‘Sounds good. I’m going to have a look through the trunk whilst you do that. Hortense may well have put something new in there. I’ve never seen the suitcase before; we can do that later. Can you open the safe? I want to see if I can find out anything about the watch. It’s really unusual.’
I unlocked it, and went back into the kitchen to make an early dinner, enjoying the welcome, if short, relief from current problems. It was soon ready, with a final drizzle of olive oil, chopped parsley, and parmesan sprinkled on top, and I put it on the table with some of the bread that we had bought yesterday.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
‘It’s ready. Come and eat.’
‘That smells fabulous… thank you so much. I like cooking, but I’m nowhere near as proficient as you. Do you remember grandmother’s risotto that she did over the fire? She was a great cook too, which must be where you get it from.’
I poured two glasses of the white wine that was in the fridge, and we began to eat.
‘I remember it well. I’ve been thinking about them all quite a lot lately. I’ve still got grandmother’s chestnut pan, and quite a few of her other pots and dishes. I love using them’.
‘You were always her favourite, Ben; I knew that, and didn’t mind. I had fabulous parents and thought I was very lucky too. Have you given any more thought to opening up the cellar again?’
‘Yes, I’ve thought about it, but I’m not sure what we would gain. I remember what was painted on the walls quite well enough, and I don’t really fancy opening up the tunnels. We’ve got quite enough going on as it is. Why? Do you think we should?’
‘Yes, I do. I remember it too, but that was a long time ago, and there may well be things down there that would help with our current situation. How is the cellar entrance sealed?’
‘Blocks, I think. We’d need a sledgehammer.’
‘I’ve got one in the shed. Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’ve been going through the photographs in the trunk. There are loads of us as children. I suppose we spent a fair bit of time with Hortense; she was such a lovely lady.’
I cleared away the plates, put a bowl of fruit on the table, and picked up some of the photos. There were quite a few of both our parents, and many of Rennes-le-Château taken over a period of about eighty years. She had loved the village, and of course, so did we. Like all things, we took it for granted because it was so familiar, but the photographs, especially the older black and white ones, made it look very different: more sinister, somehow, and not familiar at all.
‘This pocket watch; it’s exceptional. I can’t find anything exactly like it, but there’s one online that’s similar, with the eagle on it. It was Napoleon Bonapartes, but I imagine there would be quite a few copies around. There’s a bee on the inside of ours, a bit like the walking stick, and the hallmarks look right for that period. Bees were used as Napoleonic symbols. Did you know that he went to great lengths to investigate the Merovingian kings, who also used them? Josephine’s family was supposed to be of Merovingian decent, and I think he hoped that he was, too. Do put the sticks in the safe, won’t you, Ben? They must be quite valuable. Here, have a look.’
She pushed the watch across the table towards me and I picked it up. It was a beautiful thing, and clearly of superb quality and considerable value. As for the possibility of it belonging to Napoleon, who knew?
‘When things calm down, shall we take it to an expert? I’d love to know more about it.’
I agreed. ‘So would I. Let’s do that. Did you look in the leather suitcase?’
‘No, not yet. I’ll do it now.’
* * *
I got up, opened the small case, and took out the brown envelopes. There were six in total, and I put them on the table. Caro picked up the first one, which was stuffed full of more photographs. Some were of people I had never seen before, and there were quite a few of Hortense, at what looked like very formal social functions, with glittering dresses and glamorous surroundings. There was even one of her standing next to Charles de Gaulle, with a group of other dignitaries, and they gave us a glimpse of a life that she had led that we knew nothing about. She looked vibrant and happy, although I found it hard to link the woman in the photographs to the Hortense that I had known. It was like she had been two entirely different people, which I supposed she was.
* * *
The second envelope was also full of photos. ‘I think you need to see these, Caro. This is something different altogether.’ They were very familiar indeed, and I passed them over to her.
‘I thought we were due to come across something soon. It’s your village church in England. Look, photos of the graveyard, the old tombs, the couple under a blanket, the Roman tomb, and the de Clare tomb. And there are lots of the interior too. Have you seen these of the piscina with the locked mouth head, and the relics and graffiti? What do you make of it, Ben? I’ve got goosebumps all over… this is so weird.’
‘Honestly, I’m not sure how many more shocks I can take. Clearly, she’s been there, and probably not as a holiday either. Hortense’s photographs make it look even more bizarre. And more secrets! She never said she had been there, and yet she quite obviously wanted us to know. It’s so frustrating to be kept in the dark like this. Never mind frustrating; I feel downright angry. What were they all playing at, messing with our lives in this way? If they were here now, I would have a real go at them. How dare they?’ Caro’s eyes filled with tears and she looked away.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, but I’d like to give them a piece of my mind, really I would.’
‘I know, I feel the same, but Hortense has just died, and I hardly know how to react to anything. We have no relatives at all now, Benoît, not that we know of anyway. It’s just you and me. I feel so alone. I know that’s ridiculous, but it’s true. Try to not be angry. There must be a reason for some of it, at least.
