Citadel (52 page)
But if there had been a hitch? She knew, via Geneviève, that Eloise had delivered Raoul safely to the rendezvous. But what if Monsieur Baillard hadn’t arrived? Or if the site they’d chosen turned out not to be suitable after all?
Sandrine glanced towards the gatehouse. Did she really have a choice, though? Authié was going to ask her questions, she couldn’t avoid that. If she appeared to be ignorant of the Codex now, yet full of information by Wednesday, the whole plan would look suspicious and start to fall to pieces.
Wishing Marianne was here to advise her, Sandrine stood by the car, trying to work out what she should do. She also wondered why Authié had really come to Le Vernet in the first place. And what, exactly, was his job?
The driver lit a second cigarette, this time offering the packet to her. Sandrine shook her head. The echo of metal striking the unforgiving earth continued to reverberate around the camp. The sun continued blasting down upon the bare heads of the prisoners. Suddenly the door flew open and a young officer she’d not seen before appeared on the steps of the gatehouse.
‘Captain Authié wants you, Mademoiselle Vidal,’ he called. ‘There’s been an incident. Come quickly.’
S
andrine’s stomach lurched. ‘What’s happened? Where’s Mademoiselle Ménard, is she all right?’
She blinked, accustoming her eyes to the gloom after the brightness of the day outside, then followed the guard down a corridor to a small interview room. Lucie was sitting on a chair in the centre of the room, holding a handkerchief to her face. Her blue and white dress was stained down the front with splashes of blood.
‘Oh God,’ said Sandrine, crouching beside her. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s nothing. I’m all right.’
Sandrine turned on the guard. ‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘Where’s Captain Authié? Where’s Max?’
The young officer looked embarrassed, but didn’t answer. Sandrine turned back to Lucie.
‘Tell me what happened,’ she repeated, dropping her voice. ‘Did you see Max?’
Lucie nodded. ‘They’ve taken him back.’
‘Is he all right?’
A wail came from behind the handkerchief. ‘I hardly recognised him, he’s so thin, and his glasses – they won’t let him have his glasses – and I, well I just lost my head.’
Sandrine put her hand on Lucie’s leg. ‘I don’t understand. Where is Captain Authié?’
‘He’s so thin, so pale. His eyes are hollow.’ She stopped. ‘He couldn’t believe it, though, Sandrine. He couldn’t believe I’d come. His face, when he saw it was me, I . . .’ She broke off. ‘I know you don’t like him, Sandrine, but Captain Authié was pretty decent. He was called away, or pretended to be, and left us on our own for a while.’
‘So did you tell him?’ Sandrine said quietly. ‘Did you manage to tell him your news?’
For a moment a smile lit Lucie’s face. ‘You should have seen him, Sandrine, when he understood. He was so happy.’ The smile began to fade. ‘Happy at first, then . . .’
‘How did this happen?’ asked Sandrine, pointing at the handkerchief.
‘Stupid. I was stupid,’ said Lucie. ‘When the guard came back to take Max away, I’m afraid I flew at him. Tried to stop them.’
‘The guard hit you?’ said Sandrine in disbelief.
‘No, he pushed me, I lost my footing. Banged into the door.’
‘Oh Lucie.’ Sandrine looked towards the open door. ‘And where’s Captain Authié now?’
‘Trying to smooth things over with the Commandant.’ Lucie shook her head. A single drop of blood dripped from her nose on to her lap, a starburst on the skirt of her dress. Sandrine saw her shoulders slump a little more. ‘I’ve made things worse for Max, haven’t I?’
She squeezed Lucie’s arm. ‘I’m sure you haven’t.’
‘What do you think will happen now?’
The sound of a siren suddenly split the air, making both girls jump.
‘What’s that?’ Sandrine said, glancing at the guard.
‘Roll call. Four times a day. Make sure everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.’
‘Where else are they likely to be?’ Sandrine muttered, then broke off at the sound of Authié’s voice.
‘Mademoiselle Vidal, if I may have a moment of your time.’
To her surprise, he took her elbow and steered her into the corridor.
‘Your friend’s behaviour was remarkably ill judged . . .’ he said.
‘I appreciate that,’ Sandrine began.
