Iain Pears - The Last Judgement

‘Arthur?’ she whispered. ‘Did you say Arthur was dead?’

‘Yes. He was tortured, then shot. We now think by this Ellman man. For a painting stolen from Rouxel, as far as we can tell. Why — well, that’s what we were hoping you could tell us. How did you know his name was Arthur?’

‘He was my son,’ she said simply.

Both Flavia and Argyll were stopped in their tracks by this one; neither had the slightest idea of what to say. And so they said nothing at all. Fortunately, Mrs Richards wasn’t listening anyway; she was off on her own path now.

‘I ended up in England by accident, I suppose you could say. When the Allies liberated Paris, they found me, and evacuated me, to England for treatment. They did that for some people. I was in hospital for several years, and met Harry there. He treated me, did his best to put me back together again. As you see, he didn’t have much to work on. But eventually he asked me to marry him. I had no ties anymore to France, and he was good to me. Kind. So I agreed, and he brought me here.

‘I didn’t love him; I couldn’t. He knew that and accepted it. As I say, he was a good man, much better than I deserved. He tried to help me bury the past, and instead let me bury myself in the countryside.’

She looked at them and gave them a little smile, a sad little effort with no amusement behind it. ‘And here I’ve stayed, with death eluding me. Everybody I’ve ever cared for had died first, and they deserved it much less than I did. I’ve earned it. Except for Jean, and he should live. Even poor Arthur is dead. That goes against nature, don’t you think? Sons should outlive their mothers.’

‘But—’

‘Harry was my second husband. My first was Jules Hartung.’

‘But I was told you were dead,’ Flavia said a little tactlessly.

‘I know. I should be. You seem confused.’

‘You could say that.’

‘I’ll start at the beginning then, shall I? I don’t suppose you’ll find it at all interesting, but if there’s anything that can help Jean, you’ll be welcome to it. You will help him, won’t you?’

‘If he needs it.’

‘Good. As I say, my first husband was Jules Hartung. We married in 1938, and I was lucky to have him. Or at least, that’s what I was told. I was born into a family that lost everything in the Depression. We’d had a good life — servants, holidays, a large apartment on the Boulevard St-Germain — but with the collapse, it all began to disappear. My father was used to high society and gave it up unwillingly; his expenses always exceeded his income, and progressively we got poorer. The servants went, to be replaced by lodgers. Even my father ultimately saw the need to get a job, although he waited until my mother had got one first.

‘Eventually I met Jules, who seemed to fall in love with me. Or at least, he thought I would be a suitable wife and mother. He proposed — to my parents, not to me, and they accepted. That was that. He was nearly thirty years older than I was. It was a marriage without any passion or tenderness; very formal — we used to call each other vous and were always very respectful. I don’t mean that he was a bad man, far from it. At least to me, he was always correct, courteous and, I suppose, even devoted in his way. You see I am telling you my story without the benefit of hindsight.

‘I was eighteen and he was nearly fifty. I was exuberant and I suppose very immature, he was middle-aged, responsible, and a serious man of business. He ran his companies, made money, collected his art and read his books. I liked to go dancing, to sit in cafés and talk; and, of course I had the politics of youth whereas Jules had the outlook of the middle-aged industrialist.

‘I found myself visiting my parents more and more often; not to see them, of course, they were as dull as Jules and not half as kind, but to spend time with the lodgers and students who increasingly filled up their house.

‘My father, you see, had assumed that once I was married, a nice flow of money would pour from my new husband and restore him to his accustomed style of life. Jules didn’t see it like that. He didn’t like my father and had not the slightest intention of supporting someone who openly despised him.

‘He was an odd man in many ways. For a start, I wasn’t Jewish, and for him to marry me was something of a scandal. But he went ahead anyway, saying he was too old to worry about what other people thought. He was also quite easy-going; wanted me to go with him to functions and act as his hostess, but otherwise let me be. I liked him; he provided everything I needed, except love.

‘And I needed that; I needed to be in love. Then the war came.

‘We were going to leave, the moment that it became clear the whole thing would be a disaster. Jules saw it; whatever his limitations, he was perceptive. He knew the French had no stomach for a fight, and knew that people like him would get rough treatment. He’d prepared for it, and we were about to head for Spain when I went into labour.

‘It was a bad birth; I was bed-bound for several weeks in dreadful conditions; everybody had left Paris, the hospitals weren’t working properly and were overflowing with wounded. Few nurses, fewer doctors, little medicine. I couldn’t move and Arthur was so fragile he would have died. So Jules stayed too, to be with me, and by the time we could go it was too late; you couldn’t get out without permission and someone like him couldn’t get it.

‘And life sort of drifted back — not to normality, obviously, but to something which seemed understandable and bearable. Jules became wrapped up in trying to preserve his business, and I went back to my life with students. And we sat and decided we should do something to fight back. The government and the army had failed us, so now it was time for us to show what being French was all about.

‘Not everyone thought like us; in fact very few people did. Jules, as I say, merely wanted to keep out of trouble; in the case of my parents — well, they had always been on the right. Bit by bit the students departed, to be replaced by German officers billeted on them. They liked that, my parents. Getting in well with the new order. Their natural tendencies had been reinforced by Jules’s refusal to hand over money; now it was encouraged, they became openly anti-Semitic as well.

‘About a year after the armistice, there was only one student left, a young lawyer who’d been there for years. I’d always liked him, had introduced him to Jules, and they’d taken to each other like father and son. Jean was just the sort of son Jules had always wanted. Handsome, strong, honest, intelligent, open-minded; he had everything except a decent family, and Jules set about providing that. He paid his fees until he qualified; encouraged him in every way; introduced him to important people; set about giving him the chances he needed and deserved. Even gave him presents. They got on so very well. It was wonderful while it lasted.’

‘This was Rouxel, I take it?’ Flavia asked quietly.

She nodded. ‘Yes. We were about the same age. He took a room at my parents’ and I saw a lot of him. If it hadn’t been for Jules, I imagine we would have been married; as it was, we had to content ourselves with being lovers. The first man I loved. In a sense, I suppose, the last as well. With Jules — well, what passion he had was used up shortly after we married. And Harry was a good man; but not like that, and it was too late then anyway.

‘I imagine you find that — what? Surprising? Disgusting even, to look at me now. An old wizened cripple as I am. I was different then. Another person, you might say. Do you smoke?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Do you smoke? Do you have any cigarettes?’