The Seven Turns of the Snail's Shell: A Novel (36 page)

Anna awoke and looked around her. She couldn’t remember where she was. The room looked like any one of hundreds of old hotel rooms in France. In this one there was a chair. Now she recalled. She was in Castagniers, at the Ajaccio. She looked at her watch. It was two thirty in the morning.

* * *

In Laguna Beach, California, Mark jogged along the beach with Paris off the leash and outpacing him by twenty feet. At five thirty that afternoon, it was low tide, and the warm August evening had drawn many people to the Pacific shore. They passed a group of teenagers playing volleyball in the sand, and the dog found a lone seagull to chase until a wave doused him and the seagull flew away.

“C’mon, boy,” Mark called as he turned around. “Let’s go home.” He checked his watch. He still had three more hours before his father would be awake in Paris. After he had had no response from Anna to his last e-mail, he had left a message for his father, asking him to use his connections in France in order to get a cell phone number for Georges Durocher. He needed desperately to reach Anna through Georges’ wife, Monique.

After Anna had told him that she was going to meet Diamanté Loupré-Tigre, Mark had run a background check on the man. The first brief search through all the normal channels had come up with nothing, not even an address. Next he had contacted his EU sources in Strasbourg, the ones who had helped him locate Guy de Noailles. They found the usual statistics: a July 1924 birth date in Castagglione, Corsica, an address in Marseilles, France, fifteen years later, and a notation about Diamanté’s being a member of the French Résistance movement during World War II. There was a record of a marriage in Ajaccio, Corsica, and the birth of a son, Diamanté Jr., with notations (son deceased March 1962, Algerian War; wife deceased 1963). They could find no current listed address other than a record of some real estate that had been purchased in the south of France in 1996, and no information about any living relatives. What had concerned Mark most was that his EU contacts had told him that the world’s preeminent police organization, Interpol, had placed a security lock preventing any further access to Diamanté’s records by unauthorized personnel. Despite their EU status, they were not authorized access.

* * *

In Castagniers, Anna got out of bed and walked over to the open window. It was a pretty night with a bright moon and a gentle, warm breeze. The village was asleep. She hadn’t had the dream in eight months, not since the last time she was in France. It was so surreal, in all its variations. She turned on the lamp on the bed stand. Its light shone on C-C’s letters sitting below it. She picked them up and climbed back onto the bed.

The letter on the bottom of the pile was sealed, the envelope addressed to A. Ellis,
confidentiel
. Anna opened the envelope, carefully removed the pages, and began reading.

January 1998

Anna, ma chère
,

This letter contains the story of how I made the decision to stay in Castagniers. I don’t intend to ever send it to you as the contents must be kept a secret. If you are reading this letter, it is because I have given it to you in person and we are together again. If that is the case, then you can be assured that I am at present the happiest man alive.

Remember that night in Paris when I was hit over the head on the street in front of my apartment building? Of course, it was the last time I saw you. Do you recall as well that I thought I was being followed? Well, now I can tell you what I couldn’t then. Yes, yes I was being followed, my love. It’s a long story.

* * *

Mark took off his running shoes and opened the door to his condo, commanding Paris to stay outside until he could get a towel to wipe the sand from the dog’s paws. On the entryway table, he spotted the framed photo of Anna and himself at the restaurant the night of their engagement celebration with his parents. Anna, her bright, dark eyes sparkling, her one bare shoulder and arm exposed by an off-the-shoulder, classic black silk dress, her hand adorned with the engagement ring he had given her in Paris, their hands entwined, both of them smiling.

The phone rang, jolting him from his reverie.

“Hi, Mark? Got that number, son. What’s so all fired important that you needed it in the middle of the night, anyway?”

Mark said apologetically, “Sorry, Dad. I have to reach Durocher first thing this morning. I was willing to wait until you awoke, though.”

“I had insomnia. Always do when I’m over here. Can’t get used to the time change. Never could. Anyway, it wasn’t difficult. I got Durocher’s cell phone number for you. He and his wife are, like everyone else here in France, hah,
en vacances
, as they say, out of town on vacation until the end of the month, so good luck in reaching him.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“There’s some other information I have for you. In response to that concern you had? I’ve sent you an e-mail. I think you had better look at it.”

“Sounds mysterious.”

“It is, as a matter of fact. I’m not sure what to make of it. It’s all I could get, for now, but I’ll keep trying. Anyway, so are you coming to visit us in Paris?”

“Don’t know. I’ll let you know in a couple of days.”

* * *

There is a young woman within the confines of the walls of the convent in Castagniers. She is recuperating from a horrible accident in Paris last August…August the thirty-first, to be exact. She is my patient.

Anna gasped and put her hands to her mouth. “This is absurd, C-C,” she said aloud. “Are you telling me that your patient is Diana,
the
Princess Diana?” As if he had anticipated her reaction, he continued:

No, if you are now wondering, it is not Lady Di but her double, officially employed by the British government to act as a decoy anytime the Princess wished her to do so. It was always Diana’s decision when and where. They traveled often together. She recalls nothing of that night in August. The only memory she has is that it was decided that she would take Lady Di’s place in the Mercedes. She has no recollection of where the Princess went. When the Mercedes crashed in the Alma Tunnel, it was she (the decoy) who was badly hurt. Her carotid artery was torn, and she suffered a stroke. The British Embassy contacted their trusted old friend from the war, Diamanté—yes, your grandfather—to help get the decoy out without the paparazzi discovering the switch. My father called me, and very soon after the call Diamanté appeared at La Pitié-Salpêtrière to enlist my services with the patient. A make-shift SAMU transported us from Paris to Normandy—Le Havre, to be exact—where we were taken aboard a helicopter. I was blindfolded. The only thing I knew is that we arrived somewhere in the U.K. without Diamanté. I only learned that Diamanté had escaped safely because of the scene you witnessed in Le Havre.

