Paris Requiem

by Lisa Appignanesi

  The area around the Grand Hotel had an air of busy normality. But for the proliferation of uniformed officers, who paraded in two’s at regular intervals along the length of the boulevard, their were no traces of the anarchist incident Raf had mentioned. After a moment’s hesitation, James shunned the entrance of the hotel. He didn’t want to see Raf yet, who might just be in his room. He wasn’t ready for disclosures nor the painful speculation which would inevitably follow.

  Instead he headed a little further along the Boulevard des Capucines and allowed himself to be ushered into a café which displayed a placard announcing ‘Cinématographie – fondée par les Frères Lumières de Lyon.’ Beyond the tables, rows of chairs had been set up for a theatrical presentation. He sat down near the front, just as the screen before him flickered into life. There was a collective gasp from the audience. A locomotive lurched towards them, gathering speed as it went. A woman screamed. So lifelike was the train’s motion, that James too ducked uncomfortably in his chair. He had seen magic lantern shows before, but never anything quite like this.

  The locomotive dissolved into pinpoints of light. From somewhere behind him, there came a loud whirring sound and then the screen filled again, this time with a dappled, magical spray of water. A man was holding a garden hose. Its stream caught passers-by unaware. Their faces were so close, James could feel their astonishment, the impact of the water. They skipped and ran and the man laughed. He laughed and laughed, like a vaudeville comedian, and the audience laughed too. They all tumbled and laughed and waited in breathless anticipation. Because it was clear that at any moment, the sprayer would become the sprayed. When the sunlit stream finally soaked him, tension exploded into raucous applause.

  How could he be applauding a mere illusion, James wondered. And laughing, laughing so that his stitches tugged and prickled, laughing in the midst of these last weeks’ sorrows.

  After the flickering blacks and whites and greys of the cinématographe, the brightly painted world of the boulevard itself looked illusory. People and carriages hurtled at him. Mouths moved in exaggerated motion without producing sound. He dived into the safety of the hotel, collected keys and post, and went up to his room.

  Raf wasn’t there. James washed. He examined himself in the mirror and felt for a moment that his powers of observation had been sharpened by the screen. His face had an unfamiliar cast. It had grown more gaunt where the light caught his cheekbone. The bruise at the edge of his jaw had a yellowish tinge which moved into purple at its centre like a discoloured pool of stagnant water. He shaved round it carefully, his eyes looking out at him with cool, blue amusement. He refused their steadiness. They reflected nothing of his preoccupations.

  With a shrug, he went to find the portrait of Olympe. He positioned it on the desk in such a way that he could study it when he stretched out on the bed. Seeing Olympe’s notebook, he popped it into his jacket pocket. Tomorrow he would give it to the Chief Inspector.

  Taking his post with him, he lay down. Olympe stared out at him with that direct gaze which only augmented her mystery. He looked back at her, then with a sigh, tore open the envelopes.

  His mother’s first. He breezed through the script hardly taking it in and put it aside. Mrs Elliott asking whether he might join them for lunch today. Too late. He didn’t recognise the handwriting of the last. It was Harriet’s, conveying Ellie’s greetings and saying they missed him.

  He lay there a little longer, gazing at Olympe, then with sudden urgency, he donned fresh clothes, and having left a telephone message for Marguerite saying he would stay at the hotel tonight, he went out into the streets.

  Harriet opened the door to him. Her face was drawn, her hair a little dishevelled. She tidied it with a nervous gesture as he mouthed a ‘How is she?’ He realised as he said it, that it would have been polite to ask after Harriet’s own welfare first.

  ‘Fine, just fine. Rather gay.’ The words ran counter to her expression. It made him uneasy. Harriet, he had assumed, was incapable of duplicity.

  ‘She’ll be delighted to see you.’

  ‘But you’re not?’ James heard himself enquire.

  ‘No, no.’ She flushed with embarrassment. ‘It’s just that I seem to have been running all day. And it’s been so impossibly hot. Please, please. Do go in to her. I’ll join you soon.’ She hurried off.

  Ellie was not in her usual place. Her chair had been wheeled to the round table at the opposite end of the room from the divan. She sat there, her head bowed over a notebook, her pen scratching the page at a furious pace. She didn’t look up until James had murmured a ‘Hello, Ellie dear,’ and when she did, it was as if she didn’t recognise him. His heart sank.