‘The photos from England simply reinforce the connections between your village church, here, and the diary, and I’m sure that the movements they talk about are documents. It makes sense to link what we already know, what they knew, and the discoveries of Bérenger Saunière.’
‘I loved Hortense too, but there are more lies and secrets, and she was part of it.’ I took a deep breath and picked up the photos again.
‘It’s the link with England that’s thrown a spanner into the works, although why wouldn’t there be links? Many of the Templars came from England, and we know that the area where I’ve been working was riddled with various knights dashing about all over the place in the Crusades. And we know that one of the lords of the manor founded the Knights Templar with Hugues de Payens in 1118. Some of them may well have fled back home when trouble hit to try to hide, or pass on information, and I don’t doubt that they would have sorted out whatever they felt they needed to, by whatever means they had.
‘We know they had contacts everywhere, and were surprisingly mobile, despite the lack of transport as we know it today. Money speaks, both then and now, and they certainly had plenty of it. One of the things that I find curious is the fact that although so many people have been holding secrets for so long they still feel the need to leave a trail, to leave clues for anyone who is interested enough to find them. Do you remember when de Clare said in the journal that the clues would be deciphered or found when people were enlightened enough to find them? Do you think people are enlightened enough now, Caro?’
‘Hardly. There are wars everywhere, many of them in the name of religion. For myself, I believe in truth. People could create a faith based on truth and honesty, not on a pack of lies created to control the masses. I honestly have never understood why anyone would prefer that, and I never will. There’s a quote by Mark Twain that describes my thoughts on the matter quite accurately. I know you like his writing, don’t you? You did when you were younger anyway. He said, “Religion was invented when the fir
st conman met the first fool.” Forgive me if that sounds disrespectful to your beliefs.’
‘I have come across it, yes, and I do still love his writing. And don’t worry about the disrespect. As I’ve told you before, I came to terms with the limitations of religion a very long time ago, and even though I’ve been giving it a lot more thought lately my feelings haven’t changed. Is there anything else of interest in the envelopes?’
* * *
Caro tipped out the contents of another envelope. This time there were no photographs, but instead, several articles and documents relating to the Beauharnais family: Josephine and Hortense; Josephine known for her marriage to Napoleon I. I knew very little about the subject apart from history lessons at school.
‘What do you make of this? Perhaps Hortense was interested in the Bonapartes and their wives. I find that hard to believe, though, since she never seemed to have any interest in that sort of thing at all.’
We spread it all out on the table. There were various articles and historical information, including quite a few about Hortense de Beauharnais. Caro picked up one article and studied it.
‘Well, what do you know? It looks like my father, Charles, and Aunt Hortense may have been related to Hortense Beauharnais. Look, she’s underlined it here. Hortense Beauharnais was the daughter of Josephine de Beauharnais before she married Napoleon. It looks like she had an illegitimate child whilst she was married to Bonaparte’s brother by a Charles Joseph Duc de Morny. I always wondered where the name came from; it’s so unusual. I never knew my grandparents on their side since they were both dead, and there were no cousins as it was just the two of them and Hortense never married. Of course, the Beauharnais/de Morny family are no blood relatives of ours, but it’s still fascinating.’
‘It certainly is. According to this, Hortense Beauharnais died in 1837, which doesn’t seem that long ago really. She’s buried next to her mother in Paris, in Rueil-Malmaison. I’ve been there. It’s the church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, and the whole area is supposed to be jinxed with bad luck. They may be no relations of ours, but Hortense and Charles may well have some distant cousins. I wonder if they ever knew any of them, although I don’t suppose we’ll ever know now. Another secret kept from us! I’m beginning to feel angry again. Our whole lives were based on one lie after another. We may not have been treated cruelly, but we were certainly treated unfairly.’
‘I know what you mean. I’m dreading the will reading tomorrow. Who knows what will turn up then? We’ll probably find out that we’re long-lost relatives of Jack the Ripper… or worse!’
We both laughed at this absurdity. Our situation was certainly becoming more ridiculous by the minute. Caro made some tea, and I opened the doors to the terrace. It had been a bright, sunny day and, even now, as dusk was falling, the terracotta tiles were still warm under my bare feet. I walked out to the end of the terrace and stood on the low wall that looked over the river. How clever the medieval builders had been. The house, despite its many incarnations, was as protected now as it had been then, and right now, I was very grateful indeed.
* * *
The next two envelopes contained letters that Hortense had received from Charles when he had been on his archaeological travels. They were fascinating, and we set them to one side to read later.
The final one contained a few black and white photographs of both sets of our parents from the forties. Each one was carefully dated on the back, to the years of the Second World War. They all looked so young, barely more than children, and it was almost impossible to imagine the lives that we knew they were leading at that time. There was a close-up of my mother and father, their eyes shining with what looked like happiness. I had never seen them like this and, once again, felt tinged with the anger and hurt from times past, and slipped the photo into my pocket. I knew that Caro had seen me doing this, and she looked at me, concern showing in her bright blue eyes. For once, I felt unable to meet her direct gaze, and looked the other way.
