bridge. It couldn’t have been more than a fifteen minute walk.
Already, family groups had taken all the shade of the trees by the water. There was no shade left for me, so I picked a spot on the gravelly sand of the man-made beach and, using my towel, peeled off my clothes and got into my swimsuit.
A little girl, who couldn’t be more than three years old, joined me on the shoreline and solemnly contemplated the water lapping through my toes. I threw a pebble into the lake for her, and we both watched as the water closed over it. She toddled back to the mother who had hoisted herself up onto her elbows to watch us. The woman flopped back onto her back as her child approached. Someone had started to play music, not loud enough for words, but loud enough for a beat.
I sliced my way through the thick water. It was cold and welcome. I could feel the sweat sloughing off my back. I swam out towards the middle where it was deep enough for me not to churn up the muddy bottom.
I looked back towards the shoreline and see the château, perched on top of its hill. The Kumonos’ music swirled through the village and yet, according to Valerie, people were too intimidated to complain. I wondered if I would have been as unquestioning — of course I would. I thought about seeing someone in London about the man in the tree. I probed my brain very carefully, but the man in the tree had gone. I felt elated; the obsession had gone. What had happened the night before with Eveline had set me free.
Someone was waving to me from the beach. Greg. His eyes ran over my body in my saggy black swimsuit. I didn’t mind. The sex that afternoon had liberated both of us in a funny sort of way.
Thin and spare, he passed me my towel.
“Great to see Eveline is back. What happened to her photo?”
I wrapped the towel around me, suddenly chilled with the sun beating down on my head and shoulders. “What about the photo?”
Greg contemplated the mountains in the distance and when he did answer me, he was abrupt. “I went up to tell you and Tom that I’m leaving. Eveline was having a right old ding-dong at Tom.”
“But Claudine did have it!”
He looked at me with disbelief. “Hells bells. How could you leave it behind?”
I put on my shorts and t-shirt over the wet swimsuit. I’d be dry by the time I got back to the château.
“So I’ll see you around. I’m catching the ferry tomorrow.”
I threw my arms around him, giving his bony frame a tight, damp hug. “Good for you. Is Tom okay with you going?”
“He didn’t say. He seemed to have more important things on his mind.”
“I’ll miss you.”
He pulled away from me, pleased. “Gotta go.”
He sloped off though the trees, in the direction of the field where he kept his caravan.
But before he’d gone too far, he turned back.
“You don’t have any readies on you do you, by any chance?”
“Hasn’t Tom paid you?” Greg’s wages were due earlier in the week.
“He didn’t have any spare cash on him.”
“Well that’s odd, he had loads yesterday.”
“He paid off Claudine, remember?”
“Yes,” I was about to tell Greg that she had returned it — and besides I’d only given her half the notes in Tom’s wallet but I stopped in time. Greg had gone after Eveline by then and I’d have had to explain why Claudine had refused Tom’s money.
I rolled up my towel, gritty with sand, anxious about what was happening back at the château.
Chapter 47
Halfway up the avenue, I heard the sound of a car engine behind me. Valerie drew alongside.
“Tom left his sunglasses yesterday.”
“Thanks. I’ll take them for him.”
She leant over, one hand on the steering wheel.
“Hop in. You’re tired.”
She was right. I was too tired to argue.
“I feel responsible,” she said, shifting the gear into first. “If only I hadn’t agreed to come with you…”
“We already knew about the Kumonos.”
“Yes,” she said, “but there’s knowing and knowing isn’t there?” She gave a little shudder.
The house, bathed in sunshine, looked serene, idyllic even. There wasn’t a sound in the air and the lack of any sort of noise was so eerie, it made me feel even more apprehensive. Valerie parked her car under the cypress beside mine. I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to invite her in for a cup of tea. I don’t know, even now, what I expected to find inside the château. As it was, I needn’t have worried.
The kitchen was wreathed in gloom after the sun outside. As soon as he saw us, Tom jumped to his feet. Eveline remained sitting at the table, her face streaked with tears.
“What are you doing here?” All his focus was on Valerie.
She gave her tinkling little laugh, scooping his glasses out of one of her pockets. “I thought you might miss these.”
He accepted them, I thought, rather ungraciously. “What happened at Claudine’s, Tom?”
He glanced over at Eveline. “Burnt. The old witch burnt the photograph.”
“What for?”
“How should I know?” He was trying not to shout. “She’s mad.”
Eveline laid her face in her arms and started to sob.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said, gesturing at Eveline.
“I have an idea,” Valerie said brightly, beckoning for Tom and me to follow her out to the archway.
“The girl needs closure. She thinks her brother is dead.” Valerie’s eyes darted from Tom to me and back again. “If we take her to where I found the bullet at least that’s somewhere physical, rooted in reality, something not in her head. It might help. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure…” I said.
