by Ivo Fornesa
‘Well, Monsieur Laurent, here’s my card, in case you’re ever in Paris. I’ll be on my way. Tomorrow morning first thing I have to visit a site in Orléans. Please say farewell to the Shennans for me. Each time I tried they were surrounded by guests.’ Then she offered her hand, which Laurent shook warmly.
Pia was about to go when she seemed to remember something and turned back. Her eyes gleamed with fury when she spoke.
‘I feel I should elaborate. Let me just say that working with a client as domineering as Shennan has been a unique experience, and I pray I’ll never have to cross paths with him again. Maybe one day he’ll run into someone with less patience than I, who can put him in his place.’
She took a breath and looked up at the château, relieved to have finally spoken freely. ‘Luckily I had that,’ she said, gesturing to the building. ‘Seeing the château as it is now makes it all worth it. I wish you well, Monsieur.’
Laurent stood up to say goodbye, lingering on the sight of her perfect legs as she left. Then he put her card in the breast pocket of his jacket, sat down and continued eating and drinking without haste on his bench. He got up only to try the lamb and get another empanada and glass of Malbec. Afterward he went to the stand with alfajores and asked for two chocolate ones filled with coconut and dulce de leche. He wanted to savour them as he strolled, since he still intended to see the park in its entirety.
Everywhere people were milling about, some of them peacefully eating under the generous shade of the hundred-year-old trees, others, wine glass in hand, touring the park they’d heard so many stories about. A line of people waited outside the entrance to the old leprosarium, where Shennan had set up an exhibition of some of the more notable pieces in his collection of musical instruments. The gem of the collection was an enormous L-shaped structure made of decorated carved wooden poles holding a total of seventy-five bronze bells of varying shapes and weights. A guide explained that it was a faithful reproduction of an instrument from the fourth century BCE known as the Bells of Zeng Hou Yi, which had been found in an excavation in northern China. There was also an enormous Tibetan trumpet held aloft next to a box of disposable reeds that the brave could use to give it a blow. Concluding the exhibition were thirty different Asian and African drums that visitors could handle as they wished.
Yes, people were having a good time at the party, and Shennan’s popularity could only keep climbing.
THE CYNIC’S DIVAN
What Laurent really wanted was to find Yael, so he quickened his pace when he finally spotted her, sitting on what the map identified as ‘the Cynic’s Divan’. This was a plain, circular stone bench lacking any carving or decoration that, because of its location on a slight rise in the terrain, provided a view onto the entire park and château.
She was engaged in a heated conversation with Monsieur Jancelle, the town’s mayor, who stood up politely to greet him.
‘Bonsoir, Monsieur de Rodergues. I was just telling our neighbour here that, as mayor, I’m exceedingly satisfied with the work the Shennans have done, and as a citizen I feel proud to have this renovated château.’
‘Yes, I certainly can’t find fault with his work,’ conceded Yael with palpable coldness, ‘if we’re talking only about the restoration.’
The mayor shook his head. ‘The young are never satisfied! I myself was wary and prejudiced when Monsieur Shennan first arrived. But I can’t lie. I have to swallow my earlier suspicions: neither he nor anyone who works for him has ever caused any trouble. They’ve made our château exceedingly beautiful, and they’ve helped several people in town boost our languishing local trade. Thanks to them we may even have a future we never thought possible as a tourist destination. Believe me, we have no cause for complaint.’
At this, Monsieur Jancelle, a sensible man, seeing that his two fellow guests desired a bit of privacy, claimed he had to go and say hello to a council member nearby and left them alone.
Laurent tried to break the ice with an ordinary topic of conversation. ‘I suppose you’ve seen Le Juanch and his wagon?’
Yael was noticeably tense and had an absent look in her eyes. She gave a half-hearted reply. ‘Yes, I’m happy for him. He’s a good man.’
Seeing her lack of interest, Laurent, for better or worse, decided to go straight to a topic that would shake her out of her apathy.