A bird rustled in the tree outside the window, startling Anna as she visualized the scene on the quay in Le Havre. From a distance came the sound of a dog barking. She took a deep breath and continued reading.

I have since learned that it was Diamanté who was following me in Paris. He was living with Elise in her apartment, and I didn’t even know it. The old stealth never let me see him, but he was always in the background. He even followed us to Rouen, and it was he who scared away those two thieves who were tampering with my car that night. And, furthermore, he was on the train to Nice with me the next morning. That’s when I told him about you.

I know this sounds absurd, Anna, but it is the truth. You must be wondering what happened next and why the woman and I have ended up in Castagniers. I didn’t have a clue that she was being transported here when I took the train. You see, she is still an employee of the British government, but she can’t ever go back to England. She would be targeted. Everyone would think that she is Lady Di come back to life. So she had to decide what was best for her. Diamanté took me to the convent the day after I arrived. I was given a choice. I was free to leave, or I could stay and become the village doctor so as not to raise suspicion. I finally decided to stay when I learned from Monique that you had become engaged. There was no life for me anywhere else. Alors, the woman now has two bodyguards, a nurse, and me. I won’t tell you her name. You must remember, Anna, that as a doctor in France I took an oath. I am sworn not to divulge anything about a patient. I can only say that she will never recover fully. Her right side is paralyzed, but she is talking better and improving daily. It has not been all that bad an arrangement, really, for me. The funding was part of it. I invested most of it in the house, a comfortable living arrangement for my father, and the car.

The letter ended abruptly. It was as if he had decided that he had already written too much. It was unsigned.

* * *

It was near midnight in California when Mark placed the call to Georges Durocher and his wife Monique in France. The phone rang several times before it kicked into voicemail. Georges’ message was long—first in French, then in English. Mark waited for the beep and said that he was Anna’s lawyer in California, that he was in urgent need of locating her as soon as possible. Then he repeated his name and phone number twice and hung up.

Dammit. They probably won’t give a crap who I am
, he thought as he studied the contents of the e-mail his dad had sent.
Christ. I have to warn her about this, ASAP.

Mark Zennelli’s father, Romano, or “Zenn” as he was called in Hollywood circles, was well-connected. If anyone could find someone to get into the content of the new Interpol CIS database, it was Zenn. The e-mail, flagged highly confidential, read:

Diamanté Loupré-Tigre, né 1924, Castagglione, Corsica. First entered France (Marseilles) 1939. Active leader in Résistance movement (Marseilles) World War II. Secret security clearance granted by Interpol Paris 1946. Secret security clearance granted by British Security Service (MI5) 1997. Involved currently in top secret British covert operation in France (information highly restricted; written authorization required by British Secret Service). Purchased hotel/restaurant/bar (Alpes-Maritime 06, France) 1996. Last known address: Paris. Red Notice: half brother (name withheld) wanted by Interpol (specifics available; written authorization required by Scotland Yard and/or Police Nationale, France).

***

Anna finished the last of C-C’s letters, took a deep breath, and sighed deeply. The sun was up. She looked at her watch. She had just enough time to bathe and dress for breakfast.

In the tub, she lay back in the warm, soapy water and pondered the phantom double.
Then where is the real Princess Diana?

CHAPTER 64

I
t was market day. A throng had gathered early in the Castagniers town square.

After breakfast, Léo and Pierre bid everyone
au revoir
, and Diamanté announced that his plan for the morning was to drive them to the train station in Nice, pick up some items he had ordered for the restaurant, and return around lunchtime. After the three men had departed, Elise, Guy, and Anna sat down at a table on the terrace under the shade of an umbrella to watch the shoppers in the square. Martine brought them large mugs of
café au lait
.

Anna opened her journal to the back section, a sketch book. She had been working on a pencil drawing of Elise and wanted to finish it while Elise was sitting there with her. Guy looked over her shoulder.

“That’s a good likeness of Elise. Did you study drawing?”

“I’ve never had any formal training, but I just really like to sketch people’s faces.”

“Do you have some more in that notebook of yours?”

“Yes.” Anna flipped back a page and rotated the sketch book for him to have a look. “I’ve done two others since I arrived. This one is of C-C.” It was a close-up of C-C looking directly into her eyes.

“Oh, he is a handsome one, my grandson, isn’t he?” Guy smiled approvingly.

She flipped the page to a rather stern drawing of Jacques. “And this one is of his father.”

“You really portrayed the old Corsican. Look at this, Elise.”

Elise moved around behind them so she could see the drawings. She smiled. “That’s Jacques’ usual expression, all right.”

Anna turned to the previous drawing. It was a likeness of Diamanté. “I did this one from the hunting photo you gave me, Guy,” she said as she flipped back another page. “And this is you.” She watched him. It was obvious that he was touched.

Anna showed them a caricature sketch she had done of Harry. “That’s my literary agent.”

“He looks like a clown!” remarked Elise.

“He is, sort of.” Anna laughed. She showed them the rest of the sketches, starting with the first one of her dog. Guy recognized the sketch of Mark and remarked how Monique and her husband Georges looked just like movie stars.

Just then the phone rang behind the zinc. Martine answered it. “
Oui
,
elle est là…Attends
…” She put down the receiver and came back out to the terrace. “
Pardon
,” she said interrupting the conversation. “Anna, the phone, it is for you. It’s Charlie. You can take it behind the bar, if you wish.”