by Kim Ekemar
“Now, tell me what happened here this morning.”
“About six o’clock I heard my sister Constance screaming that the building was on fire. I threw on some clothes and together with Henri, my brother that is, I hurried down the stairs where Constance in vain was trying to open the door to our father’s bed chamber.”
“Why do you say ‘in vain’?”
“Because it was locked.”
“Locked, you say? Isn’t that unusual? Did your father usually lock his door when sleeping in the same house as his children?”
“I don’t know if it was unusual or not”, Michel replied drily. “I haven’t lived in the same house as my father for the past twenty years.”
“Continue, please.”
“There was smoke coming from beneath the door. We knocked hard on it, shouting to our father to open it, but there was no reply. I told everyone we had to go outside, to the back of the house, and break the pane of one of the windows. It took some effort, since the window is a rather small one and situated high up. Henri and I helped Constance climb inside. I told her to keep her head near the floorboards to make it easier for her to breathe. She crossed the room on her hands and knees and opened the door for us.”
“Ah! She opened the door from the inside”, Inspector Rimbaud said and underlined this fact after writing it down in his notebook. “It can only mean that the key was still in the lock, am I correct?”
“Now that you mention it … yes, I suppose it was. But – does it really matter?”
“Everything is of importance when the police conduct an investigation, monsieur”, Inspector Rimbaud retorted loftily. “It’s standard procedure, and all details will be submitted in the report I’m preparing for my superiors.”
“As you wish.”
“Then what happened?”
“I entered the room, and with the help of Henri and Justine, we threw water on the source of the smoke …”
“The source? Could you see flames? Was there a fire?”
“No there was only thick, black smoke filling the room, and it soon became clear to me that the source was near the fireplace.”
“So you managed to put out the smoke?”
“Yes, and it was quite an ordeal. We had to put wet handkerchieves over our faces because of the difficulty to breathe. Anyway, as soon as we had cleared the air enough to find our way around the room, I went to my father’s bed to check on him. There was no pulse.”
“What do you think happened?”
“He must have felt cold during the night and got out of bed to rekindle the fire Justine had lit for him. After going back to sleep again, some coal or a burning piece of wood fell on the floor and set his room on fire. Since the old house is mainly made of stone, the fire didn’t take hold and extinguished itself for lack of things to burn. The smoke killed him in his sleep because the fire consumed all the air.”
“I’m truly sorry about this tragic event, Monsieur Lafarge”, Inspector Rimbaud said and closed his notebook with a decisive sound. “I lament having to take your statement in your moment of grief, but –”
“Yes, yes, I know”, Michel said and waved his hand. “You’re just doing the required investigation. Tell me, what will happen to my father’s body?”
“Doctor Treville will make the required post mortem, and afterwards it will be released to his relatives for burial. Before the week is over, I would assume.”
“I understand. Will you need me here before then?”
“No, not now that you have given your statement.”
“Very well, then”, Michel said and rose. “I will return to Bordeaux today, because tomorrow I have some important business to attend to there. There’s nothing I can do here, anyway, for the time being. Unless you have some objection …?”
“Of course not, monsieur”, Inspector Rimbaud replied. “You may do and travel as you please.”
“Here’s my card, should you want to reach me”, Michel said and handed one to the policeman. “I’d appreciate if you can let me know when and where the deceased will be handed over to us. Since I’m now head of the family, it will fall on me to take care of all the practical matters.”
“Count on it, monsieur.”
Next, Henri joined Inspector Rimbaud by the kitchen table. After identifying himself formally and going through the basic facts of what had happened during the weekend, the inspector asked Henri if there was anything in particular that had caught his attention during the weekend.
Henri contemplated the question for some time.
“My father locked the door and then he was asphyxiated by the fire when we couldn’t get inside fast enough to save him. The one thing about this that I don’t understand is why on earth he wanted to lock the door in the first place. It’s been a few years since I last visited Clos Saint-Jacques, but when I arrived it struck me as very odd that he was griping about this key that didn’t work. I heard him order Justine to fetch Gaspard, as if he was in some way responsible for the malfunction.”
“So your father must have locked the door after going to bed”, Rimbaud asked while writing Henri’s response in his notebook. “Was he afraid of something, or did he want to protect anything inside his bedroom?”
“I have no idea, inspector. It only struck me as odd.”
Inspector Rimbaud spent the rest of morning interviewing Constance and Justine. Nothing they told him changed the essential facts that Michel and Henri Lafarge had already shared with him. With the exception of Michel, all seemed shaken by the occurrence of the fire and Patrice’s death.
Constance Lafarge told him she needed to catch a train to return to Paris in time for her stage performance the same evening. Inspector Lafarge replied that she was free to spend her time as she wanted and that she required no permission from him to do so. After his interview, Henri Lafarge told the inspector he had some important matters to attend to in Lyon, his city of residence, early the following morning. Would the inspector mind if he went back home this afternoon and return when it was time for the funeral? Again, Inspector Rimbaud assured the interviewee that he was free to go where he pleased.
