by Tim Roux
The Marquis nods.
“We have met many times, most recently under most unfortunate circumstances, for which I apologise.”
“Apologies accepted,” the Earl replies enthusiastically. “And I must apologise to you, too, Monsieur le Marquis, for all the inconvenience we have caused you.”
“It is not the only inconvenience we have suffered in our lives, nor the most serious, but we are pleased that you are willing to comply with our request.”
The Marquis bows and disappears.
“Exquisite,” exclaims the Earl, rubbing his hands. “Fascinating! And to think, Fiona, that you are missing it all.”
“I feel cheated,” Fiona concedes. “Everything is happening around me and I cannot see a thing.” She turns to me. “Are you going to tell Father about Alice?”
“Alice?” inquires the Earl.
“Yes, Alice. The girl in the village who disappeared a couple or so years ago. Paul knows her.”
“You do? Where is she?”
“She is back in the village.”
“Well, that is a relief, not that I know who she is. I only heard the rumours of her disappearance. I would never recognise her by sight. Her parents must be relieved, whoever they are.”
“Not exactly,” Fiona intercepts.
“Not exactly?”
“She has not returned alive.”
The Earl looks across at me. “She is a ghost too?”
“Yes.”
“And you have seen her?”
“I meet her every day.”
“Fascinating! Might I meet her too?”
“I am sure that she would be delighted to meet you, My Lord.”
“So what’s her beef? Was she murdered?”
“Yes.”
“That is sad. By whom?”
“By her father. Strangled.”
“That is terrible. Why?”
“He lost his temper. He didn’t approve of her lifestyle.”
“Ah yes, she ran off with one of the tourists in the village, didn’t she?”
“Yes, the friend of Inspector John’s daughter who was staying here.”
“Inspector John’s daughter is here?”
“No, she died too two or three years ago. Committed suicide.”
“This is becoming a very tragic village. Fated.”
“I didn’t know that,” says Fiona.
“Yes,” I reply. “Inspector John is here to commune with the spirit of his dead daughter.”
“Good Lord,” exclaims the Earl. “We are all at it.”
“Except that Inspector John is not psychic. At least, not that he has admitted to.”
“So this has all to do with that chap who was arrested in the village the other day?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “That was M. Picard, Alice’s father.”
“And to do with your losing a tooth? You were helping her?”
“Yes, I was.”
“She must be delighted. How do ghosts show their gratitude?”
“Usually by disappearing into the light – being released.”
“Have you liberated many such souls, Paul?”
“A few. Not always on purpose.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I once got so angry with a ghost who was bugging me, much as they were getting at you this evening, My Lord, that I turned round on him and told him to ‘fuck off!’.”
Fiona looks at me, startled that I should swear in front of her father. She glances over at her father expectantly, apprehensively.
“And he did?” asks the Earl, unfazeded, indeed without acknowledging that I have said anything wrong at all.
“Yes, permanently. I watched him become light.”
“What does that look like?” asks the Earl.
“A bit like spontaneous combustion, I suppose. He went incandescent, and evaporated.”
The Earl rubs his hands again. “That must be an incredible sight. I would love to witness that.”
“I would love to witness anything at all,” Fiona comments wistfully. “Anyway, back to Alice.”
“Back to Alice what?” the Earl asks.
“She has a problem she needs help on,” Fiona continues.
“What sort of help?”
“She wants the police to find her body,” she says.
“Do they know where her body is?”
“In a way. Paul has drawn them a map and left it where they can find it, which they probably have, but we need them to follow up on it. We thought that you might be able to help her, Father. Put in a word with the police to go digging around Montauban.”
“Where on earth is that?”
“The other side of Toulouse, towards Bordeaux.”
“And you are sure that they will find her body there?”
“If they dig in the right place,” I confirm.
“And you know where the right place is?”
“I kept a copy of the map, but if we are there, Alice can come with us and point us there exactly.”
“Now that would be exciting,” sparks the Earl. “Can I meet this Alice?”
“Of course you can. I am meeting her at ten tomorrow morning in the usual place.”
“Which is where?”
“In the barn that is falling apart next to the house Inspector John is renting.”
“In that case, I’ll definitely be there. Let’s start out at quarter-past nine. I am not as fast on my legs as I used to be, but I don’t hobble yet either.”
“Good night, then, Sir.”
“Good night, Father.”
Fiona steps forward to give her father a hug and a kiss.
“Good night, my dear. Good night both of you. I shall sleep soundly tonight, because of the ghosts in the house, for a change.”
Chapter 9
“It must be nice to have someone on the same wave length for a change,” Fiona observes as we get undressed. “It is wonderful for Father, too. He is in seventh heaven, you can see. I wish I could share it all.”
“I am afraid that I haven’t anything I can teach you,” I apologise. “I don’t know how I do it myself. It just happens. It is not at all deliberate. I don’t particularly want to see them, and sometimes I definitely don’t want anything to do with them. I’d rather be here here, surrounded only by walls that don’t move or have people walking through them. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
“I bet you wouldn’t give it all up, though, Paul.”
