House with Blue Shutters, The

by Hilton, Lisa

  ‘Oh Christ!’ said Jonathan. ‘Not again. She’s hovering around this place like a bloody banshee. Can’t you do something, darling?’

  Ginette and her bicycle were once again in evidence. She plodded dolefully right up to the table.

  ‘Excuse me, Madame Harvey, but may I speak to Mademoiselle Claudia for a moment?’

  ‘Is everything all right, Ginette? No trouble with Mademoiselle Oriane?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry. Everything’s fine. I just need a word.’

  ‘I’ll finish this then, Claudia.’

  ‘Do give her a hand, Alex.’

  They were left alone on the terrace. Ginette looked a little too wide-eyed, Claudia hoped she wasn’t going to have another one of her turns. ‘Are those people here?’ she asked, looking about as though there might be spies concealed in the ivy.

  ‘What people? Ginette, what is the matter, please?’

  ‘Those Dutch people?

  ‘No, they’re out. Why?’

  ‘I need to speak to you.’

  ‘Yes, Ginette. Would you like to sit down, at least?’ This was all very tiresome.

  ‘I saw Madame Lesprats in the village.’

  Claudia felt cold. Had Ginette come to make some sort of announcement for Alex’s benefit? She had to get her away from the house. She wanted a cigarette.

  ‘Come on then. We can go to that bar in Castroux. I’ll just get my bag and the bike.’ She tried to smile encouragingly, ‘I’ll buy you a drink.’

  Ginette ordered a small coffee.

  ‘I’ve never been in here,’ she said conspiratorially, as though Claudia had dragged her to a den of vice. They sat outside on the little terrace, away from the group of men clustered around the television inside. Claudia was surprised when she asked for a cigarette from the packet of Marlboro Lights open on the table. She sipped her red wine while Ginette got it lit.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Look, I need to explain something. Those people, the visitors of Madame Harvey?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Go on.’

  ‘Well, Madame Lesprats told me they’re asking questions, that you were asking questions for them.’

  ‘Have I upset you in some way?’

  ‘No, please listen.’ Claudia despaired of her ever getting to the point, it seemed better to sit in silence and let her talk.

  ‘Well, I know who they’re looking for. It’s Mademoiselle Oriane. If I tell you this, you have to keep it secret.’ Ginette looked suddenly, unpleasantly sly. ‘I think you can keep secrets?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Mademoiselle Oriane had a son. Jacky. My Jacky. He didn’t know for years and years, but his father was a German soldier. Mademoiselle Oriane told him at first just that he was killed in the war, but Jacky found out the truth. This man, he was a good man, although he was a German. He was killed, but they did it, the Germans, I mean. He was killed because he was trying to help Mademoiselle Oriane’s brother to escape. It was the end of the war, there were terrible things happening everywhere around here. Mademoiselle Oriane loved him so much, it was true love, and he had promised that after the war they would go away together, but then he was killed. Mademoiselle Oriane was very brave in the war, she did things to help the Maquis, that’s the men who fought against the Germans in the Resistance.’

  ‘I know. I know that’s what they were called, I mean. Did she really?’

  ‘But it didn’t matter. They punished her, punished her dreadfully.’

  ‘I’ve read about that sort of thing.’

  ‘And then my parents found out about me and Jacky. They used to live at Saintonge, at the farm. There’s English people there now. They took me to the priest and made me say I’d been going with Jacky. Then Jacky went away.’

  Ginette was struggling to control herself. Claudia gently removed the burned out cigarette from her shaking fingers and stubbed it in the ashtray. She held Ginette’s hand.

  ‘I was, well, you know that sometimes I’m not very well? It was bad. Mademoiselle Oriane took me in, she said I could live up there with her. And we stayed there, the two of us. And now these people say that this man was a liar, that he already had a family, that he didn’t really mean to go away with her. It’s cruel, that’s what it is, coming here with their questions, poking their noses after all this time.’

  ‘But I can’t stop them. I mean if everyone in the village knows. Madame Lesprats knows.’