‘We certainly are lucky to have Shennan here.’
The expression ‘fire in the eyes’ was never more accurate. Yael looked up, and Laurent saw that her beautiful face had become the very essence of hatred and scorn. The intensity of her reaction surprised him, and he leant slowly back against the stone, fearful of that Pandora’s box he seemed to have opened up.
‘Shennan this, Shennan that … You’re all a bunch of bloody fools!’ cried Yael at last. ‘You haven’t the slightest idea who Carlos Shennan is, and you don’t actually care, so long as he keeps your barn warm. You’re like a herd of cattle, mooing and shitting in the fields, never giving a damn about anything but the grass you graze on.’ She choked up, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Laurent was taken aback. He could almost see his reflection in the teardrop, wearing a dunce cap.
After that outburst, neither of them spoke for a long time. Then Yael’s face began to relax, and sanity seemed about to return to her words. Her breast trembled slightly, and she took a deep breath before speaking again, much more calmly.
‘Forgive me, Laurent; I had no right to say that to you, or to insult the people in the town, who have been nothing but kind to me. It’s just that I can’t stand to see how Shennan manipulates you all, and how happy you all seem to be hanging from his strings.’
‘It’s funny you should say that, because not long ago I had the unpleasant feeling that you were the one holding the puppet strings, yanking me out onstage only when called for by the script.’ Laurent had kept that reproach in the larder of grudges.
‘You’re right, I didn’t treat you very well. As you said in the tavern, in the end you were collateral damage.’
‘Is that all I am to you?’ He was genuinely hurt.
Yael started to get irritated. ‘How can you care more about that than about me saying you’re just Shennan’s puppet?’
‘Don’t get upset, of course I care. But since I can never tell when you’re coming or going, or what’s going through your head …’ He sensed he was going to lose the match and again end up in the dark.
‘You really care what’s going through my head? How touching. Sorry, Laurent, I like you a lot, you’re fun, and in bed you really outdo yourself, but I’ve got more important things to do. Have fun with the toys Shennan’s laid out for you all. And since you like to talk about puppets, remember the story of Pinocchio, especially the part when all the little boys end up with donkey ears.’
And before he could reply, she quickly got up and marched straight to the château. This reaction confused Laurent at first, but he quickly realised the reason for her sudden departure: Shennan, at the base of the steps, was speaking to a group of people who seemed to be on their way out. Yael had clearly been killing time, once again using him as a pawn in her complex game of chess.
Given her speed and look of determination as she walked up to Shennan, Laurent suddenly thought he should go after her – though whether to protect her from him or him from her, he wasn’t sure.
Sure enough, the host was giving solemn handshakes and saying goodbye to a group of guests when Yael walked up to him and demanded, rather than requested, a few minutes alone. Shennan’s instincts were sharp, and he knew he couldn’t refuse, but at least he had the presence of mind to ask her to follow him to the other terrace, the one with the portico, on the excuse that he needed to oversee some aspect of the festivities there. Laurent followed them at a prudent distance, trying not to be seen, and just before he reached the terrace he took cover, hiding behind a large, late-nineteenth-century iron vase that stood on a pedestal. Shennan and Yael, meanwhile, were just a few yards away, face to face and h
idden from all eyes except Laurent’s. He couldn’t make out what she was starting to say, but he could tell from her tone and posture that her words were hostile and contained an accusation.
Shennan looked increasingly upset as he listened to her. Standing with his hands open before him, he seemed powerless, as if he knew that any attempt to defend himself would be doomed. Clearly Yael was there to speak and not to listen. She launched into what appeared to be a long, furious tirade, repeatedly pointing an accusatory finger at Shennan’s chest. Eventually she withdrew her hand, as if she’d finished her accusation, but then, with impressive speed, she delivered a resounding slap to his face. Then she turned and walked toward the front gate. She didn’t look back.
Shennan stood there, watching her walk away. He covered his cheek with the palm of his hand and shook his head in obvious concern – and also, Laurent could have sworn, in sorrow.
