After the Crash (27 page)

There was nobody there. It had probably been just a gust of wind.
That was not unusual: the Roseraie was a huge building with more
than twenty rooms, and there was always a door or a window left
open somewhere. Linda went back to the bathroom. Léonce was
waiting for her. He needed her. As with her little Hugo, he should
not be left alone.

Linda had made a mistake. Lost in her thoughts about Hugo and
Léonce, she had failed to notice something important. She did not
look at the desk in the entrance hall.

Linda had finished washing her patient and had dressed him in
clean pyjamas, as she did each day. She refused to put an adult
nappy on him, something even the most expensive hospitals did. It
was a messy choice, but Linda didn’t care. It simply meant she had
to change his pyjamas and his sheets every morning.

She put the old man on the special bed in his room, next to the
bathroom. A new door had been installed so that the wheelchair
could be rolled through. The bed was also the best and most up-todate model available, entirely operated by means of electronic
switches. In medical terms, Léonce de Carville was better off here
than he would be in any nursing home. At least he would be able to
die in luxury. Alone, but in luxury. Mathilde de Carville had been
sleeping in a separate room on the first floor for years now.

Linda removed a feather pillow from the bed and set it on a
nearby chair. Then she took a larger white pillow and slipped it
behind Léonce’s back so that he could sit propped up while she fed
him. She looked at her watch. She would give him dinner in less
than an hour.

She checked one last time that the old man’s torso was firmly
strapped to the bed. His eyes were wide open now, staring as they
always did after he had been washed, only blinking occasionally.
Linda had heard about a paraplegic who had written a book simply
by blinking. Incredible! What if Léonce could do the same thing?
What if the doctors were wrong and his brain did still work? What
if there was something he wanted to tell her? The only problem was
that she did not understand his way of communicating. What was
going on inside that head?

Linda had also been told that Léonce de Carville was an extraordinary man. One of the richest and most powerful in France. And
he had built up his fortune from nothing, constructing factories
all over the world. He had commanded an empire. It was probably
because of that power that he had become so hated. People were
jealous. Now that he could no longer defend himself, the weaklings were getting their revenge. And yet those weaklings owed
everything to him. The Roseraie, for example.

Linda placed a monitor – the same kind mothers use to check on
their babies – on Léonce’s bedside table. She always put the other
monitor in the kitchen while she was preparing his dinner. That
way, she felt reassured. She knew it was slightly ridiculous – what
could possibly happen to him while she was away? – but she did it
just the same.

As she left the bedroom, Linda took one last glance at the old
man. His eyes were still wide open. A genius who had begun with
nothing, brought back to square one.

The shadow crept silently behind Linda’s back, then hid between the
wall and the staircase. Linda could have seen it if she had turned her
head that way. But she didn’t. She walked straight to the kitchen.

Linda prepared the old man’s dinner herself. His soup. She made a
point of always using fresh ingredients: vegetables, ham, and many
other ingredients that she would find at the market in Marne-laVallée, which she peeled, chopped and mixed together by hand.
Léonce spat up half of it and crapped out the rest, but Linda would
not compromise her standards. And, for the past month, she had
had been making twice the usual quantity. She deliberately made
too much soup, so that she could take half of it home to Hugo. She
got home just in time for his supper, so it was perfect timing. She
had not mentioned this fact to Mathilde de Carville, but surely the
old woman wouldn’t begrudge her a couple of leeks, three potatoes
and a slice of ham!

The shadow moved past the kitchen and pushed open the door to
Léonce de Carville’s bedroom. Cautiously, it entered. Linda saw
and heard nothing.
The old man stared at the advancing figure, his eyes wide open.

He looked petrified, as if he understood the figure’s intention. The
shadow hesitated. The look in the old man’s eyes seemed unreal,
almost menacing. But the shadow’s hesitation lasted only a second
or so. It moved forward again. It felt no pity for the inert body of
the old man, only hatred and contempt.

The shadow noticed a pillow sitting on a chair near the bed.
It smiled. The perfect solution. Quick, silent. The shadow walked
towards it. The old man’s gaze remained fixed on the open door.
The shadow felt relieved. So, the man’s apparent fear was merely an
illusion. Léonce de Carville had not recognised the intruder; he no
longer recognised anyone or anything. Under the intruder’s feet,
the floorboards creaked quietly.

The blade of Linda’s knife hung suspended in the air. The nurse had
distinctly heard a noise in Léonce’s bedroom. A creak. Still holding
the knife, Linda went out into the hallway and headed towards the
old man’s room. The creaking noise could not have been made by
Léonce, after all.

Her fingers tightened around the knife handle. This afternoon
was taking a strange turn. First, the shooting in the forest. Police
everywhere. Then the motorcycle courier, with the envelope. The
door banging earlier, and now this creak in the bedroom of a man
who could not move.

