Sepulchre (48 page)

'Ms Martin,' he said, lightly putting his hand on her shoulder. 'Please, don't get up.'

 

Julian threw himself into the leather armchair to Meredith's right, leaned forward, poured himself some wine and sat back, before she had the chance to tell him he was in Hal's chair.

 

'Santé,' he said, raising his glass. 'My nephew's done another vanishing act?'

 

'He's gone to get us a reservation for dinner,' she replied.

 

Polite, to the point, but nothing more.

Julian just smiled. He was dressed in a pale linen suit and blue shirt, open at the neck. As every time she'd seen him, he looked comfortable and in control, although he was a little flushed. Meredith found her eyes drawn to his left hand resting on the arm of the chair. It betrayed his age, late fifties rather than the mid-forties she would have given him, but his skin was tanned and his grip looked strong against the red leather. He wore no ring.

Feeling the silence pressing on her, Meredith looked back up to his face. He was still staring right at her in the same direct manner.

 

Like Hals eyes.

 

She pushed the comparison from her mind.

 

Julian put his glass back on the table. 'What do you know about Tarot cards, Ms Martin?'

His question took her totally by surprise. Taken aback, she stared dumbly at him, wondering how the hell he'd struck upon that subject in particular. Her thoughts flew to the photograph she'd stolen from the wall of the lobby, the deck of cards, the tagged sites on her laptop, the musical notes overlapping. He couldn't know about it, any of it, but she felt herself colouring up with embarrassment at having been caught out, all the same. Worse, she could see he was enjoying her discomfort.

'Jane Seymour in the movie Live and Let Die,' she said, trying to make a joke of it. 'That's about it.'

 

'Ah, the beautiful Solitaire,' he said, raising his eyebrows.

 

Meredith met his gaze and said nothing.

 

'Personally,' he continued, 'I find myself attracted by the history of the Tarot, although I do not for a moment believe that fortune-telling is any sort of way to plan one's life.'

Meredith realised how similar his voice was to Hal's. They had the same habit of rolling their words as if every one was special. But the key difference was that Hal wore his heart on his sleeve, every emotion laid bare. Julian, on the other hand, always sounded faintly mocking. Sarcastic. She glanced at the door, but it remained resolutely shut.

'Are you aware of the principles behind the interpretation of Tarot cards, Ms Martin?'

 

'It's not something I know much about,' she said, wishing he'd get off the subject.

'Really? My nephew gave me the impression that it was an interest of yours. He said Tarot cards had come up when you were walking around Rennes-le-Château this morning.' He shrugged. 'Perhaps I misunderstood.'

Meredith racked her brains. Tarot had never been far from her mind, sure, but she didn't remember actually discussing it with Hal. Julian was still staring right at her, a hint of challenge in his unwavering scrutiny.

In the end, Meredith found herself responding, just to cover the awkward silence. 'I think the idea is that although it seems as if the cards are laid at random, in fact the process of shuffling is merely a way of allowing invisible connections to be made visible.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Well put.' He kept staring. 'Have you ever had your cards read, Ms Martin?'

 

A strangled laugh escaped out of her. 'Why do you ask?' He raised his eyebrows. 'Just interested.'

 

Meredith glared at him, mad at him for making her feel so uncomfortable, and at herself for letting him do it.

At that instant, a hand fell on her shoulder. She jumped, looked round with alarm, this time to see Hal smiling down at her. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to surprise you.' Hal nodded at his uncle, then sat down in the vacant seat opposite Meredith. He took the bottle from the ice bucket and poured himself some wine.

'We were just talking about Tarot cards,' Julian said. 'Really?' said Hal, glancing from one to the other. 'What were you saying?'

Meredith looked into his eyes, and read the message in them. Her heart sank. She did not want to get caught up in a discussion about Tarot, but she could see Hal saw it as a good way of keeping his uncle off the subject of his visit to the police commissariat.

'I was just asking Ms Martin if she had ever been to a Tarot reading,' Julian said. 'She was about to answer.'

 

She looked at him, then to Hal, and realised that unless she could think of an alternative topic of conversation in the next couple of seconds, she was going to have to go with it.

 

'Actually, I did have a reading,' she said in the end, trying to make it sound as dull as possible. 'In Paris, in fact, a couple of days ago. First - and last - time.'

