‘That’s not what Captain Hoffman told me,’ said the priest.
Claude looked up, his face drained and chalk white, his whole body trembling. ‘But he’s a German, Father, who cannot be trusted. Surely you wouldn’t take his word against mine?’
‘No, I wouldn’t in normal circumstances. But I would take his word in the presence of Our Lord after he’d sworn an oath on the Bible.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Claude.
‘What you couldn’t know is that Karl Hoffman is a devout Roman Catholic, as are millions of Germans.’
‘But he’s first and foremost a Nazi.’
‘The man who attends my church privately every Thursday to take Mass before making his confession is no Nazi, of that I can assure you. In fact, it was Hoffman who first warned me that the commandant was planning to arrest Esther and have her sent to a concentration camp in Poland.’
‘He’s lying, Father, so help me God. I did everything I could to help my friend escape.’
‘But Hoffman warned me a week before Esther was arrested,’ said the priest, ‘giving the partisans more than enough time to organize a safe passage for the family to America. Esther’s bags were packed and ready when the Gestapo turned up in the middle of the night, arrested her, took her to the station, and threw her on a train that didn’t require a ticket.’
Tessier slumped down, burying his head in his hands.
‘And something else you could not have known. Your friend Thomas also attempted to board that train so he could be with his wife, and only the butt of a German rifle prevented him from doing so.’
‘But—’
‘And because you betrayed your friend, he will spend the rest of his life only being able to imagine the abject horror and degradation his wife must be going through.’
‘But you have to understand, Father, the Germans were putting pressure on me,’ pleaded Tessier. ‘They were making my life hell.’
‘Nothing compared to the hell Thomas is now experiencing while you sit and watch his whole life crumble in front of him. Even some of his customers have begun to cross the road and transfer their accounts to Tessiers, for fear of reprisals from the Germans.’
‘That wasn’t what I intended, Father, and if you’ll give me a chance, I swear I’ll make it up to him.’
‘I think it’s a little late for that,’ said the priest.
‘No, no. If I get out of here alive, I’ll merge the two banks and make Thomas the senior partner. And what’s more, I’ll donate a hundred thousand francs to the church.’
‘Would you be willing to make a will confirming this, whatever my decision?’
‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘you have my word on it.’
‘And the Almighty’s,’ said the priest.
‘And the Almighty’s,’ repeated Claude.
‘That’s most generous of you, my son,’ said the priest. ‘If you do keep your word, I feel sure Our Lord will be merciful.’
‘Thank you, Father,’ said Claude. ‘And perhaps you might mention my offer to the commandant,’ he added, as he raised his head and looked directly at the priest.
‘You have given your word to Our Lord,’ said Father Pierre, ‘which should surely be more than enough.’
Claude got off his knees and, not looking totally convinced, bowed to the priest and returned to join the mayor and the doctor.
‘How did it go?’ asked Max.
‘I simply told him the truth,’ said the banker, his poker face back in place, ‘and am content to await the Almighty’s decision.’
‘I have a feeling it won’t be the Almighty who makes that decision,’ said the mayor, as he dealt two more cards.
The doctor stared down at the five and said, ‘My turn, it seems.’
‘Be warned, Philippe,’ said Tessier. ‘If you bluff, he’ll catch you out.’
‘I think we’re all agreed that I’m not much good at bluffing.’
But then Philippe knew exactly what he was going to tell Father Pierre.
PHILIPPE DOUCET, THE DOCTOR
When Philippe Doucet knelt in front of the priest, Father Pierre had never seen him looking more at peace with himself. The priest had often witnessed that same contentment when the old finally accept they are going to die, and almost welcome it.
Father Pierre gave the sign of the cross, touched the doctor’s forehead and pronounced, ‘Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. May the God of all mercies assist you when you make your final confession.’
There was little the priest didn’t know about Philippe Doucet. After all, he was a regular churchgoer, and made his confession at least once a month. His idea of sin rarely demanded more than half a dozen Hail Marys.
Philippe was an open book, and the only chapter that the priest hadn’t read was the first one. No one could explain how he’d ever ended up in a backwater like Saint Rochelle. Unlike the mayor, the banker and the headmaster, he hadn’t been born in the town, or attended its only college, although everyone now accepted him as a local.
It was common knowledge that he’d been educated at Paris Sud Medical School, and graduated with honours, as the several certificates and diplomas hanging from the walls of his surgery confirmed. However, it remained a mystery why a man who was surely destined to become the senior partner of a large medical practice had ended up as a hospital doctor in Saint Rochelle.
Was Philippe Doucet about to turn the first page?
‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was on the Friday before I was arrested.’
‘I am not expecting this to take too long, my son, because as long as I’ve known you, your life has been an open book.’
‘But there is one chapter you don’t know about, Father, that was written before I came to Saint Rochelle.’
‘I feel sure that Our Lord will forgive some youthful indiscretion,’ said the priest. ‘That could hardly compare with being a collaborator.’
‘What I have done is far worse than being a collaborator, Father.’ Doucet was clearly distraught. ‘I have broken the sixth commandment, for which I must suffer eternal damnation.’