Perhaps it was a certain compassion for his friend that led him to get up to leave. He suddenly felt guilty for witnessing the scene while crouching in the shadows. Yet just as he was about to go, Laurent looked up and saw in dismay that, standing in one of the upper windows, Madame Mayumi had witnessed the entire scene. Her face showed no emotion, but even so Laurent preferred not to imagine what was going through her head.
He crept a few steps away, deciding he’d finally go and try some of that Irish whiskey touted in the programme. He needed a drink. Then he noticed something else up ahead: half-hidden by the trunk of an ancient horse chestnut tree stood Tum, who from that position must have seen everything. While her boss could be elegantly inexpressive, the same could not be said of her. She clutched her arms as though trembling, and her face was a mask of despair, her fine features contorted in a bitter grimace.
That settled it: after what he’d just seen, he didn’t need just one whiskey, but a whole row of doubles, even if it meant having to listen to the inevitable Gaelic strumming of the woman on the harp.
A COMMOTION
Torrents of beer gushed from the tap, Irish whiskey filled glass after glass, rivers of champagne flooded the terrace and discreetly generous pours of red wine washed down the lamb, beef and empanadas. Clearly, the party was getting lively.
Laurent, who could already feel himself trotting merrily down the path to Valley of the Woozy, was waiting for the tango show to begin when he spotted his archenemy, Tonton Boussard, waving at him with his cap in hand.
He walked over toward the farmer, astonished he had the brazenness to show up at the party, with his record of insulting both Shennan and him. He told himself he wouldn’t put up with a single rude remark from that man.
But Tonton didn’t make any. He extended his hand and said, ‘Monsieur de Rodergues! I’m happy to see you, because I wanted to apologise. Your grandfather was an excellent man and wouldn’t have forgiven me for my behaviour. I’ve acted like a fool with you and the Shennans, and I’ve had the chance to reflect. I’ve already withdrawn the complaint, so you don’t have to worry about that, and as a peace offering I’d like to give you a calf.’
Laurent wasn’t the kind of person to be stubborn when people showed penitence, and Tonton’s tone seemed sincere. He didn’t quite like him, but he shook his hand and assured him that all was forgotten, so long as he didn’t require him to accept an entire calf. The farmer agreed and effusively took his leave, heading toward the beer. He’d already withdrawn his complaint – he couldn’t be asked to try foreign products, too.
Laurent hurried back to the stage, where the accordion had already begun to play. Not far away he spotted the three Shennan girls, sitting in the first row with Thierry and Solange, who were looking very lovey-dovey. Odd that they were the ones taking care of them and not Tum, he thought, but she was probably helping Madame Mayumi or Yammei with some task or other.
A hearty round of applause welcomed the first couple that came onstage. They had the elegance of Buenos Aires written on their faces and slender bodies, and the audience grew as the duo glided back and forth, dousing a large part of those gathered round in their pheromones – including, to Laurent’s surprise, Jean-Pierre Gimbault, who he spotted on the other side of the circular stage. Gimbault was of the earliest organisers of the Festival des Luthiers and possibly the one who had most vociferously attacked Shennan when the news went around that he’d bought the château. Laurent had heard from more than one neighbour about how, in interviews on the radio and in the local press, Gimbault fulminated against Shennan’s decision not to renew the festival’s contract. Yet here he was, happy as a clam, enjoying the show with a glass of beer. Laurent studied him closely. He looked like a typical hard-nosed, strait-laced bureaucrat, the kind who collects inkpads and reads Le Bulletin officiel in the bathroom. So bland on the outside, but – who knew? – perhaps hot-blooded on the inside. Laurent was already imagining a whole series of perverse fetishes for him, when the object of his observation, presumably bored by all the tango, suddenly stepped out of the audience and left the show halfway through.
But Laurent didn’t have time to be sad about the departure of this source of entertainment, because just then he felt someone quietly sidle up to him, standing closer to him than necessary, and whisper in his ear.
