“Yes, Emilie Rosheim was your grandmother,” he continued in a softer tone, “but what she did with Franz Fleischer was neither your nor your mother’s fault.” His voice softened. “What a terrible legacy to live with. No wonder that cowardly pair had to keep it secret yet try and ruin you all. We suspect Estelle knew that part of her brother’s past, but not Lucius, who by the way, may prove mentally unfit to plead. Also, records show the Fleischers’ parents died in a train crash just outside Bonn in 1947, so the siblings, by selling their considerable family home, funded the move to France with new identities and new lives. Several bank accounts in Zurich are being investigated now.”
Delphine recalled her encounter in the Café Celeste.
“Near Limoges I met a former neighbour of ours who reckoned many Germans here had chosen French first names and Dutch surnames for, as he put it, the best of both worlds.”
“True, and perhaps they’ll explain.”
Delphine recalled breaking sycamore twigs for Julie to chase. How, at this same time of year they’d been brittle. Easy to break. She imagined grasping one all over again, thinking of trials, juries and judges. The media hounding her and her parents’ every step. Especially Jean-Marie Longeau with a large axe to grind.
“But Franz Fleischer’s not confessed to actually passing on my grandmother’s gossip, has he?” She said. “It could have been someone else?”
“Time will tell, and I’ll keep searching. But his increasingly murderous behaviour suggests otherwise.”
Snap…
“What happens to these letters now?”
Pause.
“They’re safe.”
They should have been burnt.
“So, he and his sister could be put on trial? You mean, like Nuremberg?”
“There are crimes and crimes, Delphine.”
Just then, that same unseen person was shouting at him to get going. Captain Valon’s voice speeded up. “I’ll call and see you all when I’m back.”
It was what he’d omitted to say that frightened her. Perhaps the Rougiers would have to move to another country, with new names. It didn’t bear thinking about, except for one thing…
“And me training to be a gendarme?” She ventured. “Could that all be down the pan?”
She heard him draw breath.
“You’d be an asset anywhere, Delphine. Just keep in touch.”
Merci.
“One last thing. Ursula Villedin wants to visit this hospital tomorrow morning. Seems she took a real shine to you.”
Call ended, bringing hot, hurting tears, through which Delphine saw Roza fast asleep. Her little hands stretched out in front of her. The picture of innocence, just like all those children in that doomed village fifty-eight years ago, full of life and love.
*
The nurse removed the telephone trolley seconds before Patrick Gauffroi returned from the wc.
“Are you OK?” He came over and took her bandaged hand, stroking the fingers that poked through. Shall I get the nurse to come back?”
“I can’t stop thinking about everything.” Delphine rubbed her eyes with the edge of the top sheet.
“Well try, come on.”
“What happened to your brother?”
“Léo?”
“Was that his name?”
“God rest his innocent little soul. That’s all I can ever say.”
He wiped one eye then the other with his bare hand, then stared at the little girl in the next bed as if in wonderment. And in that moment, like a gleam of sunshine between clouds, she could visualise him as a father for her own children. One day…
The time had come.
Delphine tried to raise herself but failed. Instead, just lay staring up at him. “I’m going to shock you with what’s been the missing link in this terrible affair. Why you must promise me with your heart and soul and to God that you’ll never repeat a word of it to anyone in your whole life?”
He paused. “Sounds pretty serious.”
“It’s more than that, but it’ll explain everything. So, do you swear?”
“I swear.”
*
With her story finished, she again struggled to sit up. “I really need to phone my mother,” she said, and Patrick gently helped her back into position against her pillow. She noticed he’d grown pale. His mouth firmer than before, but that was understandable, given the seriousness of her news.
“Best leave it for the moment,” he said, placing the box of remaining chocolates on her bedcover. “But you mustn’t worry. Nor should she. The sins of the fathers and all that…” He stepped back, his mouth slackening into a smile, first for Roza, then her. “If you like, I can call in on your folks tomorrow sometime. They don’t seem to mind seeing me now. So that’s good.”
“Can’t you stay with them tonight?” Delphine urged him. “My bed’s free. I’ve got a bad feeling…”
“Me too,” said Roza, suddenly awake before turning away.
“I’ll try,” he said to Delphine, before bending over and kissing her forehead. “Meanwhile, I’m seeing Judge George Pertus in an hour’s time. I’m surprised the old fart’s functioning over the weekend. Be interesting to meet him in the full, pink flesh. I’ll be telling him you should have had more protection.” He smiled. Blew another kiss. “You two take care of each other.”
“We will,” murmured Roza.
Delphine watched him leave. Straight-backed. Purposeful as ever, and wished more than anything, she was going with him.