As Gaspard joined him in the kitchen, Rimbaud could hear Michel’s motorcar start outside. Gaspard told him that he had arrived after the bedroom had been opened. Although Rimbaud made meticulous notes of his answers, there was nothing that deviated from what the others had already testified.
“Father was very happy yesterday; it was his birthday”, Gaspard added at the end of the interview without being prompted. “We had a long luncheon that lasted all afternoon. Then he told us about the will that he wanted to change.”
“In what way did he want to change his will?”
“I’m not sure I understood it all, but he wanted Clos Saint-Jacques to remain the same forever and me to stay here also after he was gone.”
“That’s sounds reasonable, I presume”, Rimbaud replied. “However it really doesn’t concern this investigation.”
“He didn’t want Michel to turn the woods into some large vineyard. I don’t want that either. Father told me Michel would try to do this with the help of his father-in-law.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s something you and the others should bring up with him, since it’s really not a concern of mine. But, tell me when did you last see your father alive?”
“It was last night when I helped him to bed. He had drunk a lot of wine and brandy. He fell on the bed upside down and started to snore at once.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to add that you remember as unusual this weekend?”
Gaspard looked at him with an empty gaze for some time. Rimbaud waited patiently.
“I heard Constance ask father for money when we went hunting in the woods. He said he would write her a cheque when we got back.”
“Why would he write her a cheque?”
“She told him she wanted to move back to Bercy, and that she needed the money to pay debts in Paris. Does this mean anything to you?”
“No,
it doesn’t, but I’m making a note of it.” Rimbaud sighed inwardly at the inconsequential information offered by Gaspard, but he conscientiously wrote it down in his notebook.
Gaspard and Justine returned to their usual chores. However, when Justine wanted to enter Patrice’s bedroom to clean it from the ravages of the fire, Inspector Rimbaud stopped her.
“This is still a scene subject to police investigation”, he admonished her importantly, “and it will remain so until the coroner has given his clearance. You have to excuse me, but I need to comply with standard police procedure.”
Before leaving he got Gaspard’s help to nail some boards across the broken window and fasten the curtains so that they wouldn’t let the wind disturb the contents inside. After locking Patrice Lafarge's chamber from the outside, he pocketed the key, got on his bicycle and steered it towards Bercy.
He looked at his fob watch. It showed 13:43. He realised that he would be late, but hopefully not too late, for his usual Sunday luncheon with Aunt Emilie. Inspector Rimbaud didn’t like being late for anything, but his sense of duty was stronger still. As matters stood, Aunt Emilie had anyway been forewarned that something extraordinary had taken place and that he would arrive late. His stomach immediately growled in disagreement with his sense of priority.
Chapter XVIII
In the aftermath of the fire
Michel seems jittery, Henri noticed, occupying the passenger seat as his brother gave him and Constance a lift to Annecy. Constance was sitting in the back seat next to the stack of suitcases, trying to put on some makeup. It was all too obvious that Michel was eager to be on his way after dropping them off at the train station. Henri wondered what he could do to avoid travelling with Constance to Lyon, where she would be obliged to switch trains if she wanted to reach Paris.
They hardly spoke to one another as Michel drove his motorcar at excessive speed down the bumpy road. Excessive, that is, in Henri’s opinion, as he was unaccustomed to anything faster than Lyon’s local tramway. When they got closer to Annecy, the only lie he was able to come up with occurred to Henri. He turned to face Constance.
“Sister, I’m sorry, but you have to go on your own to Lyon to catch the train back to Paris. With all this … distress around our father’s death, I simply forgot that I wanted to take advantage of the trip to Annecy to see a customer interested in selling some antiques.”
“Selling some antiques? Our father not yet in the grave, and you’re thinking about making a bargain for your petty business … but don’t worry, I’m a big girl. I can handle myself, although it would have been nice to talk on the train about the recent events and … the future.
“Please calm down, the two of you”, Michel shot in, angrily. “Our father’s dead, and he died in a most unfortunate way. Honestly, I can’t think of a more horrible way than to die in a fire –“
“But he didn’t die in a fire, he died because of the smoke”, Henri ventured.
“That’s beside the point, Henri”, Michel, vexed, shouted at him. “Destiny took its course, and we can’t bring him back now, can we? So we need to keep our heads clear and think about our own futures – don’t you agree?”
Both Constance and Henri felt uncomfortable with his outburst and preferred not to comment. In silence, they entered the outskirts of Annecy, where the pavement significantly improved the road’s condition. Michel followed the signs indicating the way to the train station, which, as in most French towns and cities, was located at the heart of the urban sprawl.
Before disappearing in the direction of Lyon, Michel took a courteous but cold farewell of them after they had unloaded their luggage.
“Why couldn’t he take you with him”, Henri asked Constance as the dust settled behind Michel’s vanishing motorcar, “if he’s going to pass Lyon on his way home to Bordeaux?”
*
Michel sighed with relief when he was finally rid of his siblings. The weekend had been living hell for various reasons: the news of the changed will, the fire, his father’s death. Yet, now that he was alone with his thoughts, he found that things really had worked out for the better. The old man's fidei-commissum prospect had crashed before taking off, ha, ha, he thought. Surely it means that soon I'll be able to convert Clos Saint-Jacques according to plan?
