The Short, the Long and the Tall

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘Each one of you will be expected to confess to the worst sin you have committed. And you would do well to remember that I have heard all your confessions over the years, so there isn’t much I don’t know about you. And possibly more important, I have also been privy to the confessions of over a thousand of my parishioners, some of whom have considered it their sacred duty to share with me their innermost secrets. Not all of which reflect well on you. One of them, an unimpeachable source, says one of you is a collaborator. Therefore, I must warn you gentlemen, should you lie, I would not hesitate to strike your name from the list. So I’ll ask you once again, which of the three options would you prefer?’

  ‘I’m quite happy to draw straws,’ said Tessier.

  ‘I’ll opt for one final game of poker,’ said the mayor, ‘and leave God to deal the cards.’

  ‘I’m willing to confess to the worst sin I’ve ever committed,’ said the headmaster, ‘and face the consequences.’

  They all turned to Philippe, who was still considering his options.

  ‘If you agree to play one final game of poker,’ said the mayor, ‘I’d be willing to wipe the slate clean.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Philippe,’ said Tessier. ‘Take my advice and draw straws. At least that way you’d still be in with a chance.’

  ‘Possibly, but with my luck, Claude, I don’t suppose drawing straws would make any difference. No, I’ll join my friend André and admit to the worst sin I’ve ever committed, and leave you, Father, to make the final judgement.’

  ‘Then that’s settled,’ said Tessier, shifting uneasily in his chair. ‘So what happens next?’

  ‘Now all you have to decide,’ said Father Pierre, ‘is which one of you will go first?’

  ‘Shall we leave the cards to decide?’ said the mayor, who dealt four cards, face up. When he looked down at the queen of hearts he said, ‘Lowest goes first.’

  The headmaster left the group to join Father Pierre.

  ANDRÉ PARMENTIER, THE HEADMASTER

  The priest blessed the headmaster as he knelt before him.

  ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. May God, the Father of all mercies, assist you as you make your final confession.’ Father Pierre smiled at a man whom he’d admired for so many years. He had followed André’s career with considerable pleasure and satisfaction. Textbook, you might have described it. Young Parmentier had begun his life as a student at Saint Rochelle College for Boys, where he would end his days as headmaster, with breaks only to graduate from the Sorbonne in Paris and to spend a sabbatical year as a supply teacher in Algiers.

  On his return to Saint Rochelle, André had taken up the position of junior history teacher, and, as the cliché has it, the rest was history. He had progressed rapidly through the ranks, and no one was surprised when the Board of Governors invited him to be headmaster, a position he’d held for the past decade.

  Many of his colleagues were surprised that André hadn’t deserted Saint Rochelle for plusher pastures, as it was well known that several other more renowned schools had approached him over the years. But he had always turned them down, however tempting the offer. Some suggested it was because of family problems, while others accepted his explanation that he had found his vocation and was happy to remain in Saint Rochelle.

  By the time war broke out, Saint Rochelle College was among the most respected schools in France, attracting young and ambitious teachers from all over the country. Recently the Board of Governors had begun to consider the problem of who would replace their respected headmaster when he retired in a couple of years’ time.

  When the Germans marched into Saint Rochelle, André had faced new challenges and tackled them with the same resolution as he had always done in the past. He considered occupation by a foreign power was an inconvenience, not an excuse to lower one’s standards.

  André Parmentier had never married. He treated all his charges as if they were his first-born. He wasn’t surprised to find that many of them who hadn’t excelled in the classroom, shone on the battlefield. After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to come to terms with a brutal and pointless war.

  Sadly, many of his charges were destined to die in the heat of battle and, like a grieving father, he wept for them. Somehow André kept his spirits up, never doubting that in time this barbaric war, like the last, must surely come to an end. And when it did, he would be given the opportunity to teach the next generation not to repeat the mistakes of their fathers and forefathers. But that was before a German decree had ordered that three of them must be hanged at six in the morning. And he didn’t need to be a maths teacher to know the odds were against him.

  ‘Forgive me, Father,’ said André, ‘for I have sinned and beg your forgiveness. My last confession was just before I was arrested and sent to prison.’

  Father Pierre found it hard to believe that André had ever done anything reprehensible in his life.

  ‘I accept your remorse, my son, aware of the good work you have done in the community for many years,’ said the priest. ‘But as this could be your final confession, you must reveal the greatest transgression you have committed so that I can judge whether you should be spared, or be one of the three who the commandant has condemned to death.’

  ‘When you have heard my confession, Father, you will not be able to absolve me, as my sin is cardinal, and I have long since given up any hope of entering the kingdom of Heaven.’

  ‘I cannot believe, my son,’ said Father Pierre, ‘that you are the collaborator.’

  ‘Far worse, Father. I must admit,’ continued André, ‘I have considered sharing my secret with you many times in the past, but like a coward on the battlefield, I’ve always retreated at the first sound of gunfire. But now I welcome this final chance of redemption before I meet my maker. Be assured that death for me, to quote the gospel, will have no sting, and the grave no victory.’ The headmaster bowed his head and wept uncontrollably.

