Two Crosses (25 page)

At four o’clock Jean-Claude Gachon stepped off the train and walked out into the sunlight of Montpellier. He strode across the street and up the wide avenue that was flanked on both sides by waiting pedestrians and stationary buses. When he arrived at place de la Comédie, he found a chair at a café that gave him a good view of the open square.

“
Un pastis
,” he mumbled to the waiter, unfolding a newspaper and settling back to read it. If one had to waste his days, this was not a bad way to do it. Hundreds of students milled around the center of town, gossiping and laughing as they walked. At this time of day, la Comédie belonged to them.

He had spent the month there, watching for a red-haired woman to appear. Each day he sat for two hours at a café, observing the gathering of youth that played out like a movie before him. Then he strolled along the Esplanade and through the old part of town to place de Peyrou, an immense park with an ancient water tower at the end, a hexagonal building standing majestic over the pond at its feet. Long arches of an ancient aqueduct spread out behind the park, running through the city as a silent witness to days gone by. But the red-haired woman hadn’t appeared.

Today Jean-Claude was restless and impatient. He decided he wouldn’t leave the café until long after dark. He needed news to send to Ali. He needed a little bit of luck.

M. Edouard Auguste was one of the best-known goldsmiths in Montpellier, Mother Griolet said. She also said that he was an encyclopedia of information if Gabriella wished to question him about the Huguenots.

M. Auguste spoke with the thick accent of the Midi. His eyes were deep blue and lively, and he had the dignified air of a true gentleman, tall and proper. A silk scarf was tied smartly around his neck. His gray flannel suit matched his hair and mustache.

“
Oui, oui, mademoiselle
,” he said, nodding in response to Gabriella’s inquiry about the origins of the cross. “The Huguenot cross strongly resembles the Medal of the Order of the Holy Spirit that was created by Henri III in the sixteenth century. It was used as a military decoration to distinguish excellent French warriors in the cavalry. But of course Protestants were forbidden to receive it, despite their military prowess. The Huguenot version has the dove hanging from the lower branch with its wings spread and head pointing down. It’s likely that this dove symbolized the Holy Spirit. Also four fleurs-de-lis were embedded between the branches of the cross and rays of sunlight chiseled in as though the Holy Spirit were sending out His power.”

Gabriella was fascinated by the jeweler’s knowledge. “And now? It’s very popular?”

“
Oh, oui, mademoiselle.
Very popular, of course, among Protestants. Yours is especially beautiful. Eighteen-carat gold, and see how the cross has been chiseled on both sides. A very nice one.”

“Mother Griolet said she bought it here, many years ago.”

The goldsmith nodded politely. “Yes, Mother Griolet.” He furrowed his brow. Then he slapped the counter with his hand. “Of course! I remember now. Yes, it was a bit strange at the time—a Catholic nun buying a Huguenot cross.” He shrugged. “Of course, people can do what they want.” He looked curiously at Gabriella. “And how do you happen to have this cross?”

“My mother gave it to me. I only recently found out that she had received it as a gift from Mother Griolet.” Involuntarily Gabriella shivered. “I’m afraid we must be going now. Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure,
mademoiselle
. Your chain will be ready Friday. Shall I keep the cross with it?”

“Yes, that will be fine.
Merci.
”

“Je vous en prie. Bonne journée.”

Ophélie turned from the counter, looking relieved, and took Gabriella’s hand. “I thought we would never go,” she confided. “And I’m starving.”

“Of course you are.
Allons-y.
You may pick whatever you want.”

By five thirty the Comédie was a mass of cars and pedestrians, mingled into a slow-moving stream between the grand buildings that outlined the square. From their perch atop the fountain the Three Graces looked down upon the chaotic scene with the peace and calm befitting the seductive symbols of love.

Jean-Claude had camped on the steps by the statue along with several students, and from this vantage point he could see most of the moving human traffic. He was watching a striking young woman with bright-pink lipstick and a very short skirt. Then he saw it. A flash of red hair farther across the square.
Red hair. Lots of it. Moving toward the avenue that led to the train station.
He hopped down from the statue and made his way across the Comédie, increasing his gait as he went. Soon he was trotting quickly through the crowd, eyes riveted on the red-haired woman a hundred yards away.

The crowd thinned as it fanned off from the Comédie. Jean-Claude caught a full view of the woman. Yes! He laughed out loud and fumbled for the camera in his leather bag. The zoom lens on, he inspected the woman and clicked a picture. Running, he clicked another and knocked into an elderly woman who was pulling a wheeled cart behind her.

“
Pardon!
” Jean-Claude called back, sidestepping another woman. He stopped to focus and cursed happily. A small child was with the red-haired girl. A small child whom he knew quite well. Two more pictures as the little girl turned around and pointed toward a man playing the clarinet. Jean-Claude caught both of their faces in the shot.

The camera went back in his leather case. Jean-Claude jogged closer to the pair, then slowed to a walk. Coming up behind them, he touched the woman on the sleeve. “Excuse me,
mademoiselle
.”