 

And was it a pleasurable experience, Ms Martin?' 'It was interesting, certainly. What about you, Mr Lawrence? Have you ever had your cards read?'

 

'Julian, please,' he said. Meredith caught a look of amusement flicker across his face, amusement mixed with something else. A sharpening of interest?

 

'But, no,' he said. 'Not my kind of thing, although I confess I am interested in some of the symbolism associated with Tarot cards.'

 

Meredith felt her nerves tighten at having her suspicions confirmed.

This wasn't small talk. He was after something specific. She took another mouthful of wine and fixed a bland expression on her face. 'Is that right?' 'The symbolism of numbers, for example,' he continued. 'Like I said, it's not something I know much about.' Julian reached into his pocket. Meredith tensed. It would be too appalling if he produced a deck of Tarot cards, cheap. He held her gaze a moment, as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind, then pulled a packet of Gauloise and a Zippo from his pocket.

'Cigarette, Ms Martin?' he said, offering her the packet. 'Although it will have to be outside, I'm afraid.'

Mad that she was making such a fool of herself - worse, that she was letting it show - she shook her head. 'I don't smoke.'
'Very wise.' Julian placed the packet, the lighter on top, on the table between them, then carried on talking. 'The number symbolism in the church at Rennes-le-Château, for example, is quite fascinating.'

Meredith glanced over at Hal, willing him to say something, but he was sitting looking resolutely into the middle distance. 'I didn't notice.'

 

'Did you not?' he said. 'The number twenty-two, in particular, comes up surprisingly often.'

Despite the antipathy she felt for Hal's uncle, Meredith found herself being drawn in. She wanted to hear what Julian had to say. She just didn't want to give the impression she was interested.

'In what form?' The words slipped out, a little abrupt. Julian smiled. 'The baptismal font in the entrance, the statue of the devil Asmodeus. You must have seen it?' Meredith nodded.

'Asmodeus was supposed to be one of the guardians of the Temple of Solomon. The Temple was destroyed in 598 BCE. If you add each digit to the next - five plus nine plus eight - you get twenty-two. You know, I presume, Ms Martin, that there are twenty-two cards in the major arcana?' 'I do.'

Julian shrugged. 'Well then.'

 

'I presume there are other occurrences of the number?'

'The twenty-second of July is the feast day of St Mary Magdalene, to whom the church is dedicated. There is a statue of her between paintings thirteen and fourteen of the Stations of the Cross; she is also depicted in two of the three stained-glass windows behind the altar. Another link is with Jacques de Molay, the last leader of the Templars - there are supposed to be Templar links at Bézu, across the valley. He was the twenty-second Grand Master of the Poor Knights of the Temple, to give the outfit its full name. Then the French transliteration of Christ's cry from the cross: "Elie, Elie, lamah sabactani" - my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me -has twenty-two letters. It's also the opening verse of Psalm 22.'

This was all interesting, in a kind of abstract way, although Meredith couldn't figure out why he was telling her. Just to see her reaction? To find out how much she did know about Tarot? And, more to the point, why?

'Finally, the priest of Rennes-le-Château, Bérenger Saunière, died on the twenty-second of January 1917. An odd story attached to his death. Allegedly, his body was placed on a throne on the belvedere of his estate, and the villagers filed past and each plucked a tassel from the hem of his robe. Much like the image of the King of Pentacles in the Waite Tarot, in fact.' He shrugged. 'Or, if you add two plus two, plus the year of his death, you end up with-'

Meredith's patience ran out. 'I can do the math,' she muttered under her breath, then turned to Hal. 'What time is our reservation for dinner?' she said pointedly.

 

'Seven fifteen. Ten minutes.'

'Of course,' Julian said, ignoring her interruption, 'playing devil's advocate, one could just as easily take any number and find a whole string of things that suggested there was some special significance.'

He picked up the wine bottle and leaned forward to top Meredith up. She covered her glass with her hand. Hal shook his head. Julian shrugged, then emptied the remains of the wine into his own glass. 'It's not as if any of us have to drive,' he said casually. Meredith saw Hal clench his fists.

'I don't know if my nephew mentioned it, Ms Martin, but there is a theory that the design of the church at Rennes-le-Château is in fact based on a building that once stood within our grounds here.' Meredith forced her attention back to Julian. 'Is that right?'