“Yes, I would.”
“Why?”
“It’s distracting. What do you do with it?”
“Well, you can help Alice for starters.”
“I suppose so.”
“And you do enjoy being useful, Paul, don’t you, despite all appearances to the contrary?”
“I do what I can.”
“And you do it very well. I am glad that you and Father have found something in common. My parents are both uncharacteristically fond of you, you know.”
“My time is almost up.”
“You can always apply for an extension if you are useful to us. I cannot be with you for the sake of it, but I can claim that I am keeping you on board. That will be enough to keep you here, and I’d like that very much.” Fiona frowns. “But do your parents like me?”
“I am sure they do.”
“Will they object to our situation?”
(Our situation at this precise second is that we are standing facing each other in evident mutually-eager anticipation).
“Why would they? They pretty well accept everything.”
“Yes, but this arrangement must seem a bit weird to them. I’ve been in many odd situations, but this is definitely one of the strangest.”
“I am trying to think what my parents would find weird. Normal life, probably, that they do find weird. Doing things the same time on the same day in the same order. Believing what everybody else believes. They see everything upside down so this will look more or less the right way up to them. I won’t tell t
hem anything, but Mum will know immediately that something is going on. Nothing gets past her. She picks up disturbances in the cosmos. What?”
“Nothing.”
“She does. I’m not joking. It drives her crazy that Dad pretends not to notice anything at all although he does really. I bet you that Mum knows all about us already from the other end of the Mediterranean. She will have sensed it. She is probably telling Dad all about it right now.”
“That must be a bit disconcerting having your mother know everything that happens to you.”
“I can’t say. I’ve had it all my life, and I can’t avoid it anyway. It’s just there. And she never minds much, whatever I do, and Dad just comes up and hugs me if he picks up on anything that is disturbing me.”
“It must be wonderful not to be subjected to impossible expectations. I have always found it crippling to have people watching me all the time and criticising. I bet even now everyone is gossiping about us even though we think that what we are doing it all on the sly. Nothing is secret in this place.”
“If you try hard enough, you can see everything.”
“But do you want to?”
“That is my point,” I conclude triumphantly. “No, I don’t want to see everything. I want a normal life for a change. Just like you, but we are escaping different things.”
(Fiona and I really do have something in common. We could save each other).
“I still don’t reckon you would know what to do with a normal life, Paul. You’d be completely lost.”
“I’d like the chance to find out. That is my new resolution. I am going to clear all the ghosts and metaphysical entities out of everywhere I am, and just be me. You watch me.”
“I wish I could, but I’ll have to settle for now.”
* * *
I am vaguely aware of a door bursting open. Fiona sits up sharply. I open an eye and watch her deciphering whatever is going on. She relaxes.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” announces the Earl. “I’ve seen it all before. Nice to see Fiona with a man in her bed for a change, even if you aren’t her husband.” He leans over me and kisses Fiona good morning, crushing me into the mattress. “Time to get up, Paul. We have an adventure to attend to. I will see you down at breakfast in twenty minutes.” It really does seem very early.
After the Earl has left Fiona’s room, I check my watch. Six o’clock. Great.
“It’s only six o’clock,” I complain to Fiona.
“Father must have overslept, then. He is very excited about it all. I hope he doesn’t give himself a heart-attack. He should be more careful at his age.”
“The excitement will probably give him another ten years of life. Clear his arteries out. Flush the system.”
“You certainly know your drainage, Paul,” Fiona mocks – she is always ahead of me in the games she plays, which is unusual. Normally it is me playing with everybody else. I admire her for that. “Let’s hope so,” she adds screwing up her face yet further. “Oh shit! Bugger!”
“What?” She can even panic me. Unbelievable.
“Peter’s father is due here today, with Peter’s mother, just as Father tries to clear everyone out. That is going to make things awkward. We can’t turn him away, and he only comes here to enjoy the circus – yet another glimpse of the decadent British at play. If all he finds is us, he is going to be very disappointed and bored, and a bored Romanov is as dangerous as a hungry tiger. He will be looking for trouble, which will probably mean us.”
“Why us? What have we got to do with him? Peter isn’t your husband.”
“We will have everything to do with him as far as he will be concerned. He doesn’t need any real justification. We will simply be a way of his biding his time and working off his frustrations of being deprived of upper-class twit entertainment. Besides, he thinks that I should have Peter’s child, then he can have a grandchild. He is very dynastic. He doesn’t seem to mind too much Peter being gay, but he does expect him to produce an heir or two, come what may. We are messing that up, which means messing him around, which means that we are in for a very rough ride. We are going to have to be discrete. Luckily, I don’t think Peter will say anything. It will only put pressure on him.”
“What about your father?”
“Oh, he won’t say a word. He doesn’t even talk to Peter’s father. Just grunts at him and scurries off. Avoids him. Thinks that he is a total barbarian, although Father is far too polite to say so, of course, and Mother smothers him with flattery, ‘smothering’ being the operative word. He always staggers off in a daze once she has finished fawning all over him. He is a highly intelligent man, so he knows it is all a complete sham on Mother’s part, but he cannot work out why she bothers. If he doesn’t like somebody, they sure as hell know about it.”
