Daughter of Catalonia (20 page)

There was no wind today, just the slightest hint of breeze, and the sun was hot. What time of year, she wondered, had Luis and Colette begun their affair? In the cold of winter under blankets, or in the heat of the summer, naked to the world? She hoped he had waited until summer, and had at least missed them for a few months. She had an image of a younger Colette, with her grave good looks and without
the deep, tired lines which underscored her eyes. Luis was in front of her, standing by the table, that same dining table, listening to her intently.

‘They’re bringing more troops in all the time now,’ Colette was telling him. ‘There’s hardly a house not requisitioned for something. You’ll never get to their headquarters, of course, in the castle in Collioure, but you could do worse than to target old Henri’s house. It’s the biggest in Vermeilla, and there must be ten men sleeping there, but the word is they use it as an office as well, and there are papers there.’

‘Are there any movements on the beach?’

‘Only the fishing. That continues, of course, and they send a German soldier out with them night and day to watch what they’re up to. There’s a small German launch tied up on the quay but it doesn’t seem to move much. I heard there was some small ship anchored in the bay at Collioure last weekend, and of course they’re all over the harbour in Port Vendres.’

Luis nodded. ‘I’ll go along to Collioure tonight after dark,’ he said. A frown crossed his face. ‘What about you, are they leaving you alone?’

‘It depends what you mean. The bar is full of them, of course, especially in the evenings, and they can get a bit lewd. They don’t have much respect for French women, so I stay upstairs if I can when they start getting drunk. Luc runs the bar for me then, and tries to keep his ears open. During the day they’re no bother, except for always wanting foods we can’t get. They bring me stuff to cook
for them – I’ve got a rabbit stew downstairs. You’ll have some, of course, and I’ll give you a whole rabbit to take back with you.’

‘Don’t, Colette! Don’t put yourself in danger.’

‘Oh, I’m not in any danger. Apart from my virtue, that is!’

‘And where is Jean-Pierre while this is going on?’

Colette frowned, and gave an instinctive look over her shoulder, although for once she knew he was not at home. ‘You know, Luis, Jean-Pierre is getting stranger and stranger. He hardly goes downstairs at all at the moment, and he mutters to himself. He’s scared, I think, and feels helpless. It’s so bad for Daniel to see him like this.’

Her face was full of pain and worry, and Luis reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. His voice was very soft as he answered her.

‘The sooner you get that boy away from here and back to school with other children the better. He could come with me tomorrow, even, and I’d take him to Philippe, if you’d let me.’

‘I know I should.’ Her voice quivered. ‘It’s just he’s all I’ve got.’

‘I know, Colette, I know.’ Luis kept his hand against her cheek.

‘It’s worse for you, Luis, up there alone, with all your family gone.’

Colette’s hand stole up to touch his. Their eyes held, and Colette gave a tiny gasp, her lips parting in surprise. Luis leant forward and kissed her.

‘Luis, we shouldn’t.’

‘I know.’ But he kissed her again. ‘Where’s Daniel?’

‘There was a truck going to Perpignan. Daniel went with his father to take him to the chiropodist. It’s the first time Jean-Pierre’s been outside the village for years, I think.’

‘Well he couldn’t have timed it better.’

Was that how it had happened, Madeleine wondered? A rare moment alone, an intimate look, and then the succumbing? She thought of the front guest bedroom in Colette’s apartment, and shook her head to try to banish the couple she saw there. Elise seemed so far away. All she could see was Colette, with Luis’s hands entwined in her hair. And Daniel on the other side of the door.

She returned to the village in something of a daze, and realised she’d sat longer than she’d thought among the vines. Philippe and the boules team had finished their game, and gone home to eat, and Madeleine came awake and headed straight for the hotel, thinking Robert was maybe trying to get hold of her. But it wasn’t Robert who had been looking for her. Standing outside the Hotel Bon Repos, placidly smoking a small cigar and watching Vermeilla life making its way to lunch, was Bernard. He’d come, he told her, with his most charming smile, to see what she’d been doing to this harmless little place. Robert had sent him, of course, more worried than he liked to admit by their conversation yesterday. Call us, Bernard and Solange had said, and Robert had taken them at their word.