  ‘People won’t say, not to strangers. You went to the fête, didn’t you? Well, the mayor, the one who gave the speech, Monsieur Chauvignat? That’s my brother. I haven’t spoken to him for thirty years. People mind their business around here.’

  ‘What do you want me to do, Ginette?’

  ‘Tell them they’ve made a mistake. They can’t come around, it’s all she’s got, now my Jacky’s gone.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to Jacky?’

  ‘We were going to be married. He went to Marseille, we know that, but then – we didn’t hear any more.’

  ‘So he just never came home?’

  ‘Yes. He never came home.’

  Claudia thought of the compact, and the scratched-in name. She tried to make her voice as gentle as possible. ‘Ginette, thank you for telling me. I respect your confidence. But I’ve already talked about this with Mademoiselle Oriane. She knows, Ginette, doesn’t she? She knows all about it.’

  Ginette’s jaw began to shake. Claudia felt so cruel, but she had to go on.

  ‘So it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? The Sternbachs – that’s the Dutch people, could probably find Jacky. They can do all sorts of things, with the internet, if they know he’s in Marseille. And Mademoiselle Oriane would even have a chance to see her son? That’s not what you’re afraid of, is it, Ginette?’

  Ginette bit down on her lower lip.

  ‘No,’ she answered, in a little bitter voice. ‘That’s not what I’m afraid of. Look at me. Just look at me.’

  It was almost dark when they left the bar. Ginette mounted her bicycle and freewheeled down the hill. Claudia watched her as she crossed the bridge, then pushed her own bike up towards the village. She had seen the war memorial next to the church, a squat obelisk surrounded by a little chain fence. Squinting a little in the dusk, she began to count the names. ‘Aucordier, William’ was the first, but as she read down the list, Claudia was appalled by how many there were, so many for such a tiny place. She felt as though the air around her had become heavy, it was pressing down on her, and she bit her lip and tensed the muscles in her shoulders to stop herself crying. The image of that terrible barren room up on the hill, of those two ruined bodies sitting patiently in the strip light waiting for nothing, was unbearable. That pathetic, treasured little gift, that she had thrown in Oriane’s face like a silly child. She felt contemptible, inhuman. They would have shaved her head, that’s what was done to those women, they shaved her head, and her little baby grew up to hate her, and Ginette’s life was spoiled. Each of these names was a spoiled life.

  That was trite, she thought, and then hated the goblin that sat on her shoulder, the pretty, well-dressed sneering goblin that allowed nothing to touch her, nothing ever to be quite real. It was wicked, what she had been planning to do to Alex, wicked. Crazily, she tried to push open the door of the church, but of course it was locked for the night. Then the tears that had been hovering inside her eyelids began to roll down her face and she remembered how she had cried for Sébastien, who had never loved her, and that she would have to go on and on because there was no pity. The goblin chattered like a monkey and pushed long bony fingers into her hair. She was incapable of love, and she would have to go on and on. Oriane had loved her German boy, and Claudia was too cold even to imagine what she must have suffered. She pulled the bike around and pushed off hard so that she felt the breeze dry her tears into track marks on her face as she pedalled down the slope. Her hair was in her eyes and she had a fistful of it, pulling it back as the bike sped over the crossroads, when she turned her head just i
n time to see the lights of a car coming at her in the blue night.

  She had no impression of the impact, she was on the ground before she understood what had happened. It felt obvious that she wasn’t dead. Though she was breathless, and there was a dull pain at the bottom of her back, her head felt quite clear. The car had stopped because she had heard the brakes and now there were people running towards her along the road. ‘I’m fine,’ she called in French, ‘I’m fine.’ Her back hurt a lot, and the pain seemed to spread around to her waist and tighten like a metal belt, then she gasped and vomited as the goblin’s hand reached inside her. The twig-like fingers twined through the membranes, writhing and searching, then abruptly squeezed a clenched fist at the base of her belly and pulled. She could smell the lemon from Aisling’s veal. Claudia didn’t need to wait for the first rush of liquid to know what was happening.

  Malcolm Glover repeated many times afterwards that she must have been in terrible shock, because even though she had blood all over her and sick on her face, when he reached her she was sitting up and laughing.