She glanced back but continued walking. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested,” she said.

This time he grabbed her arm and held it tight. Still his voice was calm. “
Mademoiselle
. We have met before,
non
?”

She stopped to look at him, her face suspicious. Then she recognized him. “Oh, yes, you’re right. Aigues-Mortes, right?”

“Precisely. How very nice to see you again. I see you have recovered from your fall.”

The woman blushed. “Yes, I’m fine now. What brings you to Montpellier?”

“Business. And you,
mademoiselle
?”

“Me? Oh, I live nearby.”

Jean-Claude had pretended not to see the child. Now he glanced at her and exclaimed, “
Non!
Can it be? Ophélie? Ophélie Duchemin? Do you remember me?”

He picked up the startled child in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. “My, you have gotten big! Why, the last time I saw you was a year ago in Algeria. Imagine finding you here in France.”

He put Ophélie back down, and she cowered close to the woman.

“Ophélie? Do you know this man?” The woman bent down to the child’s level.

Ophélie nodded, a smile playing on her lips. Her big eyes gazed up at Jean-Claude. “Yes, Gabriella.” Then she whispered, “He was my mama’s friend.”

Jean-Claude cleared his throat. “Excuse me,
mademoiselle
. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Jean-Claude Gachon. I don’t believe I know your name.”

“It’s Gabriella!” Ophélie volunteered happily.

Jean-Claude patted the child’s head and smiled. The woman frowned at Ophélie, but Jean-Claude didn’t show that he noticed. He continued, “Gabriella? May I call you by your name?”

“If you wish,” she said flatly.

“Yes, may I offer you a drink? The last time I offered, you said you were with a friend. But do join me today. It would be an honor to have a drink with two such lovely young ladies.”

“I’m afraid we have a bus to catch.”

“Please, Gabriella, please!” Ophélie begged. “Maybe he knows about Mama! Please let us talk with M. Jean-Claude.”

Gabriella nodded uncomfortably. “Well, all right. But just for a moment.”

Jean-Claude led them to a table at the edge of the Comédie. He quickly ordered them three glasses of sirop, which arrived in tall glasses with thin, bright straws.

His manner was smooth, polished, even kind as he addressed the child. “Little Ophélie, whatever brings you to Montpellier? Is your mother here? It was quite a shame that we lost contact.” He directed his gaze at Gabriella. “Do you know Anne-Marie? I mean, you must. A very dear friend of mine.”

“Mama went away,” Ophélie stated. “Do you know where she is, M. Jean-Claude? It was some bad men that took her.” She started to cry.

Jean-Claude looked shocked. “Took her? What do you mean?” He held Ophélie’s hands in his. “What men took her? Did you know them?”

“I … I think so. It’s hard to remember. I didn’t really see them.” She wiped her eyes. “Please, won’t you help me find Mama?”

Gabriella squirmed in her chair. “Ophélie,
chérie
. This man doesn’t have any idea—”

“I would be most glad to help you,” Jean-Claude interrupted. “I will do anything I can. But you must tell me where you live, so I may reach you, little one.”

“I live at the church!” Ophélie blurted out.

“Ophélie, please! Let me talk to the man … to Jean-Claude,” Gabriella scolded.

He sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. “Excuse me, Mlle Gabriella. I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just such a shock to see Ophélie here. I had lost touch, you know, what with the war going on in Algeria. I don’t mean to invade your privacy. It’s only that if I could help in any way, I would be more than happy to do so.”

He removed a pen and piece of paper from his shirt pocket and quickly scribbled a number. “I live in Marseille, but I travel a bit. Give me a call. Perhaps I could have your number. In case something turns up?”

Again Gabriella hesitated. “It’s just that we don’t have a private line. It might be hard to get through …”

“But, Bribri! There’s a phone in the office. I’ve seen it.”

Gabriella glared at Ophélie. “Yes, dear, there is, but I don’t know the number. Listen,
monsieur
, I’ll call you back next week. Will that be all right?”

“That will be fine. Just fine,” Jean-Claude said. “Why don’t we say next Tuesday, a week from today? That will be the fifth of December, I believe.”

“Yes, that sounds okay. Now I’m afraid we really must be going. Thank you for the drinks.” She stood up and reached out her hand, which he took and squeezed.

“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you. May I accompany you home?” He had picked up Ophélie again and was tickling her neck.

“No, that isn’t necessary. But thank you all the same.”

He took out a ten-franc piece and handed it to Ophélie. “Here, my child. Go buy yourself a pastry. From
Tonton Jean-Claude
.”

“Oh, merci!”
Ophélie laughed and hugged his neck.

“And I hope we will have the chance to see each other again too,” he said softly to Gabriella.

He watched the woman and child walk to the bus stop far down the road. He didn’t move from the café but pulled his binoculars out of his bag. “Bus 11,” he murmured when Gabriella and Ophélie climbed aboard. “Bus 11 leads to the east side of town. And little Ophélie lives at a church. That shouldn’t be hard to find. Not hard at all.”