Tug of War djs-6

by Barbara Cleverly

  ‘Does that always happen?’

  ‘Just occasionally it doesn’t work and then the male — it is always the male — flies away when you release them. Sometimes the poor female has to fly in pursuit and herd him back.’

  He was aware that she was smiling. ‘Sometimes it happens that the female — and it’s usually the female — will tear her unwilling partner to shreds. But don’t worry — I don’t think you will witness any bloodshed today. What bird would be insensitive enough to reject such a good home? Such a beautiful mate?’

  She took the dove from his hands, spoke softly to her and released her. Taking the second dove from the basket she held him up to show the bronze markings on his feathers. ‘This breed is very rare. Very handsome. They were brought back from eastern lands by Crusaders who went off with Good King Louis — or so I’m told. Off you go and join your mate!’

  The dove fluttered upwards, bronze streaks glinting in a shaft of sunlight which bisected the tower far above their heads.

  ‘’I shall always think of them as Joe’s doves. Why don’t you give them a name, Joe?’ she invited.

  ‘Well, if it’s a pair of timeless lovers we’re contemplating — what about Abélard and Héloïse?’ he suggested.

  As he spoke the two birds began instantly to dispute possession of the same nesting hole with loud squawks and much flapping and pushing.

  ‘Or should that be Punch and Judy?’

  ‘Oh, dear!’ He heard her gentle laughter. ‘Not a good start! Well, let’s hope for the best. They have two weeks in which to settle their differences. And when we’ve got a whole flock of them going we’ll collect up the droppings — wonderful manure for the flower beds.’

  He was happy to hear her common-sense tone and dropped his guard, to be taken unawares by her next question.

  ‘You know I lured you in here so that we could be alone and not overheard by anyone? Impossible in the house to snatch a moment’s intimacy! Come and sit with me over here.’

  She went to settle on the bottom tread of the circular wooden ladder that revolved around the building providing access to the nesting holes, and Joe seated himself tentatively in the straw at her feet.

  ‘There are two things you must understand about this sorry business, Joe. Firstly, my son declares that the patient is not his father. I think quite honestly that the boy has a damned cheek! And if I didn’t love my son so much I’d box his ears. How dare he! He saw his father so few times and with the eyes of a child all those years ago. . how can he possibly say that he can identify him more accurately than I? It’s my theory that he expects Clovis to be unchanged from the glamorous and heroic figure swishing about in black-plumed helmet that he remembers. He cannot adjust to the idea that his father is now a wreck of a man and will, most probably, remain so for ever.

  ‘Secondly, my cousin by marriage, Charles-Auguste, is a dear man. We quarrel, we sometimes disagree about the running of the business but much more often we agree. He’s an inspired wine-maker. I couldn’t have made the firm so profitable without his assistance. He’s also a clever businessman and this is still a world where the word “man” is important. He feels, I know, that his position here would be threatened were Clovis to be brought back. Nonsense, of course. I have tried to reassure him but I don’t think I have succeeded. And once again I must think — how dare he! He was never particularly intimate with his cousin before his disappearance and to deny him so firmly now speaks of priorities other than discovering the truth. Well, there you are. They will each confide in you, no doubt, and you will draw your own conclusions.’

  ‘Tell me why you want him back, Aline.’

  She leaned forward in astonishment at the question, trying to catch his expression. ‘I love him. He’s my husband. Whatever state he’s in, he’s mine and always will be.’ She looked at him with curiosity. ‘Are you married?’

  Joe shook his head, dismissing the irrelevant and intrusive enquiry.

  ‘Are you in love?’ she persisted. ‘Have you been in love?’ She turned to him, grey eyes black and huge in the gloom, and scanned his face. ‘Ah! I thought not. It’s no good shaking your head and squirming with embarrassment and preparing to tell me this is not police business! As long as you are a policeman and your word on the matter is heard by the authorities it is police business and it is mine to make certain that you understand. Hop up here and sit next to me, I can’t speak to you when you’re wriggling about in front of me like a five-year-old.’