'There's a significant amount of Tarot imagery within the church,' he continued. 'The Emperor; the Hermit, the Hierophant - who is, as I'm sure you remember, the symbol of the established church in Tarot iconography.'

'I really don't know-'

He carried on talking. 'Some would say the Magician is suggested, in the form perhaps of Christ, and of course four of the paintings of the Stations of the Cross have towers in them, not to mention the Tour Magdala on the belvedere.'

'But that looks nothing like it,' she said, before she could stop herself. Julian leaned sharply forward in his chair. 'Like what, Ms Martin?' he said. She could hear excitement in his voice, as if he thought he'd caught her out.

'Jerusalem,' she said, the first thing that came into her mind.

 

He raised his eyebrows. 'Or perhaps like any Tarot card you've seen,' he said.

A silence fell over the table. Hal was frowning. Meredith couldn't figure out if he was embarrassed or had picked up the tension between her and his uncle and misunderstood it. Julian suddenly drained his wine, placed his glass on the table, pushed back his chair and stood up.

'I'll leave you two to it,' he said, smiling at them as if they'd just passed the most pleasant half-hour in one another's company. 'Ms Martin. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay with us.' He put his hand on his nephew's shoulder. Meredith could see Hal struggling not to pull away. 'Can you pop your head into my study when you're finished with Ms Martin? There are a couple of things I need to discuss with you,'

'Tonight?'

 

Julian held Hal's gaze. 'Tonight,' he said.

 

Hal hesitated, then gave a sharp nod.

 

They sat in silence until Julian had gone.

 

'I don't know how you can. . .' Meredith began, then stopped. Rule number one: never criticise anyone else's family.

 

'How I can put up with it?' Hal said savagely. 'Answer, I can't. As soon as I've sorted things, I'm out of here.'

 

And are you any closer to that?'

Meredith saw the belligerence go out of him as his thoughts switched from loathing his uncle to grieving his father. He stood up, hands buried deep in his pockets, and looked at her through clouded eyes. 'I'll tell you at dinner.'

CHAPTER 64

 

Julian broke the seal on a new bottle, poured a generous measure, then sat heavily down at his desk with the reproduction pack in front of him.

 

Pointless exercise.

He'd studied the reproduction Bousquet Tarot deck over many years, always looking for something, a hidden key or a code he might have missed. The search for the original cards had occupied him ever since he had first come to the Aude valley and heard the rumours about the undiscovered caches of treasure buried beneath the mountains, the rocks, even the rivers.
Having acquired the Domaine de la Cade, Julian had quickly come to the conclusion, like many before him, that all the stories surrounding Rennes-le-Château were a hoax and the renegade nineteenth-century priest at the heart of the rumours - Saunière - was prospecting for more material than spiritual treasures.

Then Julian started to pick up stories about how a deck of cards revealed the location not of a single tomb, but allegedly the entire treasury of the Visigoth Empire. Perhaps even the contents of the Temple of Solomon, looted by the Romans in the first century AD, then in turn plundered when Rome itself fell in the fifth century to the Visigoths.

The cards were rumoured to be hidden within the estate itself. Julian had sunk every penny into trying to find them through systematic searching and excavation, starting with the area around the ruins of the Visigoth sepulchre and working out from it. It was difficult terrain and the effort was extremely labour intensive - and therefore expensive.

Still nothing.

When he'd exhausted his credit at the bank, he'd begun borrowing from the hotel. It was useful that the hotel was - at least in part - a cash business. But it was also a tough market in which to make money The overheads were high. The place was still finding its feet when the bank called in its loans. But he kept taking money out all the same - gambling that, soon, he'd find what he was looking for and everything would be all right. Julian drained his glass in one. Only a matter of time.

It was his brother s fault. Seymour could have been patient. Should have trusted him. Not interfered. He knew he nearly had it. I would have repaid the money.

Nodding to himself, Julian flipped the lid of his Zippo with a snap. He took out a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. Julian had spoken with the police commissariat in Couiza just after Hal had left the station, who had suggested that it would be better if the boy stopped asking questions. Julian had promised to have a word and invited the commissaire for a drink the following week.