Linda held the knife out in front of her, her entire arm trembling.
This house had always frightened her, like a haunted house from a
horror film. Usually, she managed to avoid thinking about it, but
she had always felt uneasy here. Her legs felt like jelly beneath her
and she shivered.

Still holding the blade in front of her, Linda entered the bedroom.
Léonce de Carville was staring at her. His gaze was empty, but so
was the rest of the room – there was nobody there. The tension left
Linda in a burst of nervous laughter. This house and its family of
weirdos were driving her crazy! She had to find another job elsewhere. There was no lack of rich families to choose from, here by
the Marne. It would be tough on the old man, but she would just
have to forget about the strange tenderness she felt towards him.
She had Hugo to think of now.

The shadow heard the sound of the blender in the kitchen, and
sighed with relief. It had been careless before. Impatient. This time,
the nurse would not hear a thing. Cautiously, it opened the door
of the piano room where it had been hiding, and went back to the
old man’s bedroom. It picked up the pillow from the chair, then
laid the soft fabric over Léonce de Carville’s face. He did not react
at all. It was so easy. Too easy. How long would it take to suffocate
a paraplegic? There would be no way of knowing when all the life
had left this body, as it would not kick out or struggle. Should the
pillow be held over the old man’s face for a minute? Two? Three?

The intruder did not count the seconds. It merely waited as long
as possible.
Suddenly, the impossible happened. Impossible according to
the doctors, anyway. Léonce’s arm suddenly stiffened. Was this the
final twitch of a dying body? A hopeless attempt to save itself? The
intruder kept pressing down. Léonce’s left arm went into spasm.
It jerked across the bedside table, knocking off the glass and the
carafe, which fell to the floor and smashed.

This time, she knew she was not hallucinating – she had definitely heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the bedroom.
Without stopping to think, she grabbed the kitchen knife again and
rushed into the bedroom.

Broken glass and pools of water at her feet.
But there was nobody else there. Nobody except Léonce de Carville, his eyes still wide open, his skin white, and his mouth twisted
like the mask from
Scream
.
He was not breathing.
Linda recognised death when she saw it. She had been working
with old people for nearly twelve years now.
He was dead. Suffocated.
The pillow was still lying on the bed.
In that moment, Linda felt no sadness or pity for the dead man
in front of her. In that moment, the only emotion she felt, overpowering all the others, was fear.

On the concourse of the Gare Saint-Lazare, Malvina de Carville
calmed down as quickly as she had lost her temper. Grumbling,
she walked away from the queue for the ticket machine. The man
behind her shrugged and nobody paid her any more attention.