  Claudia stayed in bed at Murblanc for a few days, bleeding. Aisling felt truly sorry for her, though perhaps it was better that the poor girl hadn’t even suspected she was pregnant. She wouldn’t feel the loss so much. It was brave of her to insist on not telling Alex too, denying herself the comfort he could offer for his own sake.

  Malcolm and Charlotte had been in a terrible state. When the doctor had left and Claudia was resting with a sleeping pill, they had to hear over and over again how she had just shot out into the road without looking, there was no time to stop, thank God Malcolm had his wits about him or it could have been unthinkable. Aisling suspected the sharpness of Malcolm’s wits, since the Glovers had been at the pizzeria in Landi with those Logans, not that it stopped him swigging half a bottle of cognac for the shock. What exactly Claudia had been doing whizzing about the village in the dark was a mystery, though Richard told her that Kevin had seen her crying in front of the war memorial. Richard and Olly said that Claudia was always crying, and she was probably a bit mental. Aisling thought Claudia resolutely self-possessed, but perhaps she was on Prozac.

  The Glovers came back the next day (at lunchtime, Aisling observed), to relive the accident over a glass or three of PG white. The Marquis and Delphine turned up just as they were polishing off a warm salad with walnuts and smoked magret. Just as well, because Aisling wouldn’t have liked to have had to ask them to sit down with Malcolm and Charlotte, who was wearing ceramic earrings she had made herself in the shape of little pumpkins. Delphine had heard about the crash that morning from Madame Lesprats, who had heard about it on her mobile from Sabine at the pharmacy in Landi.

  ‘She should be a spy, that cleaning lady!’ laughed Malcolm, as though he were the first person ever to realize that Madame Lesprats was nosy. Delphine wanted to go up, but Alex, who had been sitting with Claudia, said that he didn’t think she was up to it, though it was very kind. That looked rude, Aisling thought, since she had bothered to come, so she took advantage of Malcolm showing the Marquis exactly which bit of car had struck the bicycle to whisper the words ‘fausse-couche’ in Delphine’s ear. She had looked up ‘miscarriage’ specially in the Larousse that morning. Delphine understood then, naturally. She suggested Aisling call around soon, if she wasn’t too busy, as there was something she would like to discuss with her. Everyone stood around on the drive for a while, until Malcolm rubbed his hands briskly and announced that they had to be getting on, which meant Delphine had to move her car.

  As the d’Esceyracs were leaving, Delphine had called out in English that Aisling shouldn’t worry about the dogs when she came up to the chateau, as they only barked at strangers. Charlotte Glover had definitely heard.

  SUMMER HOLIDAYS

  As soon as Claudia felt recovered, she popped down to La Maison Bleue and told the Sternbachs everything. They drove to the village, and as soon as Madame Lesprats answered the door she knew the game was up. Madame Lesprats had heard everything, long ago, from her great-aunt Amélie, even the parts that she felt sure Oriane had concealed all that time from Ginette. Madame Lesprats had never been able to like Oriane, but she was a great believer in romance. Free to talk, she confirmed everything that Claudia had heard from Oriane, including a great deal of detail about the mayor, who’d turned out to be a collabo, and the terrible things that had gone on at the chateau.

  When they eventually escaped, they had a drink in the bar. Ella and Otto were planning to leave. They decided that the best thing was to continue their research when they returned home, now they had the details there was no need to disturb the old lady, though Ella thought it would be nice to send a letter introducing themselves. If they discovered anything tangible, they would try to visit Jacky themselves, and then think how to go on.

  They told Aisling they were cutting their visit short to spend a few days with some friends who had a house over in the Lot. Aisling said they had paid up to the end of the week anyway, but she was obviously needled that La Maison Bleue had been in some way insufficient for them.

  ‘The Lot’s more fashionable of course,’ she said peevishly to Claudia, ‘but I thought they were the sort of people who wanted something a bit more authentic. I shan’t bother to do them a barbecue.’

  Claudia felt it was unlikely that Otto and Ella would be devastated by this.

  It was a bit mean, Aisling would feel less slighted if she knew the truth, but since the wondrous release of the accident, Claudia had a feeling she wouldn’t have to be bothering with Aisling much longer.