  The priest couldn’t believe the words he was hearing, but made no attempt to interrupt him.

  ‘As you know, Father,’ the headmaster continued, ‘I have a younger brother.’

  ‘Guillaume,’ said the priest, ‘whom you have loyally supported over the years, despite a tragic lapse in his youth, for which he paid dearly.’

  ‘It wasn’t his lapse, Father, but mine, and it is I who should have paid dearly.’

  ‘What are you saying, my son? Everyone knows that your younger brother was rightly sent to prison for the grievous offence he committed.’

  ‘It was I who committed the grievous offence, Father, and should have been sent to prison.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘How could you,’ said André, ‘when you only saw what was in front of you, and didn’t need to look any further.’

  ‘But you weren’t even with your brother when he killed that young girl.’

  ‘Yes, I was,’ said André. ‘Allow me to explain. My brother and I had been out earlier that evening celebrating his twenty-first birthday, and both of us had a little too much to drink. When we were finally thrown out of the last bar, Guillaume passed out, so I had to drive him home.’

  ‘But the police found him behind the wheel.’

  ‘Only because I’d careered onto a pavement and hit a girl, a girl I taught, who later died. Would she still be alive today if I hadn’t run away but stopped and called for an ambulance? But I didn’t. Instead I panicked and drove quickly away, purposely crashing the car into a tree not too far from Guillaume’s home. When the police eventually arrived, they found my brother behind the wheel and no one else in the car.’

  ‘But that was exactly what the police did find,’ said Father Pierre.

  ‘The police found what I wanted them to find,’ said André. ‘But then they had no way of knowing. I had climbed out of the car, pulled my brother across to the driver’s seat, and then abandoned him with his head resting on the steering wheel, the horn blaring out for all to hear.
’

  The priest crossed himself.

  ‘I made my way quickly back to my own flat on the other side of town, slipping in and out of the shadows, to make sure no one saw me, although there weren’t many people around at that time in the morning. When I eventually got home, I let myself in through the back door, crept upstairs and went to bed. But I didn’t sleep. Truth is, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since.’

  The headmaster put his head in his hands and remained silent for some time, before he continued.

  ‘I waited for the police to knock on my door in the middle of the night, arrest me and lock me up, but they didn’t, so I knew I’d got away with it. After all, it was Guillaume they discovered behind the wheel, only a hundred metres from his home. The following day, several witnesses confirmed they’d seen him the night before, and he was in no fit state to drive.’

  ‘But the police must eventually have interviewed you?’

  ‘Yes, they visited the school the following morning,’ admitted André.

  ‘When you could have told them it was you who was driving the car, and not your brother.’

  ‘I told them I’d had a little too much to drink so walked home, and that was the last time I’d seen him.’

  ‘And they believed you?’

  ‘And so did you, Father.’

  The priest bowed his head.

  ‘The local paper had a field day. Photos of a pretty young girl with her whole life ahead of her. A headline that remains etched in my memory to this day. A crashed car, and a young man being dragged out of the front seat at two in the morning. The only mention I got was as the poor unfortunate brother, whom they described as a popular and respected young teacher from the local college. I even attended the girl’s funeral, only exacerbating my crime. By the time it came to the trial, the verdict had been decided long before the judge passed sentence.’

  ‘But the trial was several months later, so you still could have told the jury the truth.’

  ‘I told them what they’d read in the papers,’ said André, his head bowed.

  ‘And your brother was sentenced to six years?’

  ‘He was sentenced to life, Father, because the only job he could get after he came out of prison was as a janitor in the school, where I was able to pull a few strings. Few remember that Guillaume was training to be an architect at the time, and had a promising career ahead of him, which I cut short. But now I’ve been granted one last chance to put the record straight,’ said André, looking up at the priest for the first time. ‘I want you to promise me, Father, that after they hang me tomorrow, you will tell everyone who attends my funeral what actually happened that night, so that my brother can at least spend the rest of his days in peace and not continue to take the blame for a crime he didn’t commit.’

  ‘Perhaps Our Lord will decide to spare you, my son,’ said the priest, ‘so you can tell the world the truth and begin to understand what your brother must have suffered for all these years.’

  ‘I would rather die.’

  ‘Perhaps we should leave that decision to the Almighty?’ the priest said, as he bent down and helped the headmaster back onto his feet. André turned and walked slowly away, his head still bowed.

  ‘What can he possibly have told Father Pierre that we didn’t already know about?’ said the mayor when he saw André collapse onto his bunk and turn his face to the wall, like a badly wounded soldier who knows nothing can save him.

  The priest turned his attention to those still seated at the table.

  ‘Which one of you will be next?’ he asked.

  The mayor dealt three cards.

  CLAUDE TESSIER, THE BANKER

  ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,’ said Claude. ‘I wish to seek God’s understanding and forgiveness.’

  ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.’ Father Pierre couldn’t recall when Tessier had last attended church, let alone confession, although there wasn’t much he didn’t know about the man. However, there remained one mystery that still needed to be explained, and he hoped that the thought of eternal damnation might prompt the banker to finally admit to the truth.

