Dark Summer in Bordeaux (33 page)

‘Bracal tells me I can speak to you frankly, and that I may expect frankness in return. Good. That’s what I like to hear. How are things in Bordeaux?’

‘Not good, and getting worse.’

Lannes sat in the chair on the other side of the desk. There were only two chairs in the room which was scarcely furnished. A green metal filing-cabinet seemed an incongruous article under the huge Second Empire chandelier.

‘You can call me Vincent. I should explain, this is an outpost, manned only by myself and Georges who received you. Our headquarters, as you may know, are in Marseilles, largely because the boss’s mother used to teach school there and so he knows the city. Bracal says you know something of our work.’

‘What I’ve seen of it hasn’t impressed me,’ Lannes said. ‘A man who called himself Félix. I’m a policeman. I don’t like spooks.’

‘Nevertheless, you’ve come here as our mutual friend Bracal suggested you should. Why?’

Lannes thought, he’s testing me. I must remember that he is probably cleverer than he looks. He lit a cigarette, and said, ‘Curiosity.’

‘Good answer. Bracal’s spoken about you. He thinks we may think alike.’

‘I don’t know what you think.’

‘Of course you don’t. So I’ll speak frankly. We’re a small organisation, full-time staff not more than twenty-five, perhaps twenty-seven. Not a lot, eh? Not for the work we have to do. So we need to recruit agents, mostly people to keep us informed – we’ve a couple of hundred already, a few more than that maybe – it’s not my department, keeping count. What’s their job? Keeping us up to date about, for instance, German activities in the Occupied Zone. There you are! I haven’t surprised you, have I? Of course,’ he gestured at the portrait on the wall behind him, ‘we’re loyal to the Marshal, couldn’t be otherwise, could it? Not if we are to survive. And the Marshal has committed France to a policy of collaboration. How do we reconcile this with our activities?’

‘How do you?’

‘We take this line. The old man says what he has to say. But is what he says what he thinks? Nobody knows. Some of us make guesses. They may be informed guesses, but again they may not?

Who do you think will win the war?’

‘There’s not much fighting, is there?’ Lannes smiled for the first time, amused by the abrupt change of direction. ‘Germany seems to be victorious.’

‘Seems? Good word. I’ve read your dossier of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘Médaille Militaire and all that.’

‘A long time ago and in another war.’

‘Which we won. One up, one down, eh?’

‘Two down,’ Lannes said, ‘1870.’

‘Which we recovered from, to win the return match.’

‘Which we recovered from. Eventually.’

‘Good,’ Vincent said, ‘I think we understand each other. You’re in trouble with the Boches, Bracal tells me.’

‘If he says so.’

‘Oh, he does, I assure you he does.’

‘If I am, it’s thanks to your friend Félix. I didn’t care for his methods. And he made a mess of things. I suppose – from what I know of his ways – because he frightened his quarry, who was, as it happens, an honourable man and took what he considered to be the honourable way out. Or perhaps he was just afraid. I don’t know. Either way, your precious Félix bungled things, and has caused a deal of trouble.’

‘He can be a bit crude. Nevertheless. Chap called Kordlinger, isn’t it? You can’t satisfy him? Funny thing. His grandmother was French, born French anyway.’

‘So he told me, or at least said his grandfather was born a French citizen.’

‘Quite right. So he was. Grandma too, but she was also Jewish. Bet he didn’t tell you that?’

Lannes said, ‘I don’t suppose it’s something he would broadcast. Is it true?’

‘Oh yes, it’s not something I would lie to you about. No point in lying unless it’s necessary. Don’t you agree?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Cousin of his, distant cousin, works for us. Jew himself.’

‘Here in Vichy?’

‘Well, Marseilles actually. It’s not as unusual as you may suppose. Not everyone here is entirely in favour of the anti-Jewish legislation. Makes no sense to me, personally, and, as for you, I have you down as a good Republican, That right?’

‘As much as I’m anything.’

‘Good,’ Vincent’s smile broadened. ‘Very good. No time for enthusiasm myself. Does a lot of damage, enthusiasm. Félix’s trouble, you know. He was a good man in his way – I mean, at his work, I’m not talking about his character, another business altogether, but . . . enthusiastic. Too much so for us. Bit of a loose cannon, as the saying goes. So we’ve had to sideline him, office job, can’t do much harm shuffling paper. So, again: what do you say? Happy to keep us informed, are you? Good, Bracal’ll fix it. Good man, Bracal, speaks very highly of you. Enjoy your lunch with de Grimaud, Oh yes, I know about that. He’s one of those we keep tabs on. Interesting chap, don’t you think? Likely to jump the wrong way, however. That’s my opinion, personal one, you know.’