“So he really is a Mafiosi, is he?”
“Of the Russian kind, yes. An oligarch,” she adds sardonically. “Even the most successful Mafiosi have a lot of noughts missing compared with an oligarch, allegedly. He walks in like the Tsar of Russia, or Comrade Stalin, or something. He expects attention, and he gets it. Only Mother disconcerts him, poor man. I think that Mother wouldn’t have had much of a problem with Stalin either.”
“What time is he arriving?”
“Haven’t a clue. Around lunchtime, I think. I’ll have to check with Peter. You’ll have to move out, I’m afraid. It might even be better if you returned to Valflaunès while he is around, to get you well off the scene - I don’t want you subjected to his unpleasantness – although that will be awkward too because Father will definitely want you here. Talk to Father about it when you go off to see Alice.”
“I had better get dressed.”
Fiona looks at me painedly. “It is all ending rather abruptly, Paul, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”
I shrug and head off for the bathroom.
* * *
The Earl has already finished his breakfast and is pacing up and down his mind as he hunches in his chair. He rises to greet me as I enter the room. “Ah, Paul. Come and sit down. Help yourself. We have three friends joining us, as you can see.”
He is getting rather good at this. I nod at ‘the friends’ who bow back silently.
“It is so wonderful,” exclaims the Earl, clapping his hands together with glee. “I feel like a homosexual …. ”
(That might need some explaining).
“ … by which I mean that I feel like a homosexual who has decided to declare himself. I am a free man. I have always detected ghosts, and now I can admit to it. And they are acknowledging me too. It is a whole new world, but not to you, of course. You are a veteran. What do you tell people when they ask you all about it?”
“I don’t. I am still in the closet.”
“Oh well, get out of there. Live it up!”
(Yeah, but I am not eighty).
“So,” continues the Earl, “how will you introduce me to Alice? Will you go in first and call me in when you have prepared her, or do we go in together?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Doesn’t it matter?”
I frown. “I wouldn’t think so. Alice has a one-track mind at the moment. She may not even notice.”
“What is she like?”
“She is like a young ghost. Still rather nice but a bit jumpy and prone to sudden explosions.”
“Sounds typically French to me.”
One of ‘three friends’ turns around momentarily to look at him.
“She is very French, but all ghosts become explosive sooner or later. It is the frustration of being stuck here without being allowed to do anything. They get bored, horribly bored – a bit like Mr. Romanov, apparently.”
“I really must observe them more carefully. I have been trying to ignore their evident existence all my life. Now I am free to watch.” And he seems very pleased about it. “So what’s this about Romanov?”
“He is due here today apparently, with his wife, according to Fiona.”
“
Oh bugger! Oh well, we’ll be somewhere else – ghost hunting. We are definitely going off to this place where you say the girl is buried if Romanov is going to be stalking around here. Can’t stand the man. The Countess can deal with him. I wonder if she has remembered that he is due here today. She hasn’t mentioned it, but perhaps she simply didn’t want to upset me. I become a frightful grump when I know that he is coming. He makes the place so tense – hums like a power station. Most unpleasant man. It is a miracle Peter turned out as he did. Can I come and stay at your house?”
(What?).
“If you like, but you might feel a little cramped.”
“How many rooms has it got?”
“Five bedrooms.”
“And there are two of you – you and Mike?”
“And my parents who are coming back tomorrow.”
“Are they now? They seemed very nice people. So are we up to three bedrooms or four by now?”
“Three, unless Dad snores, but he can sleep in the sitting room.”
“So there is room for me, then?”
“Yes, if you really want come.”
“I do. I should enjoy that very much. Perhaps you could persuade Fiona to come too – get her out of Romanov’s hair. I am sure that she would appreciate that. As soon as Romanov realises that there is nobody here, he’ll disappear off again, and good riddance. Sounds like a plan to me. Does it sound like a plan to you, Paul?”
“Yes, My Lord, it sounds like a plan.”
“Good, then wolf down your breakfast and let’s get going. I still have a proclamation to pin to the front door telling everyone to bugger off somewhere else. I have been itching to do that for the last month. I’m on the Marquis’ side, you know. There’s far too much noise around here. Only do it for the children. Certainly don’t do it for Romanov. It will give the Countess a decent break too, not that she necessarily wants one. Always says she does, but I am almost persuaded that she really prefers to have the place crammed to the gunnels with people, and then to complain about them. Funny creatures, women. I’ll meet you at the front door at a quarter past nine. Don’t be late.”
* * *
There are uniform, skulking, stunned expressions as news of the proclamation gets around. Steph is conferring with William, walking in circles in the hallway. Romaine is telling Adam to go and finish off the packing. Albert has just shot an aggrieved shaft of resentment at the Earl as he appears, driving everyone into the corners in his wake.