He reached for the bottle, pouring himself another two fingers. He cast his mind back over the conversation in the bar. He had been deliberately clumsy, hardly subtle in his technique, but it had seemed the easiest way to flush the American out. She had been reluctant to talk about the Tarot. The girl was sharp. Attractive, too. 'What? What does she know?'

He realised the sound he could hear was the sound of his fingers drumming on the desk. Julian looked down at his hand, as if it didn't belong to him, then forced it to be still. In a drawer of his locked desk, the deeds of the transfer of ownership lay ready to sign and return to the notaire in Espéraza. The boy wasn't stupid. He didn't want to stay at the Domaine de la Cade. He and Hal couldn't work together, any more than he and Seymour had been able to. Julian had been leaving a decent interval before talking any further to Hal about his plans.

'It wasn't my fault,' he said. There was a slur in his voice. He should talk to her again, the American girl. She must know something about the original Bousquet deck; why else was she here? Her presence was nothing to do with Seymours accident or his pathetic nephew or the hotel finances, he could see that now. She was here for the same reason he was. He hadn't done all the dirty work to see some American bitch come in and take the cards from him.

He gazed out at the darkened woods. Night had fallen. Julian reached out and turned on the lamp, then screamed.

 

His brother was standing right behind him. Seymour, waxy and lifeless as Julian had seen him in the morgue, the skin on his face scarred from the crash, lined, his eyes bloodshot.

 

He leapt up out of his chair, sending it hurtling back behind him to the ground. The whisky glass went flying across the polished wood of the desk. Julian spun round.

 

'You can't be . ..'

 

The room was empty.

He stared, uncomprehending, his eyes darting around the room into the shadows, back to the window, until he realised. It was his own pallid reflection, stark in the darkened glass. It was his eyes, not his brother's.

Julian took a deep breath.

His brother was dead. He knew. He had spiked his drink with Rufenol. He had driven the car to the bridge outside Rennes-les-Bains; struggled to manoeuvre Seymour into the driver's seat; released the handbrake. He had seen the car fall.

'You made me do it,' he muttered.

 

He lifted his eyes to the window, blinked. Nothing there.

He exhaled, a long, exhausted breath, then bent down and righted the chair. For a moment he stood with his hands gripping the back, knuckles white, his head bowed. He could feel the sweat running down his back between his shoulder blades.
Then he pulled himself together. He reached for his cigarettes, needing the hit of the nicotine to calm his nerves, and looked back out to the black woods beyond.

The original cards were still out there, he knew it.

 

'Next time,' he murmured. He was so close. He could feel it. Next time, he'd be lucky. He knew it.

 

The spilt whisky reached the edge of the desk and started to drip, slowly, on to the carpet.

 

CHAPTER 65

OK, shoot,' Meredith said. 'Tell me what happened.' Hal put his elbows on the table. 'Bottom line, they don't see any grounds for opening things up. They are satisfied with the verdict.' 'Which is?' she gently pushed him.

'Accidental death. That Dad was drunk,' he said bluntly. 'That he lost control of the car, went over the bridge into the River Salz. Three times over the limit, that's what the tox report claims.'

They were sitting in one of the window alcoves. The restaurant was quiet this early so they could talk without being overheard. Across the white linen tablecloth, in the light of the candle flickering on the table, Meredith reached out and covered his hands with her own.

'There was a witness, apparently. An English woman, a Dr Shelagh O'Donnell, who lives locally.'

'That's helpful, isn't it? Did she see the accident?' Hal shook his head. 'That's the problem. According to the file, she heard brakes, the sound of tyres. She didn't actually see anything.' 'Did she report it?'

'Not straight away. According to the commissaire, lots of people take the road too fast on the bend coming into Rennes-les-Bains. It was only the following morning when she saw the ambulance and the police recovering the car from the river that she put two and two together,' He paused. 1 thought I might talk to her. See if there's anything that's come back to her.' 'Wouldn't she have told the police already?' 'I didn't get the impression they thought her a reliable witness.' 'In what way?'

'They didn't say it in so many words, but they implied that she was drunk. Also, there were no tyre marks on the road, so it's unlikely she could have heard anything. According to the police, that is.' He paused. 'They wouldn't give me her address, but I managed to copy down her number from the file. In fact...' He hesitated. 'I invited her up here tomorrow.'