  Resentfully, Joe toyed with the notion of disobedience. In that moment she was for him nanny, mother, mistress, sister. A beam of sunlight knifing through the slats made a golden helmet of her Titian hair and he added to his list of tormentors — goddess. He sighed and obeyed.

  Joe perched uneasily shoulder to shoulder with Aline on one half of the tread. He glanced up at the doves over their heads, still, with a hundred holes to choose from, disputing possession of the same hole. Blood and feathers would soon begin to fly. ‘Know how you feel, old mate!’ he thought grimly, identifying with the male bird. But his unkind thoughts vanished in a moment when abruptly Aline began to weep. ‘I had thought that showing you the doves would explain more clearly than words what I feel,’ she whispered. ‘As with them, it was for life. I fell in love. . and it didn’t take two weeks to know it. Two seconds. It was enough.’

  So completely had her voice changed he felt he could be listening to a different woman. The self-confidence, the mocking insouciance had gone and he was hearing the hesitations of a girl racked with emotion, a girl struggling and failing to find words that could bear the weight of the intensity of her feelings.

  ‘It’s painful, shattering, inconvenient even, but if you have never had the experience of falling completely in love, I pray that you will. Now — is that a prayer or a curse, I wonder? But don’t think ill of me for it — I do believe any life is a half-life until you have. A man’s eyes on yours, his arms around you and your souls spiralling away into the ether together. .’

  The words were fanciful, ingenuous even, but the emotion behind them was true and deep. He knew he was hearing a woman talking of a love so overwhelming that she had remained through the years possessed by it. He knew instinctively that for Aline nothing else — home, family, the war — nothing ever was able to — or would — rival it in power.

  ‘So, my reason for bringing the man back here to his home is a simple one. Elemental. It springs from love.’

  ‘I understand all that you have to say, madame,’ said Joe. ‘And am well able to feel for you in your sorrow. I must ask though, if I’m to do my job adequately, whether there are any indications of a practical rather than emotional identification of the patient. Look, I wonder if you were aware that the doctor in Reims, who, I do believe, has grown fond of our man, calls him Thibaud. Would it offend you to use that name for the time being?’

  ‘Not at all. Thibaud. A good name. I approve of that. And yes, there are aspects of Clovis’s body that are distinctive and could well prove that he and Thibaud are one and the same. We could hardly look for mental similarities though I do wonder whether all possibilities have been explored. I have thought, Joe, that we might be able to have him, Thibaud, taken to Austria to a clinic. Or even to London. You must advise me. I understand that wonderful results in cases like his have been achieved through hypnotism. The process is not much practised here in France but I would like to try it and will pay all expenses incurred.’

  ‘It is an avenue which, I think, should be explored,’ said Joe.

  ‘But in the meantime all we have to go on is physical clues. I have provided the obvious information like size and colouring, supported by photographs of course. That ought, along with my word, to have been sufficient but I understand that there are now three other claimants vying for him. I shall have to play cards I was holding in reserve.’

  For a second Joe had a sickening feeling that he’d heard this before and was struck by the similarity, if not in circumstances, then in det
ermination between Aline Houdart and Mireille Desforges. Each, he did believe, motivated by undying affection.

  ‘Clovis has marks on his lower abdomen. His was a difficult birth, a breech birth, and force was used. He has the marks of those. . pincers. . on either side of his hip. His right hip. But there is more. Come back to the salon with me, will you? I wish to show you further evidence.’

  Stopping to order coffee to be brought to them in the petit salon, she made her way back to the room where they had taken tea the previous day. Judging by the piles of novels and magazines and the cashmere throw draped over a chaise longue, this seemed to be where she spent her leisure time. Joe sat down in an armchair while she went to hunt about in the drawers of an escritoire. She brought over to him three photographs.

  In the first, a man very like Thibaud stood looking aloof and aristocratic, slightly embarrassed perhaps to be modelling his cuirassier’s uniform for the camera, his presence in the studio insisted upon no doubt by a doting family. He wore a flamboyant helmet which covered most of his head and it was impossible to tell the colour of his hair.

