“I had been concerned about him for some time, Audric,” she said. “I had seen a change in him. He became withdrawn, anxious.”
“Did you ask him what was wrong?”
She nodded. “He claimed there was nothing. Just stress, overwork.”
Audric laid his hand on her arm. “He loved you, Jeanne. Perhaps there was nothing. Perhaps there was.” He paused. “If Yves was involved in something wrong, it went against his nature. His conscience was troubled.
In the end, when most it mattered, he did the right thing. He sent the ring to you, regardless of the consequences.“
“Inspector Noubel asked me about the ring. He wanted to know if I had spoken to Yves on Monday.”
What answer did you give?“
“Truthfully, that I had not.”
Audric sighed with relief.
“But you think Yves was being paid to pass on information, don’t you, Audric?” Her voice was hesitant, but firm. “Tell me. I would rather hear the truth.”
He raised his hands. “How can I speak the truth when I do not know it?”
“Then tell me what you suspect. Not knowing-” she broke off- ‘there is nothing worse.“
Baillard imagined the moment the boulder fell across the entrance to the cave, trapping them inside. Not knowing what was happening to her.
The smell of the box, the roar of the flames, the soldiers shouting as they ran. Half-remembered places and images. Not knowing if she was alive or dead.
“Es vertat,” he said softly. “It is the not knowing that is unbearable.” He sighed once again. “Very well. I do believe Yves was being paid for providing information, yes – about the Trilogy primarily, but probably other things as well. I imagine it seemed harmless at first – a telephone call here or there, details about where someone might be, who they might talk to – but soon I suspect they started to ask of him more than he wished to give.”
“You say ”they“? Do you know who is responsible then?”
“Speculation, no more,” he said quickly. “Mankind does not much change, Jeanne. On the surface, we seem different. We evolve, we develop new rules, new standards of living. Each generation asserts modern values,.and dismisses the old, priding itself on its sophistication, its wisdom. We disappear to have little in common with those that have gone before us.” He tapped his chest. “But within these tunics of flesh, the human heart beats same as it ever did. Greed, desire for power, fear of death, these lotions do not change.” His voice softened. “The things that are fine in life, too, do not change. Love, courage, willingness to lay down one’s life what one believes in, kindness.”
“Will it ever end?”
Baillard hesitated. “I pray that it will.”
Above their heads, the clock marked the passing of time. At the far end of the corridor, hushed voices, footsteps, the squeak of rubber soles on the floor, heard briefly, then gone
“You will not go to the police?” said Jeanne eventually.“
“I do not think it wise.”
“You don’t trust Inspector Noubel?”
“Benleu.” Perhaps. “Did the police return Yves’ personal belongings to you?” The clothes he was wearing when he was brought in, the contents of his pockets?“
“His clothes were… were beyond saving. Inspector Noubel said there It nothing in his pockets except for his wallet and keys.”
“Nothing at all? No carte d’identite, no papers, no telephone? Did he not think that odd?”
“He said nothing,” she replied.
“And his apartment. Did they find anything there? Papers?”
Jeanne shrugged. “I don’t know.” She paused. “I asked one of his friends to draw me up a list of who was at the site on Monday afternoon.” She handed him a piece of paper with names scribbled on it. “It’s not complete.”
He looked down. “And this?” he queried, pointing at the name of a hotel.
Jeanne looked. “You wanted to know where the English woman was staying.” She paused. “Or, at least, that’s the information she gave the Inspector.”
“Dr Alice Tanner,” he murmured under his breath. After so long, she had come to him. Then that is where I shall send my letter.“
“I could deliver it for you when I return home.”
“No,” he said sharply. Jeanne looked up in surprise. “Forgive me,” he said quickly. “You are kind to offer, but… I do not think it wise for you to return home. For now, at least.”
“Why ever not?”
“It will not take them long to discover Yves sent the ring to you, if they do not know already. Please, stay with friends. Go away somewhere, with Claudette, anywhere. It is not safe.”
To his surprise, she did not argue. “Ever since we got here you’ve been looking over your shoulder.”
Baillard smiled. He had thought he’d kept his anxiety hidden.
“What about you, Audric?”
“It is different for me,” he said. “I have been waiting for this moment for… for longer than I can say, Jeanne. It is how it is meant to be, for good or ill.”
For a moment, Jeanne said nothing.
“Who is she, Audric?” she said softly. “This English girl? Why does she matter so much to you?”
He smiled, but he could not answer.
“Where will you go from here?” she asked in the end.
Baillard caught his breath. An image of his village, as it had once been, came to his mind.
“Oustaou,” he replied softly. “I will return home. A la perfin.” At last.
CHAPTER 41
Shelagh had grown accustomed to the dark.
She was being held in a stable or animal pen of some sort. There was a sharp, acrid smell of droppings, urine, straw and a sweet sickly odour, like rancid meat. A strip of white light showed under the door, but she couldn’t tell if it was late afternoon or early morning. She wasn’t even sure what day it was.
The rope around her legs chafed, irritating the raw, broken skin on her ankles. Her wrists were tied together and she was tethered to one of several metal rings attached to the wall.
Shelagh shifted position, trying to get comfortable. Insects were crawling across her hands and face. She was covered in bites. Her wrists were sore where the rope was rubbing and her shoulders were stiff where her arms had been pulled back for so long. Mice or rats scuttled in the straw in the corners of the pen, but she’d become accustomed to them in the “Same way she’d ceased to notice the pain.
If only she’d rung Alice. Another mistake. Shelagh wondered if Alice kept trying or given up. If she rang the site house and found she was sing, she’d realise something was wrong, wouldn’t she? What about Ives? Brayling had called the police…?
Shelagh felt her eyes well up. More likely they didn’t realise she was missing. Several of her colleagues had announced their intention to take off for a few days until the situation was resolved. Maybe they thought she’d done the same.
She had gone beyond hunger some time back, but she was thirsty. She felt as if she’d swallowed a block of sandpaper. The small amount of water they’d given her had gone and her lips were cracked where she’d licked them, over and over. She tried to remember how long a normal, healthy person could survive without water. A day? A week?
She heard the scrunch of the gravel. Her heart contracted and surged through her, as it did every time she heard a sound outside. Until now, nobody had come in.
She pulled herself up into a sitting position as the padlock was unlocked. There was a heavy clunk as the chain fell, folding up on itself, in spirals of dull chatter, then the sound of the door juddering on its hinges. Shelagh turned her face away as sunlight, aggressively bright, burst into the gloom of the hut and a dark, stocky man ducked under the lintel. He was wearing a jacket, despite the heat, and his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. Instinctively, Shelagh shrank back against the wall, ashamed of the tight knot of fear in her stomach.