The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe (38 page)

“You want me to forget about Desterres? Arnaud, is that what you’re saying?”

“Bastia, Parise and the
gendarmerie
have come out of all of this like Vestal Virgins rising from the dog shit. Good for their public image—because nobody really likes the
gendarmes
but now everybody—black and white alike—is glad our gallant
gendarmerie
can restore peace and security to the
département
. Security so that we can get on with our lives. Security for the tourist industry.”

“And Desterres?”

“You’ve done a good job.”

“Desterres, Arnaud?”

“Do as your conscience dictates. We all have complete faith in your professionalism and your common sense.”

“Thank you, Arnaud.”

“Of course, you’ll be destroying Desterres’s career as a politician.”

“I’d thought of that.”

“You’ll be making a lot of enemies among the forces of order. Parise’s very fond of you—you’ve done some good work in coordinating our police forces. Good to see you getting on so well with the
gendarmerie
.”

“I like Parise.”

“It’d be a shame to squander the good rapport you’ve built up. Quite honestly I don’t think the
préfet
would necessarily be upset if Desterres got on with his life.”

“There’s the problem of bruising, Arnaud.”

“What bruising?”

“Desterres doesn’t have an alibi for the evening. According to
Bouton, the cuts to the lower part of her body and the bruising occurred after death—and Desterres was the only person to see her.”

It was as if she had not spoken. “Anne Marie, the ball’s in your court. Desterres can be useful for the future wellbeing of this island. Our present
préfet
is not too keen on the way the shoreline is being transformed into hotel beaches and the
département
needs some kind of ecology movement now that Rodolphe Dugain is dead …”

Anne Marie laughed.

“You’re going to be reasonable,” Arnaud said cheerfully.

“Reasonable?”

“Act as you think best. As the investigating judge, you have complete freedom.”

“Of course, of course.”

“I’m glad you agree with me.”

A long silence over the line.

“Well?”

“Well what, Arnaud?”

“Do you agree with me, Anne Marie?”

“A favor I need to ask you.”

She heard him breathe on the cigarette. “I’m listening,” he said tentatively.

“I need a holiday.”

“A holiday? At this time of the year?”

“I would like to get away, take the children to France, take them to see their aunt in Brittany.”

“Something we could discuss over a meal, perhaps.”

“I need to bring forward my administrative vacation.”

“You want to leave Guadeloupe for six months, Anne Marie? You’re joking, of course.”

Tuesday, May 22, 1990

“You’re looking for me?” Her face appeared tired, the eyelids dark. There were wrinkles about the soft brown eyes. She had placed a pile of dossiers on the table.

Anne Marie moved toward the large desk. “How are you, Madame Dugain?” The plastic cube containing various pictures of Lucette Salondy’s relatives had not been removed, but had been placed next to the green telephone.

For a moment the expression was blank, devoid of emotion, while the eyes searched Anne Marie’s face. “The
juge d’instruction
?”

Anne Marie held out her hand. “I’m Madame Laveaud. We met last week.”

Madame Dugain took the proffered hand coolly, keeping her distance. Then Anne Marie sat down on the other side of the table.

A photograph of Mitterrand hung on the wall between a framed poster of the Declaration of Human Rights and a calendar from a local garage. The cables leading into the light switches were unconcealed and had been tacked into the wall with staples. “I have just been to see Lucette Salondy.”

“Lucette Salondy’s my cousin.”

“Then we are related, Madame Dugain.” Anne Marie tried to smile. “Lucette is my sister-in-law—or rather the sister of an ex-husband.”

“How is she?”

“I didn’t get to see her.” Through the open shutters, Anne Marie
could see the blossoming flame tree. “She’s gone into a coma, I’m afraid.”

Madame Dugain leaned her head wearily against the headrest. “Oh.”

“The doctor said it’s the sugar in her blood.” Anne Marie nodded slowly. “I think she is going to die.”