  The second, larger, photograph showed a group of young men in evening dress posing informally at the end of a party. A dozen of them were seated around a table strewn with the debris of an elaborate meal. They had reached the brandy stage and all looked very drunk.

  ‘Clovis is the second on the left,’ said Aline, pointing. ‘Taken in Paris — a passing out celebration with his contemporaries at the academy of St Cyr. In those days you couldn’t go to a dinner party without it being recorded by a photographer. A hard-riding lot! So much hope, such talent, such dash! I danced with all of them in my time. It breaks my heart to look at them and realize that, of this dozen, only two have survived. Clovis and the man on his left, both held prisoner until the war ended or they would have been killed too, no doubt.’

  She was trembling with emotion at the sight of the twelve bold, laughing young men, her voice husky, and snatched it away to replace it with the third photograph.

  This was more natural. Clovis was sitting in everyday clothes, relaxed and smiling and holding on his knee the young Georges clutching a toy train. His hair was fair, his eyes sparkled with intelligence and love and, yes, the man was the spitting image of Thibaud.

  He said as much to Aline.

  ‘You haven’t noticed it, have you?’ She moved behind him and pointed. ‘It would take an expert in the Bertillon system of identification to spot it and if it becomes necessary, believe me, Commander, I will certainly employ one. Concealed under the straps of a helmet of course but here where he’s bare-headed you can see it clearly. Look at the ears!’

  Joe looked and saw.

  ‘The lobes. They are joined to the side of the face not free like these.’ She tugged at her own dainty ears. ‘Now, I know — because I’ve been doing my own research on this — that a small percentage only of the population has this characteristic. One person in four, I understand. That, taken in conjunction with the other signs I have given you, ought to be more than enough proof.’

  ‘I hadn’t remarked Thibaud’s. .’

  ‘Attached lobes,’ she said. ‘He has them! For the good reason that Thibaud is Clovis and these are his ears!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Halfway — and, Joe suspected, a calculated halfway — through coffee, they were joined by Charles-Auguste. Aline withdrew, content to leave the two men to talk to each other, perfectly confident and assured.

  Left alone, Joe said as much. ‘Aline would seem to have a watertight case to make for the man in the Reims sanatorium being her husband?’

  Charles-Auguste nodded. ‘I know! Believe me, Sandilands, I’ve heard it. Over and over. And it grows in strength. I can’t imagine why I bother to demur and throw an occasional, feeble “Ah, but. .” into the mixture.’ He paused and, invited by Joe’s sympathetic silence, went on, pulling a rueful face: ‘But I do! Who am I to say this isn’t my cousin, you may well ask, when his wife of eighteen years, mother of his son, says otherwise? And we were never particularly close. All I can say is that every instinct I have is telling me that there is something very wrong. . very disturbing. . about this identification. And it stems, not so much from the mental patient himself as from Aline.’ His voice had lowered and he cast a quick glance at the door. ‘It’s her sanity I fear for. She’s unnaturally obsessive about this whole business!’

  ‘A bit harsh?’ said Joe. ‘The desire to have one’s husband restored can hardly be regarded as abnormal? I have spoken to Aline. She held. . and still holds. . Clovis in the deepest affection.’

  Charles took a fortifying sip of coffee and levelled a sharp glance at Joe over his cup. His eyes were shining with cynical amusement. ‘I see she’s got you where she wants you, old man! Oh, don’t be concerned — she captures everyone.’ He stirred uncomfortably. ‘But, look here, the thing is. . and you won’t believe me. . I say this unwillingly anyway but. . quite the reverse. Um. I’d say they positively disliked each other.