‘You didn’t stop by to say hello, so I wanted to personally make sure everything was going all right.’ It was Mademoiselle Cathy, who wasn’t the least bit shy and made her interest crystal clear.
‘Am I now going to feel the weight of the law press down on me?’ joked Laurent.
‘I told you you looked suspicious from the moment I saw you.’ She smiled.
‘Good thing I’m not the only suspicious character.’
‘Yes, but there are fewer of you left at the party. The woman with the curly hair who also caught our attention, the one you guessed we’d frisked, just left.’
‘Well, it’s a free country, isn’t it?’ answered Laurent, trying to play along but still thinking about Yael’s strange attitude all night.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ purred Cathy, looking him squarely in the eyes. ‘It’s a free country, and you don’t seem taken by anyone.’
Laurent cast about desperately for a response that was elegant, witty and suggestive, to let her know he was not only delighted with her insistence but would happily let himself be arrested whenever she pleased. But before he could speak, a voice on her walkie talkie suddenly monopolised her attention. Cathy excused herself with a motion of her hand and swiftly attended the call, which must have been important, because Laurent saw her clench her jaw as she listened, silently nodding at the orders he supposed she was receiving. When she put the radio back in her belt and turned again to Laurent, her eyes no longer showed any trace of desire. They had the cold, clinical, efficient look of a professional.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to continue this later. Come with me, please, and don’t make a scene.’
Laurent hesitated. Was this a trick to take him to the garden? But his male ego suffered a serious reversal when she explained.
‘Hurry up and act natural. Something’s happened and we need your help. Madame Shennan herself asked us to tell you.’
Laurent felt a fist pushing against his stomach and couldn’t breathe. Cathy wasn’t making things up. It was true, something had happened, and as he followed along at a good clip, he remembered the shudder of foreboding he’d felt in the park.
They quickly reached the service entrance to the tower, where they met up with the muscular agent who’d frisked him just a few hours earlier and another security agent who had Slavic features and light eyes. They heard the footsteps of someone racing down the stairs, and another of the agents appeared, looking flustered.
‘Hurry, Madame Shennan’s waiting for us in the library.’
They obeyed and ran up the staircase, pushing aside the poor gardener, who was coming down carrying a pot of orchids, and sat on the bottom step, muttering some Thai curse word full of the letter k.
The library, on the first floor of
the north wing, was a room lined with deep beechwood bookshelves that must have held some ten thousand volumes. Under normal circumstances, it must have been an idyllic place to read, as it had excellent natural light and leather armchairs that spoke of comfort and good taste. Madame Shennan sat at a desk trying to make a call, but when she saw Cathy, she set down the phone, stood up and walked over to meet them. She got straight to the point.
‘I appreciate your coming so quickly. I haven’t seen my husband for around an hour and a half, and he’s not answering his mobile phone,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I’m not an anxious person. But I know my husband and I know something’s not right.’
‘Could you tell us at exactly what time you last saw your husband? Do you remember where you were and who you were with?’ This was the security guard who looked Slavic.
As Madame Shennan was about to reply, the other agent took out his pistol to examine it, presumably thinking he should have it ready in case he needed to use it. Madame Shennan looked at him coolly.
‘Do you really think that’s necessary? I don’t want to frighten the visitors,’ she said.
Cathy sought to reassure her. ‘Don’t be alarmed, Madame Shennan. It’s best to be ready for any eventuality.’
The look in Madame Mayumi’s eyes was unmistakably mocking. ‘It takes more than a Heckler & Koch to alarm me, Mademoiselle. It just strikes me as somewhat premature to cock it.’ Then, turning back to the Slavic agent, she calmly explained, ‘I remember perfectly. It was seven-twenty, and we were standing on the large terrace talking to the local volunteer firefighters, who were asking Carlos for a small favour. He received a call on his mobile, and after promising to help them, said farewell and told me he had to step into his office for a minute to attend to an urgent matter.’
