Dollmaker (13 page)

Ah
Nom de Dieu
, she demanded of herself. What had Victor said to them in that jail with Johann there and the others? Had he said something stupid?

‘On the day of the murder, madame, did the Préfet pay you a visit?'

Again there was that empty look from the Bavarian. His big hands with the strong, blunt fingers of a peasant or a machinist, were seldom still but now rested on the arms of his chair, gripping them as if about to launch himself at her.

Gestapo … she said. Don't forget it for one moment. Never mind what Victor said about him to the contrary. Never mind what anyone says.

‘He came to visit us, yes,' she said quietly. Would Herr Kohler notice how pale she had become? Had he seen her glancing apprehensively across the room to the door and the hall that led to the kitchen and Angélique? Were the child and St-Cyr still there or had they gone into Yvon's study or up to the attic?

‘At what time did Préfet Kerjean get here, please?'

Could he always be so formal when needed? ‘At about one o'clock, I think. Yes, it was during lunch – we seldom eat dinner any more. He couldn't stay – urgent business, he said. I … I offered tea, I think, or a glass of the Muscadet – yes, I think there was still some left over, I …'

‘Why not simply tell me?'

‘He … he asked if I knew where Yvon was digging and I … said I didn't know. My husband seldom tells us, Inspector. Victor or his assistant, the Sous-Préfet le Troadec, bring him home if they think it necessary and they've been passing by one of his sites. Yvon really is not well. Though it is my constant hope that the three of us might obtain
laissez-passers
to leave the Forbidden Zone and return to Paris, I doubt very much if the Kommandant of this district would listen. He would only think we might tell others about the comings and goings of the submarines. Yvon won't have it either, of course, and in this patriarchal society Vichy has thrust upon us, the husband has the final say. Préfet Kerjean has been trying to help me. That is all there is and ever was to our relationship. He's a good man, and very kind. He wouldn't have killed that shopkeeper and neither would my husband.'

Kohler gave her a curt nod but didn't take his eyes from her. ‘Then Kerjean was at the clay pits too, is that it?' he asked.

‘I … I didn't say that! Now listen, you …'

‘But you as much as did say it, madame. Was he there? You must answer truthfully.'

‘Am I to be charged?' She felt her cheeks colouring rapidly and knew he would see this.

‘Under French law the accused is guilty until proven innocent. The Kapitän zur See Kaestner is the one who has been charged.'

‘But my turn will come?'

Verdammt!
what was it with her? ‘Perhaps. Now answer the question.'

Angélique will have told the other one everything, she sadly reminded herself. It was all so hopeless. A shopkeeper… Who would ever have thought that wretched little man could cause such pain?

‘I don't know, Inspector. I wasn't there.'

‘Then why did you say he couldn't have killed le Trocquer?'

She wrung her hands in despair and shrugged. ‘I don't know why I said it.
There
, does that satisfy you?'

Anger made her very beautiful but it also heightened the aloofness of the
Parisienne
.

‘Kerjean claims the Captain was having sex with you against your will.'

Ah no … ‘He
what?
' She blanched and felt her eyes rapidly misting.

Kohler told her what had happened. Unable to look at him, she found the tiled floor no better, though she had always loved its warm and earthy colours and the small irregularities that gave character.

Her voice was harsh. ‘Herr Kaestner would perhaps like to engage in such an activity with me, Inspector, but I have to tell you for me I could never contemplate it. I love my husband. I have always loved Yvon even when my dearest friend was alive, though nothing has ever yet happened between us or with anyone else.
Nothing
, do you understand? And you can tell
that
to the child! Please do,' she tossed a hand. ‘You have my permission many times over!'

Was she lying? wondered Kohler. She appeared as if betrayed by things beyond her control – the child perhaps.

‘I had best get Angélique to bed, Inspector. That girl, she would stay up all night if I let her. Usually she does anyway. Reading by candlelight or by one of those primitive lamps Yvon lets her have, though we really can't spare the oil. It's so scarce. She prowls about searching for answers to life's mysteries. The moon, the stars, her rabbit … she used to talk to it, the … the pigeons too. Ah damn! Damn this place! Damn those wretched stones!'