  ‘Harriet tells me you’re much improved.’

  ‘Harriet was ever one of the world’s great optimists. She doesn’t see the mud at her feet, even when she’s fallen into it. Hello, Jim. How’ve you been?’ She acknowledged him at last.

  ‘Not too badly. Though Raf probably explained. I had a little run-in with a gorilla. Which is why I haven’t been in to see you.’

  She took this in good stead, as if she were the old Ellie once more. ‘A gorilla, Jim. Why, you could manage two. Even if you were strapped by lianas in the deepest jungle. You never had a chocolate eclair for a spine.’

  He noticed as he sat down opposite her that she was heavily made up. Her cheeks were rouged, her eyes outlined in kohl, her lips painted scarlet. The effect was unnerving. Beneath it, he could see the pallor. Her hands trembled slightly, whether in excitement or weakness, he couldn’t be sure.

  ‘So Dr Ponsard has proved as good as his recommendation?’

  She blinked, as if she hadn’t understood him.

  ‘Dr Ponsard has helped?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes.’ She closed the notebook, placed it on the chair beside her. ‘A veritable healer. A magnificent man. He just has to touch me and all the aches and pains leap out of the window to find another subject. So much pain in the world. One wouldn’t want to hoard it for an elite. One welcomes the great bringers of democracy.’

  ‘Your wit has found you again.’

  ‘My wit, Jim? You flatter me. Still, flattery is all. I thank you.’ She touched her forehead with a dramatic oriental flourish. ‘By the way, do you find Harriet altered? She’s become so humble. It makes me want to kick her. But then I can’t kick, can I, Jim?’ Her titter rose into shrillness, brought a hastily covered hiccup to her lips.

  James masked his concern. ‘Has Dr Ponsard given you some medication, Ellie?’

  ‘Shelves full of medication. Little jolts of electricity. Not unpleasurable, I assure you. But …’ She lowered her voice and brought her head nearer to his. ‘I daresay his best prescription has been for three large goblets of rouge a day. If I didn’t know better, Jim, I’d think you men had hatched a full-blown conspiracy. Raf prescribed that aeons ago. How is my younger brother, by the way. Has he found Olympe’s murderer yet?’

  There was no change in her face with the question, as if the whole matter of Olympe’s death had become a subject for trivial gossip. His sister’s forced loquacity, James determined, was due to tipsiness. And tipsiness was far better than the delirium he had witnessed.

  ‘Has he?’

  James shook his head. ‘Though I think we’re getting close.’

  ‘Close to discovering what I’ve known all along.’ Ellie honoured him with a regal smile. ‘Close to discovering that she chose her end herself. And if you don’t, you’ll be here forever. Oh Harriet, dear, there you are. Why don’t you ask Violette to open a bottle for us? Jim is thirsty. I can see it in his face. And hungry perhaps. We’ve eaten, Jim, but the house can rise to a little nibble. Oh, I almost forgot … Go on, Harriet. Go.’ She snapped at her friend and turned back to James.

  ‘We’re planning a fête for Saturday night. You and Raf and the Elliotts and Marguerite and all our friends. No, there’s no getting out of it. You must be here. Both of you. It’s my farewell party. Farewell to Paris. Has
n’t Harriet mentioned it? I’m going back. Mother wants it. You want it. Everyone wants it and I’m going back. Sailing next week. Charlotte and Mrs E have had enough, too, and are coming along. They’ve got their wardrobes, they’ve been to Worth’s, they’ve done the museums and they want to spend the rest of the summer in Provincetown. Toodle-oo to Paree.’

  ‘Why that’s wonderful, Ellie. I’m sure you’ll feel ever so much better once you set foot in Boston. And Mother will be so pleased. She’s missed you. She been lonely.’

  ‘Do you think so, Jim?’ Her voice was suddenly hard. ‘I suspect she’s missed Raf just a teensy weensy bit more. But never mind.’

  ‘Is Harriet going with you?’

  ‘Would that make you join us, Jim? No, no. Don’t splutter. I know you’re just a little sweet on her.’