Half an hour later, he parked his motorcar in front of l’Auberge le Cheval Blanc. At the reception he asked for Juliette Sinclair’s room number, but was informed that she was having tea in the yellow salon.
“Please send a bellboy to inform her that Monsieur Lafarge has arrived to pick her up, and then to kindly bring down her luggage”, he asked the woman in attendance. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate if you could prepare her bill to enable me to pay it.”
The receptionist punched a bell on the counter and an elderly, uniformed man appeared. He nodded affirmatively after receiving her instructions and disappeared towards the yellow salon. Michel was handed Juliette’s bill, which caused him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. The bar consumption was nearly as large as the cost for three nights of accommodation.
The same instant Juliette came rushing into the lobby and threw her arms around his neck.
“Michel!” she whispered tenderly in his ear. “I’ve missed you so much, and I have lots and lots to tell you!”
Her loving welcome mollified him, and he carefully unfolded her arms to be able to could reach for his wallet.
“Not here, Juliette”, he replied in a low voice. “We’ll talk in the car.”
He paid the bill. The bellboy appeared with her suitcase and followed them outside. Juliette got into the car when Michel opened the door for her. He tipped the bellboy once the suitcase was safely in the back seat.
“Where are we going now?” she asked when his motorcar pulled away. “Not back to Bordeaux already, I hope?”
“No, I’ve booked a room at a spa in Aix-les-Bains”, Michel replied. “After all that happened this weekend, I really need to relax. I sincerely hope the spa will do the trick.”
“I’ll make you relax, darling, don’t you worry about that”, Juliette promised and stroked his arm. “Tell me, what is it that has got you so upset?”
*
Henri waved at Constance as the train pulled out from the station. She pulled down the window to throw him a kiss.
“Come visit me in Paris soon!” she shouted, and then she was gone.
Henri left the station building and went up to one of the cabs waiting outside.
“Take me to l’Auberge le Cheval Blanc”, he ordered as he got into the back seat with his battered suitcase.
He found Claude in the hotel’s bar, looking bored and staring into an empty martini glass. Claude's eyes lit up when he noticed Henri.
“Dear me, you look as if you’ve been run over by a train”, Claude exclaimed as he got up to embrace him.
“The way I feel, you can certainly call that an accurate statement”, Henri sighed and sat down by the table. His rumpled suit and unkempt hair gave him a dishevelled appearance. He felt tired.
“What you need is very dry martini”, Claude cried and clapped his hands for the bartender’s attention.
“How many have you’ve had so far?” Henri asked him suspiciously.
“Only one since my companion left me when her lover picked her up … and can you guess who he is?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
There was a hint of jealousy in Henri’s voice, Claude noted with satisfaction. The bartender arrived and placed two martinis in front of them.
“While you left me here to die from boredom, I was lucky to find someone to chat with. She told me her name was Juliette Sinclair and a member of an important aristocratic family in Bordeaux. Just like me, she was waiting for someone over the weekend. Namely, your brother Michel!”
“Michel?”
“Yes! They left forty-five minutes before you walked in, perhaps to return to Bordeaux, I don’t know. But what I do know is that Juliette is
a quite good-looking, fun girl who is my age – fourteen years younger than her lover, she admitted over martinis yesterday. Don’t worry, she offered to pick up the bar bill, because I invited her to dinner … which I did twice, in fact. And lunch, too, a couple of times.”
Henri winced at the prospect of the inflated bill that he was expected to foot.
“But the interesting part is what she had to say about your brother”, Claude continued, “while we were on our sixth round or so of cocktails.”
“What did she have to say about him?” Henri asked, curious as to where this would lead.
“That on the day your father dies, with the financial help of his father-in-law, Michel is going to pay off his brothers and sister and turn the entire estate into a vineyard.” Claude looked at Henri triumphantly. “And that he expects to get it cheap, too, since he's the only one in the family with any financial sense.”
“Did he, now.” Henri sipped on his martini. For his taste, it had too much gin in it. “Well, then he must believe that his plans will come to fruition faster than anticipated, because our father perished in a fire this morning.”
*
As the train left the station in Annecy, Constance could finally relax. She patted her handbag and let out a long sigh. No one suspected what she had done. She had come away scot-free.
Although she perceived a sadness of sorts over her father’s death, on balance she felt more relief than grief. He had been a stubborn old man who never had stopped living in the past. He had been unable to understand the attraction of city life, and that the cost of living in the capital was much higher.
She pondered everything she needed to do once the train arrived in Paris. She would barely have time to go to her flat and change before taking a cab to the cabaret. No, she thought, it wouldn’t be wise to turn up at work tonight. It was better to risk her employer’s wrath for being absent yet another evening, since she still wasn’t able to replace the money from the cigarette sales she had used to buy her train tickets. And, besides, didn’t she have a perfect reason for not showing up? Her father had died in a fire!
