‘Oh God!’
Annette put her arm round her waist. ‘Do you want to sit down?’
‘No, let’s turn inland. Away from the river.’
‘It’s awful in summer,’ Annette agreed.
They walked down a dry, rutted path that led across a cornfield.
‘Do you want to talk it all through again? Sometimes it helps just to talk it right out of one’s system.’ I wish I could talk André out of my system, Annette thought, wondering if she would ever feel a whole person without him.
‘Yes. It’ll help to talk if you can bear it. Talking keeps the horror of it out of my mind. I keep going over and over everything. If only I knew what more she was doing. I know it wasn’t just going to see Didier, perhaps even trying to get in some ghastly blackmail partnership with Jean-Pierre. It was more.’
‘Something to do with Ste Michelle. With revenging herself – you both – on Alain?’
‘Those servants of his. I’m sure they’re involved. The man – the chauffeur – perhaps that’s the man I saw her with. Perhaps that’s who she was going to see.’
‘You must report the whole thing to Lebatre.’
‘Yes, I’ll ring him – I’ll ring him when we get back. And tomorrow, of course, I must go home.’
‘Soon,’ said Annette. ‘But not yet.’
A single rook rose over the corn and flapped slowly into the cobalt sky.
‘Thank God we’re away from the river,’ muttered Mireille.
Kneeing him continuously in the groin, Didier drove Marius harder and harder against the pine tree, one hand on his windpipe while the other brandished the knife. Wheezing, gasping for breath, Marius told him to drop the knife, again and again, clutching at his wrist with both hands. But the smiling Didier merely pressed him harder. Out of the corner of his eye, Marius could see Alain still hovering.
‘For God’s sake!’ he screamed out. ‘Help me.’
Blunderingly, ineffectively, Alain grabbed Didier first by the shoulders and then by the waist. But he seemed to make no impression whatever.
‘Go for his arm,’ yelled Marius. The knife was centimetres from his throat now. ‘I can’t hold him off any longer.’
‘I’m trying.’
‘Now!’ The knife was even closer – a fraction away from him. ‘For God’s sake. Now!’
Alain put all his weight on Didier’s arm and then put a knee in the small of his back. They fell on the hard, slightly sandy soil, Alain choking, Didier giggling, whilst Marius kicked hard at his wrist and heard the sharp sound of a breaking bone. Didier stopped giggling and began to howl with pain while the knife clattered to the ground. Marius dived for it – and then hurled it far away, over the high security fence.
‘You’ve hurt me,’ sobbed Didier. ‘You’ve hurt me.’
Didier crawled a few centimetres towards Marius, proffering his broken wrist like an animal. But Marius turned away from him. Alain was lying on the ground, grey in the face.
‘Alain-’
His breathing was laboured and his lips had a bluish tinge.
‘Alain!’
There was a bubble of saliva on his lips. Marius knelt down by his side, wiping the sweat from his eyes while Didier crawled round the sandy baked earth, moaning and muttering to himself.
Marius loosened Alain’s collar and felt his pulse. It was like a butterfly, fluttering and darting here and there. Desperately Marius looked around him – and saw a male nurse ambling in their direction smoking a cigarette.
‘You,’ yelled Marius. ‘Yes, you. Run!’
The man burst into a shambling trot.
Alain’s throat rattled alarmingly.
‘What is it?’ said the nurse. He was young, callow, indecisive.
‘Get a doctor – quick.’
‘Why?’
‘Go on – you bloody fool!’ Marius roared. ‘He’s had a coronary – he could die.’
‘We can’t treat him here.’
‘What?’
The man stuttered slightly. ‘This is a psychiatric hospital. We don’t have the kind of facility he needs. I’ll have to get an ambulance.’
‘Move,’ roared Marius. ‘Just bloody move.’
The ambulance swayed alarmingly as it tore round corners, its siren moaning. Alain had an oxygen mask to his face and the paramedic member was regulating a dial.
‘Is he going to make it?’ asked Marius. He could see that his own hands were shaking as if they had some independent life of their own.
‘He’s having a go.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Aix.’
‘God – it’s miles.’
‘St Esprit’s closed.’
‘How long?’
‘Twenty minutes.’
The rocking increased and Alain opened his eyes which had been tightly shut for some time. He signalled the paramedic to take the oxygen mask off.
‘Keep it on,’ he said. ‘You need it.’
Alain signalled more urgently.
