Peter May - Cast Iron

He was saved from what would probably have been the later embarrassment of it by Nicole’s return from the hall, where she had gone to answer a knock at the door unheard by almost everyone else. She cleared her throat and raised her voice to command the attention of the room, and announced, ‘Sophie’s birthday surprise for her dad has arrived.’ And, as Enzo turned, he saw her step aside to reveal a young woman with chestnut hair and the warmest brown eyes, creased now by discomfort and self-consciousness. She was slight-built, not much taller than Nicole, and dressed simply in jeans and trainers, with a white T-shirt beneath a short denim jacket.

Enzo realised with a start who it was and stood up immediately, still clutching Laurent.

Nicole stepped quickly forward to relieve him of the baby. ‘Here, I’ll take him.’

And Enzo locked eyes with the new arrival, a sudden collision of butterflies in his belly.

No one knew quite what to say, and it was Charlotte’s gently mocking voice that broke the silence. ‘Another of Enzo’s girlies?’

Which jolted Enzo out of his trance. He stepped towards the girl, his eyes still fixed fast on her. ‘This is Dominique Chazal,’ he told the assembled, ‘the gendarme from Thiers, without whom I could never have cracked the Marc Fraysse murder.’ And he paused. ‘I had no idea you were coming.’

‘It was Sophie’s idea,’ Nicole said. ‘She and Dominique stayed in touch after everything that happened up there.’ She turned to Dominique. ‘Isn’t that right?’

Dominique nodded, still clearly embarrassed to be the centre of attention. ‘Yes.’ She looked around. ‘Is she not here?’

‘Held up on the motorway,’ Enzo said. And still he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He took both her hands and kissed her on each cheek. ‘Come in, come in.’ He led her into the séjour , curious eyes upon them, and he avoided meeting the gaze of either Hélène or Charlotte.

The préfet said, ‘They didn’t make gendarmes that pretty in my day.’ And Dominique blushed.

In truth, Dominique was not pretty in any conventional sense. Enzo had always thought her quite plain — but beautifully plain, in the way that sometimes the simplest things in life are the most beautiful. The touch of colour on her eyelids, and the merest hint of red on her lips, lifted her out of the ordinary. The deep pellucid brown of her eyes provided a window to her inner beauty, and revealed a vulnerability which had prompted Enzo’s protective instincts. He remembered instantly the softness of her lips and the way every contour of her body had moulded itself to his.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said, and, without waiting to hear if she was, led her into the kitchen. They were momentarily on their own here, and Enzo had to resist the temptation to take her in his arms. Instead, he said, ‘This is unexpected.’

‘It was Sophie’s idea.’

‘But, still, you came.’

‘If Mohammed will not go to the mountain...’

Enzo couldn’t meet her eye, embarrassed. He glanced towards the séjour and said, ‘It’s not even a particularly auspicious birthday.’ He tried a smile. ‘Just one more step closer to the grave.’ Then paused when she didn’t return his smile. ‘You must have had to take precious leave.’

She shrugged. ‘I haven’t bothered much with leave in the last year or so. And, anyway, it’s not an issue anymore. I’ve quit.’

‘Quit the gendarmerie?’

‘Served my time and had to make a decision. I could sign up again or try for a real life. I decided to go for the latter.’ Her smile was brittle. ‘So here I am, the new me, footloose and fancy free and trying to figure out what to do with a life that hasn’t belonged to me for the last eighteen years.’ She tipped her head to one side in recognition of the irony. ‘It feels strange when they put it back in your own hands — sort of shop-soiled and used, and completely unfamiliar. As if you’ve been someone else, and only now realise that you haven’t a clue who you are.’

Enzo reflected that that’s how it must be for most people returning to civilian life after a career in the military. For it’s what the gendarmerie was, just another regiment of the armed forces.

‘Well, well... the famous Dominique Chazal.’ Charlotte strolled casually through from the séjour , arms folded, and surveyed them both with smiling condescension. She was, Enzo thought, more defensive than he had ever seen her. ‘So nice of you to drop by, all the way from... Thiers, was it?’

Enzo was awkward. ‘This is Charlotte,’ he said.

Dominique regarded her coldly. ‘I think I could have guessed that.’

‘Oh!’ Charlotte mock-flinched. ‘That sounds ominous. What on earth has Enzo been saying about me?’

Enzo recalled only too clearly telling Dominique about Charlotte’s threat to abort their baby if Enzo did not agree to stay away. But before he could speak, Dominique said simply, ‘Enough.’ And Enzo felt the temperature in the room drop thirty degrees.

Charlotte’s smile was equally frozen. ‘I expect you two have kept in touch, then.’

Dominique said, ‘I haven’t seen Enzo since he left Thiers.’

Enzo shuffled uncomfortably, aware of the accusation in this.

‘Well, then, it was good of you to come. I expect you two will have a lot of catching up to do.’ Charlotte turned to Enzo. ‘We’ll have to leave early tomorrow. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Lannemezan. I’ll pick you up at eight.’ And she swung a saccharine-sweet smile towards Dominique. ‘Make the most of your time with him, because there won’t be much of it.’

‘All the more reason to appreciate it, then.’ Dominique fixed her with a patently hostile and unblinking gaze, until Enzo saw Charlotte look away, unable to maintain eye contact in the face of such naked animus. He had never seen her this cowed before.

It was night in the square below now, though light still spilled out from restaurants and cafés, reflecting on dark cobbles littered with leaves. The party was over. Everyone had gone. The apartment was a mess, but Nicole had promised to tackle it in the morning. She was taking charge of Laurent for the night, and had already retreated with him in his carrycot to her room. Her father had left a couple of hours earlier, and Fabien had gone back to Gaillac.

Charlotte had pulled Enzo aside before leaving for her hotel. She’d hoped to have dinner with him tonight, she said. There were things she wanted to talk to him about. But when he reminded her that they would have nearly three hours to talk during the drive to Lannemezan, she had cast a surly glance towards Dominique and left with a bad grace.

Sophie had texted again to say that she and Bertrand had found a hotel to stay overnight, and Kirsty had decided to take Sophie’s room, rather than stay at a hotel. She had retired with Alexis for an early night. And it had been some comfort for Enzo to know that his daughter, his son and his grandson were staying with him, all under the one roof, tonight. The only thing missing was Sophie.

Now Enzo and Dominique sat in the big old leather sofa which faced the French windows that looked out across the square. A slight breeze outside stirred the remaining leaves in the trees, to send flickering fragments of light from the streetlamps dancing across the darkness of the séjour . After some moments of awkwardness, they had fallen back into the easy companionship they had discovered during his time in Thiers. She let her head fall on to his shoulder, and he slipped his arm around her to draw her closer.

Silence was easier than addressing the unresolved issues that lay between them, and so neither of them felt inclined to break it for a long time.