He kept talking over her. ‘. . . and it certainly won’t help Monsieur Blum. The Commandant has absolute power here, do you understand? He only allowed Mademoiselle Ménard to see her fiancé – although I gather there is some doubt about her status – as a personal favour to me. He had no obligation to do so.’
‘Lucie is aware of that,’ Sandrine said. ‘She was upset, but deeply regrets causing you personal embarrassment.’
‘Does she?’
For a moment, they held one another’s gaze. Sandrine forced herself not to look away. He was dangerous, she knew that. But, for whatever reason, he had helped. Sandrine felt the full force of his character, realising how Raoul had once been prepared to follow him and why Lucie had wanted to put her trust in him.
‘What can we do to alleviate the situation, Captain Authié?’
‘I have dealt with it,’ he replied.
‘Will it make things worse for Monsieur Blum?’
‘I regret that is not something over which I have any influence.’
Again, for a moment, Sandrine thought she saw the mask slip. Something in his voice suggested that he felt the injustice of what was happening here in the camp. An awareness of the barbarity of the place.
‘Most of these men here,’ she said, ‘have they even done anything wrong?’
Authié’s expression altered. Sandrine willed him to say something, to speak beyond his position or responsibilities or the chill air of the corridor, but he did not.
‘Shall we?’ he said.
Sandrine helped Lucie to her feet, then walked down the corridor and out down the steps.
In silence, they got into the car. Authié sat with his driver in the front, a different man in a lieutenant’s uniform. Sandrine and Lucie sat close together in the back.
As they drove through the camp to the gate, Sandrine saw rows of prisoners gathering under the burning sun, men as thin as sticks, standing and looking straight ahead. The guards’ voices were harsh as they shouted the roll call.
She couldn’t help herself twisting round as they pulled out of the gate and on to the road to the village, watching the camp get smaller and smaller behind her. Then they turned the bend, and Le Vernet disappeared from view.
L
ucie looked utterly dazed. Sandrine sat back on the bench seat and squeezed her hand.
‘Are you all right?’ she mouthed.
‘Not so bad,’ Lucie said.
‘I regret I am not returning to Carcassonne,’ Authié said, turning round from the front. ‘Assuming that’s where you have come from?’
Sandrine felt relief wash through her. ‘We’ll be fine,’ she said, ducking the question. ‘If you could drop us in the village, we’ll make our own way from there.’
Lucie had finished her running repairs to her face, lipstick and a dab of powder, and was now smoking.
‘You came to Le Vernet by train?’
Sandrine met his eye. ‘We did, yes.’
‘From Carcassonne?’
‘I told Captain Authié you had been staying out of town,’ Lucie said quickly.
‘Surely not here in Le Vernet?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said, desperately trying to decide what to say for the best.
In the mirror, she saw he was staring at her.
‘Where have you been, Mademoiselle Vidal? I have called on you at home in Carcassonne several times in the past week without finding you at home.’
‘I’ve been in Tarascon,’ she said, unable to think of anything better.
His eyebrows went up. ‘A charming place, but not somewhere I would imagine could hold many attractions. The sort of place which attracts partisans and those determined to cause trouble.’
‘Really, I didn’t know that,’ she said. ‘It seems pleasant.’
‘However, now I have found you,’ he continued, ‘I might take the opportunity of asking a few questions. You don’t object, I assume?’
‘No, no of course I don’t,’ she said.
Her eyes slid to Authié’s driver, who was clearly following every word. She frowned. There was something familiar about him, though she couldn’t think where they might have met.
‘. . . in your own words, Mademoiselle Vidal, if you would,’ Authié was saying.
Sandrine forced her attention back to him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Monday the thirteenth of July,’ he said in a level voice. ‘You were attacked at the river in Carcassonne. Near Païchérou.’
Sandrine’s mouth was dry. She glanced at Lucie. Hoping her friend hadn’t given Authié more information than she’d owned up to.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I went to the police station. Someone took my statement.’
‘It’s always better to hear it in your own words, Mademoiselle Vidal,’ he said.
For the next few minutes, the questions went back and forwards. Polite and courteous, there was nonetheless an undercurrent to everything Authié asked, and Sandrine was exhausted by the effort of saying enough, but not too much. By the effort of working out how to slip into the conversation the information Monsieur Baillard wanted shared.
‘He said nothing to you, the man you helped?’
