Barbara Cleverly - Tug of War

Her cigar had long gone out though she still clutched it, and Joe gently took it from her and put it in an ashtray.

She breathed unsteadily and her eyes filled with tears. Hardly able to speak she battled on, accepting that nothing she could say would convey the depth of her feeling but impelled to try. ‘Two seconds! I told you! Nothing we could do about it! Nothing! To say we fell in love is a bit weak — we recognized each other. We belonged to each other from that moment.’

Joe was becoming uncomfortable with the high swell of her emotional revelations. ‘And Clovis ran into a confession from Edward, you think?’

‘More than a confession. He was determined to tell him that, if he survived the war, he would come back for me and we’d make a life together in England with Georges. He refused to leave Georges behind.’

And Joe understood. ‘A dynastically minded man like Clovis with his honour challenged would never accept that. And he loved his son. He thought he was not likely to return from his next encounter. . where did you say he was bound? The Chemin des Dames? Ah, yes. He would have known his chances of surviving that were low. He would not want to ride off leaving behind his wife and his son to be acquired by a despised Englishman who’d usurped his position, stolen his life. Aline, this was always going to end disastrously! It was madness to think otherwise.’

‘Madness? What are you talking about? We were surrounded by madness! We lived in a daily hell of madness. Every day could have been our last. Our love was an escape from that — it was the only sane thing in our world.’

‘Not quite the only thing that meant a good deal to you, I think,’ said Joe. ‘This conversation started with Georges. .’

‘I couldn’t let it ever be discovered that my son’s father was a murderer. He was a clever boy, Commander. I was certain he would work it out. I had to hide the body. It was for his sake I hid it. Concealing it in the cellar was the easy part! I had to get rid of their horses in the night so it would appear they’d gone off to rejoin their troops. I rode one and led the other. I let them loose within a whinny of a French army camp where I was sure they’d be welcomed with open arms. They were good horses, it broke my heart to let them go. And I walked back through the lanes and helped Felix finish the wall.’

Joe was smitten by the reserves of strength, emotional as well as purely physical, that unforgettable night must have called for from this woman.

And he still had not guessed at the extent of her resilience. She gave him a calculating look. ‘There’s not a great deal you can do about this, I think, Commander? You have a corpse to which it will be difficult to assign an identity — I was not deceived for long by your confidence and your sleight of hand. And what authority is going to be interested enough or have sufficient time on their hands to get to the bottom of it? There are thousands of bodies coming back to the surface every year. The land itself disgorges them: French, German, British, Belgian, men from the colonies, they still appear. And you know as well as I do — better perhaps — how the authorities work. The French will hand the file over to the British who will hand it back again with a few superior and dismissive phrases. And it will spend more months. . years. . gathering dust on a shelf somewhere. Eventually all those who might have an interest or a memory will be gone themselves.’

‘We are speaking of a man who did not die in battle, madame. He was murdered.’

‘A soldier’s body pierced by sabre cuts? In the middle of the corpse-strewn Marne? Who will care? My dear Commander, if you pursue this, you will be a laughing stock.’

She had drawn up the battle lines. Over-confident.

Joe strolled to the table to put down his whisky glass and turned, replying with chill formality: ‘ I will care, Madame Houdart. And, for me, the derision of a deskbound official or two in London or Paris is as nothing compared with the silent cry for justice of a fellow soldier.’

He took his cap badge from his pocket and studied it. ‘Edward of the Fir Tree: I feel I know him. He was a soldier just like me. A Fusilier, miles from home, trying to cling to some semblance of civilization and tradition. . snatching at love and warmth where he could find them. I’m a pretty traditional sort of man myself, madame, and in an old-fashioned way I’m going to give you my pledge that I will bring this matter to a conclusion that would have satisfied him . And here’s my gage on that!’

With a scornful gesture he tossed the badge across the room to land at her feet.

She stood up, glowing with fury, indicating that the interview had ended. As he bowed and made to leave her she called after him: ‘I had a black hound once. . an English breed. . a nonpareil when it came to following the quarry. But he was too keen, Commander. Sadly one day, in his eagerness, he outstripped the rest of the dogs and fell into a boar-trap. Broke his back. A terrible thing but someone had to give the command to administer the coup de grâce . I gave it.’

Joe closed the door quietly and stood outside, grinning and shaking his head to dispel his disgust at the melodramatic performance. ‘Pompous English idiot!’ was his judgement. ‘Against lying French schemer! Wonder who’ll prevail?’

He was disturbed enough by his conversation to wish to share his concerns with Charles-Auguste, recognizing now the man’s prescience in calling in a little help from a discreet quarter, and set off back towards the cellars. Charles was at the door, leaving directions with one of the men. Dusty and tired, he made his way over to Joe.

‘Kitchen, I think. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.’

Settled around the table and by themselves, they set about producing a second breakfast.

‘Here, have some bread,’ offered Charles. ‘It’ll soak up the whisky. You smell like a distillery, man! Trying to keep pace with her, were you?’

‘What? You’re not saying that. .?’

‘Oh, no! Aline’s by no means dependent on the stuff. She’s a winemaker, after all. Knows exactly where to stop. Usually doesn’t start but when she does. .! She was probably trying to drink you under the table. Seen her do it with buyers. But she should have known better than to try that on with a Scotsman, I’d guess?’

‘The capacity comes in useful sometimes. Even so, I’m ashamed to say I’d reached the loosening of inhibitions stage and made a gesture or two I regret. But, Charles, I want you to listen to Aline’s account and tell me what you’re thinking. I hardly know the woman. You do. I don’t want to come to a wrong conclusion about her and base my further actions on something false.’

Charles listened and asked an occasional question as the conversation and Joe’s interpretation of it were laid out for him. He grimaced and drew in a whistling breath as Joe recounted her Parthian shot. ‘No, actually she wasn’t making up that story about the dog. . I remember the brute. Black as night, keen as mustard and he died as described. Ouch! You’re for it, old man! But tell me — what are you going to do now?’

‘Head straight for the boar-trap, I’m afraid. Nowhere else to go. I won’t stand by and see Edward Thorndon shovelled into the earth as a nameless deserter, in a pine box in a French graveyard, with no one to mourn him but the woman who indirectly brought about his death. He has loving parents in England. They continue their search for information. They will want their son’s remains returned and, believe me, Charles, this is one missing soldier who’s going home if I have to carry him on my back!’

He paused to fill his coffee cup.