XLVI

The Hôtel des Ambassadeurs seemed exactly as it had been when Lannes met Edmond de Grimaud there the previous year. The tables in the foyer were again fully occupied. Waiters floated about with silver trays held aloft. There were flowers in pots – roses, hydrangeas, carnations, freesias – and an air of comfort and unhurried elegance. But then nobody, Lannes thought, hurried in Vichy. At the back of the room four old people were playing bridge; perhaps they were the same four he had seen on his previous visit; it was as if they hadn’t moved in the intervening months. A bald man, with the ribbon of the Légion d’Honneur in his lapel, was dealing the cards with slow deliberation. Lannes thought he recognised him: a minister in several of the Cabinets of the Third Republic, now marking time here in Vichy? He paused in the middle of his dealing to pick up the cigar that was smoking in an ashtray, and kept it clenched in the middle of his mouth as he dealt out the last cards and arranged his hand.

Lannes went through to the bar where, in contrast to the foyer, only a few tables were occupied.

The young barman greeted him as if he was a familiar and respected customer. Lannes remembered how he had looked on him with resentment on his last visit, when Dominique had been a prisoner of war and he had wondered how this young man had contrived to escape military service.

‘I have a message from Monsieur de Grimaud, sir. He apologises for being delayed and says he will be with you as soon as possible. Meanwhile he has instructed me to open a bottle of champagne for you.’

‘I’d rather have a pastis,’ Lannes said.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but we are no longer permitted to serve it, not since the prohibition of aniseed-based liquors.’

He twisted the wire off a bottle of Perrier-Jouet, deftly popped the cork, poured Lannes a glass and replaced the bottle in the ice-bucket, with a napkin wrapped round its neck.

Particles of dust floated in the sunlight which streamed through the windows of the bar.

‘We can still get pastis in Bordeaux,’ Lannes said.

‘Then you are fortunate, sir.’

‘Nice to be fortunate in one respect.’

‘Indeed yes.’

The barman smiled, as if inviting Lannes to join him in the pretence that all was for the best, or at least to agree that irony was their only possible defence against the reality of the way things were.

‘You may be interested to know that Monsieur Laval agrees with you about pastis,’ he said, ‘but the management forbids me to keep a bottle even for him. We still have bottles of course, but they’re under lock and key, until . . . ’ He smiled again, engagingly.

‘Until . . . ?’

‘Who knows? Perhaps one day they will be liberated. Meanwhile, there’s no pastis even for Monsieur Laval.’

‘Well, he’s in the shit, isn’t he, since they kicked him out last December. Put him under house arrest, didn’t they?’

‘Till his German friends stepped in, to countermand the order.

As for that one, he may be in the shit, as you put it, for now, but he’ll rise again, you can be sure of that. His type always does. Meanwhile when he comes here on his rare visits to the town, he tells me how happy he is to be out of power and watching his Charolais cattle in the meadows. I don’t believe him of course. He’s a deep one.’

‘You speak very frankly,’ Lannes said.

‘And why not, sir? This is Vichy where we all say what we think even though we don’t always think what we say.’

Lannes smiled in his turn and took his glass over to a table by the window. The barman followed with the ice-bucket and a stand to place it in.

‘I trust you will enjoy your visit, sir. It’s very good wine, you know, always the best for Monsieur de Grimaud.’

‘I expect you’re right.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Lannes was content to wait. It certainly was good wine, much better than the bottle Gustave had produced the morning the boys took the train out of Bordeaux. As the barman had said, nothing but the best for Monsieur de Grimaud. Lannes felt for the brown envelope in his inside pocket.

‘My dear superintendent . . . ’

Edmond de Grimaud approached him with hand outstretched. Lannes hesitated a moment before accepting it.

‘I trust Pierre has been looking after you.’

‘Certainly.’

De Grimaud settled himself at the table, accepted the glass which the barman handed him.

‘Your health, superintendent.’

Lannes nodded but did not lift his glass. He was uncomfortably aware of de Grimaud’s elegance, the well-cut navy-blue suit, the cream-coloured silk shirt, the neatly knotted bow-tie, the highly polished black shoes, the whiff of bay rum from his sleek hair.

‘Let me say how delighted I am to see you again, and add that Maurice is equally, perhaps even more, delighted, that your Dominique has come to join him in the excellent work he is doing.

