Citadel (48 page)

‘We didn’t mean to upset you,’ Sandrine said, sitting down beside her. ‘We’re only thinking out loud, trying to find a way to help Lucie.’

She tailed off, seeing her sister wasn’t listening. Marianne continued to sit motionless, her hands resting in her lap.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Sandrine said again.

‘I know,’ Marianne said.

‘Lucie’s desperate, that’s the thing. She’ll try to get there on her own if one of us doesn’t go with her.’ She paused. ‘And you and Suzanne, you do things to help other people – strangers – all the time. You take risks. Is this really so different?’

‘We never deliberately put ourselves in harm’s way,’ she said. ‘But it’s not that.’

‘Then what?’

Marianne shook her head, as if no words would be enough. Sandrine couldn’t remember seeing her sister so beaten down before, so unsure. She was always so certain, so self-controlled.

‘What is it, Marianne? Tell me?’

For a moment Marianne didn’t react, then she gave a long, deep sigh.

‘The thing is, I don’t think I can do it any more,’ she said. ‘That’s all. I’m too tired, I’m . . .’ she shrugged. ‘I’m worn out.’

‘Of course you are . . .’

‘I can’t do it any more, Sandrine. Worry about everyone, keep everyone, be responsible for everyone. Make sure that the bills are paid, that we have enough to eat. I’m just worn out and I wish . . .’ She broke off. Sandrine took her hand, but it felt like a dead thing, cold and lifeless. ‘Sometimes I wish I could look away, like other people seem to be able to do. Not feel it’s my job to put things right.’

‘But you’ve always been the one to put everything right,’ Sandrine said gently, ‘even when we were little. Papa always said, didn’t he? You always made everything right.’

‘This situation with Lucie, like this business with Monsieur Baillard, I feel it’s my job to say no. To try to keep you all safe, even though it makes you – Lucie – cross. I do understand why she wants to try to go to Le Vernet, of course I do, and why you want to go with her. But it’s always me that has to tell everyone to be careful. To watch out for you all.’

‘Well then,’ Sandrine said affectionately.

‘I’m frightened all the time, can’t you see it?’

‘Frightened, you?’

‘Terrified. Terrified we’ll be caught, terrified of the knock on the door in the middle of the night when the police come. Then what will happen to you? To Marieta? I can’t do it. Not any more.’

Sandrine hesitated for a moment, then spoke. ‘I can look after myself now,’ she said in a steady voice. ‘I can make my own decisions – mistakes, no doubt. You’ve done enough.’ She paused. ‘I’ll go with Lucie, keep her from getting into trouble. I feel I owe her, you know. For not doing something when Max was arrested. I know you think I’m being silly, but it’s what I feel.’ She paused. ‘We’ll be back before you know it.’

For a moment, Sandrine didn’t think Marianne had properly heard. She put her arm around her sister’s shoulder and drew her close.

‘You don’t have to look after everyone any more.’

Marianne gave a hollow laugh. ‘It’s not as simple as that. I can’t just stop worrying, turn it off like a tap. I’ve had a lifetime of it.’

Sandrine smiled. ‘I know that. But from now on, you’re no longer the big sister and me the baby. We’ll just be sisters. Equals.’

‘Just sisters.’ Marianne looked at Sandrine, then held out her hand. ‘All right, it’s a deal.’

‘Deal.’ Sandrine hesitated. ‘But you won’t give up? You’ll keep doing things, you and Suzanne?’

Marianne sighed. ‘Of course. Someone’s got to.’

The girls sat there a while longer, looking out over the landscape of their shared childhood, the house that had kept them safe for so long. Then, from inside, Suzanne’s laugh and Liesl’s lighter tones, Geneviève talking. Then the slap of cards on the tabletop, and Lucie’s triumphant cry.

‘There!’

Marianne smiled. ‘She’s a funny mixture, Lucie. Tough as old boots in some ways, but so naïve in others. Head in the sand.’

‘Has she always been like that?’

‘Always. She was never the slightest bit interested in the world around her. Before Max came along, it was all films and magazines, Hollywood, the latest releases. Endless discussions of fashion and movie stars. And now a baby on the way.’ Marianne sighed.

‘Do you think it’s wrong?’ Sandrine asked, genuinely interested in what she thought. ‘Marieta does.’

‘Because they’re not married, do you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think they should have been more careful. But wrong, no.’

‘Lucie wanted to get married. It’s not their fault they aren’t.’

