‘So did poor Solange. I do understand how difficult it must have been for you.’
‘This is the first time we’ve been away together since – ‘ In a rush, Lucy began to explain how the three men had travelled from the Havre peninsula to Spain. Then she realized that she must know all about this anyway, or they wouldn’t have kept the photograph. Lucy felt increasingly stupid, very much the little lady from insular England. Nevertheless, Monique listened attentively.
‘And the others? Was their – their mental stability affected too?’
‘No,’ said Lucy bleakly.
Monique got up and poured herself another St Raphaeë. She turned back guiltily. ‘Do you want another drink?’
‘I haven’t finished this one yet.’ She tried not to sound smug. She certainly didn’t feel it.
‘I drink too much,’ confessed Monique. ‘I keep trying to cut back, but it doesn’t work.’ She smiled warily, wanting understanding but finding none.
‘Did anything happen here that might have affected my husband?’ asked Lucy abruptly. The drink was going to her head and she knew she was in danger of giving Tim away.
Monique shook her head. ‘Apart from the Occupation, nothing has ever happened in Navise. If something had, then I’m sure we would have heard about it.’ She paused. ‘Of course there was the execution of the collaborators.’
‘Your husband told me about the incident.’ Lucy took a few more sips of the St Raphael. She would give anything to be back in Esher buttering bread in the pavilion with Tim in his deckchair outside. At least she would have been able to check on him from time to time. Now he was lost in France. She suddenly gave a half-sob and her hand shook so much that a few drops of the red liquid fell on the threadbare carpet.
Monique Dedoir was on her feet at once, taking Lucy’s glass, setting it down on a mat on a paper-strewn bureau. The clock outside in the foyer chimed a quarter past nine.
‘I’m sorry –’
‘You are upset. Is there any other way I can help you?’ Monique’s pale, set face seemed far too near her own.
‘No.’
‘I think Louis has returned.’ She hurried out and seemed to be gone for an inordinate length of time during which the sun began to sink into an orange glow of fire, hanging over the secret garden until the dull red ball disappeared below the window frame. Dark shadows crept into the room.
At last Monique returned.
‘It’s getting dark,’ she muttered as she switched on a too-hard light bulb above the bureau.
Why doesn’t she have a shade, Lucy wondered, trying not to think about what was going to happen next.
‘I’m afraid he hasn’t found him.’
‘Hasn’t–’
‘Louis has gone out again.’
‘To keep searching?’ Was Tim lying injured in some field? Why had she been sitting here drinking?
‘He’s just rung Monsieur Metand at the Prefecture in Honfleur. He dines here sometimes with his wife and we’ve got to know him well. He is a detective. He also plays chess with Louis. I’m hoping that you won’t mind.’
‘Mind what?’
‘We’ve asked him to drop by. More as a friend than a policeman.’
Lucy’s gaze swept the mantelpiece, resting on a couple of Dresden shepherdesses, one of which had a broken arm. The limb was placed just behind her crook, covered in little slivers of china.
‘Isn’t it too early to worry the police?’ she asked almost defiantly.
‘It’s getting dark.’
‘This woman Solange. Would Tim be with her?’
‘Why should he be?’
‘He knew her in the war when she hid him at the château. I told your husband and he very kindly knocked at the door of the lodge but there was no reply. Would she be anywhere else?’
Madame Dedoir shook her head. ‘It’s the only habitable building on the estate apart from the summerhouse where the archivist has a room.’
‘Does Solange have a car?’
‘A blue Deux Chevaux. But I haven’t seen it in the square all day. Not that she comes to Navise much.’ Monique Dedoir paused, looking confused and unhappy, as if she had been about to say something but had thought better of it. Then she gave an uncomfortable little laugh. ‘She visits us here occasionally. She isn’t particularly well.’
‘Louis told me.’ Lucy used his name rather self-consciously. ‘Does she ever talk about her husband?’
‘No.’
‘What’s her background?’ asked Lucy curiously.
‘She was originally a farmer’s daughter who was ambitious. She loves Pavilly and is still distraught about its destruction, but after all she’s only the caretaker. Solange had no education, no chance at all to better herself except to work for the Goutins. The rumours say Claude beat her and I’m sure that’s true. He hated his wife rising above him and I believe he did everything he could to pull her down.’ Monique paused, slightly flustered, and Lucy knew the drink was making her talk. It’s unfair, she thought. I don’t want to hear all this.
Monique hurried on, wanting to finish the saga, realizing perhaps she should never have started.
‘Claude collaborated in the most stupid manner and Solange would have lost her job if the family hadn’t valued her so much. The Goutins believed that she could keep the Germans from requisitioning Pavilly and she succeeded. Ironically, it was the French who burnt it down.’
‘Why did they do that?’
‘To pay Solange back for getting a job above her station, to make an example of the collaborators. Who knows? They’re all peasants.’
‘When were the executions?’
‘In the late summer of 1940, I think. But no one talks about them now.’
‘Tim might have been in the château then,’ said Lucy hesitantly. ‘Do you know the exact date?’
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
An uncomfortable silence grew between them, rather as if they had both been indiscreet.
