Rather than numbing his other senses, it seemed to have heightened them. Cold, hunger, fear, depression. He knew by now that he was suffering from exposure, and that even the toughest and strongest of men could be carried off by it.
The sun had gone behind thick cloud and it was impossible to see where in the sky it might be. The temperature had fallen, and he had no idea how long he had lain in the dry riverbed since sliding back down the embankment.
He felt himself succumbing to the temptation simply to close his eyes and drift away again into unconsciousness. At least that would bring some relief from his pain and misery. It was only the thought of Sophie and the need to reach Enzo that kept his eyes open and fuelled his determination to stay awake.
The sound of a car, motor purring, seemed suddenly very close, and he realised with a shock that there was a vehicle approaching along the single-track road. He had to get back up that slope, fast!
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to roll over on to his front, using his arms and his good leg to propel himself forward and drag himself back up the riverbank. As he reached the top of the bank, desperately searching fingers found and grasped the roots of some long-fallen tree. Summoning all his remaining strength, concentrated in muscles built during years of training in the gym, he pulled himself finally out of the dead river and rolled over among dried and browning ferns. In time to see a black Citroën gliding slowly by along the single track.
He bellowed at the top of his voice, hoarse now from crying out in pain, but felt hope and life draining out of him as the car kept going and receded into the distance. In less than a minute it was gone from sight, and the sound of it had faded to silence.
Bertrand lay on his back, succumbing to his misery and tears, and felt the first drops of rain falling from a darkening sky. He knew now that he was in real trouble.
Chapter twenty-two
The party was drawing to a close. The traiteurs had provided a selection of tapas. From olives and stuffed prunes, to Iberico ham, prawns wrapped in bacon and frogs’ legs in batter. And, as a main, Nicole and Fabien had reheated delicious choux farcis, served with cubes of roasted potato. Empty bottles of wine stood on all the tables, the ambience mellow and everyone gently tipsy.
It was late afternoon now and some of the guests were starting to leave. Enzo sat in his favourite armchair by the window, bouncing Laurent on his knee, not even daring to think that the child might not be his. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Charlotte in deep conversation with Jean-Luc Verne.
He spotted his old acoustic guitar gathering dust in the corner of the room, and regretted that he played it so seldom these days. But he had consumed enough wine by now to contemplate the thought that he might just pick it up to serenade his remaining guests.
He was saved from what would probably have been the later embarrassment of it by Nicole’s return from the hall, where she had gone to answer a knock at the door unheard by almost everyone else. She cleared her throat and raised her voice to command the attention of the room, and announced, ‘Sophie’s birthday surprise for her dad has arrived.’ And, as Enzo turned, he saw her step aside to reveal a young woman with chestnut hair and the warmest brown eyes, creased now by discomfort and self-consciousness. She was slight-built, not much taller than Nicole, and dressed simply in jeans and trainers, with a white T-shirt beneath a short denim jacket.
Enzo realised with a start who it was and stood up immediately, still clutching Laurent.
Nicole stepped quickly forward to relieve him of the baby. ‘Here, I’ll take him.’
And Enzo locked eyes with the new arrival, a sudden collision of butterflies in his belly.
No one knew quite what to say, and it was Charlotte’s gently mocking voice that broke the silence. ‘Another of Enzo’s girlies?’
Which jolted Enzo out of his trance. He stepped towards the girl, his eyes still fixed fast on her. ‘This is Dominique Chazal,’ he told the assembled, ‘the gendarme from Thiers, without whom I could never have cracked the Marc Fraysse murder.’ And he paused. ‘I had no idea you were coming.’
‘It was Sophie’s idea,’ Nicole said. ‘She and Dominique stayed in touch after everything that happened up there.’ She turned to Dominique. ‘Isn’t that right?’
Dominique nodded, still clearly embarrassed to be the centre of attention. ‘Yes.’ She looked around. ‘Is she not here?’
‘Held up on the motorway,’ Enzo said. And still he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He took both her hands and kissed her on each cheek. ‘Come in, come in.’ He led her into the séjour, curious eyes upon them, and he avoided meeting the gaze of either Hélène or Charlotte.
The préfet said, ‘They didn’t make gendarmes that pretty in my day.’ And Dominique blushed.
In truth, Dominique was not pretty in any conventional sense. Enzo had always thought her quite plain — but beautifully plain, in the way that sometimes the simplest things in life are the most beautiful. The touch of colour on her eyelids, and the merest hint of red on her lips, lifted her out of the ordinary. The deep pellucid brown of her eyes provided a window to her inner beauty, and revealed a vulnerability which had prompted Enzo’s protective instincts. He remembered instantly the softness of her lips and the way every contour of her body had moulded itself to his.
‘You must be hungry,’ he said, and, without waiting to hear if she was, led her into the kitchen. They were momentarily on their own here, and Enzo had to resist the temptation to take her in his arms. Instead, he said, ‘This is unexpected.’
‘It was Sophie’s idea.’
‘But, still, you came.’
‘If Mohammed will not go to the mountain...’
Enzo couldn’t meet her eye, embarrassed. He glanced towards the séjour and said, ‘It’s not even a particularly auspicious birthday.’ He tried a smile. ‘Just one more step closer to the grave.’ Then paused when she didn’t return his smile. ‘You must have had to take precious leave.’
She shrugged. ‘I haven’t bothered much with leave in the last year or so. And, anyway, it’s not an issue anymore. I’ve quit.’
‘Quit the gendarmerie?’
‘Served my time and had to make a decision. I could sign up again or try for a real life. I decided to go for the latter.’ Her smile was brittle. ‘So here I am, the new me, footloose and fancy free and trying to figure out what to do with a life that hasn’t belonged to me for the last eighteen years.’ She tipped her head to one side in recognition of the irony. ‘It feels strange when they put it back in your own hands — sort of shop-soiled and used, and completely unfamiliar. As if you’ve been someone else, and only now realise that you haven’t a clue who you are.’
Enzo reflected that that’s how it must be for most people returning to civilian life after a career in the military. For it’s what the gendarmerie was, just another regiment of the armed forces.
‘Well, well... the famous Dominique Chazal.’ Charlotte strolled casually through from the séjour, arms folded, and surveyed them both with smiling condescension. She was, Enzo thought, more defensive than he had ever seen her. ‘So nice of you to drop by, all the way from... Thiers, was it?’
Enzo was awkward. ‘This is Charlotte,’ he said.
Dominique regarded her coldly. ‘I think I could have guessed that.’
‘Oh!’ Charlotte mock-flinched. ‘That sounds ominous. What on earth has Enzo been saying about me?’
Enzo recalled only too clearly telling Dominique about Charlotte’s threat to abort their baby if Enzo did not agree to stay away. But before he could speak, Dominique said simply, ‘Enough.’ And Enzo felt the temperature in the room drop thirty degrees.