*
“You’ve got a call,” the new, afternoon shift nurse brought the phone yet again. She managed to trap one of the trolley wheels by the door’s corner, and once she’d explained to the caller to hang on, Delphine heard another welcome voice.
Pauline.
“Are you alright?” began her researcher before Delphine could express her relief. “Your Papa and Captain Valon said you were in St. Xavier’s.”
“I am, and I’m alive, but are we still friends? That’s the main thing.”
“Don’t be so bloody stupid. I was just in a foul mood by what I’d found out, but honest to God, I won’t breathe a word. I’ve erased all my searches.”
“Blessings. And I’ll refund you those thirty euros.”
“You will not. And I’ll be in to see you tomorrow morning. Just try and stop me. I hope by then you’re allowed a proper drink.”
“Me too. By the way, what was that German Private’s name you were about to give me yesterday?”
Pauline was ready.
“Franz Fleischer? Any use?”
Silence.
“Hello? Mars to earth?”
“Love you lots,” Delphine whispered. “Thank you.”
With that, her trusted ally too, was gone and, having given little Roza a smile, Delphine turned towards the window to see a thick blob of snow plummet from an overhead gutter.
EPILOGUE
Saturday 6th December. 21.00 hrs.
For as long as Irène Rougier can remember, she’s always seen shadows when none exist. Also, some of those living already dead. Perhaps now, tonight will be different with her husband occupying not in his usual chair, but the furthest seat of their old settee, as if leaving a space for her.
After Captain Valon’s useful visit, she’d made a simple supper of cold chicken and supermarket frites, but not touched her portion. How could she, having seen her daughter in such a state in hospital? What kind of mother had she been to unburden herself; to pass on such a dangerous secret which might sometime see the light of day? No point dwelling on that now, instead, with her wedding ring once again on her finger, she sits by the lit stove with the man who’d lifted her from her troubled world all those years ago. Someone who’d made some bad decisions but never slept with another woman as many of her former friends’ men had done. Now, despite his tiredness, he beckons her to join him, and without speaking, leans towards a record player bought when they’d moved from the Café des Lilas. Thirteen years before finally becoming pa
rents.
They’ve just four vinyl records, which their then young daughter used to perform to and probably forgotten. But now he’s choosing her own favourite, Cabaret Night in Paris, and maybe they’ll dance like they did so briefly and for a different reason, on Wednesday.
‘J’attendrai’ sung by Tino Rossi soon crackles into life.
“Come, Irène,” he says, pulling himself up from the settee. “We’ll all be alright now.” He moves towards her, keeping to the song’s tempo. Almost comical, she thinks, with that beatific expression on his face, and then she knows that in whatever time is left, they’ve both found some peace.
*
At first, she doesn’t notice the shadow which always appears on the hallway wall whenever someone’s come through the front door. But when she does, breaks away to recognise a young man who’s recently shown consideration towards them and their daughter. Someone who seems to like her husband, too.
“It was open,” he explains, giving her the double-bise against his stubble. “And as Delphine asked me to call whenever I was passing, to see how you were, here I am again.”
“Who is it?” François calls out, still dancing on his own.
“Only Patrick.” She then asks the friendly visitor if he’d like a beer, even a sweet Muscat like yesterday morning, but the air feels suddenly colder. He’s pushing something hard into the small of her back.
“Not a word,” he hisses. “Or else.”
She gasps at the shock of it. “I need to phone…”
“You can’t. I’ve cut the wire.”
Her fingertips feel numb. Turn white.
“What d’you want?”
“Dance for me, Irène Rosheim. I need cheering up.”
Rosheim?
Another gasp.
“How did you know that name?”
“Does it matter?”
However, Francois, realising something is amiss, suddenly seems paralysed. His mouth stays half-open. She knows they have nothing with which to defend themselves. His old hunting pistol is still being examined in Le Mans. His new rifle and her old Luger are too far out of reach.
“You too,” Karolina Adamski’s lover snarls at him. “Come and dance with the Devil’s daughter while you can. Her mother’s pretty mouth would have been better off with Franz Fleischer’s dick in it than betraying that whole fucking village.”
Le Fin du Monde…
She’s suddenly faint, with nothing to hold on to, thinking of her own daughter whom she should never have told. From the corner of her eye, in slow motion, she sees François coming closer, big hands outstretched. Then a neat, black Berretta semi-automatic pistol fitted with a silencer pointing her way until a muffled blast fells her against her husband’s body.
Red, dying flesh clings to the living, before she slides down to the old floor tiles, while Tino Rossi’s lilting tenor voice sings on about love and loss over her husband’s fading roar.
FIN.
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