‘Do as he says,’ snapped Marius.
‘He needs it.’
But Alain was getting excited, trying to tug at the apparatus.
‘He’ll kill himself,’ muttered the paramedic.
‘Then take the damn thing off.’
The paramedic shrugged and started to disentangle the mask from Alain’s clutching hands.
‘Marius –’ His voice was indistinct, a guttural whisper.
‘I’m here.’
‘You know, don’t you? There’s no need to go to Kummel. He won’t tell anyway.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ve seen him – and I know he wants to go silently to his grave. He’s old, ill – and believes it’s all in the hands of God. He’d rather we all fought it out, like dogs with an old bone.’
‘Don’t talk – for God’s sake don’t try to talk.’
‘I may die.’
‘Get the mask back on.’
But Alain pushed away the thrusting hands of the paramedic. ‘I must die. You know why, don’t you?’
‘Alain –’
‘I’m making a full confession.’
‘Not now,’ Marius urged. ‘Not now.’
‘You must write it down.’ Alain was commanding, but his breathing was becoming spasmodic.
‘I can’t take responsibility for all this,’ stormed the paramedic. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to –’
‘Now,’ said Alain. ‘Get it down now.’
Marius already had his notebook out.
‘I’ll sign it,’ whispered Alain. His breath was coming in short stabs. ‘I chaired that damnable tribunal – You knew –’
‘I was beginning to wonder, Alain, but I’ve never wanted to solve this case. You know why, don’t you? The chairman of that tribunal could equally well have been my father as far as I was concerned.’
‘There was a Nazi officer murdered, the young men were executed to prevent them talking about Kummel having sex with them,’ whispered Alain, ignoring Marius’ intervention.
‘I know all that, but I’ve never understood why a tribunal was necessary.’
‘The Nazis – Kummel – insisted. There had to be a whitewash. Kummel would have been executed for what he did in St Esprit.’
‘Why did you chair it, Alain?’ asked Marius gently.
‘To protect Henri. I’m sorry, Marius.’ His breathing was very shallow now, but still he went on whispering – and Marius listened with growing, cold horror.
‘Protect?’
‘It was Henri. He procured them with Kummel. Your mother knew.’
‘Father?’
‘He liked boys but he went too far. He had to be protected. I’ve always protected him since he was a child. Maybe it was a habit.’
‘You executed your own people?’
‘They were nothing. Whores. Like Jean-Pierre. They were dragging down the honour of our country – those whores sabotaged everything our nation stood for.’
&
nbsp; Marius began to understand. The old recluse had been living in a nationalistic past ever since the war; Ste Michelle was his sacred land, his ancient lineage and Henri was his vulnerable child, who needed the same strength of protection as the land. Alain was a walking, thinking, one-man feudal system.
His breathing worsening, Alain continued. ‘After the Lyon trial – I thought it might all come out, particularly when you arrived, Marius. I didn’t realise you would be so – unanxious to investigate. I thought you’d expose me and that I couldn’t take.’ His voice died away and Marius leaned closer. ‘So when the rumours started about Henri I forced myself to help them along their way. Pure self-survival and total betrayal. I sowed the seeds with Marie first of all.’
‘Marie? You haven’t spoken to each other for years. She hated you,’ said Marius in amazement.
‘I had despised them – both of them – for so long. They were weak and would have despoiled Ste Michelle. But she accepted my lie – and the possibility of a share in the estate for her and Mireille,’ said Alain cynically. ‘But she couldn’t bring herslf to tell Mireille – she’s by far the stronger of the two and she might have refused to have anything to do with my dubious proposition.
‘But my father – how could you kill him? After all those years of friendship and protection?’
‘Henri couldn’t bear the suspicion so he threatened to expose me – so much for my loyalty and friendship.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Ask your mother. She’ll tell you.’
‘Did she know?’
‘That I killed him? She guessed – but I could never touch her. I was too fond of Solange.’
‘God –’
‘I was afraid that Didier might have told Jean-Pierre and Marie about me – and I was right. So I had to kill them too. He lied to you about Rodiet. He knew it was me. Always.’
‘Why didn’t you kill Didier?’
‘How could I? He’s my son. I couldn’t kill him – any more than I could kill your mother.’
‘Your son?’ Marius stared at him unbelievingly.
‘Yes. His mother’s dead now and her identity doesn’t matter.’
‘Good God.’
