Graeme Burnet - The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau

Later, Manfred did not remember getting off the train, walking the short distance to his apartment or getting undressed and into bed, but all these things must have occurred, because at a certain point, he was disturbed by a knocking on the door of his apartment. He had arranged to meet Alice in the foyer of the building. He looked at the alarm clock by his bed. It was ten past two. The knocking came again, a little louder, then Alice’s voice:

‘Baumann, are you in there?’

Manfred crawled out of bed. He was completely naked. He found his robe and padded along the passage to the door.

Alice looked taken aback.

‘What happened to you?’ she said.

Manfred focussed on her face. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail.

‘I’m sorry, I…’ He did not want to admit to feeling unwell. Migraines were not a manly complaint. ‘I must have slept in,’ he said.

Alice gripped his chin and jerked his head around, examining his injuries.

‘Fall out of bed, did you?’ she said. She pushed past him into the passage, wincing as she inhaled his breath. She was wearing a waterproof jacket and tight blue jeans tucked into thick socks. Manfred followed her into the kitchen. She suggested that he take a shower and get himself ready. It did not occur to Manfred to do anything other than comply. In the bathroom, he swallowed four painkillers and forced himself to drink three glasses of water. The shower helped. He brushed his teeth, but did not bother to shave. He dressed and returned to the kitchen. Alice had made coffee and was sitting at the kitchen table. She laughed when she saw Manfred in his suit.

‘I thought we might take a walk at the Camargue,’ she said. ‘Don’t you have anything more suitable to wear?’

Manfred shook his head. Alice poured him some coffee and he sat down and drank it. It was quite clear that he would do whatever Alice had decided. It was liberating. He was not required to make decisions or even venture an opinion. He need only submit to Alice’s will.

Although there was an autumnal chill in the air, Alice insisted on taking down the roof of the car. She did not speak for the duration of the journey, but concentrated on driving at alarming speed along the country lanes, which were barely wide enough for two cars to pass. The pain in Manfred’s head became a backcloth to the sensation of hurtling along through the hedgerows. At every bend, it seemed that the little car would career off the road. Manfred experienced a feeling of calm. Whether the car remained on the road was a matter of no consequence to him. He felt a kind of disappointment when Alice pulled safely into the pot-holed car park at the nature reserve.

They got out. Alice opened the rear of the car and retrieved a pair of muddy walking boots. She sat down on the bumper to change into them. Manfred watched her. Even in her manly outdoor clothes she was tremendously attractive. She was not at all like the other women he knew. Her thighs were taut and defined under the denim of her jeans and her skin had a pleasing elasticity. The women who worked at the bank were flabby and loose-skinned, their flesh barely contained by a scaffold of brassieres and corsets. When Manfred addressed them, it always appeared that they had been woken from a trance. Alice, by contrast, was alert to everything going on around her. There was a precision and purpose in her movements, even in the way she threaded the laces around the eyelets of her boots.

When she had finished, she looked up. Manfred was too groggy to disguise the fact that he had been staring at her.

‘Your feet are going to get wet,’ she said.

He exhaled wearily. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Alice led the way out of the car park towards a narrow gravelly path. Manfred was surprised how many people were around. They were all dressed like Alice and most of them had small children or dogs straining on leads. Whenever they met another group of walkers they were obliged to fall into single file to let them pass. People generally uttered some kind of greeting or cheery comment about the weather as they passed. Manfred left it to Alice to return these greetings on his behalf. As he inevitably fell in behind Alice it would have seemed superfluous for him to contribute. Once or twice dogs pushed their noses forcefully towards Manfred’s crotch before their owners laughingly hauled them back. This seemed to be quite acceptable behaviour among the habitués of the path.

Manfred assumed that a walk such as this must be one of the activities with which his colleagues filled their weekends. The people they met appeared to be enjoying themselves and to feel some sort of camaraderie towards each other. Manfred was aware that his unsuitable attire drew puzzled glances from some of the passers-by, but this did not bother him. Perhaps he looked like a detective on his way to examine a crime scene deep in the woods.

Alice strode ahead, now and again passing comment on the scenery or some plant or other. Manfred realised that he was not required to contribute much to the conversation. The further they walked, the fewer people they encountered. After twenty minutes or so they reached a large, flat lagoon surrounded by trees in varying shades of yellow and brown. A light breeze brought the occasional leaf spiralling slowly to the ground.

Alice paused. ‘There’s a path around the lake, if you’d like to go on,’ she said.

‘Of course,’ said Manfred. The walk had at least had the effect of soothing the pain in his skull. It was now no more than a dull throbbing.

The path, which was now just hardened earth, narrowed. Alice put her hand round the crook of Manfred’s elbow, just as she had when they had walked back from the restaurant together. She gave every appearance of feeling some affection for him. He could smell her hair. She broke away and crouched at the side of the path.

‘Ceps,’ she said lightly fingering some yellow-brown fungi growing at the foot of a tree. ‘We should have brought a basket.’

‘Aren’t they dangerous?’ said Manfred.

Alice gave a little snort through her nose. ‘I’ve been coming here since I was a girl,’ she said. ‘I used to cycle out and find a quiet spot and just lie back and watch the clouds go by. Sometimes in the summer, I’d go skinny-dipping with friends.’

Manfred found himself blushing at the thought of the teenage Alice leaping naked into the water.

‘But this is my favourite time of year,’ she went on. ‘I love the colours of the trees and the smell of the earth.’

‘Yes,’ said Manfred, ‘it’s nice.’

She stood up and took Manfred’s arm again. Their footsteps crunched on the dry leaves. There was nobody about. Somewhere a woodpigeon cooed. Manfred did not feel the need to say anything. He was thinking about the days he had spent with Juliette in the woods behind his grandparents’ house. Alice paused at the edge of the lake. A formation of geese approached and landed clumsily on the water in a cacophony of honking.

‘They come here for the winter,’ Alice said.

Manfred nodded.

When they reached the furthest point of the lake, Alice scrambled onto some rocks on the shore and sat down. Manfred sat next to her. It was very quiet.

Alice took a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her jacket and lit one with her chunky lighter. Manfred inhaled the metallic odour. He wondered if she was going to lean over and kiss him. He would not resist if she did. She drew deeply on her cigarette and, tipping her head back, exhaled slowly through her lips. Manfred watched the stream of milky smoke disperse into the air.

‘I had a visit from a policeman,’ said Alice, turning to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed from the fresh air. Manfred was taken aback.

‘A stocky guy, about fifty, short hair. I’ve forgotten his name.’