The Seven Turns of the Snail's Shell: A Novel (23 page)

Who are “they,” anyway?

C-C had grown weary of the endless looking over his shoulder. Then there was the thought of Anna. He could still smell the lingering scent of her.

Maybe I shouldn’t leave
, he thought.

He looked out the window at the street behind them. The thought of losing Anna again mortified him. He opened his cell phone in his confusion, and closed it again.

What would be the use of talking to her now? What could I tell her?

His head throbbed. A warm trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. He felt weak.

Better get this looked at.

The taxi had not moved.

“
Beh…alors…mais regardez!
” The driver pointed to the ticking meter. “
Enfin
.” The man threw up his arms in aggravation. “
Où allezvous, Monsieur
?”

“La Pitié-Salpêtrière.”

CHAPTER 39

C
harles-Christian arrived at La Pitié-Salpêtrière distressed and in pain. He went first to the trauma center, where he found someone to stitch and bandage the wound over his temple, and then he showered and changed into a clean shirt and trousers. He grabbed the already-packed duffel bag from his locker and, noting Anna’s book sitting on the top shelf, stuffed it into a side pocket. Next, he went to find the new
Chef
d’
Urgences
. She had recently replaced the former chief who had reprimanded him. He got along well with her.

“It is time for a vacation,” he told her.

To his surprise, the woman agreed with him.

“So I’ve noticed, Dr. Gérard,” she said scrutinizing his bandaged head with her close-set, beady eyes. “You have looked stressed and drawn lately. Take some time for yourself. Enjoy the holiday…away from Paris, if you can.”

Away from Paris, if you can
, he repeated to himself an hour later as he stood in line at the
guichet
of the Gare de Lyon in the twelfth arrondissement. He bought a ticket for the 7:54 TGV to Nice.
Over a thousand kilometers away from Paris
. The
trains à grande vitesse
traveled at speeds up to three hundred kilometers per hour. He looked at his watch. The trip would take over three hours. At least he would get some much-needed sleep. Then he would rent a car and drive the twenty kilometers to Castagniers. He pondered what it would be like to be face-to-face with his father again. He had called Jacques from the hospital phone to tell him to expect him this evening. He bought a Monday morning newspaper and settled himself into a corner seating area in the ornate passenger terminal. He took off his heavy winter coat, put it, his duffel bag, and his medical kit on the seat beside him, and then lit a cigarette and looked around casually.

The first travelers of the day were lined up to purchase
cafés au lait
, croissants, and tartines from a vendor’s cart. The station smelled of cigarette smoke, fresh strong coffee, and diesel fuel, all of which were overpowered at times by pungent human smells courtesy of the assortment of derelicts who had made the station their bedroom overnight. Out near the platforms, the orange-colored TGVs awaited their departures for southern France, the Alps, Switzerland, Italy, and Greece.

Charles-Christian opened the newspaper and buried his head in it. It would provide camouflage, if needed, and diversion for the next hour or so until the train’s loading time was announced.

A man sat down in the seat next to him. He placed a small, tattered valise on the floor between his feet. Charles-Christian continued reading his paper and ignored him. In the background, loudspeakers announced the times of the first departures of the day in French, English, German, and Italian.

“You should watch yourself,
mon ami
. You should have seen the man before he hit you.” The voice was low and raspy, the accent familiar.

Charles-Christian lowered his newspaper slightly and peered over the top. The man was in his midseventies. He was wearing a black beret. His wolf-like eyes were not looking at Charles-Christian, but studying the surroundings as if searching for prey. Charles-Christian’s eyes narrowed.

“What? What are you doing here?” he said in a low voice.

“Don’t look at me. I made your father a promise. You are going to Nice, aren’t you?”

Charles-Christian nodded.

“I am also. I’ll find you once we board.” Diamanté Loupré-Tigre stood and picked up his valise. As if they had not spoken at all, he wandered off noiselessly.

CHAPTER 40

E
xhausted and head pounding from the wound, Charles-Christian boarded the Nice-bound train. He found a seat and didn’t even bother to look around the sparsely occupied car. No one sat in the seat next to him.

Further down the platform, Diamanté waited, as always on the alert for signs of anyone following him. When he had reassured himself that it was safe to board, he chose the car behind the one Charles-Christian had just entered.

At the back of the train, a man waited, watching. When he was sure that Diamanté had not seen him, he boarded the train and took a seat in the very last car.

At just before eight o’clock, the cars lurched and the train began to slowly move out of the station. Charles-Christian relaxed a bit and looked out the window at the dark Paris streets. It was drizzling again, and there would be a possibility of light snow during the day. The temperature had fallen overnight.
Au revoir, Paris. Au revoir
, Anna. The gentle, quiet movement of the car rocked him almost immediately to sleep.

When he awoke, it was light outside, a dark gray light. The train was moving fast through the lifeless winter countryside. Rain streaked across the windowpanes. He pulled himself up in his seat and looked around him. The car was still mostly empty. There was, however, an occupant in the seat beside him. Diamanté was looking at him.

“You really should be more alert,
mon ami
. I could have easily robbed you while you slept.”

Charles-Christian rubbed his eyes like a small child.

“Do you want something to eat?” Diamanté handed him a bag of pastries. Charles-Christian chose a
croissant au chocolat
and bit into it. He still said nothing.

“I had a call from your father. He told me that you were arriving in Castagniers today. I guessed you would be taking the first train this morning to Nice. It wasn’t hard to find you in the
gare
.”

“Did my father ask you to tail me?”

