‘Smuggled out of France and then smuggled back in, was that it?’ challenged Madame Vuitton.
Jules demanded to know who Tommy worked for and were we still in love, and I told him that business was finished the day he himself took the children from me, but that I would tell him nothing else.
He gave me a little smile that was not only swift but also vengeful, but was there a hint of sadness beneath it as well? Oh, for sure, we’d fought before. Lots of times, but nothing like this.
I think he knew it, too, for he said, ‘You may think you’re tough, Lily, but I’ll tell you right now, you’re not. And as far as you and I are concerned, we’re finished. I’ll let you stay here with the children, but only if there’s no more trouble. One more attempt to leave with them, and the police will be notified.’
‘Even though you’re guilty of having purchased stolen property, something I’d be sure to tell them?’
‘She will, Jules!’ hissed that woman. ‘She’s already done us enough harm!’
‘The children are mine, Lily. Under French law, and that of the Church, you can do nothing.’
‘What about that thing?’ I asked. ‘Just what is it that you three intend to do with it? Give it to the Comité Secret d’Action Révolutionnaire of the Action française, eh?’
Struck by this accusation, my husband backed off. ‘Marcel should say less and think more about it before he does.’
I was left alone with Vuitton and that thing; they even closed the doors on the two of us.
‘Well, Lily, I must say I’m surprised you came back.’
I held my throbbing cheek. ‘Since you don’t have children, you couldn’t possibly understand.’
This reference to the couple’s infertility was ignored. ‘Is it that you and that lover of yours are wondering what happened to all the other things from the robbery in which this was taken, and who helped us to get it?’
I didn’t answer. He fixed a loupe to one eye and picked up the tiara. ‘You know far more than you should and that is very foolish of you. To be British at a time like this …’
‘To be trapped without French citizenship-is this what you’re implying?’
The loupe was lowered. ‘I’m merely suggesting that, in view of what could well happen to France and very soon, it would be wise of you to be careful. My wife has many powerful friends. She can help Jules a great deal. You’ll be safe here. Nothing will happen to you and the children. Why not be sensible? Tell us everything you know. Is that too much to ask? This lover of yours … he’s not here to protect you, is he?’
Returning to the tiara, his scrutiny with the lens lasted several minutes during which he said nothing. Of medium height, but bulking large because of the fur coat, he had the pallor of the senior civil servant, the blotches too much childhood exposure to the sun can bring in later life, and a habit of hunching his shoulders forward while concentrating on something.
As he set the tiara aside, he said, ‘Perhaps we should take a little ride in the morning. Yes, that would be best, I think. I’ll suggest it to your husband.’
Marie’s bedroom is the first, and the hardest, for me to enter. There’s no glass in her window, only the splintered sash. An empty satchel lies discarded in front of it, a toss of spent cartridge casings amid the strewn plaster where once a man laid with his gun.
I step a little closer, come finally to rest my hand on the side of that window. Always, I will remember the softness of Marie’s hair against my cheek, the way she turned to look questioningly at me. They weren’t going to use one of the cars. Instead, they’d found a glossy black open sleigh, the relic of some family fifty years ago, and that could only mean we wouldn’t likely be taking the well-travelled roads.
The horses were frisky and weren’t from any nearby farm, either. Marcel held one of them by the bridle, and as he fed it a dried apple, he looked up at me past Madame Vuitton, who ignored him completely, as did the husband.
Since Jules knew how to use the reins, he got up front but sent Jean-Guy to tell us it was time to go. Even in the depth of winter, Dominique Vuitton wore mascara, rouge, and lipstick. Eyeshadow-the kohl of the Egyptians? I asked myself. The lips were tight, and I was made to feel shabby in my overcoat and mittens, having forgotten to bring my scarf and toque.
It was Marcel who handed me his own. ‘Remember what I said,’ he said, and we two looked at each other while she wondered about us, as did that husband of hers and my own.
But all too soon we were out of sight of the château, and I found myself asking had Marcel tried to warn me of something? Only once more did Dominique Vuitton bother to look at me. The painted eyebrows arched; the prominent cheekbones, high and slanting away, gave ridges to the narrowness of her face, the knife of hardness to her expression. She was like the madame of a brothel who was surveying an object that must please a wealthy client but who had her doubts.
There were many side roads. Most were deeply rutted by the logging wagons of winter, but just before Arbonne, there was one that cut through the forest to the buttes, to flat-topped hillocks with steep sides. Jules took us there. It was very private, very quiet except for the snorting of the horses.
We all got down. Snow overwhelmed my shoes, and I worried about the children losing theirs, for it was deep and more had begun to fall, but even then I couldn’t have suspected what was about to happen.
Firmly, Vuitton took the children by the hand. Vapour billowed from the nostrils of the horses. Jules gave me a look I was never to forget.
‘We have to have the truth, Lily. Exactly who was this man you ran off with, who does he work for, and how much did you tell him about what’s being stored at the house?’
‘He’s a salesman of sheet music from Chicago.’
‘What are he and his friends planning?’
‘I’m not telling you or the Vuittons anything. We’re finished and you’ve said it yourself.’
Curtly, he nodded. ‘You’re to wait here with the sleigh.’
‘Me?’ I looked around. I remember saying, ‘Ah, non …’ remember thinking I’d better run, but they came out of the woods, all with double-bladed axes. Some were older than the others, but all wore the blue denim jackets and dungarees of woodcutters. Some had not shaved in days, others not in years, and the snowflakes clung to them.
Vuitton waited at the edge of the clearing with my children. That wife of his looked back. My husband said, ‘Lily, I’ll ask you once again.’
Then he, too, walked away, and I felt myself come up against the sleigh.
* * *
Frost ringed the glass of the big French windows of my kitchen. Beyond the courtyard shadows, moonlight bathed the orchard. It made the snow crystalline, and as I touched the glass, I stood there in my robe and pajamas. There were no slippers on my feet. The tiles were freezing, but I didn’t care.
The deer had come again to forage. Timidly, they moved among the trees, and I knew I should scare them off. Each nibble was at least a pear or two or more in season, an apple, or a plum, but I couldn’t do that because for me it was a ritual of healing. The robe fell open, the cold washed in, but I couldn’t move.
There were five does and a buck whose winter could be his last. The tip of my nose touched the glass, fogging it with my breath. I took a chance and carefully rubbed the fog away. The deer were so graceful. One even stood on its hind legs. February 1940 had been bitter-harsh in the forest. Cruel!
My love went out to them and they, in turn, sent theirs back to me. No hurting of another, not with them. No ganging up to beat and punch and kick and rape. Just life and living and getting by from day to day. No sleep at night, of course. How could there be? Tears were of no use. They were all gone anyway. There were the children to care for, and nothing could be said of it. Perhaps that was what hurt the most. That and what they did to me while my children were taken for a little walk in the forest, and had to have heard me.