‘But Didier isn’t as mad as you think. Just heavily institutionalised. I threatened him by saying I’d arranged for him to come back into the outside world if he ever told anyone. He was so terrified of leaving the hospital that he would do anything to stay inside. But I overplayed my hand and he called my bluff. He told Jean-Pierre – and begged him to stop me from persuading the authorities to release him.’ Alain’s breathing was coming in gasps and the paramedic shrugged his shoulders.
‘Alain –’ Marius took his hand. ‘Why in God’s name did it matter so much? That you chaired –’
‘That I did what I did? Ste Michelle – the house and its land – it’s an order of life to me. Your father’s homosexuality, if it came out, what I’d done – I couldn’t have borne the shame. I’d rather they thought it was Henri.’ He lay back and closed his eyes.
‘You really wanted those young men to die, didn’t you?’ whispered Marius. ‘They were scum, weren’t they – in your eyes? But my father and Kummel – you let them get away with everything, didn’t you? And why? Because they were men of distinction, and you respect distinction, don’t you, Alain? Landowning, the ruling elite, lineage – all the so-called qualities you hold most dear – the qualities that you feel can stamp out all those impurities you don’t like – all the inefficiency you saw in your sisters. Power and money and St Michelle – land and rights and ownership – that’s what’s important to you, isn’t it? And it doesn’t matter how corrupt the elite is, does it? Just as long as they keep the old French traditional life going.’ Marius felt completely spent at the end of his long speech, but looking at Alain he wondered if he had been listening at all. Perhaps he was already dying.
‘I’d rather die than stand trial,’ muttered Alain.
‘I’ll bring you to trial.’ There was resolution in Marius’ voice at last.
‘I must die,’ said Alain. ‘It’s what I expected.’ He smiled up at Marius – the old civilised smile. ‘It would be ironic if I didn’t. That trial would expose everything, wouldn’t it?’
Marius nodded. ‘It would damage that old order beyond repair, Alain. It might even sweep it away.’
Alain didn’t die, so the irony was fulfilled. Marius was not required to see him again and was grateful. He had, however, received a short note from him. It simply read: ‘I would still wish to restore Letoric. Will you allow me?’
Marius had not replied. Nor did he intend to. For he knew that Letoric must crumble away – and eventually his mother would have to be cared for elsewhere. He didn’t want Alain’s guilt money.
Gabriel formally charged Alain and, dependent on his recovery, a date for a trial would be set. Meanwhile he had been transferred to the hospital wing of the prison in Aix. ‘He is a very frightened man,’ Gabriel had told Marius. ‘He is the kind of old Frenchman who treasures his privacy – his expensive privacy. Prison won’t be very pleasant for him.’
Marius had not been surprised, and now, as he stood in the baking morning sun at his father’s funeral, he thought of Alain – and how strong his desire for the unchanging old order had been. His gaze rose from the flower-shrouded coffin, now at rest in the open grave, to the foothills above. There, in his mind’s eye, Marius saw them all – Solange, Alain, Didier, Gabriel – skulking like foxes in caves, slipping across the scree, silently moving amongst the twilit pines. They were not only fighting against the forces that had overrun their country, but were battling a far more insidious enemy. Desire. Lust. Manipulation. These were their real antagonists. His father – his own remote father – had been as great an enemy to them as the German troops whose occupation they had pledged themselves to fight. But how could they fight Henri Larche and his overriding, uncaring desires? Alain Leger had been a hero. Now he had killed more barbarically and brutally than he ever would have done in wartime conflict. And why? Because Alain had to survive. He couldn’t have his Maquis image, his land, his heritage, despoiled. He had protected his closest friend – and then killed him, years later, for fear of exposure and the loss of his hard won isolation. A survivor’s tactic.
The priest sprinkled holy water, the Mistral started to blow, gently at first and then harder. Marius stood with Solange and Estelle on one side, Gabriel and his wife on the other. Annette and André were there too, and standing beside Annette was Mireille. Mariola stood alone.
Marius tried to see his father in his mind but no image came to him. He was a stranger. I share his desires, thought Marius in anguish. I should be able to understand him. But, for the moment, he could no longer see him or feel his presence. Suddenly Marius could smell lavender on the wind.
The End
To MILES in renewal of an old and trusted friendship
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
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Copyright © 1991 Anthony Masters
First published by Constable & Company Limited
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Murder is a Long Time Coming Page 21