  ‘Once he’d got over the initial starry-eyed enchantment, Clovis became over the years, first cool, then irritated and then uncaring. He adored his son, of course. But even so, as soon as war became a possibility he rejoined his regiment. He was a second son. He trained as a soldier at St Cyr. You knew that? And you’re aware, I take it, of the French rules of inheritance? Our crazy Napoleonic law! Everything to be divided equally between the male heirs whether there’s two or twenty. Ridiculous! It’s ruined many a grand — and lowly — estate. And you’d be surprised how many families cease to expand after the birth of the first son. Though, if he dies, a second seems, miraculously, to appear in short order. Clovis’s older brother died and he inherited everything — threw himself into viticulture and was very effective. Then came the war. Brave man, intensely patriotic. I do think his country meant more to him than anything. In short he was gallant, to use an old-fashioned word. He would always put himself in the thick of things. Surprising that he lasted as long as he did.

  ‘But, as I say, I think he was not unhappy to leave his wife behind. From what I gathered from her complaints he rarely, suspiciously rarely, I’d say, came home on leave. Avoiding her. But he needed to see his son so the man must have been torn in two. He wasn’t a cold man, Sandilands, don’t think it. Reserved perhaps but. .’ He reached forward and picked up the photograph of Clovis holding his son on his knee. ‘That was Clovis. Loving. That’s the man I remember and it’s the man Georges remembers.’

  ‘Well, he seems to have inspired deep emotion. Aline tells me she is motivated by love to pursue her claim on this man,’ said Joe. ‘But if you’re saying — not love on her part or his — then what? She is preparing to go to some lengths, involving experts in the fields of criminology and psychiatry, to make her case.’

  ‘And there’s where my concern lies. I was delighted when we were told they suspected he was English. A jolly good solution all round, I thought. Best possible outcome. And that’s when I contacted Douglas and stirred up the French police. At that stage the forces of law and order were not involved and the whole cat’s cradle was being handled by a sanatorium and the Ministry of Pensions. Hardly adequate, I thought, considering the increasing complexity. I knew I could depend on Douglas to send someone to shine a light on all this. And, Sandilands, I’m very glad you’re here. We need to know the truth — we can all work with that.’

  ‘You don’t think Aline would try to circumvent the truth?’

  ‘She wouldn’t see it like that. She thinks she’s above it. What Aline decides becomes the truth — if you see what I mean. It’s her unwavering sense of purpose that troubles me. She’s up to something we have no idea of. And if she succeeds in her schemes it will bring her into head-on collision with her son. Georges is as convinced as anyone can be that this man is not his father. And I’m not prepared to stand by and see his home and his future put at risk by one of Aline’s delusions.

  ‘I’ve worked — yes, worked — alongside George
s for some years now, taught him all I know that’s worth knowing. I’m proud to say in many ways I’ve stood in for his father. It can never be the same, of course, but, well, I’m not a married man, Sandilands, no children of my own so you can imagine how I feel.’ He gave Joe a manly smile. ‘Don’t go in for self-delusion myself. No time for it. I’ve examined my own motives in denying this man and I have to say that’s all I can come up with. The chance that I’d lose my paternal role in regard to Georges. Sounds feeble perhaps but it’s something I’ve required myself to face. I would be distressed to give all this up. .’ He glanced around and then looked back directly at Joe. ‘But not so upset it would occur to me to give false statements, to try to effect a wrong outcome. Never!’

  ‘Tell me, Houdart — Georges has seen the patient, hasn’t he? I say, can we call the patient by his hospital name of Thibaud? Good Lord, I never thought to ask him. I just assumed that. .’

  ‘He has seen him. Yes. Once. I took him in one day with his mother.’

  ‘I’d be interested to hear your view of the meeting.’

  ‘Awkward, Embarrassing even. Aline talked to the man. . Thibaud, you say?. .as though he were fully compos mentis. “Do you remember, darling, the day when you. . And I simply can’t leave without telling you that. . When you come home, of course. .” There was a lot of that! Thibaud just stared through her. Then they brought a very unwilling Georges into the room. The lad was taken aback. I was sure at first he knew him. He knelt at the man’s feet and took hold of his hands, staring into his face.’

  ‘Did Thibaud respond?’

  ‘Not really. He put out a hand and stroked Georges’s arm once or twice. The doctor got quite excited but it wasn’t much to an onlooker.’