‘You, a murderer, my son?’ The priest was stunned. ‘I don’t believe it. Every doctor makes mistakes…’
‘But this was not a mistake, Father, as I will now explain. After leaving university,’ Doucet continued, ‘I began my medical career as a junior doctor in a large and prestigious practice in my home town of Lyon. As over sixty other graduates had applied for the post, I considered myself fortunate to be chosen. When I wasn’t working, I was reading the latest medical journal, so I would always be one step ahead of my contemporaries. Within a year, I was promoted, and already preparing to take my next step on the medical ladder.’
‘Which surely can’t have been as a junior doctor at Saint Rochelle Hospital,’ suggested the priest.
‘No, it was not, Father,’ admitted Philippe, ‘but Saint Rochelle was the only hospital that offered me a job at the time.’
‘Why was that?’ asked the priest. ‘When you’d already proved to be a shining light among your contemporaries?’
‘It was a Thursday in November 1921 when I fell off the ladder,’ said Philippe. ‘I had been working at the practice for just over a year when one of my colleagues, Victor Bonnard, a doctor not much older than myself, asked me if I would visit one of his patients. He explained that she was an elderly lady who suffered from the illnesses of the rich, and once a week liked to while away an hour or two with her doctor. Victor explained that an emergency had arisen at Saint Joseph’s that he considered far more pressing.
‘I readily agreed, not least because Victor always seemed to have time for the practice’s latest recruit. I grabbed my bag and headed for the Boulevard des Belges, an arrondissement usually only visited by senior doctors. When I arrived outside a magnificent Palladian mansion, I stopped to catch my breath. An experience that was to be repeated moments later when the front door was opened by a beautiful you
ng woman whom I assumed must be an actress or a model. She had long blonde hair and deep blue eyes accompanied by a captivating smile that made you feel you were an old friend.
‘“Hello, I’m Celeste Picard,” she told me, offering her hand.
“‘Philippe Doucet,” I replied. “I’m sorry that Dr Bonnard can’t make it, but he was held up at the hospital,” I explained. Although in truth I wasn’t at all sorry.
‘“It’s not important,” Celeste assured me as she led me upstairs to the first floor. “No one pretends Great-aunt Manon is ill, but she does enjoy a weekly visit from the doctor. Especially the younger ones,” she said with a grin.
‘When she opened the bedroom door, I found an old lady sitting up in bed waiting for me. It didn’t take a very thorough examination to realize there wasn’t much wrong with Great-aunt Manon that holding her hand and listening to her endless stories wouldn’t have taken care of. I realized that it was no wonder the practice was so successful with patients like this.’
The priest smiled but didn’t interrupt.
‘When I left the house an hour later, Celeste rewarded me with the same disarming smile, and if I hadn’t been so shy, I might have attempted to strike up a conversation, whereas I only managed “Goodbye”, as she closed the front door.
‘It was about a week later that Victor told me the old lady had asked to see me again.
‘“You’re clearly in favour,” he teased. But my only thought was that I might see Celeste again. After I’d examined the old lady a second time, her niece invited me to join her for tea, and when I left an hour later, she said, “I hope you’ll come again next week, Dr Doucet.”
‘I floated back to the surgery, unable to believe such a goddess would even give me a second look. But to my surprise, tea was followed by a walk in Parc de la Tête d’or, an evening at l’Opéra de Lyon, and dinner at Le Café du Peintre, that I couldn’t afford, after which we became lovers. I couldn’t have been happier, because I knew I’d found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
‘I waited for almost a year before I proposed, and was heartbroken when she turned me down. But Celeste explained it wasn’t because she didn’t want to marry me, but as she was the sole beneficiary of her great-aunt’s will, she couldn’t consider leaving the old lady until she died. I was shattered. Great-aunt Manon may have been eighty-two, but I couldn’t see why she wouldn’t live to a hundred.
‘I tried to assure Celeste that I earned more than enough for us to live on, even though I knew it wasn’t true. She did, however, agree to become engaged, but refused to wear a ring for fear her great-aunt would see it and dismiss me, and possibly even her.’
‘And you went along with the deception?’ said the priest.
‘Yes, but it wasn’t until Celeste said, “Don’t worry, darling, she won’t live forever,” that the idea first crossed my mind, and I considered using my skills not to prolong life, but to shorten it. I didn’t share those thoughts with Celeste.’
‘How did the thought become the deed?’ asked the priest.
‘It must have been a few weeks after we’d become engaged that Great-aunt Manon complained about not being able to sleep at night. I recommended a course of sleeping pills, which seemed to do the trick. But whenever she complained about not having a good night’s sleep, I found myself increasing the dosage, until finally she didn’t wake up.’
Philippe bowed his head, but the priest said nothing as he knew there was more to come.
‘When I filled in the death certificate, I wrote that she had died of natural causes. No one questioned my judgement; after all, she was eighty-four.
‘I assumed that after a suitable period of mourning, Celeste and I would be married. However, when I attended the old lady’s funeral, she turned her back on me. I tried to convince myself this was only sensible, as she wouldn’t want to attract any unnecessary gossip.