They had dinner with me last night. Your son is a charming boy and I am so pleased to have been able to be of some assistance in arranging for his repatriation. It is not good for young people to be held in prisoner-of-war camps. I only wish we could get them all home. We are of course working on that; it is one of the prime objects of our policy of collaboration, as you will know. As for my Maurice, the work he is doing has been the making of him. He is no longer the troubled adolescent you knew in Bordeaux. The transformation has indeed been remarkable. Meanwhile, if you permit, we shall eat here in the bar. I’ve been summoned unexpectedly to a meeting this afternoon with the Marshal and Admiral Darlan. Pierre, would you be kind enough to bring us some smoked salmon? I am so sorry, superintendent, I had looked forward to a long leisurely lunch, and it is possible to eat well here.’

Lannes took the envelope from his pocket and pushed it across the table.

‘These are Aristide Labiche’s papers,’ he said. ‘As you see, I haven’t opened the envelope to examine them.’

De Grimaud made no move to pick it up. It lay on the table like an accusation.

‘I think this clears me of my debt,’ Lannes said. ‘Of course it may be of no significance, I can’t tell, but since your nephew Sigi’s man, Sombra, went to some lengths to get hold of it . . . ’

‘But not to the length of murder?’

‘Not this time.’

‘That poor Aristide,’ de Grimaud said. ‘I knew him when he was a journalist in Paris. Such a clever man, such a fool. Have you discovered who did kill him?’

‘The case is closed. And as for poor Aristide . . . ’ He put his finger on the envelope . . . ‘I would rather say, “poor Pilar . . . ”.’

‘Such a lovely girl,’ de Grimaud said. ‘I’m grateful to you, of course. As you say, this envelope’ – he stretched forward, picked it up, and put it in his pocket – ‘assuming it contains what I expect it to contain, then indeed, we are, as the Americans say, “quits”. You have had no more trouble with his deplorable brother, the advocate Labiche, I trust?’

‘It depends what you mean by trouble,’ Lannes said. ‘What’s his connection with Sombra?’

De Grimaud raised an eyebrow.

‘His connection with Señor Sombra? I wasn’t aware that there was one.’

‘Sombra called at his offices, at least twice, to let him know, I believe, that Aristide was in Bordeaux. It seems possible – I put it no more strongly – that if he had found this envelope, he would have delivered it to the advocate, perhaps to have the contents copied or photographed, before handing it on to you or, rather, your nephew Sigi. There’s nothing in Sombra’s dossier which suggests he is trustworthy. He has done time for blackmail and he’s the sort who would sell his grandmother if the price was right.’

De Grimaud raised his chin and stroked it. He took a cigar from a dull-red Morocco leather case, clipped the end off with a silver guillotine, held a match to it to warm the tobacco, lit it, and blew out smoke. Pierre the barman approached and refilled their glasses. In the far corner of the bar a young man with dark curly hair settled himself at the piano and began to play a Strauss waltz.

‘Is there more?’ de Grimaud said.

‘Speculation only. The advocate has a reputation. You know of course that he shares your brother the count’s tastes, but is more daring and demanding than the count.’

‘My unfortunate brother,’ de Grimaud said. ‘He’s an idiot, of course. My father bullied him and so he never became a man.’

‘You made use of this knowledge to threaten the advocate on my behalf and cause him to back off when he was trying to ruin me. I’m grateful to you, it goes without saying. Now, besides being a blackmailer, thief and hired killer, Sombra’s a pimp,’ Lannes said. ‘He’s also a very frightened man. Well, if you play as many sides as he does, you’ve a lot to be frightened of. We had him in custody – you’ll know this – suspected of killing Aristide. I was ordered to release him. Someone leaned on the examining magistrate. I don’t think that was you?’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘So who was it?’

De Grimaud frowned, made no reply, drew on his cigar, waited for Lannes to continue.

‘And why?’ Lannes said.

‘I have no idea. Evidently you have. So?’

Lannes said, ‘We don’t think alike, Monsieur de Grimaud. There’s no point making a secret of that, or pretending that we do. Moreover, since we are speaking frankly – or, at least I am, for you have said very little – I have no doubt about the circumstances of my shooting outside the Hotel Splendide. There’s no need to go into that. We have since come to some sort of understanding. You have done me a service for which I am grateful, and which I have repaid by securing that envelope for you. As you said we are quits. That was the word you used, wasn’t it? So I owe you nothing now.