“It might cancel out the awful image of a hunt,” Valerie said tartly.
“Okay,” Tom made the decision. “Let’s go for it.”
Back in the kitchen, Tom declared in a tone which brooked no opposition that we were all going for a drive.
Eveline acquiesced meekly. All her energy had gone. She watched listlessly as Tom threw two spades into the boot of Valerie’s car.
I was horrified. “You’re not!”
“Of course we bloody well are,” he retorted. “We’ll do the job properly. There’ll be nothing there.”
Eveline didn’t react. She had completely shut herself off from us.
Valerie’s car was even smaller than mine. Eveline and I were crammed, legs at acute angles in the back. Eveline kept her eyes closed, her head knocking against the window. As she drove, Valerie made light, inconsequential conversation with Tom. I could tell from the set of his neck that he was taut with tension.
We took a different route up into the hills than that we took to reach Claudine.
Eveline opened her eyes. “Why are we going into the woods?”
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“Tom,” I interrupted Valerie, “Eveline wants to know where we are going.”
Tom pushed his face past the headrest. “We are going to the spot for you to see where Valerie found the other bullet.”
Eveline stiffened.
He turned to face the front again.
Suddenly, patches of sunlight were travelling past on the woodland floor. I grabbed Eveline, not certain if the door was open by intent. Neither of us said a word. Tom was alerted by the sudden rush of air and the flap of the door hanging on its hinges. He jammed his shoulder in the space between the two front seats, and held onto Eveline’s thigh.
“What’s going on?” Valerie cried. “If I stop, I’ll never…” The car swerved dangerously towards a line of trees.
“Just keep your eyes on the road,” Tom yelled.
Eveline lunged away from me. She crushed my legs, trying to swing her legs out into the open space but the foot well was too cramped. She strained her upper body instead, her head and shoulders right out of the car, pulling me over with her.
“I can’t stop the car!” Valerie shrieked.
“Just keep it going!” Tom shouted.
With great difficulty, I leant across Eveline and using the side pocket, manage to swing the door closed. I heaved myself back into sitting position. Amazingly, the car was still travelling forward. Eveline slumped her head against the window, energy spent.
“Well done, Sis!” There was relief, admiration even in Tom’s expression, as he relinquished his hold on Eveline.
“What the hell is going on?” Valerie.
“Eveline just wanted to exit the car,” I said.
“What was that all about?” Tom asked Eveline.
Eveline tried to shift away from me. Fat chance. The car was too small. There were beads of perspiration on her upper lip. “I don’t want to come. You can’t force me to.”
Tom gave Eveline a huge reassuring smile. “You’ll be okay, we’ll look after you. You know that.”
We continued our journey in silence, the car bumping over ruts, wary that Eveline might at any moment throw herself out the door. We were so ineffably British. Finally, the car came to a halt.
Valerie heaved the spades out of the boot. “It’s a pity Greg’s not around.”
“He’s not coming back,” I told her. “He’s returning to England.”
It was a small pleasure to see surprise register on her face.
Tom took one spade and made me take the other. Valerie marched out in front. We walked for ten minutes or so, me lagging behind as usual. Eveline allowed Tom to hold her hand, allowing him to draw her alongside. She needed comfort, I thought.
Valerie led us to a trickle of water following a course past rocks and logs.
“In the spring this is a stream. I found the bullet lodged over there.” She pointed to a spot a few inches from the edge of the bank.
“You’re sure?” Tom asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” she said, watching me.
“Let’s get to it then.” Tom glanced round for Eveline who had moved fifteen, twenty feet away, her back pressed up against a tree like she was waiting to be shot. Her eyes were fixed on Tom, as if her life depended on him.
Valerie gathered her skirt around her and hunched on the ground, waiting for us to begin.
“Come on, Sis.”
I took one last look at Eveline and start to dig. The earth was hard. Tom and I stood on the blades of our spades, trying to force them in but the deeper we managed to dig, the denser the earth became. Tom grunted with the effort of turning over the soil.
A frog hopped out of nowhere and darted into the undergrowth. For a moment I was petrified. Tom noticed. “No snakes would hang around here, Sis, not with the noise we’re making.” Valerie wandered off to look for a plant which was good for arthritis. She was going to treat Claudine’s arthritis for free.
“Nothing,” Tom announced when we had dug a hole about two feet deep. He looked around. “What about over there?” He pointed to a small mound of heaped up earth further down the stream.
We started again, our spades clunking against tree roots, conscious of Eveline’s eyes on us. I felt really self-conscious and my arms ached.
When Valerie returned with her arms full of plants, she was outraged. “What are you doing? This isn’t the spot.”
Tom showed her the first of our two-foot holes. Doubt flickered across her face. “Further upstream,” she said. She dumped the plants on the ground. “Give me the spade.”
