The Three Evangelists (9 page)

He made a gesture towards the clouds in the sky and disappeared.

‘They’re filling it in again!’ said Mathias. ‘They didn’t find anything.’

Marc gave a sigh of genuine relief.

‘End of story,’ said Lucien.

He rubbed his arms and legs which were stiff from the long vigil, squeezed between the hunter-gatherer and the medievalist. Marc closed the window.

‘I’m going to tell Juliette,’ said Mathias.

‘Can’t it wait?’ asked Marc. ‘You’re working this evening anyway, aren’t you?’

‘No, it’s Monday. We’re closed on Mondays.’

‘Oh, yes. Well, as you like.’

‘I just thought,’ said Mathias, ‘that it would be an act of kindness to tell her that her friend is
not
buried under the tree. We’ve all worried enough about it. It’s nicer to think she has just gone off somewhere, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course, do as you like.’

Mathias disappeared.

‘What do you think?’ Marc asked Lucien.

‘I think Sophia got a card from this Stelios, that she went to see him, and being fed up with her husband, unhappy in Paris, and feeling homesick for her native land, she’s decided to run off with her Greek. Good idea. I wouldn’t care to sleep with Relivaux. She’ll send a message in a couple of months when the initial turmoil has calmed down. A postcard from Athens.’

‘No, I was talking about Mathias. Mathias and Juliette, what do you think? Haven’t you noticed?’

‘No, nothing special.’

‘Little things? Haven’t you noticed little things?’

Oh, little things. It happens all the time you know. Not worth getting worked up about. Does it bother you? Did you fancy her yourself?’

‘No, no,’ said Marc. ‘I don’t really think anything about it. I’m talking rubbish. Forget it.’

They heard the
commissaire
climbing the stairs. Without stopping, he called out that there was nothing to report.

‘Cease fire,’ said Lucien.

Before leaving the room, he looked at Marc who was standing at the window. The light was fading.

‘You’d do better to get back to your villages and their trade,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to see. She’s on some Greek island. She’s playing games. Greek women like playing games.’

‘Where did you get that information?’

‘I just made it up.’

‘You’re probably right. She must have run away.’

‘Would you like to share a bed with Relivaux?’

‘Have a heart,’ said Marc.

‘Well, then, you’ll see. She’s run away.’

XV

LUCIEN FILED THE WHOLE BUSINESS AWAY AT THE BACK OF HIS MIND.
Everything he put there fairly soon ended up falling into inaccessible compartments of his memory. He opened his notes on his chapter about propaganda, which had suffered from the interruptions of the last fortnight. Marc and Mathias also went back to their books which no publisher had commissioned. They saw each other at mealtimes, and Mathias, who came back from his work late at night, would greet his friends soberly and pay a brief call on the
commissaire.

Invariably, Vandoosler asked him the same question. ‘Any news?’

And Mathias would shake his head and go back down to the first floor.

Vandoosler never went to bed before Mathias was back. He must have been the only one who remained on the alert, along with Juliette, who, especially on the Thursday, anxiously watched the door of the restaurant. But Sophia did not come back.

The next day, Friday, was a day of May sunshine. After all the rain that had fallen in the previous month, it seemed to act as a tonic on Juliette. At three o’clock, she closed the restaurant as usual, while Mathias was taking off his waiter’s apron and, naked to the waist behind a table, was looking for his sweater. Juliette was not unaffected by this daily ritual. She was not the kind of woman to get bored, but since Mathias had been working in the restaurant, things had been better. She had little in common with the other waiter or the chef. It’s true that she had
nothing in common with Mathias either, but he was easy to talk to, about anything one liked, and that was very agreeable.

‘Don’t come back till Tuesday, Matty,’ she said, taking a sudden decision. ‘We’re going to be closed for the weekend. I’m going back home to Normandy. All this kerfuffle with trees and trenches has upset me. I’m going to put on boots and go walking in the wet grass. I like wearing boots and the last days of May.’

‘Good idea,’ said Mathias, who couldn’t imagine Juliette in rubber boots.

‘Come too, if you like. I think it’s going to be fine. You look the sort of man who likes the countryside.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Mathias.

‘You’d be welcome to bring St Mark and St Luke and the gothic policeman if you like. I’m not particularly anxious to be on my own. It’s a big house and we wouldn’t have to be in each other’s way. But, as you like. Do you have a car?’