‘Have you been starting a new war, my dear?’ asked
Bernard. And then, reading her tense face and bruised eyes, ‘Lunch first, and then you can tell me.’

He wasn’t Robert, not her Robert whom she wanted so badly, but Bernard was as rotund and reassuring as ever, and in his elegant presence the events of the last few days seemed somehow much less dramatic. Over a lunch on the quayside she told him her story as simply as she could, and watched as his eyes widened when she came to Luis’s affair.

‘Well,’ he said as she came to an end, ‘who could ever have believed that? Maybe Solange was right thinking you should never have come down here on your own. You’ve had a lot to contend with all alone here, haven’t you? And have you seen this new half-brother at all, since all these revelations?’

‘No. No, I haven’t seen him yet. I don’t want to see him! But I suppose I must some time. I don’t even know what Colette plans to tell him. He has been the only one here living completely carefree, not knowing anything. I need to see Daniel as well. He’s the one who worries me. He’s so good to everyone and too quiet, much too quiet, and I still can’t believe I actually accused him of betraying the camp.’

‘Should you really be worrying about all the others in this story, do you think? I’d rather have expected you to be more worried about yourself just now. I have to say, you’ve taken a very mature role, coping with all this on your own, and even on behalf of the rest of them.’

Madeleine gave a rather threadbare laugh. ‘Do you think so? If the truth be told I feel so knocked over I can’t think straight. And anyway, I haven’t been completely alone. I’ve had Philippe, and for him I think I qualify as family. Did I
tell you, he still lives in the same apartment that Robert and I lived in as children here? Which reminds me! Oh, hell! I tried to call Robert this morning, but he wasn’t there, so I left a message for him to call the hotel. I was hoping he would call at lunchtime, but seeing you made me forget, and now I may have missed his call. He doesn’t even know about Colette and Papa – about Martin.’

‘Well, there’s a delight still in store for him,’ Bernard murmured ironically. ‘But don’t worry about his call. We agreed yesterday when he phoned me that he would call Solange this evening in Paris. Phone calls to here seem to be difficult. And he was worried enough on the telephone to talk of coming down here himself this weekend, after getting through some examination he has today. Just decide how much you want to tell Solange, and we’ll call her later this afternoon and give her instructions to get Robert moving. I think, like you, that this story now needs his presence.’

Madeleine eased back in her chair, deliberately relaxing the tightened muscles around her neck, and sipped her coffee. Bernard had arrived from Paris, wafting with him the magic of a world where people had telephones at home, and called each other with ease, and planned journeys from England to France without batting an eyelid. She could leave everything in his hands, it seemed, and he would have thought of everything. How his urbane persona would deal with her new world in Vermeilla was a question she left for later.

She needn’t have worried, she realised when Philippe almost fell over them outside the post office later that
afternoon. Philippe’s big head bobbed up and down energetically as he shook Bernard’s hand, his thick mane of hair flapping above the Parisian’s neatly trimmed, thinning coiffure and speckled moustache. Philippe must have been fifteen years older than Bernard, but you wouldn’t have known it. He swept them along in his wake, and if Madeleine had wondered how she was going to approach the Café de Catalogne again, she found herself outside its doors before she had even had time to think where they were heading. She faltered at the door, and let the two men go ahead of her. She wanted to see Daniel, but the thought of seeing Martin appalled her. She followed slowly behind Bernard, her heart pounding.

There was no sign of Colette or Martin in the bar, but Daniel was at the counter, talking to his friend of the other day, Eric the newly-wed fisherman. Philippe was ahead of her, already talking, and waving forward Bernard. Daniel, she saw, had frozen at their entrance. In the flurry of introductions of ‘our friend from Paris’, Daniel’s silence went unnoticed. He watched Madeleine from deep inside a set, unfathomable face, and she wondered how you could ever hope to be forgiven for throwing accusations of abetting a slaughter at a young man as sensitive as Daniel.