“I made a promise to your father…after the events of August 31…that if they let you go, I would protect you. We Corsicans always keep our promises.”

“Protect me from what? Whom?”

“Have you noticed anyone following you?”

“No, but I have sensed it. There have been some…” Charles-Christian hesitated, “incidents.”

“Like the time your car was forced off the road?”

“How did you know about that?”

“I saw it happen. It was an unmarked car. Hard to determine who was behind the wheel.”

“So you have been following me too?”

“Jacques and I have a pact. He agreed to take over the running of my restaurant. I agreed to protect you. When we Corsicans are needed somewhere, we are there. Elise, my brother’s widow, has been harboring me in her apartment. I think she enjoys the company. I try to remember to bring her flowers every week.”

Charles-Christian had noticed flowers in the concierge’s window of late. It had also occurred to him that Elise had seemed happier, more animated, especially recently.

“You did me a great favor when you approached her about the empty apartment in her building, you know,” Diamanté went on, chuckling quietly. “It made it a lot easier to keep track of you.”

“She emerges from her ground-floor lair every time I leave or enter the building,” Charles-Christian said. Diamanté gave him an indifferent look. “She’s very vigilant. There’s no way to escape without her noticing. Why didn’t you just tell me you were in Paris?”

“There was no need to worry you. In a while, if I thought you had proven that you could take care of yourself…”

“But you don’t think I can take care of myself.”

Diamanté shrugged his shoulders. “You confirmed that last night,
mon ami
.”

“So you have been following me…everywhere? Did you follow me to Rouen yesterday? If you did, I never saw you.”

“I was quite a ways behind. Pretty lady you had with you.”

Charles-Christian was suddenly reminded of the relationship between Anna and this man. He studied him closely. If he was her grandfather, the resemblance between the two was hard to see.

“Did you know I talked to my father from Rouen then?”

“He told me this morning. I think he is glad you are going to see him. It’s hard for fathers sometimes to admit they were wrong. He wants to have his son back. I don’t know what happened between you. He never said. We Corsicans don’t believe in speaking of personal matters. I don’t ask now.”

Charles-Christian was silent for a few moments. Something was bothering him. “What did you mean when you said I should have seen the man before he hit me?”

“Just that. You are a Corsican. Your father should have trained you to be more alert. I told him that on the phone this morning. I heard the car siren last night. Elise saw you leave the building. By the time I got outside, you were on the ground, dead out. I chased the two away. You never saw me in the darkness.”

“I guess I owe you that. It didn’t even occur to me that there would be two of them. I was pretty stupid thinking I could take on even one
mec
by myself,
hein?
”

“Agreed.”

“Do you think they were thieves? I guessed they were tampering with my car.”

“I don’t know exactly. I grabbed the tool the
mec
was using and hit him hard with it.” Diamanté chuckled again. “He retreated,
le lâche
. The other one did, too. Just before you came to and ran back into the building.”

“I got clobbered pretty good. They put several stitches in my head at the hospital.” Charles-Christian rubbed his bandage.

“I hope the
mec
I hit had to have three times as many.” For the first time, Diamanté almost smiled at him. His voice softened. “I checked your car. It’s all right. Whatever they intended to do to it, they didn’t succeed. Doesn’t mean they won’t try again, mind you. You should get rid of it when you get back to Paris.”

A vendor came through the car selling espressos. Diamanté bought one. He took a sip of the strong, black coffee and grimaced. “It was a setup, you know,” he said. “Narbon and I went our separate ways. I took the train to Paris. I haven’t seen him since. Nor has Jacques. At first I intended to go back to my restaurant, but Jacques was very concerned about you.” He took another sip of the coffee. “When we ran, we didn’t look back. There weren’t many people on the pier. I saw only a young woman. We watched for any news about the incident for days. Nothing. All that was broadcast were the scenes of the accident and the funeral in London.”

“Why do you think it was a setup?”

“I don’t know. I got this call to activate the old escape line. It was similar to calls I receive from time to time. One doesn’t question, but one has to be careful. Sometimes…in my line of work… one can be…well…I let down my guard.
Merde
.” He spat.

“Do you have any idea now who it was?”

“
Non
.
Pas du tout.”
Diamanté shook his head and kept his eyes diverted from Charles-Christian’s as he glanced around the car. The train slowed for a moment, then crossed a bridge and speeded up again. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you,” he said.

“They let me do my work, if that’s what you mean. I was treated well. It was a while before they allowed me to leave, though. I can’t tell you anything else.”

Diamanté nodded. “I’m sorry for getting you involved.”

Charles-Christian looked out the window at the countryside. The landscape was brown and flat. Barren trees dotted the horizon. In another hour, there would be some green to the terrain and the sun would be warmer coming in through the train’s window as they approached the Côte d’Azur. Diamanté’s sudden apology had taken him by surprise. Corsican men, he knew from experience with his father, didn’t like to apologize. It meant acknowledging their fallibility.

“I met her before, you know. When I was working with the Médecins Sans Frontières in Africa. She visited a hospital where the AIDS patients were being treated. I was one of the doctors she spoke to.” He paused, for a moment miles away in thought as he listened to the dull, monotonous drone of the speeding train, then he continued. “She was very beautiful.”

Diamanté didn’t answer him.

Does Diamanté know who she really is
? Charles-Christian wondered as he excused himself, got up, and went to the WC.

When he returned to his seat, he had made a decision. “Do you remember anyone by the name of Ellis from the war? An American flier. I believe his name was Stu Ellis.”