  ‘I may join you in any case. If everything is in order here.’

  ‘In order.’ She laughed. ‘No, no, Jim. Don’t join me. That would be foolish. You’re far better off here. For a little while longer, in any case. It’s made you … Oh thank you, Harriet. Just put it here and let Jim pour. Will you join us? No?’ She leaned forward conspiratorially and announced in a stage whisper, ‘Harriet doesn’t approve of my medication. She thinks it robs me of my wit. Nay, my seriousness. She wants to discuss President McKinley. I’ve told her there’s no one there to discuss. The man is living proof of the adage that anyone can become president of the great United States of America. Anyone white and male, that is.’

  Harriet’s face had grown as stiff as a poker. Her eyes were shuttered.

  ‘Do join us, Harriet. Ellie has just told me the good news. I’m sure you’ve considered travelling with her … If there’s anything I can do to help you make up your mind.’

  ‘No. No. My mind is made up. Thank you, Mr Norton. I’ll … I’ll join you in a few moments.’

  The woman had barely left the room when Ellie laughed. ‘There, you see. I’ve offended her again. She offends more easily than a king’s faded mistress. It’s quite extraordinary.’

  James cut her off. ‘There’s something I’d like to ask you about.’ He poured them each a glass.

  ‘Ask away. No hesitation necessary. You’re rather good at hesitation, Jim. No, no, that’s not quite right. You barge right in and then you hesitate as if perhaps you oughtn’t to have done the barging. It’s grand really. Like some dance. Two steps forward, one step back. With delicacy.’

  ‘That’s enough, Ellie.’ It came out as a bark and she slumped back into her chair.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Enough.’

  ‘I only meant …’ He handed her the glass.

  ‘What did you want to ask me?’

  He raised his glass to her. ‘Come on, Ellie. Let’s drink a toast. To Ellie who’s come back to herself.’

  She drank like a greedy child, then raised her eyes at him above the top of her glass. ‘Where do you think I was, Jim?’

  He laughed nervously. ‘Wandering. Dreaming.’

  ‘Yes, I like that. If one’s feet can’t wander, then one’s dreams do. Do you think there’s a rule in there, Jim? One for general application. ‘

  ‘Perhaps.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You’re not wearing your pretty bracelet, Ellie. The one Raf gave you.’

  ‘Am I not?’ She examined her arm. ‘No. I guess I’m not. I hope it hasn’t been mislaid again.’

  ‘Where could you have put it? I’ll find it for you.’

  ‘Don’t bother. Just ask Harriet. Harriet knows everything, finds everything. In fact, it’s getting rather irritating.’

  ‘You exaggerate, Ellie.’

  ‘Do I? Yes, you’re right. It’s what I do best. I exaggerate.’ She laughed, storm tears gathering in her eyes. She contained them.

  ‘You know what, my darling brother. I do believe it’s my bedtime. I have to build up my strength for our party. You’ll be there, won’t you, Jim. And you’ll bring Raf. That’s an order. Now get Violette for me and see if you can put a smile in Harriet’s eyes or I dare say I shall ask her not to join us on the night.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ For a moment she rose to the challenge, her face like a figurehead on a Viking prow. Then she shrank back into herself. ‘No, you’re probably right. I can’t. Need is a terrible thing, Jim. Leave me now.’

  He found Harriet in the dining room. There was a book in front of her, but her eyes weren’t on it. Behind her spectacles, they were clouded in misery.

  ‘She’s a little drunk, Harriet. It makes one voluble.’

  She nodded once, briefly. He sat down opposite her. ‘Would you like to go home and get a good night’s sleep. I can stay with her.’

  ‘Hasn’t Ellie told you? No, of course not. She told me she wanted me to stay here. She begged me, ordered me to sublet my rooms. Well I did that. Just a few days ago.’

  ‘I see.’

  She took off her glasses and met his eyes.

  ‘Well, if you don’t sail with her, you can stay on here. Until … well, until it suits you. Don’t worry, Harriet. We’ll work it out. I know she’s grateful to you.’

  ‘Do you?’

  The force of her utterance made him a little unsure. He got up again, looked out into the darkened courtyard. It gave back only his own reflection.

