Flykiller

‘Or went straight ahead,’ she managed but, suddenly, Herr Kohler was gone from them and Blanche and she were left alone to listen in the dark. No images, no anything. Just a deep, dark, black emptiness before her eyes … Her eyes.

He made no sound, gave no further indication of his whereabouts, must even have switched off the torch. Had he really done so? Had he?

Uncannily the water bubbled forth, its sound echoing in the distance.

‘Albert’s unpredictable,’ swore Blanche, not liking their being left alone. ‘Edith Pascal can get him to do anything simply by bullying and because he’s terrified of being berated by her.’

Somehow Ines found her voice. ‘Did he put the rats in Lucie’s bed?’

‘He’d have taken the livers if he had, but Edith could well have done it herself. Edith hates Petain and all he stands for. She blames him not just for my father’s rejection of her but for all the pain he’s suffered.’

‘So she killed the four of them, is this what you’re saying?’

To not even ask about Edith first implied knowing her. ‘Just what the hell are you really doing in Vichy?’ grated Blanche. ‘Albert’s certain there’s something wrong with your being here. He wouldn’t have taken that knife otherwise.’

‘And my bag? Why would he have taken that?’

‘To find out everything he can about you.’

‘But he can’t read more than a few words. Even if he looks at my carte d’identite and travel permits, he won’t be able to understand them.’

And you’re still so very afraid of him, aren’t you? silently demanded Blanche. ‘He smells and gets the feel of them. He’ll try to surprise us first and then … then will hole up somewhere to examine every little thing you’ve got in that bag of yours. Be grateful you parked that valise of yours with his father or he’d have taken it too. Admit that you met with Lucie in Paris.’

‘Celine’s letters were simply posted to me!’

‘You’re lying! Lucie told me you’d met each time she went to Paris.’

‘Now you’re the one who’s lying!’ cried Ines as Blanche grabbed her by the arm only to suddenly release her hold.

‘Look, let’s stop this!’ swore Blanche. ‘Let’s help each other. My father was the best friend of yours. Celine had him write to you about the firing squad.’

They’d been whispering urgently but had yet to realize this, thought Kohler, having moved back along the corridor to stand nearby.

‘Celine did no such thing,’ countered the sculptress. ‘Oh for sure she knew Monsieur Olivier was my father’s compagnon d’armes. Since the age of seven or eight she had to listen to the details of my searchings for what really happened to Papa. One evening she took it upon herself to speak to Monsieur Olivier in the English Garden by the river. Tears leaped into his eyes at her mention of my father and, asking her to follow in a few moments, he led the way to his house. They did not go inside because Edith Pascal was there. They simply sat and talked in the dark.’

And he told you a little about Edith, did he? ‘Admit it, letters were exchanged. Not only did you write to Celine, but to my father!’

But why, please, does this upset you so? wondered Ines. And if a little is yielded, will not the same be done in return? ‘All right, we exchanged letters. Lucie and I did meet. The Louvre, the Sorbonne, the Bibliotheque Nationale, the Musee Grevin … She first found me there, but after that would always telephone ahead or leave a message.’

‘Didn’t you think that dangerous?’

All calls were monitored, all such messages were read by others, but was Mademoiselle Blanche fishing for something else, a Resistance connection? wondered Ines. ‘Of course I thought it dangerous – the penalty alone for carrying or receiving such letters is extremely harsh and totally unreasonable, but … but Lucie was my only link with Celine and it was the only way I’d know she was back in the city.’

‘And your only link with my father!’ spat Blanche. ‘Did he tell you he knew Paul and I were in Vichy and had been in that house?’

Olivier hadn’t even mentioned them in his one and only letter to her, but when they’d met yesterday he had revealed as a warning that he was certain they’d been in the house, certain that they had somehow forced Edith Pascal to let them in when he was absent. ‘You took that knife and the earrings from your mother’s room, didn’t you? Your brother’s footprints were found in the snow outside the Hall des Sources.’

There’d been both sadness and defeat in the sculptress’s voice, thought Kohler.

‘Those footprints were from earlier on Tuesday,’ said Blanche tightly. ‘Paul had to go to the Hotel du Parc late that afternoon. Menetrel had asked to see him again.’

Had she weighed up that answer before giving it? wondered Kohler.

‘See him about what?’ demanded Ines.

‘The STO, what else?’

And wouldn’t you know it, a little blackmail of the doctor’s, thought Kohler. The Service de Travail Obligatoire, the forcedlabour draft. All young men born between 1 January 1912 and 31 December 1921 had to register …