Unable now to stop herself, she buried her face in her hands and shut her eyes before the fire. He watched – she knew he did. He wouldn't say a thing. He wouldn't even sigh.

Sex
…
sex with Johann in that railway shed?
She knew this was what he might be thinking.

‘The lights …?' he said suddenly.

Ah
grâce à Dieu
! ‘The bombing. Every night now the Ger … they turn the electricity off so as to prevent fires and make certain no lights are seen.'

The sound of breaking waves was everywhere up here. The attic, high above the study, was crowded with things they could not see but only sense. For whatever reason of her own, the child had switched off the torch before their final entry from the staircase and was now depending on the night outside to light their way.

‘It is over here, Monsieur the Chief Inspector. It is at the spyglass window. Give me your hand, please.'

Her fingers were cool and sure. His shoulders brushed against things – piled-high suitcases perhaps, or steamer trunks, an armoire whose doors were open – was there a mirror on the inside of one of the doors? A lamp, he said to himself, dark sheets or curtains draped over something as a sort of door perhaps, into another part of the attic, a rocking horse – was it really that?

He heard it.

The window was perhaps a half-metre in diameter and of very old glass with bubbles in some places, she told him. ‘Big ones, little ones, some squished out, but still it is a good window and does not interfere too much. At night I open it anyway, or go outside to the sundial.'

They came at last to stand under the roof beams and she placed his hand on the cold brass tube. ‘With my telescope you can see the craters that give the moon its face. You can see Mars and Jupiter and the rings around Saturn. You can see many things both far and near.'

‘The beach?'

Ah, good. He had remembered the painting in the living-room. ‘Yes. The submarines too, of course, but only until they go below the surface which is much closer inshore now because the British aeroplanes always come to their Playground like hungry bumblebees.'

‘They know when each submarine leaves or returns?'

‘The time exactly! This I confide in you with the utmost secrecy. I've even watched them fight! I
have
.'

‘What are you trying to tell me?' he sighed.

Was it so difficult for him? ‘Only that sometimes when the
sardiniers
are gathered out there perhaps ten kilometres offshore where it is still too shallow to dive, the submarines slip among them to hide and you cannot see their conning towers among the faded burnt-red sails.'

He'd best be firm. ‘You should not be watching such things, mademoiselle. It's dangerous. The Germans might come and …'

‘And arrest us?'

Was she hopeful of it? ‘Yes.'

‘But
she's
the one who purchased the telescope for me when my mother was alive?
She's
the one who allowed the Préfet Kerjean to use it?'

Must God do this to him? Had the conscience of the patriot not been tried enough? ‘When, please, did the Préfet use it?'

How cautious he was. She had him eating out of her hand but would the sparrow see that among the crumbs, illicit love had blossomed? ‘First, in the early spring of last year, then again many times over the following months until he was certain of whatever it was he was looking for, and then again in October, from the 28th to the 3rd of November.'

‘On each of those last days?' U-297 had returned on the 5th. The money had been missing for some time but the loss discovered only just before the submarine's return …

‘It was risky, isn't that so?' said the child. ‘She warned him of this, Inspector, but Préfet Kerjean has said he would come at different hours, though just before sunset was best, since the
sardiniers
, as has been their custom for centuries, always gathered then for the night. I heard the two of them whispering. I did.'

‘What was he watching for?'

She heaved a disappointed sigh. ‘It would be better if you were to ask …'

‘
Angélique
! Darling, please come downstairs. The … the electricity has been turned off. It … it is time for us to go into the cellar.'

‘I
won't
!'

Ah damn such interruptions. ‘Please do as your stepmother says, mademoiselle. Bombs are no respecters of life or private property.'