‘Some weeks later I was working at my desk when I heard laughter and raised voices coming from the corridor outside. I poked my head around the door to see Victor surrounded by doctors and nurses, who were warmly congratulating him.
‘“What’s the cause of the celebration?” I asked the receptionist.
‘“Dr Bonnard has just got engaged.”
‘“Anyone I know?”
‘“Celeste Picard,” said the receptionist, without realizing how painful her words were. “You must have come across her, doctor, when you looked after her great-aunt.”
‘What a naive fool I’d turned out to be, Father, as it slowly dawned on me what role the two lovers had chosen for me to play. I started to drink, often arriving late for work, and began to make small mistakes at first, but then bigger ones that are unforgivable for someone in my profession. So when I came to the end of my trial period, it was hardly a surprise that my contract wasn’t renewed.
‘On the day of Victor and Celeste’s wedding, I even considered committing suicide, and only my faith prevented me from doing so. However, I knew that I had to get as far away from Celeste as possible if I hoped to lead a normal life.’
‘Which is how you ended up in Saint Rochelle?’
‘Yes, Father. When the vacancy for a junior doctor was advertised in the medical journal, I immediately applied for the post. The hospital’s supervisor admitted he was surprised that such a highly qualified doctor had even considered the position, and he didn’t hesitate to offer me the job, even though the references from my former employer weren’t exactly overwhelming.
‘I have practised my profession in this town for over twenty years,’ continued Philippe, ‘and not a day goes by when I don’t fall to my knees and beg the Almighty to forgive me for cutting short the life of an innocent old lady.’
‘But your record during your time at the hospital has been exemplary, my son. Don’t you think by now Our Lord may feel you have served your sentence?’
‘The truth is, Father, I should have been struck off the medical register, and sent to prison.’
‘Jesus told a sinner on one of the other crosses at Calvary that he would that night sit on his right hand in Heaven.’
‘I can only hope Our Lord will show me the same mercy.’
‘Have you considered, my son, while the war continues unabated, Saint Rochelle will need the skills God gave you as never before?’
‘No more than the headmaster,’ said Philippe, ‘who will be responsible for teaching future generations that war can never be the answer.’
‘Bless you, my son,’ said the priest, as he gave him the sign of the cross. ‘I absolve you of your sins and pray you will enter the kingdom of Heaven.’
Philippe Doucet rose from his place, a look of serenity on his face, no longer fearful of facing his maker. He bowed and left the priest without another word and rejoined his colleagues.
‘You look very pleased with yourself, Philippe,’ said the mayor. ‘Did Father Pierre promise you anything?’
‘Nothing,’ said Philippe. ‘But I could not have asked for more.’
The mayor placed the cards back down on the table and looking at the banker said, ‘Shuffle the cards, Claude. This shouldn’t take too long, so there should still be time for another hand.’ He sauntered across to the priest, trying to recall when he’d made his last confession.
Father Pierre was well prepared for the mayor, and suspected he would not display the same humility as his colleagues. But Our Lord would not have expected him to make a judgement before the lawyer had been allowed to admit to what he considered his worst sin. Where would he begin, wondered the priest.
MAX LASCELLES, THE MAYOR
‘Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth,’ said the priest, giving the sign of the cross. ‘Are you prepared to make your final confession, my son?’
‘No, Father, I am not,’ responded the mayor. ‘Not least because it is not going to be my final confession.’
‘How can you be so sure it will be you that the Almighty spares?’
�
�Because it is not going to be the Almighty who makes that decision, but the commandant,’ said the mayor, ‘and I can assure you, Father, Colonel Müller is not on his knees at this moment seeking guidance from above because he’s already decided that I am the chosen one.’
‘But you were the one arrested for sedition. You even admitted that you’d arranged the meeting, and that your three colleagues were innocent of any charge.’
‘True, but then it was the commandant who suggested I should set up the meeting in the first place, and during that conversation we also agreed on a six-month sentence and regular reports that I was being treated badly.’
‘But that still doesn’t explain why Colonel Müller would consider your life more important than that of a headmaster, a doctor or even a banker,’ said Father Pierre.
‘Because he knows none of them, even Tessier, would be willing to fall in with his long-term plans.’
The priest paused. ‘So you are the collaborator.’
‘I consider myself a realist, which is why my three colleagues will be hanged in the morning, and not me. However, you can be assured, Father, that as the town’s leading citizen, I shall attend all three of their funerals and deliver glowing eulogies emphasizing their service to the community and how much they will be missed.’
‘But if the Germans were to lose the war, the partisans wouldn’t hesitate to string you up from the nearest lamp post,’ said the priest, trying not to lose his temper.
‘That’s a risk I’m willing to take. But then I always try to make sure the odds are in my favour, and if I have to back the Germans or the British to win this war, I still consider it a one-horse race.’
‘Mr Churchill may have something to say about that.’
‘Churchill’s nothing more than a fog-horn on a sinking ship, and once he’s been replaced, Hitler will quickly take control of the rest of Europe. By which time I will no longer be mayor of Saint Rochelle, but the governor of one of his new provinces.’
The Short, the Long and the Tall Page 37
