Dark Summer in Bordeaux (28 page)

‘I can’t do that,’ Lannes said, ‘because I approve the intention.’

He sipped his wine. ‘Nevertheless I have to say that I am afraid for them.’

‘Naturally.’

‘On the other hand . . . ’

‘Yes?’

‘On the other hand, I have been afraid ever since the débâcle that Alain would engage in some act of resistance here in Bordeaux, and that this would probably end badly. And I should add that while I scarcely know your godson, there are reasons why it is desirable that the other boy Léon should be out of Bordeaux. Finally, since it seems that all three are determined to join de Gaulle, I can only be grateful to you for having made arrangements which, it seems, involve as little risk as may be possible. But it wasn’t, I think, about this matter that you wished to speak to me.’

St-Hilaire did not reply immediately. He took his monocle from his eye and polished it.

‘I do this,’ he said, ‘when I need to think. It wasn’t on a whim that I asked your son to ask you to come to see me, but now that you’re here . . . ’

He paused again, and Lannes was surprised to find this aristocrat who seemed so sure of himself – as why not in these surroundings? – apparently at a loss, what had seemed to him just a moment ago to be flinty arrogance now splintered.

‘I understand that you have been charged with the investigation into the killing of Professor Labiche.’

‘I was, but I should tell you that the case has been closed, marked unsolved. That is, you will understand, my superiors’ decision.’

‘But you yourself..?’

‘To my mind no murder should be dismissed in this manner.’

It would be impertinent to say, ‘you have some information?’

The thought irritated Lannes. It offended his sense of equality to suppose that a rich man like St-Hilaire should be treated differently from any other who came forward with information, and yet that was how it was.

‘Aristide was an old friend of mine,’ St-Hilaire said. ‘You may be aware that I am also a friend of his daughter, the actress Adrienne Jauzion.’

He replaced his monocle and met Lannes’ eyes.

‘I hadn’t thought to find this embarrassing,’ he said. ‘I am not accustomed to embarrassment. Our relationship is not what you may suppose. We have never been lovers. I regard her as a daughter. She has never had lovers except on the stage. You have spoken to her, and it may be that you have understood this. How shall I put it? She is in need – always – of admiration, but the bedroom door is closed.’

There was pain in his voice. Lannes thought, we’re two men who no longer understand why the world is as it is, and we don’t like it being what we don’t understand.

‘Aristide, however . . . ’ the count said.

He rose and drew a curtain against the afternoon sun.

‘He was an idealist, an unworldly man. He called on me when he returned to Bordeaux, and I urged Adrienne to make peace with him. Since you have talked with her, you will know that she declined to do so. She may have spoken of his politics. That was not the cause of their estrangement. She cares nothing for politics. It was his failure as a father which oppressed her. You will know his brother, the advocate, I suppose. Yes? Well then, I don’t doubt that you have heard stories about him and his tastes? You have? That was how Aristide failed his daughter. When she was eleven. She tells me that she is sure you judged her harshly, because she could not speak to you of these things.When he saw her on his return he spoke of his intention to make amends. But what amends were possible? It was ridiculous. She found it even offensive when he spoke of exposing his brother. But what could that serve? It would make her an object of pity and of course scandal, even if she was herself as innocent as the victim of an outrageous act must be innocent. She pleaded with him to do nothing. And then he was dead. Now you tell me the case is closed. Perhaps that is for the best.’

Lannes was amazed by St-Hilaire’s audacity. If he hadn’t told him the case had been filed away, would he have spoken as he did? But if that had not been his intention, why summon him here?

‘The death was of course accidental,’ St-Hilaire said, ‘the result of a moment of anger and panic, long stored-up anger, outrage and sudden panic. He had acquiesced in the silence, and now, when it could mean nothing, was determined, for his own satisfaction, his own idea of justice, to bring it into the open. You understand? I am sure you do. I may add that it is by her request that I speak to you in this way. So now, in my turn, I ask you if you will think it necessary to speak to her again.’

Lannes placed his glass on the table beside his chair.

‘As I have already said, my superiors have decreed that the case is closed. I have no evidence that would cause me to ask them to reconsider this decision.’

‘Poor Aristide,’ the count said, ‘he was a good man but a weak one who failed in everything he attempted. It was characteristic that he should have been so disgracefully weak at the time of what we need not hesitate to call the crime, and, so many years later, have thought it possible to make amends. As for the brother . . . ’

‘As for the brother,’ Lannes said, ‘he is now, in our present circumstances, a man of influence, even power, well thought of in Vichy.’

‘By the moral architects of our national revolution,’ St-Hilaire said, and Lannes responded to the wintry irony of his words.

‘
Quelques crimes toujours précèdent les grands crimes
,’ the count said, and Lannes recognised the quotation.

‘Madame Jauzion is a remarkable actress,’ he said. ‘Her performance at our two meetings was flawless. Pray give her my compliments. I am surprised to have been told that she fails in Racine, and especially in
Phèdre
which you quote – so appositely, if I may say so.’

The count said, ‘I am pleased we understand each other, and that you also approve of the steps I have taken with regard to your son and his friends. Boys of spirit. I envied their ardour. I shall show you out myself . . . ’

He said this as if doing Lannes an honour.

‘As for
Phèdre
, I suppose that you can play tragedy only if you open yourself to what is tragic and do not prefer to shut such knowledge away and live in denial. Which is itself tragic, for denial renders you incomplete. Or so it appears to me. Nevertheless my affection for her is sincere.’

In the hall, he stopped by the door and took a heavy walking-stick with a silver knob from a stand.

‘This was Aristide’s,’ he said, ‘but you will have no need of it, will you?’

