Peter May - Extraordinary People

‘No. I have to get back to Paris.’

‘Don’t you want to know who killed your uncle?’

She turned on him, anger flashing in her eyes. ‘What do you care? All you’re interested in is winning your bet.’

If she had plunged a knife into his heart, she could hardly have hurt him more. But maybe it was no more than he deserved. He watched her in silence as she packed away the cables. ‘How will you get back to Paris?’

She shrugged, ‘You can drop me at the railway station at Tulle.’ And she lifted the television to take it back up to her room.

The car stood where they had left it, abandoned on the track. But there was no traffic here. Not even the local farmer came down this way. The back of the car was buckled and scorched where the truck had rammed them, and scraped all down one side where they had struck the dividing drum a glancing blow at the off ramp.

On his fourth failed attempt to start the car, the engine made a sound like tearing metal and abruptly seized. Now it would not even turn over. Charlotte got out and walked around to the front of the car. ‘There’s oil all over the path.’

Enzo released the hood and went to have a look. A small river of oil had run down among the stones, dividing and subdividing, before soaking into the earth. He lifted the hood and the pungent stench of warm lubricating oil wafted up into their faces. It glistened on every surface of the engine and its mountings. ‘Shit!’ Enzo dropped the hood and thought about it. They were miles from anywhere. And even if they could persuade a garagiste to come out, the car was unlikely to be on the road again anytime soon. He felt in the leg pocket of his cargos for his cell phone. Its tiny screen told him there was a strong signal here. He thought for a moment, then became aware of Charlotte looking at him.

She said, ‘Who are you calling?’

‘My daughter.’

Sophie answered quickly. ‘Hi, Papa. Where are you?’

‘Sophie, I’ve been in a road accident.’

‘Oh, mon dieu ! Papa, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. But I need you to do me a favour.’ He took a deep breath and swallowed his pride. ‘Actually, it’s Bertrand I need to do me the favour.’

‘Bertrand?’

‘He’s got transport, hasn’t he?’

‘He’s got a van, yes.’

‘I need him to come up to the Corrèze and pick me up. And then take me to Metz.’ He paused. ‘Oh, and ask him to bring a couple of spades.’

They went back to the house, and Charlotte made coffee. Then she climbed the hill and lay in the grass, propped on one elbow, sipping her hot drink and staring gloomily out across the valley. Enzo returned to his stone bench, and they waited, neither of them speaking to the other, through three long hours, as the sun sank lower in the sky.

By eight, Enzo was about to call Sophie again when they heard an engine straining on the road above. Charlotte locked up again, and they followed the railway ties up through the trees to Enzo’s car. When they got there, Bertrand’s white van was pulled in behind it, engine idling, and he and Sophie were out looking at the damage.

Sophie hurled herself at her father, wrapping her arms around his neck and nearly knocking him over. ‘Oh, Papa, I’ve been worried about you all the way here.’ She held his face in her hands to look at him. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘I’m fine, pet, really.’ And he pulled her to him and hugged her tightly.

‘That’s some mess you’ve made of your car, Monsieur Macleod,’ Bertrand observed dryly. ‘What happened? Did you back into a tree?’

Enzo glared at him. ‘No, Bertrand. A truck tried to run me off the road.’

‘It not only tried, it succeeded,’ Charlotte said.

Sophie spun around to look at her. ‘Hi.’ She waited expectantly for a moment. ‘I’m Sophie.’

‘I’m Charlotte.’ Charlotte held out her hand and Sophie shook it with unabashed curiosity.

‘So you and dad are…friends, then?’

‘Yes,’ Enzo said quickly. ‘And this is Bertrand.’

‘So I gathered.’ Charlotte and Bertrand shook hands, and she touched a fingertip to her nose. ‘Love the stud. Is it a real diamond?’ Enzo felt as if she was only saying it to annoy him. But, then, they had never discussed Bertrand, and she had no idea what he thought of facial piercing.

Bertrand nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yeah. Eighteen carat.’ Then, ‘Do you live here?’ He sounded incredulous. ‘It took us forever to find this place.’

‘It’s a holiday home. I live in Paris.’

‘Are you coming with us to Metz?’ Sophie asked eagerly. She was evidently anxious to learn more about her Papa’s “friend.”

‘I’m afraid not.’ Charlotte was awkward. ‘Your father said you would drop me off at Tulle. I’m getting the train back to Paris from there.’

‘Oh.’ Sophie was disappointed. ‘Sure.’

‘Do you have any idea how long we’re going to be away?’ Bertrand asked Enzo. ‘I’ve had to pay someone to look after the gym.’

‘I’ll pay you back,’ Enzo said abruptly. ‘Can we go? It’s getting late.’

But before anyone could move, the back door of Bertrand’s van swung open and a sleepy-looking Nicole jumped out. She stretched, thrusting juddering bosoms toward the treetops and blinking in the late evening sun. ‘Why did no one wake me?’

Sophie and Bertrand exchanged looks.

Then Nicole’s gaze fell upon Enzo and she rushed to give him a crushing hug. ‘Oh, Monsieur Macleod, are you all right? I’ve been so worried about you.’

Enzo prised himself free of her, and glanced self-consciously towards Charlotte. ‘What are you doing here, Nicole?’

Sophie pulled a face. ‘She’s been hanging around the apartment for days waiting for you. As soon as she knew you’d phoned, there was no dissuading her from coming with us.’

The sun had dipped behind the hills, but there was still light in the sky when they dropped Charlotte at the station in Tulle.

Enzo had squatted on the floor in the back of the van, Nicole prattling in his ear, while Charlotte sat up front in the passenger seat, with Sophie squeezed in between her and Bertrand. The teenager had chatted animatedly to Charlotte, eliciting more information in half an hour than her father had managed in over a week.

They all got out of the van in the station car park. Sophie kissed Charlotte on both cheeks. ‘You’ve got to come and see us in Cahors,’ she said. ‘You’d love it there, and Papa’s a great cook.’

‘Charlotte’s a very busy woman,’ Enzo said.

Charlotte avoided his eye. ‘That’s right.’ She shook Bertrand’s hand. ‘Thanks for the lift, Bertrand.’

‘ De rien .’ He gazed at her admiringly.

She turned to Enzo. ‘You’ll let me know how you get on?’

‘Of course.’

And she turned and walked into the station. Sophie looked at her father. ‘You didn’t kiss her goodbye.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

Sophie cocked an eyebrow. ‘Lover’s tiff?’

‘Don’t even go there,’ Enzo growled.

‘She’s a beautiful looking woman,’ Bertrand said.

Sophie tipped her head at him. ‘And don’t you go there, either.’ And then she grinned.

‘Can we go, please?’ Enzo opened the passenger door and held it open for Sophie.

She flounced past him and jumped in. ‘You’re in a right mood tonight, aren’t you?’

They got on to the A89 autoroute for Clermont-Ferrand just outside Tulle, Enzo, Sophie and Bertrand all squeezed into the front, Nicole in the back, the roar of the engine and the smell of diesel filling the cab. It was Bertrand, finally, who broke the silence. ‘You said you were run off the road by a truck.’