  ‘Tell me,’ he began softly. ‘Have you seen a bracelet of Ellie’s? An emerald one that Raf gave her.’

  She scraped her chair back from the table, shut her book forcibly. ‘Yes I have. Didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘You mean she offered it to you. Gave it to you?’

  ‘No, that’s not at all what I mean.’ She wrung her hands in agitation.

  He sat down again. ‘What do you mean then?’

  ‘You won’t like it. I didn’t like it.’

  ‘Tell me in any case.’

  ‘She made me. She made me bring it to that woman’s grave. She said it was rightfully hers and she wanted to give it to her. I told her it was a mad idea and she said I was in no position to judge her ideas or anything else. We argued. It wasn’t pleasant.’ Her face blazed. ‘I wish I hadn’t done it. I wish I had behaved like the servant I’ve become and lied, lied blatantly and kept the bracelet. There. I’ve said it now.’

  ‘You did the right thing, Harriet. Don’t worry about it any more. She’s still ill, you know.’

  ‘That’s what I keep having to remind myself.’

  ‘We all do that, Harriet. We’ve all had to do that for a long time.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Chief Inspector Durand leaned on his stick. His face wore the sceptical discontent of a busy man urged to gamble once more on shares in the bankrupt Panama Canal. In front of him, two men with spades flung earth from Olympe Fabre’s grave. James stood by, his face averted.

  It was four o’clock on another blistering afternoon and it was true that by the time they had arrived at the grave, the soil held few traces of the moisture James had witnessed the previous day. Nonetheless, he had implored the Chief Inspector to make good his hunch, even though he wasn’t certain to what it might lead. With an exaggerated Gallic shrug, Durand had agreed. His look implied that James would owe him several favours in return for this wild goose chase.

  A thump of the spade indicated that the men had reached the casket. They cleared the remaining earth and passed two thick belts round the middle of the coffin. They edged it up slowly so that it rested on the surface of the ground. Insects scuttled around it. Fat brown worms wriggled, racing from the light. With a nod from Durand, who had a handkerchief to his nose, the men levered open the wood.

  The smell came first, an odour of decay which made James, too, reach for his handkerchief. He wished he could cover his eyes with it, for Olympe lay there despite his dark intimations. She was shrouded in a white sheet discoloured and mottled here and there with blotches of what might be bodily fluid. The sheet heaved with the ghost of breath.

  ‘Maggots,’ Durand whispered. He seemed to be following the traje
ctory of James’s gaze. ‘She’s here. Let’s go.’ His words stopped abruptly. They both saw it at the same shrivelling instant. The shroud had come away at the top. Olympe’s face was partially visible, the eyelids closed, but where her eyebrows should have been, there was a jagged laceration, so deep that it severed the entirety of her forehead over which the hair lay askew.

  James leaned back against the wall. He couldn’t look and he couldn’t not look. He watched a bird flap onto the branch of a tree. He watched Durand gesture to the men to raise Olympe’s head. One of them swore, ‘The top’s come away.’

  Durand placed his handkerchief on the ground and kneeled. He muttered something under his breath. James was grateful that his squat body blocked his view of the poor, dead girl, for his eyes had strayed to her again now against his will. After a moment, the Chief Inspector stumbled upright and spat on his hand, wiping it with the top of the hankie.

  ‘Cover her up,’ he ordered the men. His voice was unusually shrill. ‘We can go, Monsieur Norton. Quickly, quickly.’ He wouldn’t meet James’s eyes, nor, despite his query, did he speak again until they had left the cemetery behind them. He walked with a kind of desperation. At the first café, he gestured James in and rushed for the WC.

  James ordered two brandies at the bar and had downed his before the Chief Inspector reappeared.

  ‘Let’s sit for a moment. And coffees, garçon, bring us two.’ He carried his glass to a far table. ‘You were right,’ he said as he sat down. ‘Someone’s been in there. Our pathologist didn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t.’ He shook his head darkly.

  ‘Who would?’

  ‘Did you see, then?’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘Her head …’ Durand gulped down his brandy.

  James nodded. ‘But why? Why?’

  ‘That’s what we’re going to find out.’

  ‘Do you think it’s vandalism? Those same hooligans who sent the package of excrement to my brother?’

  Durand didn’t answer.