‘I know,’ Marianne said quietly. ‘But even if by some miracle Max is released, that won’t change. In the meantime, Lucie can’t go home. She’s got no money. How’s she going to live?’

‘She’ll have to stay here, won’t she?’

Marianne nodded. ‘I can’t see an alternative. She can’t go back to Carcassonne, not now her father’s there.’ She was quiet for a moment, then she turned and looked at Sandrine. ‘You are determined to go to Le Vernet?’

‘Lucie is,’ she replied, ‘and I don’t see how we can let her go alone.’

‘Won’t it interfere with what you’ve agreed with Monsieur Baillard?’

Sandrine hesitated. ‘No. I’m not supposed to do anything until going to Tarascon on Wednesday. I’d rather do something, instead of sitting around waiting and worrying about Raoul or whether the plan will work. Five days. Plenty of time to get to Le Vernet and back.’

Marianne thought for a moment longer. ‘If she’s determined,’ she said, in her more usual, practical voice, ‘tell Lucie not to write explicitly about the baby in the letter. She has to find a way of telling Max without spelling it out, as it were. So the censor doesn’t realise.’

‘Would it matter so much if the censor knows?’

‘This baby will have Jewish blood, Sandrine. If no one knows he – or she – exists, then there’s a chance of the child being safe. Whatever happens to Max.’

Sandrine turned cold. She felt stupid not to have realised for herself.

‘Of course, yes.’

‘And only go to the village,’ Marianne continued. ‘Find someone to take the letter up to the camp. I’ll telephone Carcassonne and see if the Red Cross has been allowed into Le Vernet recently.’

‘Lucie will be really grateful.’

‘She should be,’ Marianne said, with a flicker of her old impatience.

She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. Sandrine stood up too.

‘Do you feel less wretched now?’

Marianne thought for a moment. ‘Oddly, I do.’ She smiled. ‘Come on, let’s join the others.’

Inside the kitchen, the air was thick with tobacco smoke and the gentle scent of a
citronelle
candle.

On the table, the new bottle of red wine stood half empty. The white china ashtray was patterned with grey ash and white filters with smudges of red lipstick. The game of cards immediately stopped. Everyone looked round.

‘All right?’ asked Suzanne.

Marianne nodded. ‘Yes. Fine now.’

Suzanne held up the bottle. ‘A glass?’

‘Please.’

‘Sandrine?’

‘Just a little.’

Lucie immediately went over to Sandrine, another cigarette between her red-painted nails.

‘Well?’ she said in a whisper.

‘It’s all right. We’ll go,’ Sandrine replied. ‘But to the village, not to the camp itself.’

Lucie sighed with relief. ‘You talked her round, thank you.’

‘No,’ Sandrine said, feeling protective of her sister. ‘No, not at all. Marianne understands how you feel, Lucie. She’s just trying to keep us from getting into hot water.’

‘Well, however you did it, thanks, kid,’ she said, sounding like her old self. ‘I intend to go, one way or the other, but I’d rather have Marianne’s blessing.’

Sandrine put her hand on Lucie’s shoulder. ‘We’ll try to find someone to deliver the letter for you. Whatever happens, there’s no chance of you seeing Max. You accept that?’

‘I know, I know.’

From the expression on Lucie’s face, Sandrine could see she wasn’t listening.

‘Lucie, I’m serious.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I understand.’

‘Just so long as you do.’

Sandrine caught her sister smiling at her, a mixture of amusement and affection on her face. Something else too, regret perhaps. Sandrine smiled too, then raised her glass to the room.

‘Since we’re all here for once,’ she began.

‘Wait!’ Liesl said, seizing her camera. ‘All right, I’m ready.’

‘To us,’ Sandrine gave the toast.

Geneviève, Suzanne and Lucie all raised their glasses. Marianne tilted hers towards Sandrine.

‘To us all,’ Sandrine repeated, as the flash went off. ‘
A notre santé!
’

Chapter 86

TARASCON

B
aillard made good speed to Tarascon and went immediately to Pujol’s house, where he explained what he was intending to do with Sandrine and Raoul’s help.

‘Do you trust Pelletier?’ Pujol asked.

Baillard had considered the question seriously. Raoul reminded him of men he had known in the past, one man in particular. The same combination of bravery and certainty, lack of judgement on occasion, coupled with loyalty and courage. That man had proved himself to be a true
cavalier
of the Midi. They had been rivals. In the final hours of his life they had become, if not friends, then certainly allies.