  Claude Tessier had become chairman of the family bank when his father died in 1940, only days before the Germans marched down the Champs-Elysées. Lucien Tessier had been both respected and admired by the local community. Tessiers might not have been the largest bank in town, but Lucien was trusted, and his customers never doubted that their savings were in safe hands. The same could not always be said of his son.

  The old man had admitted to his wife that he wasn’t sure Claude was the right person to follow him as chairman. ‘Feckless and foolhardy’ were the words he murmured on his deathbed, and then whispered to the priest that he feared for the widow’s mite when he was no longer there to oversee every transaction.

  Lucien Tessier’s problems were compounded by having a daughter who was not only brighter than Claude, but also honest to the degree of embarrassment. However, the old man realized that Saint Rochelle was not yet ready to accept a woman as chairman of the bank.

  Claude’s only other banking rival in the town was Bouchards, a well-run establishment that the old man admired. Its chairman, Jacques Bouchard, also had a son, Thomas, who had already proved himself well worthy of succeeding him.

  Claude Tessier and Thomas Bouchard had advanced through life together, admittedly at a different pace on their predestined course. School, national service, and later university, before returning to Saint Rochelle to begin their banking careers.

  It was Bouchard’s father’s idea, and one he quickly regretted, that the two boys should serve their apprenticeships at rival banks. Claude’s father happily agreed to the arrangement, and got the better deal. After two years, Bouchard never wanted to set eyes on young Claude again, while Lucien wished Thomas would join him on the board of Tessiers. Nothing much changed as both boys progressed towards becoming chairman of their banks; that is until the Germans parked their tanks in the town square.

  ‘May God, the Father of all mercies, help you when you make your final confession,’ said the priest as he blessed Tessier.

  ‘I was rather hoping, Father, that it wouldn’t be my final confession,’ admitted Claude.

  ‘For your sake, let us hope you are right, my son. However, this might be your last chance to admit to the most grievous transgression you have committed.’

  ‘Which believe me, Father, I intend to do.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that, my son,’ said the priest. He leant back, folded his arms and waited.

  ‘I readily admit, Father,’ began Claude, ‘that I failed to stand by my oldest friend when he most needed me, and I beg the Lord’s forgiveness for this lapse, which I hope you will feel is out of character.’

  ‘Should I assume you are referring to the fate that has befallen your closest friend and banking rival, Thomas Bouchard?’ enquired the priest.

  ‘Yes, Father. Thomas and I have been friends for so long, I can’t ever remember when I didn’t know him. We were at school together, served as young lieutenants in the army, and even attended the same university. I was also his best man when he married Esther, and am godfather to their first child, Albert, but when he most needed the support of a friend, like Saint Peter I denied him.’

  ‘But how could that be possible after such a long friendship?’

  ‘To understand that, Father,’ said Claude, ‘I have to take you back to our university days when we both fell in love with the same girl. Esther was not only beautiful, but brighter than both of us. To be fair, she never showed the slightest interest in me, but I still lived in hope. So I was devastated when Thomas told me that he’d proposed to her and she’d agreed to be his wife.’

  ‘But despite the sin of envy, you still agreed to be his best man?’

  ‘I did. And they were married in a local town hall on the outskirts of Paris, just days after we graduated. They then returned to Saint Rochelle as man and wife
.’

  ‘I well remember,’ said the priest. ‘And confess that at the time, I was disappointed not to have been invited to conduct the wedding ceremony. However, I only recently discovered why that would not have been possible, and admire you for keeping your friend’s secret.’ Father Pierre fell silent as he realized Claude had reached a crossroads, but was still unsure which path he would take.

  ‘And be assured, Father, I have continued to do so, and was horrified when the Germans discovered Esther was Jewish and the daughter of a distinguished academic who had denounced the Nazis.’

  ‘I was equally horrified,’ said the priest, ‘but did you keep your side of the bargain, and remain silent about Esther’s heritage?’

  ‘I did better than that, Father. I warned Thomas that the Germans had found out that Esther was Professor Cohen’s daughter, and he shouldn’t delay in taking his wife and children to America, and only return when the war was over.’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t the other way round?’ said the priest quietly.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ said Tessier, his voice rising with every word, causing his colleagues to look across in his direction.

  ‘That it was in fact Thomas who confided in you that he was planning to escape before the Germans found out the truth about his wife, and then you betrayed him.’

  ‘Who would consider accusing me of such treachery? I even offered to manage Thomas’s affairs while he was away, and hand back the bank the moment he and Esther returned.’

  ‘But if you were the only person in Saint Rochelle who knew Esther was Jewish, how could the Germans have possibly found out, if it wasn’t you who told them?’

  ‘It was covered by the national press that Professor Cohen had been arrested and disappeared overnight, which would explain how the Germans found out.’

  ‘I don’t think the professor would have informed the Nazis that he had a daughter and a grandson living in Saint Rochelle.’

  ‘I swear on all that is sacred, Father, that I would never have told the Germans his secret. Thomas was my dearest friend.’