Was she hopeful of it? ‘Yes.’
‘But she’s the one who purchased the telescope for me when my mother was alive? She’s the one who allowed the Préfet Kerjean to use it?’
Must God do this to him? Had the conscience of the patriot not been tried enough? ‘When, please, did the Préfet use it?’
How cautious he was. She had him eating out of her hand but would the sparrow see that among the crumbs, illicit love had blossomed? ‘First, in the early spring of last year, then again many times over the following months until he was certain of whatever it was he was looking for, and then again in October, from the 28th to the 3rd of November.’
‘On each of those last days?’ U-297 had returned on the 5th. The money had been missing for some time but the loss discovered only just before the submarine’s return …
‘It was risky, isn’t that so?’ said the child. ‘She warned him of this, Inspector, but Préfet Kerjean has said he would come at different hours, though just before sunset was best, since the sardiniers, as has been their custom for centuries, always gathered then for the night. I heard the two of them whispering. I did.’
‘What was he watching for?’
She heaved a disappointed sigh. ‘It would be better if you were to ask …’
‘Angélique! Darling, please come downstairs. The … the electricity has been turned off. It … it is time for us to go into the cellar.’
‘I won’t!’
Ah damn such interruptions. ‘Please do as your stepmother says, mademoiselle. Bombs are no respecters of life or private property.’
The candle wavered in clasped hands, its pale light serving only to emphasize despair. Trapped by the light she held, the woman waited, caught among forgotten pieces of broken furniture too valuable to discard. A lamp whose dusty shade of pale silk was fringed with dark red tassels, a plain but beautifully carved chest of drawers, a blanket box without its hinges. Sheets draped over things …
Always there was the sound of waves, the nearness of the sea.
‘Go,’ he said quietly and, reaching out, plucked blindly at the child’s sweater until he had a tight grip on her shoulder. ‘Do as I say or I will get difficult.’
‘Then stop pinching me!’
The child launched herself towards the stepmother but as she passed the rocking horse, Angélique pushed the head down hard to leave them with its sound as well. He would not see the dolls for they were hidden behind the sheets in their house. She would not dare to show them to him. Not her, the harlot!
‘What did Angélique tell you?’ asked the woman bleakly.
‘Nothing. Only that she could see the rings around Saturn.’
‘Please don’t lie to me.’
‘I’m not.’
*
The detectives were gone from the house and the child was asleep, or was she faking? Unable to stop herself, Hélène Charbonneau wearily climbed the stairs from the cellars to the attic, coming to stand at last beside the telescope. Angélique had been thrilled to receive it. They had had such wonderful times exploring the sites and other things, yes, of course. How could one have known this same instrument would be turned against oneself by that same child? The thing should have been packed away and hidden long ago. Why had she not insisted? They had taken one hell of a chance by leaving it out here especially.
‘But I loved you,’ she said, a whisper. ‘I was your dearest friend and I could not see you robbed of joy when all else had been taken from you. Please don’t do this to me, chèrie. You really don’t understand what’s been happening or why.’
Not a light showed out to sea, and when she tilted the telescope down towards the shore, that same darkness appeared.
‘You saw me down there with Victor — I know you did. You saw me with the Captain too, and no matter what I say to the contrary, your mind is made up. I’ve encouraged both of them and been unfaithful.’
When the sound of air-raid sirens came faintly, she instinctively stiffened — always it was the same. She simply could not get used to that sound, no matter how faint or how far it travelled.
When the bombing of Lorient started, she ignored the danger and went outside to watch — shivered without her overcoat and hugged her shoulders. Tried to find a solution to things.
Flak poured up from the anti-aircraft batteries making rapid little bursts of light among the clouds. The drone of the bombers seemed to come from high above her. Brilliant bomb-flashes hugged the low-ceilinged cloud some twenty kilometres to the north-west over the city and its harbour but came also through some trick of optics from far out to sea.
The Luftwaffe had no night-fighters stationed near Lorient. Even so, sometimes a plane would be shot down and sometimes its aircrew would be able to bale out. Sometimes these men were hidden; sometimes given up. It all depended on who found them first.
So far, none had come here and secretly she was glad of this for she had enough troubles of her own. ‘Though it’s cowardly of me,’ she said, ‘and I ought to do something. Everyone should.’
But I can’t, she whispered inwardly. I dare not. The Germans would shoot us and Johann, no matter what he feels for me, would not be able to stop them, nor would Victor. Poor Victor.
When a bomber came in directly over the house, she ran indoors, throwing only a brief look up at the spyglass window.
‘Angélique is there,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I know she is. She can’t leave things alone. Not now. Never now.’
The bomb had not been fooling. Hung up in some bomb bay, it had finally dislodged itself and had sought a target of its own.
Now the bus lay on its back like a grilled crab with its stomach split open not far from the house.
St-Cyr could barely contain his anger. ‘I told you we should have returned to Quiberon but oh no, you had to watch the fireworks from the beach.’
Kohler sighed heavily at the outburst. ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? Try to think on the positive side. If we hadn’t left the bus, we would have had to pay for all those seats we burned up. Now everyone will just think we were damned lucky.’
St-Cyr threw questioning eyes up to God in exasperation. ‘And the owner of that bus?’ he demanded.
A shrug would be best as they humped it along the road. ‘There’s a war on. He’ll just have to understand.’
‘Well, so will you, my friend. It is three kilometres out to the main road and twenty-two more to Quiberon!’
He’d best distract Louis and get him working on things, though it was tempting to tell him it wasn’t raining. ‘That’s about half-way to the clay pits but in the opposite direction, eh, Chief?’ he sang out. ‘That must tell you something, seeing as you’re from Paris Central and the husband and the stepmother would both have had a long bicycle ride to get there.’
No one should have to listen to such things. ‘These days long bicycle rides are an everyday thing, Inspector, or hadn’t you noticed? Besides, they were common enough in the past and twenty-five kilometres is not so much, especially if you want to stop a murder.’
‘Or commit one.’
‘Ah yes, it could have been either way. It is also quite possible for a pretty woman on a bicycle to hitch a ride in a Wehrmacht lorry. You had best check this. As the senior detective of the partnership, I leave the task to you.’
Still bitchy? wondered Kohler. They were passing through moorland pasture, with clustered farm buildings and tiny, whitewashed houses whose dark slate roofs blended perfectly with the night sky. A dog barked. Another took up the challenge and soon he was able to tell exactly which farmers blamed their dogs for all their troubles. Most of them!
They’d best run through things again. ‘On the 30th of December Baumann delivers a message the Captain sent from Paris, Louis. Both the pianist and his wife read it and have plenty of time to think about it. They know Kaestner will be at the clay pits and so does the child.’