Dark Summer in Bordeaux (36 page)

As soon as he turned his key in the door of their apartment he knew Marguerite was home. If anyone had asked him how he knew, he might have replied, ‘Twenty-five years of marriage.’ He had never thought of it before, but now it came to him that no matter how strained relations between them might be, these twenty-five years couldn’t be wiped away. They had contributed to making each of them what they were. If Marguerite lived only for their children and their home and refused to take an interest in his work or the world beyond her immediate circle, wasn’t this because he had himself chosen to shut her out of so great a part of his life?

‘Why are you home so early?’ she said.

‘How’s your mother? Better, I trust?’

‘It was nothing really, as usual,’ she said. ‘Just in need of attention and reassurance. How did you leave Dominique?’

‘Well and happy, I think. As for being home now, I have to tell you I’ve been suspended from duty.’

He hadn’t been sure he would tell her. Then it seemed impossible not to.

‘It’s a long story,’ he said. ‘Do you want to hear it?’

For a moment it seemed as if she was about to turn away. Then she sat down. He stood looking out of the window, at nothing really.

‘You know we’re required to collaborate with the Germans,’ he began.

He told her everything from his meeting with the spook Félix, about Léon, not concealing that he was one of Alain’s companions, the wretched Schussmann’s suicide, the Café Jules and the boy Karim, Fernand’s role, Kordlinger’s demand and his defiance of it. Everything, even details which he knew would disgust her.

‘So?’ he said. ‘Have I been a fool?’

She laid aside the knitting to which she had attended throughout his recital.

‘Why do you ask me that?’

‘Because I have to, just as I decided I had to tell you the whole story. So: have I been a fool?’

‘You know you have. You must also know I wouldn’t have wished for you to behave otherwise.The boys you speak of – well, what you say they are disgusts me, you know that, insofar as I understand it, and I’m sorry to think that one of them is Alain’s friend as you say he is, but they have mothers and if some policeman was to hand over any of our children to that German, what would I think? I’d want to tear his eyes out.’

‘Thank you.’

For the first time in days she smiled to him.

‘There’s a postcard from Alain,’ she said. ‘It hadn’t occurred to me that he might be able to write to us, that there was still a postal service with North Africa.’

She got up to fetch it. A photograph of the Marshal.

‘All well and happy,’ Alain had written. ‘Don’t worry. Lots of Love. A.’

‘It makes me feel better,’ she said.

A photograph of the Marshal, Lannes thought; it was as if d’Artagnan had sent a card with the image of the Cardinal.

XLIX

Of course he was late. His arrogance, characteristic in Lannes’ experience of the natural killer, wouldn’t permit him to be the one to arrive first. Doubtless it wasn’t only arrogance; there was wariness too. He would want to make sure Lannes was alone before he presented himself. When he arrived, looking like a fashionable man about town in a newly pressed biscuit-coloured linen suit with silk shirt and silk tie, he was all smiles.

‘What’s this you are drinking?’ he said, ‘a
petit vin blanc
, superintendent? How modest.’

‘Have what you please,’ Lannes said. ‘I wasn’t sure old Marthe would give you my message.’

Sigi continued to smile, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

‘Poor old woman,’ he said, ‘she suffers from delusions, you know. And have you solved the case of that poor professor who got his head bashed in?’

‘The case is closed,’ Lannes said.

‘So you have decided my poor friend Sombra is innocent? Your inspector was rather rough with him.’

‘No rougher than he deserved. You haven’t spoken to Edmond recently?’

‘Why should you think that?’

‘Because you still refer to Sombra as your friend.’

‘And why not?’

‘We had him in custody. Someone applied pressure to have him released. It wasn’t Edmond. So who was it? It’s a question that should interest you, Sigi.’

Sigi caught the waiter’s attention.

‘Bring us a bottle of champagne,’ he said, ‘the best you have.’

‘He’s been turned,’ Lannes said. ‘You can’t rely on him now. There are people in Vichy, even in Vichy, who don’t like Edmond. I don’t suppose they much care for you either.’

‘Are you threatening me, superintendent?’

‘Threatening you? I’m in no position to threaten anyone. Call it rather a warning. There’s nothing simple or straightforward in Vichy. You should know that.’

The waiter popped the champagne.