She waited while Bernard greeted both young men with his usual smooth complaisance, and then Philippe drew him off to a table, calling for coffee and his usual afternoon slice of whatever patisserie Colette had baked that day.

The two men settled down to talk, two confident men from very different worlds, linked perhaps by their intellect. Madeleine heard Philippe mention chess, and
knew a board would appear within minutes. It would provide them both with the means to get to know each other in the most comfortable way possible.

Which left her, standing at the bar, comfort far from her mind, wondering what to say to the young man who was watching them all with remote eyes and an almost supernatural stillness. Eric broke the silence, greeting Madeleine with a flirtatious grin, and holding her hand for rather longer than necessary.

‘Well, Mademoiselle, all these days and we didn’t meet again. But today is my lucky day, it seems. What have you been doing with yourself in our little hidden, uneventful village, where nothing happens from one end of the week to the next?’

Uneventful was not a word which Madeleine would have chosen herself to describe her time in Vermeilla, but Eric was not to know. She smiled at him, but freed her hand and held it out to Daniel, who seemed to become aware of it gradually, and then took it in a non-committal grasp. Madeleine squeezed, and didn’t let go, and answered Eric.

‘I’ve been incredibly well looked after, thanks. I feel as though I have found a family here, and Daniel has been wonderful, showing me around, taking care of me.’

Listen to me, Daniel
, she was thinking.
Look at me!

Eric dug his friend in the stomach with his elbow. Daniel still stood withdrawn, like a tortoise in its thick shell, eyes watching from just inside.

‘Lucky dog, you,’ chuckled Eric. ‘That’s the advantage of owning a bar, Mademoiselle. It’s a natural meeting place, and you’re king of your own dungheap. So he’s been
showing you around, huh? Where? Around the village? Oh, his vineyard? All very fine, but has he taken you out for a ride at sea? That’s what you need, is a nice boat trip. Hey, Daniel, you should take out my launch. That’s the way to make romance blossom!’

There was a silence, during which Eric watched his friend with a growing frown.

‘You’re not normally this quiet, my friend. Have you swallowed your tongue? It must be serious, then,’ he joked again, more puzzled this time.

The moment of supreme awkwardness stretched on. Madeleine waited for the earth to open up and suck her in, but nothing happened. All she wanted was to speak to Daniel, but as they stood there the chances of him talking to her were becoming more and more remote.

Then, surprisingly, Daniel gave a brisk nod of his head, as though he had come to a sudden decision. He nodded at Eric, and said, ‘All right, then, I’ll take your boat! If you want me to take Madeleine to sea, it might as well be today, when there’s no wind, and I can be sure she won’t be seasick.’

His voice was hard as he spoke, and sounded so unlike the gentle Daniel that Madeleine wanted to cry. She hadn’t really shed any tears yet, but right now she wanted to. Tears for the lost memories, the lost certainties, and tears for Daniel, who had lived with those memories and certainties since the age of nine.

She rushed to fill an awkward gap as Eric stared at Daniel now in blatant surprise.

‘I would love to go out for a boat trip,’ she declared, and
realised it was true. She had spent so much time these last twenty-four hours in intense discussions, sitting around tables and in people’s sitting rooms, that she longed for action, to be outdoors and doing. And especially away from this café. She kept looking at the door, or towards the stairs, expecting Martin to appear, or Colette, or, stupidly, and terrifyingly, Jean-Pierre Perrens. She could handle being with Daniel. The others she wasn’t ready for yet.

‘Shall we go now?’ she asked. ‘It might be a good idea to go now, while there’s still time before the light goes.’ She looked into Daniel’s closed face. ‘Don’t you think? Daniel?’

Daniel looked up briefly and then nodded. ‘Do you want a hat?’ he asked, inconsequentially, and she shook her head.

‘OK then, let’s go,’ he muttered, and turned abruptly to leave.

Philippe and Bernard were deep in their chess game, and Bernard merely nodded when she told him where she was going. Philippe, though, gave a small, satisfied smile.