'Is that such a great idea?' said Meredith. 'If the police think you're interfering, won't that make them less rather than more likely to help?'

'They're already pissed off with me,' he said fiercely, 'but to tell you the truth, I feel like I'm hitting my head against a brick wall. I don't care any more. For weeks I've been trying to get the police to take me seriously, sitting around here, being patient, but it's got me nowhere.' He stopped, his cheeks flushed. 'Sorry. This can't be much fun for you.'

'It's OK,' she said, thinking how similar Hal and his uncle were in some ways - both quick to flare up - then felt guilty, knowing just how much Hal would hate such a comparison being made.

'I appreciate there's no reason for you to take what I say at face value, but I just don't believe the official version of events. I'm not saying my dad was perfect - to be honest, we didn't have much in common. He was distant and quiet, not the sort of man to make a fuss but there's just no way he would drink and drive. Even in France. No way.'

'It's easy to misjudge that sort of thing, Hal,' she said gently. 'We've all done it,' she added, although she never had. 'Had one too many. Played the odds.'

'I'm telling you, not Dad,' he said. 'He liked his wine, but he was fanatical about not getting behind the wheel if he'd been drinking. Not even one glass.' He dropped his shoulders. 'My mother was killed by a drunk driver,' he continued in a quieter voice. 'On her way to pick me up from school in the village we lived in, half past three in the afternoon. An idiot in a BMW, on his way back from the pub, tanked up on champagne and driving too fast.'

Now Meredith totally understood why Hal couldn't bring himself to accept the verdict. But wishing things were different didn't make them so. She had been there herself. If wishes were promises, her birth mother would have gotten healthy. All the scenes and fights would never have happened.

Hal raised his eyes and stared at her. 'Dad wouldn't drive if he was drunk.'

 

Meredith gave a non-committal smile. 'But if the tox screen came back positive for alcohol. . .' She left the question floating. 'What did the police say when you raised that?'

 

Hal shrugged. 'It was obvious they thought I was just too fucked up by the whole situation to think straight.'

 

'OK. Let's come at it from other directions. Could the tests be wrong?'

 

'The police say no.'

 

'Did they search for anything else?'

 

'Like what?'

 

'Drugs?

 

Hal shook his head. 'Didn't think there was any need.'

 

Meredith thought. 'Well, could he have been driving too fast? Just lost control on the bend?'

 

'Back to the lack of skid marks on the road and, in any case, that doesn't account for the alcohol in his bloodstream.'

 

Meredith fixed him with her gaze. 'Then what, Hal? What are you saying?'

 

'That either the tests are fake, or someone spiked his drink.'

 

Her face gave her away.

 

'You don't believe me,' he said.

 

'I'm not saying that,' she said quickly. 'But think about it, Hal. Even supposing it was possible, who would do such a thing? Why would they?'

 

Hal held her gaze, until Meredith realised what he was getting at.

 

'Your uncle?'

 

He nodded. 'Got to be.'

 

'You can't be serious?' she objected. 'I mean, I know you don't see eye to eye, but even so ... to accuse him of. . .'

 

'I know it sounds ridiculous, but think about it, Meredith. Who else?'

 

Meredith was shaking her head. 'Did you make this accusation to the police?'

 

'Not in so many words, but I did request that the gendarmerie nationale were shown the file.' 'Which means?'

'The gendarmerie nationale investigate crimes. At the moment, the crash is being treated as a traffic accident. But if I can find some sort of evidence linking it to Julian, then I could make them reconsider.' He looked at her. 'If you would talk to Dr O'Donnell, I'm sure she'd be more likely to open up.'

Meredith sat back in her chair. The whole scenario was crazy. She could see Hal had talked himself into believing it one hundred per cent. She really felt for him, but she was sure he was wrong. He needed someone to blame, needed to do something with his anger and his sense of loss. And she knew from her own experience that however bad the truth turned out to be, not knowing was worse. It made it impossible to put the past behind and move on. 'Meredith?'

She realised Hal was staring at her. 'Sorry,' she said. 'Just thinking.' 'Would you be able to be there when Dr O'Donnell comes tomorrow?' She hesitated. 'I'd really appreciate it.' 'I guess,' she said in the end. 'Sure.'