The candle wavered in clasped hands, its pale light serving only to emphasize despair. Trapped by the light she held, the woman waited, caught among forgotten pieces of broken furniture too valuable to discard. A lamp whose dusty shade of pale silk was fringed with dark red tassels, a plain but beautifully carved chest of drawers, a blanket box without its hinges. Sheets draped over things …

Always there was the sound of waves, the nearness of the sea.

‘Go,' he said quietly and, reaching out, plucked blindly at the child's sweater until he had a tight grip on her shoulder. ‘Do as I say or I will get difficult.'

‘Then stop pinching me!'

The child launched herself towards the stepmother but as she passed the rocking horse, Angélique pushed the head down hard to leave them with its sound as well. He would not see the dolls for they were hidden behind the sheets in their house.
She
would not dare to show them to him. Not her, the harlot!

‘What did Angélique tell you?' asked the woman bleakly.

‘Nothing. Only that she could see the rings around Saturn.'

‘Please don't lie to me.'

‘I'm not.'

*

The detectives were gone from the house and the child was asleep, or was she faking? Unable to stop herself, Hélène Charbonneau wearily climbed the stairs from the cellars to the attic, coming to stand at last beside the telescope. Angélique had been thrilled to receive it. They had had such wonderful times exploring the sites and other things, yes, of course. How could one have known this same instrument would be turned against oneself by that same child? The thing should have been packed away and hidden long ago. Why had she not insisted? They had taken one hell of a chance by leaving it out here especially.

‘But I loved you,' she said, a whisper. ‘I was your dearest friend and I could not see you robbed of joy when all else had been taken from you. Please don't do this to me,
chèrie
. You really don't understand what's been happening or why.'

Not a light showed out to sea, and when she tilted the telescope down towards the shore, that same darkness appeared.

‘You saw me down there with Victor – I know you did. You saw me with the Captain too, and no matter what I say to the contrary, your mind is made up. I've encouraged both of them and been unfaithful.'

When the sound of air-raid sirens came faintly, she instinctively stiffened – always it was the same. She simply could not get used to that sound, no matter how faint or how far it travelled.

When the bombing of Lorient started, she ignored the danger and went outside to watch – shivered without her overcoat and hugged her shoulders. Tried to find a solution to things.

Flak poured up from the anti-aircraft batteries making rapid little bursts of light among the clouds. The drone of the bombers seemed to come from high above her. Brilliant bomb-flashes hugged the low-ceilinged cloud some twenty kilometres to the north-west over the city and its harbour but came also through some trick of optics from far out to sea.

The Luftwaffe had no night-fighters stationed near Lorient. Even so, sometimes a plane would be shot down and sometimes its aircrew would be able to bale out. Sometimes these men were hidden; sometimes given up. It all depended on who found them first.

So far, none had come here and secretly she was glad of this for she had enough troubles of her own. ‘Though it's cowardly of me,' she said, ‘and I ought to do something. Everyone should.'

But I can't, she whispered inwardly. I dare not. The Germans would shoot us and Johann, no matter what he feels for me, would not be able to stop them, nor would Victor. Poor Victor.

When a bomber came in directly over the house, she ran indoors, throwing only a brief look up at the spyglass window.

‘Angélique is there,' she said breathlessly. ‘I know she is. She
can't
leave things alone. Not now. Never now.'

The bomb had not been fooling. Hung up in some bomb bay, it had finally dislodged itself and had sought a target of its own.

Now the bus lay on its back like a grilled crab with its stomach split open not far from the house.

St-Cyr could barely contain his anger. ‘I told you we should have returned to Quiberon but oh no, you had to watch the fireworks from the beach.'

Kohler sighed heavily at the outburst. ‘Look, I'm sorry, okay? Try to think on the positive side. If we hadn't left the bus, we would have had to pay for all those seats we burned up. Now everyone will just think we were damned lucky.'

St-Cyr threw questioning eyes up to God in exasperation. ‘And the owner of that bus?' he demanded.

A shrug would be best as they humped it along the road. ‘There's a war on. He'll just have to understand.'