‘Have fun,’ he said, as he watched Bernard move his rook.

Bernard looked up then. ‘Are you going now?’ he asked. ‘And coming back here? Then I’ll wait for you here. This,’ he gestured at the chessboard, ‘may take some time.’

Eric left the bar with them, and the two young men stood back to let Madeleine pass first through the café doorway, which was open to the warmth of the May afternoon. Madeleine emerged into the street just as Martin came around the corner, his school bag over his shoulder, bursting with untidy bits of paper. Madeleine’s chest
pounded on sight of him, and she recoiled involuntarily and stepped back onto Eric’s foot. She apologised, and hoped that her embarrassment at squashing his toes would be cover for her blazing cheeks.

She was trapped between the two men behind and the young boy in front of her. Her brother. It was useless to call him her half-brother. Blood was blood, and Luis’s son was inevitably her brother.

Martin greeted her gaily, as he might any family friend. She looked into his face, and he smiled the smile which was different from Daniel’s. Was it like Luis’s, she wondered? Her memory wasn’t good enough to tell her, and she conjured up Robert’s face to try to help her. Robert had such a brilliant smile, one which lit his eyes and dimpled one cheek more than the other, and this boy’s smile was indeed familiar. Martin was his mother’s son, but alongside Robert she suspected that he would be similar enough in looks to be quite troubling.

‘Are you going out?’ he asked, and then, when he heard where they were going. ‘Shall I come too? It will be lovely out there today.’

He looked guilelessly at Daniel, but Daniel, who normally had so much time for him, shook his head in strong denial.

‘You have homework to do,’ he said.

‘I don’t ever remember that stopping you going to sea after school,’ protested Martin.

‘Much you remember! I left school when you had barely started! Anyway, that’s why I’m a fisherman and you’re going to be a doctor, remember?’

‘But it’s such a lovely day!’ Martin wheedled, as Madeleine had heard him coax his mother. But Daniel was already walking off.

‘Tell
Maman
I’ll be back long before dinner,’ he instructed, and Madeleine followed gratefully as he strode away from the café. She realised she hadn’t even spoken one word to Martin. She just wanted to escape, and as Daniel headed at a brisk pace towards the sea she allowed herself to be sucked along in his wake.

At the next corner Eric left them. ‘I’ll leave you with this strange fellow,’ he smiled at Madeleine. ‘Perhaps you can improve his mood today. And as for you, lump head, mind how you treat my launch.’

Daniel laughed spontaneously, almost his natural laugh. ‘Says the man with the poorest kept fishing boat in the fleet!’ he taunted, and dodged as Eric lunged for him.

His laugh followed Eric down the side road to his home, but then petered out, and as he looked at Madeleine he simply waved his hand towards the quayside, and then led the way wordlessly to Eric’s small wooden launch. Unlike the shallow fishing boats which were hauled up the beach, the launch floated alongside the small jetty. It was about fifteen feet in length, with a half cabin housing a professional-looking wheel and set of dials. Three fishing rods were tied to the side of the tiny cabin, but on this vessel there was no smell of fish, and the white paintwork gleamed in the late-afternoon sunshine. If Eric was known for his poorly kept fishing boat, he had a different attitude towards his pleasure launch, it seemed.

It wasn’t until they had negotiated their way out of the
harbour and were beyond the sea wall that Daniel spoke at last. Dumbstruck by the sheer beauty of Vermeilla from the water, by the rush of ozone and the fresh kiss of the breeze as the boat gathered speed, Madeleine was gazing towards the horizon trying to decide where the deep blue of the Mediterranean met the sky, when Daniel’s voice hit her, raised above the noise of the engine, as though goaded by the very sight of her.

‘Do you find it romantic? That’s what you thought you were coming to find, wasn’t it, when you came down here from Paris? A romantic little village on the edge of the Mediterranean. The village your mother no doubt described to you, full of charming rustics. Well, now you know what we’re really like. Murderers and adulterers. Ugly cowards. The sunshine and the sea and the beaches are just cover, to please the tourists, and our guests from Paris.’