‘Nothing that made any sense,’ she said, keeping her voice as casual as possible. ‘I mean, he rambled on and on, but it was all nonsense. I didn’t pay much attention.’
‘Try to recollect, Mademoiselle Vidal,’ said Authié. ‘What kind of things?’
Authié turned round in his seat. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one first to Lucie, who accepted, then to Sandrine. She shook her head. The moment had come.
‘Something about a book, I think it was – though that wasn’t the word he used.’ She pretended to think. ‘Codex, that was it. Yes, something about finding it and how it was valuable, very valuable.’
‘Did this man say he had seen this Codex?’
Authié’s voice was still calm, controlled, but Sandrine could hear the keen interrogation behind the words.
‘I think so, yes. He said it was hidden and it was safe, but I didn’t take much notice. I was more concerned about finding help. I was rather scared, to tell you the truth.’
‘Did he mention a key?’
‘A key?’ she blurted the word out. ‘No.’
‘Or a particular place?’
‘Something to do with Pyrène,’ she said slowly. ‘The Col de Pyrène, I think it was?’
‘Do you know the place, Mademoiselle Vidal?’
‘No.’
Authié narrowed his eyes. ‘Yet you remember the name?’
‘Only because he said it so many times,’ she said quickly. ‘He kept describing it. A place with a rock that looked as if it was covered with glass, or something like that. But maybe I misunderstood.’ She gave another shrug. ‘He was in such a state, Captain Authié, I’m afraid I wasn’t really paying attention. He’d had some kind of accident, you see. As I said, it all sounded like nonsense.’
Authié fixed her with a long, hard look. Sandrine worried she’d overdone it, made herself seem too gullible or naïve, too incurious. A frisson of fear went down her spine. Her fingers gripped the side of her seat.
‘But then,’ she rushed on, ‘I slipped on the rocks and, like an idiot, banged my head. And in fact the man can’t have been so badly hurt as I thought, because when I came round, he was gone.’
‘You are quite sure – quite sure – you saw no one else at the river?’
Sandrine met his gaze. ‘Quite sure.’
‘You don’t remember someone helping you?’
‘Well, yes. Lucie and Max,’ she said. The nerves were thudding louder and harder in her chest. ‘It was awfully lucky they were there, otherwise I don’t know what would have happened.’
‘Before that,’ he said with a touch of steel in his voice.
‘No,’ she lied.
Lucie took her lead from Sandrine. ‘We looked, but there was nobody there.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid we thought you were making it up, you know.’
‘I know,’ Sandrine said, throwing a grateful smile at Lucie. ‘I must have sounded quite mad.’ She turned back to Authié. ‘I’m sorry not to be of more help.’
He didn’t reply. In the mirror, Sandrine saw him exchange a glance with the driver. The car slowed for a moment. Sandrine’s heart skipped a beat, suddenly anxious that they were going to be left in the middle of nowhere at the side of the road. Then, she realised, that might be better. Now she’d done what she had to do, she was desperate to be out of Authié’s company. She also had to get a message to Monsieur Baillard to let him know the plan was already in motion.
The car idled for a moment at the junction. Authié leant over and talked in an undertone to the driver. Then, instead of turning towards Le Vernet, they instead pulled out on to the main road that led towards Tarascon. A flash of alarm went through her.
‘You were going to drop us at the railway station,’ she said quickly. ‘There is a train due at the end of the afternoon.’
‘It’s such an unreliable line, Mademoiselle Vidal. I am more than happy to take you back to Tarascon.’
‘Tarascon?’
‘You said you were staying there,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ she said, immediately trying to work out how they would be able to get back to Foix where the car was hidden.
‘It’s no trouble. We are going that way anyway,’ he said. A few more seconds of silence fell between them. ‘I wonder, is your presence in Tarascon related in any way to this matter, Mademoiselle Vidal?’
Sandrine muddled her expression. ‘Is there a connection? I am simply accompanying our housekeeper to visit old friends. She’s rather unwell and can’t travel on her own.’
‘Most people don’t choose to travel these days unless necessary.’
‘Marieta isn’t most people,’ she replied, forcing another smile.
Authié’s face was inscrutable. ‘I shall need an address where you’re staying,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ Sandrine said brightly, wondering what the hell she was going to do when they arrived in Tarascon in an hour’s time.