‘Your health, superintendent.’

He leaned back in his chair, holding his glass aloft and watching the bubbles dance.

‘Should I be grateful?’ he said. ‘I don’t think so. That poor Sombra, he’s nothing really, a nothing man. And as for what you say about Vichy, it’s true of course, but of no importance. I was surprised, I don’t mind telling you, to receive your message, and even curious. After all, our previous dealings have not always been agreeable. But if it was only to warn me against Sombra, it’s of no significance. Do you remember, superintendent, when we met here in this café a year ago – or perhaps when we had that other conversation in the public garden? I told you that there are two kinds of people in the world, Masters and Slaves, and two kinds of morality, that of the Masters – the
Herren
, as Nietzsche puts it, and that of the
Sklaven
– the Slaves. Poor Sombra is a Slave, I’m afraid. But what about you, superintendent? I invited you, as I recall, to be one of the
Herren
. It’s not too late. You must see now that the game is going our way. France must play its part in the battle against Bolshevism, which will see us rewarded with a leading role in the New Order of Europe.’

‘Russia stretches a long way,’ Lannes said, ‘and there are more Russians than Germans. Russia can lose many battles and still win a war.’

‘Germany beat them in the last war and the Third Reich is stronger than the Kaiser’s. Moreover, this time France will be fighting alongside Germany, not against her. I assure you, my dear superintendent, it’s not too late for you to attach yourself to the winning side.’

‘We shall see,’ Lannes said.

It wasn’t to listen to this nonsense that he had invited Sigi to meet him, but now that he was there, he found it difficult to broach the subject of Clothilde and the boy Michel who hero-worshipped this scoundrel. He knew what he wanted to demand of him, and knew he would have to abase himself.

‘You tried to kill me,’ he said. ‘There’s no point denying it . . . I accept that you were acting under orders.’

‘Certainly, superintendent, there was nothing personal, I assure you.’

‘Quite so, and since then your uncle or half-brother – for he is both, isn’t he? – Edmond and I have reached an understanding.

For the time being, anyway. We have done each other a service. You probably know of this. Now there is the boy Michel, your – what should I call him? – your disciple? – I don’t know. Whatever he is, he thinks you are wonderful, you’re a hero to him. His grandfather, Professor Lazaire, confirms this. It fills him with anxiety. And now Michel and my daughter.’

‘Who is charming, I’m told.’

‘Whom I love dearly. There, I’ve confessed a weakness. You tried, as I said, to kill me. Now I ask you to break your hold on the boy. You can only harm him.’

There, he thought, I’ve said it. I’ve made my plea to this killer with his talk of
Herrenmoralitie
, and he’ll reject it.

‘Clothilde tells me he talks of fighting agaist Bolshevism. Spare him that nonsense. Let him be a boy and only a boy.’

‘You don’t understand, superintendent. The world is a battlefield.

I’ve had to fight all my life to maintain a foothold. Life is struggle. Nobody can escape that reality. Michel recognises this and welcomes it.’

I’ve failed, Lannes thought. It was stupid even to try to penetrate his crazy egoism. Clothilde will be hurt and I have revealed my own vulnerability. Whoever forms a tie, gives his heart to another, exposes himself.

Sigi picked up his glass and smiled.

‘You never replied to my notes, superintendent.’

‘What notes?’

‘Don’t you want to know who your real father was?’

‘Oh that? More nonsense. My father was the man who brought me up, and as for you – you killed your own father, didn’t you?’

‘The old man fell downstairs. You mustn’t believe everything old Marthe tells you. The old woman is losing her wits, and besides she has hated me for years. But what if he was your father too?’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Really? Before she married the man you call your father she was a maid in my father’s household. Ask Marthe. You believe everything else she says, after all. And ask yourself two more questions. Why did the old man ask for you personally to investigate the matter of these anonymous letters, and why has Edmond become your protector in Vichy? He has a strong sense of family, Edmond. You know so much less than you think you do, superintendent. Now let us finish this bottle, and, as for young Michel, why should I do as you ask? He has chosen the side of the Future, and it belongs to him.’