‘I do.’

Pujol stared at him. ‘You don’t look too sure about that, Audric.’

‘An old man’s memories, nothing more.’

Pujol grunted. ‘Boy’s got a murder charge hanging over him.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is he guilty?’

‘No.’

‘Framed?’

‘It seems so.’

Pujol topped up his glass. ‘Where’s Pelletier now?’

‘Went with Geneviève Saint-Loup as far as Belcaire, then her sister Eloise was to meet him and take him to the site.’

‘Why didn’t you travel together?’

‘Safer alone. And people less likely to remark on the presence of a young man with a girl, è?’

‘Where have you chosen to hide it?’

‘On the Col de Pyrène. It is far enough away from the real site, but at the same time within the region where excavations have taken place. We cannot be sure how much information Antoine was forced to give them.’

‘No,’ Pujol said. ‘I suppose it’s worth going to all this trouble? You don’t think it’s a bit of a sideshow? Now you have the map, why not simply concentrate on retrieving the genuine Codex?’

‘Smoke and mirrors, Achille. We need to give them something to stop them looking. If they believe they have the text they seek, that will give us a free hand without fear of interruption. It’s also the only chance to persuade them to lose interest in Pelletier and Madomaisèla Sandrine.’

‘Possibly,’ Pujol said, then poured himself another glass of wine. ‘Where did Antoine find the map? Did Rahn send it to him?’

Baillard shook his head. ‘If it had come from Rahn, Antoine would have acted sooner. There is a gap of some two years between Rahn’s death in March 1939 and Antoine being demobbed and beginning to search the mountains in earnest.’

‘I dare say you’re right.’

Baillard sighed. ‘Have you had any luck with the names I gave you?’

Pujol pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘I asked around, but I’m afraid the news is all bad.’ He put his spectacles on. ‘César Sanchez was stabbed near the railway station in Carcassonne a day or two after the Bastille Day demonstration. It’s been dismissed as a blood feud between Spanish workers. No one claimed the body, no family so far as the police can tell, but my contact said a woman had been asking after him.’

Baillard remembered something Sandrine had told him. ‘In all likelihood that will be Suzanne Peyre. She and Sandrine’s sister, Marianne, are active in Carcassonne. Sanchez was a friend of hers.’

‘Did Pelletier know?’

‘No, he saw César being arrested. Someone must have given an order for him to be released from custody.’

‘I checked. There was no arresting officer listed.’ Pujol went back to his notes. ‘Gaston and Robert Bonnet were both arrested and released, in the end, without charge.’ He peered at Baillard over the top of his glasses. ‘You know there are nearly seven thousand men held in Le Vernet now. Communists, partisans, gypsies. They will need enormous camps if it goes on like that. Jewish prisoners, apparently, are being moved to other camps in the East. Even so, soon there won’t be any room left at all in any of these places.’

‘No one is coming back, Achille,’ Baillard said quietly.

Pujol stared at him. ‘What are you saying, Audric?’

‘
Tuez-les tous
. . .’

‘Kill them all,’ Pujol muttered. Infamous words said to have been spoken in Béziers at the beginning of a genocide against the Cathars of the Languedoc, more than seven hundred years ago. They, too, had been forced to wear scraps of yellow cloth pinned to their cloaks, their robes.

‘This is evil of a different order,’ Baillard said. ‘And why we must not fail.’

Pujol was silent for a few moments. ‘Do you want me to come with you, Audric?’

Baillard’s gentle face softened. ‘At the risk of offending you, Achille, I think we might make quicker progress alone.’

Pujol laughed. ‘When do you expect Pelletier?’

Baillard looked up at the dusk sky.

‘
Dins d’abòrd
,’ he said. Soon.

BELCAIRE

‘There are no trout in the stream.’

Raoul stood up, immediately alert, and gave the response. ‘My cousin says the fishing will improve when the melt waters begin.’

A pretty, dark-haired woman appeared in the opening between two trees and walked towards him. She was carrying a
panier
containing wild flowers and wore a pale blue summer dress with a pattern of tiny white blossoms on it. He thought how well it would suit Sandrine’s colouring, then smiled that he was even thinking such things at such a moment.

‘Monsieur Pelletier?’

‘Raoul,’ he said, shaking her outstretched hand.

‘I’m Eloise. I’m sorry I’m late. I was held up.’

‘Trouble?’

‘None. You?’

‘All quiet.’

Eloise nodded. ‘That’s how we like it.’