  Alex and Claudia went to Cahors for the day. As they wandered rather boredly around the medieval centre of the little city, she remembered the passionate grief that had possessed her as she stood before the war memorial in the village.

  ‘Why don’t we see if the museum’s open?’ she suggested.

  The museum had more earnestness than exhibits, most of which were painstakingly handwritten accounts by local amateur historians suspended as leaflets from chains set in the wall. Many were bad photocopies, their pages frayed and greasy from indifferent tourist fingers. One wall had a home-made sign in felt tip reading ‘Le Maquis’, with a collection of photos pinned beneath.

  ‘Look,’ called Claudia, ‘here’s Castroux.’ She translated the description into English for Alex’s benefit.

  ‘Maquis le Moto, 1944. The group “Le Moto” was responsible for one of the crucial acts of sabotage following the Normandy landings in 1944. Panzer Division “Das Reich” was due to travel north by train, but was delayed by six days due to the destruction of a train and lines at Monguèriac, coordinated and carried out by “Le Moto”. Seven members of “Le Moto” were shot as part of the infamous “Das Reich” reprisals before the division left the region.’

  ‘That was Larivière,’ Claudia explained. ‘The mayor told us that he was the one who betrayed the local partisans.’

  Alex wandered away, but Claudia studied the picture. It was strange how small men looked, even such a short time ago. Their heads looked normal, but their bodies were shrunken, child-sized, smothered in their ill-fitting jackets. The group was posed before the church in Castroux. Eight men knelt in a row holding rifles, a ninth stood at one end, propped on a crutch, his body half hidden behind what was presumably the famous Moto. They smiled crumbling Orwellian smiles at the camera, several clutched cigarettes cocked over the barrels of their guns. Claudia recognized the names from the memorial: Aucordier, Boissière, Charrot, Dubois, Nadl, Vionne. The photo must have been taken before the attack on the railway, before the German reprisals. She wondered which one was Oriane’s brother. That part was true then, but it all seemed so impossibly far away that it was hard to believe there were still living people who mourned these men. Claudia reached out to trace the lines of the photo, but a warning of ‘Don’t touch’ immediately rattled out from the attendant in the corner.

  Claudia and Alex mooched dutifully around the cathedral until she thought th
ey had better get on with it and suggested they stop for a coffee. Naturally, the charming café with a wisteria-draped terrace overlooking the river was closed, and they sat too near the traffic outside a horrible little pizzeria. Arabic music played loudly and the coffee came in plastic cups. She plunged in. What was it about leaving people that meant they always showed themselves at their best just when you needed to believe the worst of them? Alex asked if she was sure she meant what she said, that it wasn’t just the shock of the accident, would she prefer to discuss this in London? Then he said that he understood, and Claudia watched him try not to burst into tears. He didn’t bluster or say anything spiteful, just held her hand and told her that he loved her, that he was unspeakably sorry. Claudia began to cry and tugged off her ring.

  ‘Don’t be theatrical, darling.’

  ‘What do you want me to do with it? Throw it in the river?’ Her nose was running.

  ‘Do what you like with it. It’s yours. You might wear it sometimes, to think of me.’

  Claudia sobbed harder and said she was sorry, sorry, sorry, though she wasn’t tempted to tell him everything, even now when he seemed noble and she was full of her own awfulness. He fetched some paper napkins from the pizza maker and held them out to her.

  ‘I can’t keep it anyway. I’ll have to get another for the next one.’ He was trying to smile.

  ‘You could ask Sarah Ashworth.’

  ‘Too late, darling. I am irremediably corrupted, thanks to you. She’s just too Clapham.’

  Claudia felt a little prod of regret, after all he had been to Oxford.

  ‘Not Chiswick?’ she said.

  They both laughed, at first forced and then really, and held hands as they went to find the car. Claudia felt huge affection for him, stroking the sleeve of his shirt, feeling his palm warm and firm against her own smaller one. Having told him she would never marry him, she suddenly liked him enough to wish she could. They were silent on the drive home though, along the tiny green roads in their hired car.