Monique finished her second glass of St Raphael and got up to pour a third. This time she didn’t offer Lucy one.
‘Has Solange ever mentioned Tim?’
‘Not to my knowledge, madame.’
‘Call me Lucy,’ she said softly, wanting the comfort of her name. ‘So what does she talk about?’ Too late, she wanted to lead Monique on. But Lucy realized that her questions had become too probing and she had frightened her off.
‘Our conversations are rather restricted. Solange only talks of the château in its former days.’
‘But not about the Nazis or the collaborators, or Claude?’
‘Never.’
‘She didn’t have any children?’
Monique shook her head.
‘How old is she?’
‘Mid-thirties.’
‘Why did she stay on? You would have thought she would have moved away after what happened,’ she said eventually.
‘Yes. I suppose so. But she loves her job.’
There was another pause, mercifully shorter this time.
‘I’m sure you don’t have to worry about Solange,’ Monique said quietly. ‘She’s not a person who could harm anyone. Except herself,’ she added as an afterthought.
They sat silently again until Monique rose as if she couldn’t bear it any longer and flung open the window. The scent of mimosa drifted into the room. ‘It’s so hot,’ she complained. ‘The time we spent in America has made Louis and me restless here. We often think Navise is closing in on us.’
‘Will Monsieur Metand come here?’ asked Lucy. ‘Or is he going to search with your husband? I’m very grateful for all you are doing, but –’
Monique began to apologize, saying she was sorry she hadn’t made the situation clear. She sounded slightly slurred. ‘He’ll be here soon,’ she said.
Lucy looked at her watch. It was now quarter to ten.
‘Can I get you something to eat?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Are you sure? You must be s
tarving.’
Lucy’s exhaustion and anxiety were now beginning to tell. ‘Please – my husband is missing. I don’t know where he is. I don’t feel hungry.’
The clock in the foyer ticked mercilessly and a white moth flew into the room from the half open window, fluttering around the light bulb.
‘Damn. I shouldn’t have opened the window. I’ll get it out.’
Monique picked up a feather duster and made ineffective attempts to flick the moth away. In the end, Lucy got up on a chair and began to try and drive the frantic insect towards the window.
Eventually she failed and the moth returned to the light. Lucy watched it in silence and then decided to phone Martin. She suddenly needed to hear a familiar voice and she couldn’t care less how overbearing he might be.
‘Could I make a phone call?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’d like to phone England. Speak to an old friend.’ Lucy gave her Martin’s number, and as Monique went back to reception, Lucy had an alarming thought. Could Tim have left her? Then she dismissed the idea as the wanderings of an exhausted mind. But it didn’t quite go away.
Lucy took the receiver with a brisk nod of thanks. Monique returned a little unsteadily to the office and the bottle of St Raphaël.
‘Martin?’
‘Lucy.’ May’s voice was incredulous. ‘What are you doing on the phone? Is something wrong?’
‘I want to speak to Martin. He called an hour or so ago.’
There was a short silence during which Lucy tried to work out what May was thinking. Was she still angry?
‘You say he phoned you?’ She sounded more perplexed than harbouring any resentment. Besides, thought Lucy, it was she who had put down the phone after their last conversation in England.
‘About three hours ago.’
‘Not from here he didn’t.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘He’s gone on a business trip to Birmingham. It’s only for a couple of nights and I don’t have the number. I wonder why he called you.’
‘He said he thought that he’d made a mistake – that he and Peter had both made a mistake.’
‘A mistake?’ May made it sound an unheard of event.
‘Martin told me that he and Peter thought it was a good idea for us to come out here. On reflection.’
‘How extraordinary. He never gave me that impression.’
‘Is there any way I can get hold of him?’
‘I told you, I don’t have the number.’
‘Would Peter know?’ Lucy tried to hide her frustration.
‘I don’t see why he should. Is there something I need to know?’
Suddenly all Lucy’s hostility against May was swept away by the need to confide.
‘Tim’s gone missing,’ she said, breaking down, the tears blurring her eyes so that she could hardly see.
‘Missing? I don’t understand.’
‘He went for a walk. Hours ago. He didn’t come back!’
‘And you say Martin felt that going to France was a good idea! He must have been trying to cheer you up.’
Or check we were actually here more likely, Lucy thought.
‘What have you done? May continued.
Rather than getting the unqualified support she needed, Lucy was amazed to find she was being attacked. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘You said Tim’s gone missing. He probably couldn’t take all those memories. Went wandering off –’
‘Shut up!’
‘But wasn’t that the danger?’
‘Shut up!’ Lucy screamed and then screamed again without words, letting the sound shrill out as loudly as she could. ‘Just shut up!’ she finished.
May, recognizing hysteria, tried to be comforting. ‘Give me your address and we’ll come straight out. I’ll phone Peter, get hold of Martin somehow. Now you must give me the address.’ She was full of direct, compassionate action and it gave Lucy a frisson of delight to slam down the receiver this time. Tit for tat, she thought. And bugger you, May Latimer.
Lucy could smell the drink on Monique’s breath but she was no longer slurred.
‘I lost control.’