I went to bed early, exhausted by the lack of sleep from the previous night and the turmoil of my emotions, leaving her in the large shadowy room, still busy on her laptop.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Before leaving the following morning, I looked out of the top-floor windows on both sides of the house again. Everything appeared normal and we drove quickly into town. Parking right outside the solicitor’s office, we hurried in and sat, waiting for any further revelations from Hortense’s will.
Monsieur Couderc welcomed us warmly and took us into his office.
‘I’m so sorry about your aunt. She was a phenomenal woman and I had huge respect for her, as did everyone who knew her. I once asked her to marry me, you know. The age difference meant nothing to me, but she refused, and I never met another woman who came anywhere close to taking her place.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Please, take a seat, and I’ll go through things with you.’
Sifting through the piles of papers on his desk, he eventually pulled out a thick brown folder.
‘Here we are, everything’s in order. To begin, she left these for you.’
He handed over two brown envelopes, and I caught Caro’s eye. We both smiled as we thought of our conversation from the night before.
‘Now,’ he continued, ‘she left very specific instructions. For Angeline, her home help, she left five thousand euros. She has left fifty thousand euros to assist specifically with the ongoing renovations of the church at Rennes-le-Château. She asks that you both oversee this, as she was concerned that the money would disappear into general church coffers, not just for Rennes-le-Château. Secondly, she left a small sum of money to oversee the maintenance of the tomb of Bérenger Saunière, and to ensure that flowers are regularly placed there. The rest of her estate is left to the both of you, equally. Are either of you aware of your aunt’s financial affairs?’
‘No, not really. We know she worked for most of her life, and didn’t have any children so we assumed she wasn’t short of money, but that’s all,’ Caro replied.
‘Well, you may be surprised to know that she had accumulated considerable wealth.’
We looked at each other again. Monsieur Couderc pushed a statement across the desk for us to read. He was right – it was considerable. More noughts than we could easily count… again.
If you leave your bank account numbers with me I will see that the sum is split in equal parts when the due legal process has been completed. It might be a good idea to open another account for the deposit of the other monies. I shall contact Angeline myself.
We agreed to do this and both wrote down our bank details. ‘I’ll open another one, and let you have the number as soon as I’ve done it. I’m sure the church money will be very gratefully received, and we’ll both be very happy to oversee it. To be honest, we’re both a bit staggered about the amount she left us. Do you have any idea where it all came from?’
‘No, not at all. Just like your parents, she was a very private person and didn’t give much away, about herself or her life.’
‘That was certainly true.’
‘I’ve decided to retire in a couple of months. I’m well into my seventies and have had enough. I want to get some decent fishing in before I’m called, but if you need anything I have an excellent replacement lined up, so no need to worry.’
We shook his hand and wished him well.
‘Thank you so much for your help, and for looking after Hortense’s affairs so well.’
‘Not a problem. I had a very soft spot for her, as you now know, and I shall miss her.’
‘So will we… we already do.’
When we reached the door, I held onto Caro’s arm. We needed to get bread, and that entailed another dash across the square. This was achieved without any problems and we were soon back in the car, the two large loaves nestling in tissue paper on the back seat, givin
g off a wonderful aroma.
‘That was all a bit easy. I expected black cars and shady looking men, but there’s nothing. Perhaps they’ve all given up and gone home, whoever they actually are.’
I had been thinking the same thing, although I didn’t think for one minute that ‘they’ had gone home. Their absence only made me more anxious, not less.
‘Benoît, can we pop up to the church at Rennes-le-Château? I need a couple of photos to add to my book, and I wanted to run through the details in the Stations of the Cross with you. If I must be incarcerated in your house, I might as well get on with my work. We can get straight back and open the dreaded envelopes that tell us we’re the children of a mass murderer.’
I thought for a moment. The Stations of the Cross were a fourteen-step Catholic devotion, commemorating Jesus’s supposed last day before he was crucified. Usually in paintings or 2D relief form, they ran around the walls of the church to assist with reflection and prayer. The Stations in Rennes-le-Château were very ornate and had been overpainted and added to by Saunière as part of the trail of clues he left for others to find. Oddly, they ran backwards, or anti-clockwise, which generally represented an opposite, or reversal, or symbolic rewind.
‘I don’t know… it’s not safe.’
‘Oh, come on, Ben. There should be plenty of people about, and the restaurants will be open. We can park close by and it shouldn’t take long.’ I gave in, and headed in the right direction.
‘Wasn’t that sad about Couderc and Hortense? I nearly burst into tears there and then.’
‘I know, I wonder what their relationship was, and why she refused him; her job, perhaps? Or maybe she just didn’t feel the same as he did?’
She pulled a tissue from her bag, and mopped her wet face before continuing.
‘What a waste, all these secrets. I’m going to make sure I write a fat autobiography before I die.’
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