Barbara Cleverly - Tug of War

‘Did you do it?’ Dorcas asked. Irrelevantly, Joe thought.

‘I’ll never forget putting the last log on the pile as the first note rang out,’ said Georges with quiet pride. ‘I think, looking back, it was a stage-managed moment but,’ he shrugged, ‘it was one of many lessons I learned from Edward.’

‘Did you ever think he might be. . regard him as. . your father?’ Dorcas asked bluntly.

‘No. I never confused them. And he never tried to be a father to me. More like an older brother. My mother liked him too. She was always cheerful when he was in the house. I remember she was delighted when he came to us wounded with permission to recuperate. She was a nurse, you know, and she gave him the very best attention.’

He went silent and stared at his boots for a very long time. Then he looked up at them angrily under his brows. He swallowed and said stiffly, ‘Well, you must think me the most awful fool — not realizing what was going on all those years until two foreigners arrive and spell it out for me. I am supposing — nine years too late — that something was going on. You must think me incredibly naïf!’

‘No, we don’t!’ said Dorcas. ‘Young, trusting and betrayed by the adults around him.’

‘Papa, Edward and Maman,’ he said. ‘If something frightful happened that night in 1917, how could I ever assign blame? I loved them all.’

‘Georges, we don’t at present know what, if any, blame there is to be assigned,’ said Joe. ‘The answers are blocked up in the cellars under the auspices of St Martin. I think you know what we have to do. A little dégorgement has to take place, wouldn’t you say, so that whatever poison is gathering behind there is released, identified and dealt with. The pressure’s building, the bottle’s at the right angle. . and the thumb on the cork is yours, old son.’

Georges’s head went up. He attempted a smile and even acknowledged Joe’s extravagant metaphor. ‘Nine years in the bottle — that’s too long. And I’m sure you’re thinking I have my own internal dead yeast to get rid of?’

‘You said it yourself, don’t forget,’ said Joe softly, ‘- it’s nasty stuff but it plays a necessary part in producing the final aroma and flavour. Release it and the ’26 vintage could well turn out to be the best Houdart for decades.’

Georges had come to a decision. It was a difficult one to deliver but he had no hesitation and, Joe knew, would never go back on it.

‘Two things,’ he said. ‘First: my uncle Charles must be made aware of all this. I rather trust you can find the words to tell him, sir? May we leave that to you? Second: we cannot do this in the presence of my mother. That I cannot allow. Tomorrow is Sunday and she goes to morning mass in the village. She will be gone for about two hours. Time enough, I think, for us to perform our investigations. So — will you parade at eight hundred hours? At the rond point St Martin? Dorcas, you may be excused. . No, I thought as much.’

‘And if we find nothing, she’ll never be aware of the suspicions raised by two interfering English,’ said Dorcas.

‘Exactly.’

The understanding between these two was instant, Joe recognized, with a twinge of concern. It had taken only one day for them to be confident of reading each other’s thoughts.

‘The difficulty will be in acting as normally as possible for the rest of the day.’ Joe thought he ought to raise this problem.

‘I find if you want to deceive, the best way to go about it is to have lots to prattle on about,’ said Dorcas in a practical way. ‘If you’re boring someone they’re not paying much attention to what you’re saying. Have you ever ridden bareback, Georges? Then we’ll start now. I’ll show you how. We’ll take two of the more docile horses and make for that wood beyond the vineyard. And we’ll have thrills and spills enough, I dare say, to chatter about over dinner. If there’s time we could ride over and talk to the gypsies. I know a few words of Romany. . We could return bubbling with stories. I say — do you mind, Joe, if we just disappear?’

Joe was irritated enough to say, ‘Not at all! Run along and play!’

Joe found Charles-Auguste, although it could well have been the Frenchman who did the finding, on his way back to the main house. On hearing the seriousness of Joe’s tone when he asked for an interview, he steered him along to the study, leaving instructions with the footman that they were not to be disturbed.

Joe set out his story succinctly and without emotion, managing, he thought, to get his facts in the right order from the scene of nightmare witnessed by Dr Varimont in Reims to Georges’s account of his own nightmare in the cellars, on the evening his father disappeared. He mentioned the presence in the château of the billeted Englishmen and talked of Edward Thorndon who vanished from Georges’s life and from the records of the British Army at the same time. He spoke of Georges’s undisclosed horror at the sight of his mother with the body, the bloodstains on the child’s shirt and the covering over of a burial place.

All of Charles-Auguste’s concerns were for his nephew. ‘How can any child have hugged this appalling vision to himself all these years? My poor Georges! Why did he never confide. .? Well, of course, I can imagine why he did not. . It’s a child’s device — pretend something’s not really there and it will disappear. But this never did. I wondered, not very energetically, you see, about the flowers and St Martin. So many shrines down there, I just took it for one of a series, one personal to Georges. But I can’t believe Aline would be mixed up in anything of a homicidal nature. She’s a bit mad — I’ve said so — and rather wish I’d kept my mouth shut now! But she’s not violent. Oh, no! Nurse, you know, and a damn good one by all accounts. In the business of preserving life not taking it. None of this makes sense, Sandilands.’

‘And won’t begin to until we’ve taken a look at whatever rests behind that partition,’ said Joe.

He outlined Georges’s suggestion for an inspection on Sunday morning.

‘I have to say that’s a sensible idea, if very distasteful,’ said Charles. ‘And it does amount to out and out deceit of Aline.’ He shuddered. ‘If she were ever to find out. . Still, I agree — if we make the most colossal fools of ourselves, we can just put the cover back over things with little harm done. And the cellar men will have a laugh at least. . “You got it wrong, Monsieur Charles!” they can turn on me and say. “Whatever made you think there were vintage bottles hidden away behind that wall?” Very well. Eight o’clock? I’ll be there.’

Four silent figures gathered in front of the icon of St Martin, looking shifty rather than respectful, Joe thought.

‘Eight o’clock,’ said Charles-Auguste. ‘I think we can count on two hours, judging by previous form, what do you say, Georges?’

Georges nodded miserably.

‘I didn’t ask any of the men to attend these proceedings,’ said Charles. ‘Thought we could probably manage the work by ourselves. Three strapping fellows. Ought to be enough. But I say, Sandilands, er — Miss Dorcas? Not perhaps a suitable thing for her to witness?’

‘You can try sending her away if you’re feeling reckless,’ said Joe. ‘I’ve tried. On her own head be it.’

‘Very well, then. Let’s have at it. Picks, Georges? Two. Shovel? Bring that trolley over, will you? That will smash down the partition once we’ve made a hole in it. What do you say it’s made of. .? One thickness of brick? And a skimming of plaster over. Shouldn’t take long then. Well, stand back there, I’ll take the first swing.’