‘We don’t have a car, because of our little problem with money. But I know where I can borrow one. I’ve got this friend who works in a garage. Why did you call him “gothic”?’

‘Oh, I just did. He’s very fine-looking, isn’t he? His lined face makes me think of those old churches with pillars going in all directions, that look as if they are falling apart but keep standing. He’s rather dishy.’

‘You know about churches?’

‘I used to go to Mass when I was little, believe it or not. Sometimes my father would pack us off to the cathedral at Évreux and I would read the guidebook during the sermon. Sorry, but that’s all I know about the gothic. Does it bother you that I compared the old man to Évreux Cathedral?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Mathias.

‘I do know one or two other places besides Évreux. The little church in Caudebeuf is solid and very plain, goes back a long way, and it feels very restful. And that just about exhausts the subject of my acquaintance with churches.’ Juliette smiled. ‘After all that, I would really like to go walking. Or cycling.’

‘Marc had to sell his bike. Do you have some down in the country?’

‘Two. If it really tempts you, the house is at Verny-sur-Besle, a village not far from Bernay, just a small place. When you come along the main road, it’s the big farmhouse to the left of the church. It’s called Le Mesnil. There’s a stream and some apple trees, nothing but apple trees. No beeches. Will you be able to remember all that?’

‘Yes,’ said Mathias.

‘I’m off now,’ said Juliette, winding down the shutters. ‘No need to tell me if you’re coming or not. There’s no telephone anyway.’

She laughed, kissed Mathias on the cheek, and went off, with a wave of her hand. Mathias was left standing on the pavement. Cars went past, making exhaust fumes. He thought that he might be able to bathe in the stream, if it stayed sunny. Juliette had soft skin and it was nice to have advances made to one. He stirred himself, walking very slowly towards the house. The sun warmed the back of his neck. He was clearly tempted. Tempted to go and relax in this village of Verny-sur-Besle, and to cycle over to Caudebeuf, although he didn’t really care much about old churches. But it ought to please Marc, at least. Because there was no question of going there alone. Being alone with Juliette, with her plump, agile body, pale-skinned and languorous, might lead to trouble. Mathias could see the risk and in some ways feared it. He felt so weighed down at the moment. The sensible thing would be to take the two others along, and the
commissaire
as well. The
commissaire
could go and visit Évreux in all its grandeur and appealing decadence. It would be easy to persuade him. The old man liked going places, seeing new things. Then he could persuade the other two. It was a good idea. It would do them all good, even if Marc preferred towns, and Lucien was sure to protest against going off to some godforsaken place in the country.

They were on the road by six o’clock. Lucien, who had brought some work with him, was grumbling in the back seat about Mathias’ primitive rural tastes. Mathias smiled as he drove. They arrived in time for supper.

The sun stayed out all weekend. Mathias spent a lot of time skinny-dipping in the stream, though nobody else understood why he did not
feel the cold. On Saturday, he got up very early and wandered round the garden, looking at the woodshed, the cellar, the old cider press, and went off to Caudebeuf to see whether he and the church had anything in common. Marc went off cycling for hours. Lucien spent most of the time sleeping in the grass on top of his papers. Armand Vandoosler told stories to Juliette, as he had done that first night at the
Le Tonneau.
‘Your evangelists are nice,’ said Juliette.

‘They’re not really mine,’ said Vandoosler. ‘I just pretend they are.’

Juliette nodded. ‘Do you have to call them St This and That?’

‘No. It was just a silly fancy that came to me one night, when they were standing at the three windows. It was a game. I like playing games, I like telling lies too, and making things up. So I play my games, I gamble with them and that’s how it comes out. Then I imagine they each have a little halo. Yes? It certainly annoys them. Now I’ve got into the habit.’

‘So have I,’ said Juliette.

XVI

LUCIEN DIDN’T WANT TO ADMIT IT WHEN THEY RETURNED ON MONDAY
night, but the three days’ holiday had been an excellent thing. His analysis of the propaganda destined for the home front hadn’t made much progress, but everyone’s peace of mind had. They had supper peaceably and nobody got grouchy, not even him. Mathias had time to say a few words, and Marc constructed some long sentences about little things. It was Marc who took out the bag of rubbish every night to the main gate. He held the plastic sack in his left hand, the one with the rings, to counterbalance the refuse. He came back without the bag, looking preoccupied, and went out several times over the next two hours walking as far as the gates.