XL

‘So that’s how it seems it was,’ Lannes said.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Moncerre said, ‘and Jesus Christ again. He had a nerve. You believed him, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I believed him.’

‘How could he be sure you wouldn’t act on it?’

‘I’ve wondered about that of course.’

What he couldn’t say to Moncerre: he treated me like a man of honour, not a policeman. It was a form of flattery, and I succumbed as he knew I would.

‘Fucking aristo,’ Moncerre said.

Lannes thought of the count’s smile when he went out of his way to show him what was undoubtedly the murder weapon – their blunt instrument – the late nineteenth-century dandy’s cane with the silver knob which had belonged to the professor and which his daughter in her fury had picked up to stave his head in. It was remarkable and ridiculous. Some crimes always precede the great crimes. Had the count learned, he wondered, of Lannes’ detestation of the advocate Labiche? He thought of Adrienne aged eleven and her uncle, and her father’s pusillanimity. If it had been Clothilde . . .

‘There’s still a puzzle,’ he said now. ‘Assuming, as I’m sure we should, that I’ve just been told the truth about the killing, why was pressure put on Bracal to close down the case and order us to release Sombra? It doesn’t make sense. That pressure didn’t come from St-Hilaire, I’m sure of that.’

‘It’s obvious,’ Moncerre said, ‘whoever stepped in thought that Sombra had done it when the professor wouldn’t hand over whatever was demanded of him, and was afraid he would break under questioning. Just because he made a balls-up of it doesn’t mean “whoever” wasn’t afraid – and with reason.’

‘You may be right.’

‘Makes sense anyway. Not that it matters, does it? We’re fucked either way.’

Lannes wondered if Moncerre despised him for having in effect given his promise of silence to the count.

‘We couldn’t have proved anything,’ he said. ‘There was no evidence. Certainly she had the presence of mind to remove his papers, but I have no doubt that these have now been burned. So all she would have had to do was to deny everything.’

The ‘bull-terrier’ grinned.

‘You don’t need to make excuses, boss. Not to me. I don’t give a damn, you know. But I would have enjoyed having another go at that effing Spaniard. That’s the truth. He may be innocent of this one, but if ever I saw a man who was asking for it, it’s that bastard. One day he’ll be ours. And that effing advocate too. So what now?’

‘What now? Nothing,’ Lannes said. ‘There’s nothing to be done now.’

Moncerre said, ‘Have you heard, a Boche sailor was stabbed near the Porte du Palais last night?’

‘That’s nothing for us either,’ Lannes said. ‘That’s for the gendarmerie, or for their own police.’

‘It was probably a quarrel over a girl, nothing more than that,’ Moncerre said. ‘No business of ours anyway, as you say. Pity whoever did it made a botch of the job though.’

The sky was a deep summer-blue with a breeze from the Atlantic making the leaves on the plane trees tremble. It was a day like a Charles Trenet record, inviting you to be idle and happy. Lannes walked without purpose. It was again enough to be out of the office and alone. Even the ache in his hip was still. He sat outside a little bar in the rue du Vieil Temple and ordered a beer. He couldn’t account for his mood, for his freedom from anxiety, his unaccustomed contentment. The words, ‘it’s a moment out of time,’ came to him.

Léon appeared, leading Toto, hesitated a moment when he saw him, and responded when Lannes raised his hand.

‘Henri thought you’d deserted him,’ Lannes said.

The boy flushed and sat down.

‘No,’ he said, ‘not that.’

The waiter approached and Léon asked for a lemonade.

‘Alain has spoken to me,’ Lannes said.

‘And?’

‘Perhaps it’s for the best.’

Léon said, ‘It’s strange. What we are doing, it’s right, I’m sure of that. So why do I feel I’m running away?’

‘Have you told your mother?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Or your Aunt Miriam? No? I’ll see to that, when you’ve gone.

There’s nothing you can do to protect them, you must know that. So there is no reason to feel guilty.’

‘But I do.’

‘Oh, I understand that. One never needs a reason to feel guilty. I trust you to look after Alain. He’s headstrong and rash, needs restraint.’

For a little they sat in silence. Then Lannes said, ‘I have the impression you know yourself better than Alain knows himself. You’ve had reason to learn what and who you are as he hasn’t. That’s why I ask you to look after him. And the other boy?’

‘Jérôme looks soft. But he isn’t.’

‘Good. I’m glad to hear that.’

It was strange. He had felt sympathy for Léon, pity too. Now he found that he respected him.

He said, ‘Only one thing. Say good-bye properly to Henri. Don’t just slip away without a word. You’ll find he understands you.’

Léon drank his lemonade, and said, ‘I’d better get Toto back. Henri worries if I have him out for long in case he over-exerts himself. Not that he ever would, he’s a lazy old thing. Do you remember, you once told me to forget that you are a policeman.’ He smiled. ‘I think I’ve just managed to.’

Lannes remained outside the little bar for a long time, enjoying sunshine and idleness. In two days Léon would have gone, Karim also, and he could speak to Kordlinger. It wouldn’t be easy. Kord-linger might suspect he had been playing a double game, bringing him information only when it could be of no use. There would be a black mark against his name, branded unreliable. Well, things would get worse. At least he had put in the application for an ‘ausweis’ which would permit him to go to Vichy to meet Edmond de Grimaud. There should be no difficulty about that. Edmond had readily agreed to authorise his journey. And Dominique already had his ‘ausweis’ and was eager, even impatient, to join Maurice and take up the position secured for him as an officer in the Chantiers de Jeunesse. So he would have one son in Vichy, the other with the Free French; an insurance policy for the family? That wasn’t really a welcome thought. But which thoughts were welcome now? And what would Marguerite say when she learned of Alain’s departure? If only they could speak to each other as they used to do.