Eveline’s eyes were still locked on Tom.
“Here.” Valerie set to with a manic energy. Tom looked at me over the curve of her back, a suspicion of a smile on his sweaty face. Obediently he bent over the spade again and started shovelling earth.
I left Tom and Valerie to it, and joined Eveline by her tree trunk. There was a strange silence in the wood, like the half-light filtering through the canopy above us. We could hear the whisper of water running across the almost dry bed, the occasional birdsong, and the clink of a blade hitting stone.
Tom eventually called a halt. “It’s futile. What did I tell you?” I rejoined him and looked down into the hole.
“I did find the bullet here.” Valerie was annoyed.
“You finding another silver bullet was just coincidence,” Tom assured her.
“Yes,” I said sarcastically, “there are silver bullets sprinkled all over the woods in France.”
“My brother died at the château,” Eveline’s voice carried clearly. “I don’t know why you have brought me here.”
Fury surged across my brother’s face — only to be obliterated by something smooth and obsequious.
I realised then that he was intent only on trying to persuade Eveline that her brother had never been at the château. That she was completely mistaken. It was Tom, not Claudine, who had disposed of Zachary’s photograph, just as he had destroyed the young man’s passport. Tom was telling lies and it sickened me.
He wrenched his spade from the earth. His anger smouldered all the way back to the car.
Chapter 48
Valerie sped away as soon as Tom had retrieved the two spades from the boot. I left him and Eveline standing on the gravel and went up to my turret room. I had a headache. I was terrified that the man I knew as my brother was someone I didn’t recognise at all.
I sat in the lower room and contemplated the grisaille panels of Cupid and Psyche. I could see exactly why Valerie thought that they were not beautiful. The truth was that they weren’t. Their value was in their rarity. It was a sleight of mind to endow them with more. I was indulging in my own vanity by calling them beautiful.
Eventually I heard slow steps approach the door. I’d jammed the chair underneath the handle to prevent it from being opened.
“Sis,” Tom said. “I’ve made some supper. Are you coming down?”
I didn’t reply.
The handle rattled as it was pressed down. “Let me in.”
“You’re a liar.”
There was a long drawn out expulsion of breath. “Okay. You win. That fucking old woman wins.”
“I know you Tom! You burnt the photograph, not Claudine!”
“For God’s sakes keep your voice down and let me in!”
I unhooked the chair from the door. I didn’t look at Tom. I went back to my place on the stairs.
“I didn’t, Sis.”
“He was here.”
“There isn’t an iota of proof.”
“Not now.”
“There never was. It’s bloody hearsay from someone you can’t exactly call balanced, can you? Can’t you see it from my perspective? I want the kids to come here… don’t you understand?”
“What about Eveline?”
“I’ll do my best for her. Are you going to come down?”
I shook my head but he didn’t leave, as I had expected. He lingered in the doorway.
“Sis, you’ve got to understand. I wouldn’t have done business with them. Had I
known what the régime was up to — what we know now.”
“But why did you have to come here, to the château?”
“I had to rescue a deal which was going badly wrong and with people like that — like the Kumonos — it all boils down to the relationship they have with you. Price in the end is of little consequence.”
“Couldn’t you have sent someone else?”
“No one else would do, not for that lot. I had no choice. The steel market was in freefall at the time.”
“It was worth it,” he said, as if he could tell what I was thinking. “A factory didn’t have to close down, saving a couple of hundred jobs. All it was to supply spare parts. Little bits and bobs. I have hundreds of people to keep in employment — and that’s hundreds of families, which is a bit of pressure, if you let it get to you. If I could turn the clock back, I would never have supplied them. If I had known what’s been uncovered during the last few years, of course…” His voice petered off.
Of course I believed him. “Poor Tom. You were in a bind.”
He came over, knelt and squeezed my hand, grateful for the sympathy. “But Sis, though, I tell you nothing happened at the château. I would have seen, heard something… Nothing happened here, I tell you.” He was so fervent, he was like a child; if he said something hadn’t happened, long enough and hard enough, it couldn’t have happened. That the child really didn’t eat all the sweeties in the sweetie jar.
“But there was a young man,” I reminded him, “found in the woods, frightened out of his wits who was brought back to the château and from what Claudine says…”
The frustration exploded out of him. “For Christ’s sakes!”
“Actually,” he started again, after a long silence, “very few people know that we had links with the régime and I’d like to keep it that way. The smokescreen they insisted upon — well, it’s worked out to our advantage.”
Tom waited for me to say something.
“The embargo.” I’d forgotten about the embargo until then.
“It can’t come out, please, that I was here. I’d be ruined — exactly what Wareing wants.” There was panic in his voice. “Eveline’s brother wasn’t murdered here. I’m certain of it. Those men wouldn’t have shat on their own doorstep.”