‘What’s the matter,’ Lucien asked him in the end. ‘Are you inspecting the grounds?’

‘There’s a girl sitting on the wall opposite Sophia’s house. She has a child sleeping on her lap. And she’s been there more than two hours.’

‘Leave her be,’ said Lucien. ‘She’s probably waiting for someone. Don’t be like your godfather, nosy about everything. I’ve had enough.’

‘Well, I’m worried about the child,’ said Marc. ‘I think it’s getting cold.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Lucien.

But nobody left the big room. They made some more coffee. Then a light rain began to fall.

‘It’s going to rain all night,’ said Mathias. ‘May 31. How dreary.’

Marc bit his lip. He went out again. ‘She’s still there,’ he said, coming back in. ‘She’s wrapped the kid up in her jacket.’

‘What’s she like?’ asked Mathias.

‘I didn’t go and stare at her,’ said Marc. ‘I don’t want to alarm her. She’s not in rags if that’s what you mean. But rags or not, we’re surely not going to let a girl and her child wait for God knows what, are we, all night in the rain? OK? So come on, Lucien, lend me your tie. Hurry up.’

‘My tie? What for? Are you going to lasso her?’

‘No, stupid,’ said Marc. ‘Just so’s not to frighten her. A tie is kind of reassuring. Come on,’ he added, holding out his hand. ‘It’s raining.’

‘Why don’t I go myself?’ asked Lucien. ‘It would save me taking my tie off. Anyway it doesn’t at all go with your black shirt.’

‘You’re not going because you’re not the reassuring type,’ said Marc, knotting the tie as fast as he could. ‘If I do bring her back here, please don’t stare at her as if she were your prey. Be natural.’

Marc went out and Lucien asked Mathias what he should do to look natural.

‘Eat something,’ said Mathias. ‘Nobody can be frightened of someone who’s eating.’

Mathias pulled over the breadboard and cut two slices, passing one to Lucien.

‘I’m not hungry,’ Lucien complained.

‘Just eat.’

They had started to munch their thick slices of bread when Marc returned, gently ushering in a young woman who said nothing, who looked tired, and who was carrying a child about five years old. Marc wondered briefly why Mathias and Lucien were eating pieces of bread.

‘Do please sit down,’ he said rather formally, trying to be reassuring. He took her dripping wet coat from her.

Mathias left the room without a word, and returned with a duvet and a pillow with a clean pillow case. He signalled to the young woman to put the child on the divan in the corner by the fire. Gently, he put the quilt over the child, and stirred up the flames. Quite the big-hearted caveman, thought Lucien, pulling a face. But Mathias’ wordless actions had touched him. He wouldn’t have thought of them himself. Lucien was easily moved.

The young woman seemed less frightened now and far less cold. No doubt the fire blazing in the hearth helped: it always works its magic on fear as on cold, and Mathias had made a good blaze. But after that, he didn’t know what to say. He squeezed his hands together as if to crush the silence.

‘Which is it?’ asked Marc. ‘I mean the child, girl or boy?’

‘Boy,’ said the young woman. ‘He’s five.’

Marc and Lucien both nodded gravely.

The young woman undid the scarf from her head, shook out her hair, put the wet scarf on a chair and looked around her. Everyone was taking stock. But in no time the evangelists registered the fact that the face of the refugee was subtle enough to tempt a saint. Not a regular beauty at first sight, she must have been about thirty. A luminous face, with a childlike mouth, a clear jaw-line, thick dark hair cut in a bob. Marc wanted immediately to take that face in his hands. He loved people who were thin and almost too delicate. He couldn’t work out whether the expression on her face was defiant, adventurous and darting, or whether it was fleeting, quivering, shadowy and timid.

The woman remained tense, glancing now and again at her son who was sleeping. She smiled a little. She didn’t know where to begin. Names perhaps. Should we say our names? Marc introduced everyone, and added that his uncle was on the top floor-an unnecessary detail perhaps, but useful. The young woman seemed more reassured on hearing this. She even stood up and warmed herself by the fire. She was wearing narrow cotton trousers that clung to her slender hips and thighs, and a shirt that was too big for her. Quite the opposite of Juliette with her feminine off-the-shoulder dresses. But above the shirt was the beautiful little face.