‘It’s not surprising. Who were you talking to?’
‘A dutiful wife.’
‘And her husband?’
‘One of Tim’s fellow officers who shared the escape. Who came here.’ Lucy paused. ‘We all live in the same road.’
‘That doesn’t sound a good idea,’ said Monique with surprising perception.
‘They were his guardians,’ Lucy explained. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘Will you come back into the office? I’m going to get a brandy for you.’
‘Could I have it in the garden? I mean – could we both walk in the garden?’
‘If that would help. I expect Louis and Metand will be here soon. Let me get the brandy and then we’ll go outside.’
She hurried away. This time Lucy knew she needed the alcohol. As much as she could get.
The air smelt of honeysuckle as they walked around the little garden that Louis had so lovingly created.
A sense of unreality had gripped her and Lucy felt as if she and Monique were floating rather than walking sedately along the meticulously laid gravel paths. She felt completely reliant on her; the large brandy she had quickly drained had just as quickly made her drunk. A bat dived over Lucy’s head. She didn’t cry out but would have slipped and fallen if Monique had not steadied her.
‘You’ll be in no state to talk to Metand. Louis will be furious with me. Your husband can’t have been spirited away. Maybe he did find Solange and started to talk and didn’t notice the time.’
Lucy nodded, eager to accept almost any reasonable suggestion.
‘Come into the office – no – into our sitting room – and I’ll organize some coffee.’
‘Won’t you have anyone in the restaurant tonight?’
It’s too early in the week. Come on. You’ve got to sober up.’ Monique put a hand on her arm and began to lead her back to the hotel. She seemed to be quite upset. ‘It’s usually me who is like this.’ She laughed and Lucy joined in out of sympathy and confusion.
She collapsed into an armchair and must have slept for a short while. When Lucy woke with a stinging headache she was alone in a large room with a low ceiling that was full of shabby furniture, books and family photographs.
Slowly and painfully the memory of Tim’s disappearance filtered back. What could have happened, she wondered over and over again until her head ached even more.
A few minutes later, Monique returned with a plate of cold meats and a basket of bread. She put them down on a table that was piled high with magazines that looked untouched, as if they had never been read.
‘Is there any news?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Lucy muttered.
‘You’ve got to eat.’ Monique was gently pressing. ‘Louis and Metand have returned. They checked all the roads in the area.’
‘They’ve given up?’ Lucy asked belligerently, the cold yearning for Tim working its way up from the pit of her stomach.
‘Metand is going to make the search official.’
‘Doesn’t he want to see me?’
‘When you’ve eaten.’
‘Don’t you mean sobered up?’
‘That was my fault.’
Lucy got up and lurched towards the table, still feeling sick and light-headed, but when she began to peck at the cold meat she found she was ravenously hungry. The meat was succulent and deliciously light and the bread was warm and crisp.
‘Can I see him now?’ Lucy asked when she had finished.
Monique nodded but didn’t move from the hard chair she had sat down on. ‘Are you feeling better?’
‘Don’t you mean, will I start drunkenly abusing your French policeman? The answer is no.’
‘I’ll go and get him.’
Whilst she was out of the room, Lucy tried to mak
e up her mind about Monique Dedoir. She had been immensely kind but she also detected a deep-seated bitterness. Had the Hôtel des Arbres done this to her? Or was it being land-locked in Navise?
Monique returned with two black coffees on a tray. She was followed by a small, lean man with glasses and a receding hairline. François Metand was somewhere in his mid-forties and had a slightly hesitant, rather donnish air to him.
‘Mrs Groves. I’m sorry to hear about this business. I shall do everything to help you.’ His English was not as fluent as the Dedoirs’.
‘I speak French.’ Lucy tried to steady herself.
Metand looked grateful.
They both sat down on the uncomfortable leather chairs at the magazine-strewn table and sipped at their coffee as Monique withdrew.
‘What purpose did you and your husband have for visiting Navise, madame?’
Once again she appreciated his directness and decided to edit nothing. ‘Tim hid here in the war. He has never discussed what happened.’
‘Their presence is well known. They were brave men.’
With the two simple phrases, Lucy felt even more drawn to Metand. She felt she could trust him, that he wouldn’t evade the truth. Whatever that was.
‘You weren’t here then?’
‘Like Louis and Monique, I am a comparative newcomer.’
‘My husband was not as fortunate as his companions. He suffered a breakdown when he came home and he’s not fully recovered. We came here in the hope of laying some ghosts.’
Lucy was aware that Metand had been watching her carefully, but she didn’t resent his scrutiny. At the same time she wondered if he thought she was lying. ‘Did he want to come?’
‘No.’
‘What changed his mind?’
‘I said I’d leave him unless he did.’
Metand nodded, relaxing the eye contact, looking down at the table.
‘He was deteriorating.’ Lucy was defensive.
‘What convinced you that coming here would be an answer?’
‘I didn’t think it would be an answer, but I hoped I might reach him. I didn’t even know about Navise. I suppose you’ll think I’m naive, but I hoped by driving around the countryside we could talk. Instead of that Tim navigated us straight here.’
The Men Page 9