Nobody except Marc.
So, Malvina de Carville had followed him. This mad bitch had
decided to tail him all the way to Dieppe, had she? Right now,
though, he had the advantage, because they were in a public place.
She couldn’t do anything with so many people around. He had to
seize his chance.
Marc jumped up, shoving Grand-Duc’s notebook into his backpack. Without waiting for a response, he handed the bag to the
waiter and said: ‘Could you look after this for a few minutes? I’ll be
back. Be careful, though, it’s very precious . . . it contains my entire
year’s coursework.’
Too shocked to speak, the waiter clutched the bag to his chest.
Marc was gone before he had time to protest.
Malvina was standing about a hundred feet away. She seemed to
be hesitating between queueing for another ticket machine, joining
the intimidatingly long line for the manned ticket counters, or not
buying a ticket at all. Her back was to him. Marc could not believe
his luck.
He slalomed through the passengers, heading straight for her.
He felt an almost animal need to release the pressure that had built
up inside him. His fingers grabbed her wool jumper and he almost
lifted her off the ground. Marc was a foot taller than Malvina and
twice as heavy. He dragged her unceremoniously towards a vending
machine, away from the densest part of the crowd.
Malvina smiled. She did not look very surprised.
‘Can’t keep away from me, can you, Vitral?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Take a wild guess . . .’
Marc moved his hand towards Malvina’s neck. It was a slender little neck and his fingers could easily go round it. He pulled
Malvina closer to him. None of the other passengers were paying
any attention to them – they probably looked like a couple embracing before they said goodbye.
‘Did you follow me? How did you know I was going to
Saint-Lazare?’
‘It’s not exactly rocket science, Vitral. Where would poor little
Marc go if he was upset? To his loving grandma, of course!’
‘All right, so you’re very clever. But listen, I’m warning you now,
if I see you on the same train as me, I will throw you out the door.’
Marc tightened his grip. ‘Understood?’
Malvina was having trouble breathing but the smirk still didn’t
leave her face.
‘Do you understand?’ he demanded again.
Malvina was choking. Marc wondered how far he could go. He
wasn’t panicking now. His hatred for this girl seemed to give him an
almost superhuman power.
But he did not have long to consider this question, because
almost immediately he felt the barrel of a gun pressing between his
legs. Instinctively, he loosened his grip.
‘Stay close to me, Vitral,’ Malvina whispered, ‘so people will
think we’re lovers. That way, they won’t see my Mauser aimed at
your bollocks. But take your hands off my neck right now.’
Marc looked out into the vast concourse. Nobody was taking
any notice of them. They might be brother and sister. Perhaps that
wasn’t far from the truth.
‘Where’s your bag?’ Malvina hissed.
‘I don’t have it, sorry. I suppose you want me to take off all my
clothes again. In front of everyone . . .’
Marc was clumsily playing for time. Inwardly, he cursed his own
stupidity. He had known this crazy bitch was armed.
‘Well, maybe you should strip off. Why not? You’re not bad-looking. Not very bright, but cute. And, in the circumstances, you have
to do as I say.’
Drops of sweat clung to the back of Marc’s neck. Malvina’s left
hand stroked his thigh, while her right hand continued to press the
Mauser against his crotch. She withdrew the gun barrel a few inches
and her fingers caressed the bulge in his jeans. She pressed more
tightly against him. ‘Move and I’ll shoot.’
The image of Grand-Duc’s corpse flashed through Marc’s mind.
A bullet in the chest. She wasn’t bluffing. This madwoman was perfectly capable of shooting him in the middle of a crowded train
station.
‘Why aren’t you going hard, Vitral?’ Malvina asked. ‘Don’t you
find me attractive?’
Marc had run out of sarcastic rejoinders. The girl’s fingers
crawled over him like a lizard. Clumsily, she caressed his cock, her
tiny hand applying too much pressure.
‘Can’t get it up, eh? Maybe you just prefer my sister?’
Marc tried to take deep breaths. He wanted to push this crazy
bitch away from him, even it meant risking his life. Maybe she
wouldn’t dare shoot, after all?
‘Cat got your tongue, Vitral? Don’t pretend you’re not turned on
by my sister. It’s all right, I’m not jealous. I know how beautiful she
is, and how ugly I am. We’re like beauty and the beast, the two of
us.’
With her left hand, Malvina caressed Marc’s balls. Or rather, she
kneaded them, like bread, as if this were the first time she had ever
touched a man’s genitals.
‘Still no erection, I see . . . Shall I tell you why I’m not jealous?
Can you guess?’
Apparently, Malvina was a quick learner. Her fingers were stroking him more gently now. Marc felt violated. He’d had enough.
He was going to have to push her away, shove her against the station wall. As if Malvina had read his thoughts, she pressed the gun
against his testicles once more. He grimaced with pain.
‘Don’t you understand? Listen to me: if I’m a monster, it’s not
Lyse-Rose’s fault, it’s yours. It’s the Vitral family’s fault. You’re the
ones who stole my sister. I used to be as pretty as Lyse-Rose, you
know. And I would still be as pretty now, and as tall, and as sexy.
But I refused to grow up – that’s what the doctors said – because
your family took my little sister away. We would have had the same
hairstyles, worn the same clothes, the same make-up . . . Maybe
we would have shared boyfriends too. But you stole all that from
me, Vitral. So who should I try to look beautiful for? Tell me!
Who?’
Malvina’s hand released its grip on his penis. She leaned in close
to his ear and whispered: ‘Have you fucked my sister? Come on,
you can tell me . . .’
What should he say? Was Malvina even expecting a response?
Her fingers began probing and stroking him again.
‘You’re a handsome boy, Vitral. I bet you get a lot of girls, don’t
you? I bet you could have any girl you wanted. So why do you have
to screw my sister? Are you a pervert, or what?’
The Mauser pressed harder against his crotch.
‘I’ll kill you if you don’t get a hard-on soon, Vitral. Lyse-Rose is
going to come home now. To our house, I mean. To her true home.
All this craziness is over. It was that little bitch Emilie who died in
the plane crash: you told me so yourself. You’re not going to steal
my sister from me a second time.’
It was time to stop thinking, and to act. Even if he couldn’t move,
Marc could still provoke Malvina. He forced himself to speak, his
voice soaked in irony.
‘So you’re looking for a little sister, are you?’
It had been so long since Marc had spoken that Malvina seemed
surprised. She even backed away from him slightly.
‘Believe me, Malvina, you have plenty of little sisters. And little
brothers, for that matter. There are probably dozens of them, scattered all over the Bosphorus. Your dad, Alexandre, put it about all
over Turkey before he died in that crash. From what I’ve heard,
daddy dearest had no problem at all getting it up.’
The Mauser was no longer touching him. Malvina’s face had collapsed. Marc kept going: ‘You weren’t that young, you probably
remember, don’t you? All those floozies your dad fucked in Istanbul. In his office. All over the place. Do you remember your mum
crying? Do you remember her fucking other men? Men with blue
eyes . . .’
Malvina seemed to be shrinking with every word.
Marc went for the kill: ‘Chances are, Lyse-Rose is not even your
sister!’
Malvina screamed. Everyone in the concourse must have turned
to watch. Her little hand crushed Marc’s testicles. Marc collapsed,
stunned by the pain.
Malvina hid the Mauser in her pocket and disappeared quickly
into the crowd.