4
About fifty people had crowded onto the pavement facing the offices of La Vigie: pensioners with their caps on straight, young workers with theirs jauntily over their ears, children. No women. But many bicycles stood next to their owners, one in particular, that of Jean Arnaud, red and with derailleur gears and racing handlebars taped up with gutta-percha. Whenever an employee emerged through the glass door and placed his ladder against the wall beneath the blackboard above the exhibition area, there was an ‘ahh’ of satisfaction from the waiting crowd. Calmly, in a round, well-turned hand, the man wrote in chalk ‘Stage: Nice — Gap. 1st André Leducq, 2nd Bonduel, 3rd Benoît Faure’. In the overall placings, of course, Leducq had retained the yellow jersey. The crowd dispersed, disappointed, almost without comment. Reawakened in 1930 by the return to a system of national teams, French chauvinism was bored by a victory that lacked drama. That André Leducq, a great sprinter but lamentable climber, should have won a mountain stage proved that, unless the dice were loaded, it was all over. The 1932 Tour, in stark contrast to the previous year, when there had been victory for the great Antonin Magne combined with a heroic sacrifice by his young team-mate René Vietto on the Col du Lautaret, would finish in tedium. Jean got on his bike and set off for Grangeville, this time climbing the hill without standing up on his pedals. He had been feeling on top form since the beginning of the Tour, and his bike, a Peugeot, was worthy of a champion. He had bought it at Easter with his savings, supplemented by two postal orders from the mysterious prince. Nearly thirteen years old, he looked sixteen or seventeen; he was five foot seven, with long legs and a well-developed upper body. Jeanne now bought his clothes at the men’s department in the Nouvelles Galeries. The term before, he had liberated himself from Madame du Courseau’s yoke by starting to ride to school at Dieppe, refusing a lift with Michel in her new Ford V8, still rather high-bodied and old-fashioned, but powerful and silent. He preferred his bike, however steep the hill back up to Grangeville. His height earned him the frequent (cautious) mockery of his schoolfriends, who themselves wisely remained below average in that respect. Jean stood up to their meanness without pleasure. He recognised Michel’s sly handiwork in these skirmishes: in the year above Jean, he was the one anonymously orchestrating the taunts and rallying cries. Less innocent now, Jean began to keep a tally. One day he would put an end to Michel’s campaign. His fists itched, but for now Michel continued to enjoy the aura of his family. He was the brother of the delicious Antoinette, with whom Jean’s excitements were becoming more and more specific. He was also the son of Antoine du Courseau, with whom he, Jean, had made a secret pact that was still in force, despite Antoine’s frequent absences. And he would have wounded his parents deeply by attacking one of the du Courseaus who, despite their accumulating difficulties, retained a certain magnificence for Jeanne and Albert.
Arriving at La Sauveté, Jean found his mother sitting, very straight, on a chair in the kitchen. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She was a picture of suffering too deep to be expressed, but she managed nevertheless to stutter, ‘Your father’s waiting for you with Madame.’
He had just stepped into the hall when Antoinette, half-opening the door of the small anteroom, grabbed his arm and hissed imperiously, ‘Say it was you!’
She shut the door again immediately, and Jean walked into the drawing room, where his father, Marie-Thérèse and Antoine du Courseau were waiting for him. He understood that he was facing a tribunal and that this tribunal, presided over by a woman flanked by two further judges, did not expect to show clemency. Albert’s face expressed a vivid wrath, while Antoine’s was indifferent, almost absent. As for Marie-Thérèse, after several rehearsals in front of her mirror she seemed ready to play her role with the necessary dignity. It was she who found the first words, the most idiotic, obviously, that revealed very clearly her understanding of her relations with those around her.
‘Jean, we must speak to you very seriously, as we would to a man, since you insist on behaving like a man, despite being only thirteen years old. Do you recognise that up until today we have treated you as we would one of our own children?’
‘Of course, Madame.’
She sighed, and pretended to hide her face in her hands for a moment before continuing.
‘To Michel you’re like a brother—’
‘Do you really think so?’
She dismissed his doubt with a wave of her hand.
‘Oh, I know … little rivalries between boys. When you both grow up they’ll be quite forgotten. I should add — which is of capital importance — that to Antoinette you’re also a brother—’
‘Of course I am!’ Jean exclaimed. His legs were shaking.
‘You little beast!’ Albert shouted, raising his hand as if to slap him, in a gesture that was entirely out of place.
‘Calm down, Albert,’ Antoine said.
‘Captain, he is a little bastard.’
‘What have I done?’ Jean asked in a strangled voice.
Marie-Thérèse intended to lead the investigation in a proper judicial manner.
‘Where were you this afternoon?’
‘In Dieppe. I was waiting for the Tour results. Leducq won the stage.’
Marie-Thérèse’s smile indicated that she had expected just such an alibi.
‘With whom, may I ask?’
‘With his team, of course.’
‘I’m not talking about your grotesque Tour de France, whose vulgarity exasperates me beyond measure, I’m talking about you. Who were you with at Dieppe?’
‘I was on my own.’
Her smile widened.
‘Naturally! And you didn’t speak to anyone!’
Jean hesitated for a moment, thinking who he could have seen that afternoon.
‘No. No one.’
Antoine looked at him intensely. Jean met his eyes fixed upon him and found new courage.
‘What are you accusing me of?’
‘You know very well. This afternoon you were not at Dieppe. You were at the bottom of the cliffs, at the far end of the gully, well concealed behind some fallen rocks.’
Jean paled. He did not notice that she had said ‘this afternoon’ and thought he had been found out. Tears welled up in his eyes.
‘Good!’ Marie-Thérèse said triumphantly. ‘We have no need to spell it out to you. I hope you recognise the seriousness of what you have done. Is today the first time you have done such a thing, you and Antoinette?’
Jean realised his error and straightened up.
‘I was in Dieppe today.’
‘Don’t lie!’ Albert exclaimed. ‘Or I’ll disown you.’
‘I’m not lying.’
He was not lying. He never lied. He might have sinned by omission at confession with the abbé Le Couec, when he ‘forgot’ his and Antoinette’s games. Then his heart sank as he remembered what Antoinette had hissed in his ear: ‘Say it was you!’ He would not say it, but he felt a chasm open up at his feet: who had she been with this afternoon at the bottom of the cliff? He wanted to die. Antoine’s gaze gave him the courage to withstand his despair. Wanting to save Antoinette, he bowed his head and said nothing.
‘What you did is disgusting!’ Marie-Thérèse said. ‘You are not the only guilty party. She is too. But I shall no longer look on you as one of my children.’
‘You ungrateful wretch!’ Albert said.
‘Now, now,’ Antoine said. ‘Let us just strike it from the record, and never mention it again.’
‘I’m confiscating his bike for the rest of the summer.’
Jean looked at his father meekly, despite his anguish.
‘That will hardly undo the harm he has done!’ Marie-Thérèse said acidly.