The two women were alone. There was silence in the headmistress’s office. Somewhere children were singing. In another building a class burst into muffled laughter.

“I don’t think your cousin wants to live anymore.”

“There are times when I think Lucette loved Rodolphe as much as I did—as much as I do.” Madame Dugain looked at Anne Marie. “And now she’s going to leave me. She’s going to die, too.”

“When I came to see you last week, I spoke to her. She was talking about her retirement and she sounded very cheerful. Excited about her plans for the apartment on the beach. Excited about being more involved with my children. But she was acting out a
rôle
—that’s the impression I got.”

“Lucette’s too old to act.” Liliane Dugain folded her arms against her chest. She was wearing a white blouse. A necklace, matching gold earrings. Her black hair had been pulled back into a tight bun. “She should’ve married and had children.”

“The pupils here were her children.”

“She loved them with all her heart. I feel like an impostor, sitting here in her office. But what else can I do? The
rectorat
sent me a telegram telling me to fill in. My God. I do hope she comes back.” Her lipstick was a matte red. White, regular teeth.

“Why did your cousin never marry, Madame Dugain?”

“There was a man. A long, long time ago. When I was her pupil here, Lucette was a beautiful woman and there was more than one boy in my class who had a crush on her—and a girl I could mention, too—with her almond eyes and her beautiful skin.”

“Why didn’t she marry?”

“I don’t know who it was. Somebody from Martinique, I think, somebody who was already married.”

“She could have married an honest man from Guadeloupe.”

In a small glass jar, there was a solitary anthurium.

Madame Dugain smiled. “Lucette would have made an excellent mother.”

“Children need to know they’re loved. Love is time, Anne Marie.”

“I beg your pardon.”

Anne Marie said, “Lucette felt I wasn’t spending enough time with my own children.” She leaned forward and tapped the side of the plastic cube. “My daughter.” Children in white dresses, holding flowers and squinting into the sun. Létitia stood at the edge of the group. She looked at the camera with her head to one side. She was holding a bouquet of tropical flowers. Inquisitive, self-assured eyes. “The apple of her aunt’s eye.”

Coldly, Madame Dugain asked, “And my husband?”

Anne Marie did not speak, her eyes still on Létitia.

“My husband was not a criminal.”

“I never said he was, Madame Dugain.”

The eyes flared with brief anger. “He was hounded to death.”

“You knew he was ill.”

“Ill?”

“He took his life.” Anne Marie touched Madame Dugain’s arm. “The dossier will be allowed to drop because I don’t think any good can be achieved by continuing. Your husband was under great stress.”

“Ill?” Her eyes were damp, the corners of her mouth twitched. “My husband and I were happy. He wasn’t ill. There was nothing wrong with Rodolphe. He was hounded to death by people who were jealous of his success.” She looked at Anne Marie defiantly. “We’d been married for seventeen years.”

“Yes.”

“He loved me—and he doted on his children. He doted on all the children, those he had with me and the children from his first marriage in Martinique.”

“He didn’t want to upset you,” Anne Marie said. “Some sort of cancer—or at least, that’s what the doctor told me.”

“Rodolphe loved me and he loved the girls.” A shrug. “Two lovely children. I married someone who was many years older than me,
madame le juge
. That kind of age difference isn’t so very common but I was lucky. I wanted a companion, a friend and I married a wonderful man. Somebody who could have been my father. You see, between Rodolphe and me there was total equality. My husband was a kind, good, highly educated man, someone who respected women, who not only gave me two lovely daughters but also gave me the best years of my life.”

“Your husband didn’t want you to see him losing his hold on life.”

“Rodolphe loved life”

“He didn’t want his wife and children seeing him turn into an old and sick man.”

Somewhere an electric buzzer sounded, followed almost immediately by the sound of scraping chairs and the scuffling of feet as the pupils left their desks at the end of the lesson.

(Anne Marie was reminded of her school years in Algeria.)

“Rodolphe and I were very happy,
madame le juge
.”