L

The knock on the door came in the hour before dawn. Lannes was already up, dressed and drinking coffee in the kitchen. Everything in that conversation with Sigi had disturbed him. He had been foolish to appeal to what probably didn’t exist, certainly wasn’t to be found – the man’s better nature. As for the suggestion that he was himself another of the old count’s bastards, it was ridiculous. Malicious too. He knew of course that his mother had gone into service as a maid when she came to the city from her father’s farm in the Landes. But she had never mentioned the Comte de Grimaud and his father had never given him any reason to suppose he wasn’t his son. In any case it didn’t matter. It was all so long ago.

The knock was repeated, more loudly. Why not ignore it? He was suspended from duty, wasn’t he? He didn’t want to see anyone. All the same, he sighed and got up to answer it before it woke Marguerite or Clothilde.

There were three men on his doorstep, a lieutenant and two private soldiers. They wore the uniform of the SD – the
Sicherheits-Dienst
or Nazi Security Service . . .

‘Superintendent Lannes?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are required to accompany us to headquarters.’

It was the officer who spoke, a young man not much older than Dominique. Lannes looked him in the eye.

‘Am I under arrest?’

‘You are required to accompany us. I am told there are questions you are required to answer.’

Lannes thought, how often I’ve spoken that line. And now it’s addressed to me.

Then, like so many to whom he had made that request, he said, ‘Very well. You’ll permit me to inform my wife?’

The lieutenant hesitated a moment, then nodded.

‘Two minutes,’ he said. ‘Please don’t do anything stupid.’

Lannes woke Marguerite gently, told her what was happening.

‘I’m not entirely surprised, but don’t worry.’

‘How can I not?’

‘I’m confident I can clear things up,’ he lied, as so many of those he had himself arrested must have lied to their wives. ‘But if I’m not back in a few hours, telephone this number and ask for Judge Bracal.’

He scribbled the number on a piece of paper and laid it on the table by the bed.

‘And don’t worry, I’ll be all right.’

She lifted her head. He bent forward and kissed her on the lips, held her close for a moment and turned away.

The two privates descended the stairs ahead of him, the lieutenant behind. One of the privates held the car door open for him. The lieutenant joined him in the back seat. Nobody spoke. The car had tinted windows, and it was only half-light outside. Lannes did not try to see where they were going. The men who had arrested him were merely obeying orders. They probably had no idea why the orders had been given. Lannes pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

‘You permit?’

The lieutenant made no objection. Lannes drew the smoke deep into his lungs and felt better.

The car turned into the rue de Cursel and stopped. Again one of the privates held the door open. The lieutenant took Lannes by the elbow as they entered the building. He saluted an officer who called out an order. Two sergeants came forward, each taking one of Lannes’ arms. They hustled him down a stair. The door of a cell was standing open. With a practised move they threw Lannes forward so that he stumbled and would have hit the stone floor if his outstretched arms hadn’t broken his fall on a camp-bed. Then the door slammed shut. The only other piece of furniture in the cell was a straight-backed chair. Lannes sat on the bed. He lit another cigarette. A bluebottle buzzed round the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. Nobody would come for some time. He was sure of that. Arresting a man in near-silence, without a charge, flinging him into a cell and leaving him alone – he knew the score. Well, the longer the wait, the more chance there was of Marguerite getting in touch with Bracal, but even if he acted at once, it would take time for the judge to learn where he was. He stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, lay back on the bed, and closed his eyes.

Eventually he heard footsteps. The door opened and Kordlinger came in, accompanied by the sergeants who had thrust him into the cell.

‘Get up, superintendent,’ Kordlinger said, ‘and sit on the chair.’

Lannes did as he was bid. One of the sergeants stepped forward with a rope in his hand. The other seized Lannes’ arms and held them behind the chair while the first one tied him to it.

‘I’m sorry you made this necessary,’ Kordlinger said. ‘You know what I want. Give me the names.’

Lannes shook his head.

‘You’re being foolish,’ Kordlinger said.

Lannes made no reply. Whatever he said straightaway would not be believed. Kordlinger nodded to one of the sergeants who stepped forward and with his fist clenched struck Lannes on the mouth. The chair rocked and he tasted blood. The other sergeant kicked the chair hard. It fell over and Lannes’ head hit the concrete floor. They picked the chair up and then kicked it over from the other side. Again his head struck the floor and there was a ringing noise in his ears.