The House with Blue Shutters (40 page)

Malcolm and Charlotte had been in a terrible state. When the doctor had left and Claudia was resting with a sleeping pill,
they had to hear over and over again how she had just shot out into the road without looking, there was no time to stop, thank
God Malcolm had his wits about him or it could have been unthinkable. Aisling suspected the sharpness of Malcolm’s wits, since
the Glovers had been at the pizzeria in Landi with those Logans, not that it stopped him swigging half a bottle of cognac
for the shock. What exactly Claudia had been doing whizzing about the village in the dark was a mystery, though Richard told
her that Kevin had seen her crying in front of the war memorial. Richard and Olly said that Claudia was always crying, and
she was probably a bit mental. Aisling thought Claudia resolutely self-possessed, but perhaps she was on Prozac.

The Glovers came back the next day (at lunchtime, Aisling observed), to relive the accident over a glass or three of PG white.
The Marquis and Delphine turned up just as they were polishing off a warm salad with walnuts and smoked
magret
. Just as well, because Aisling wouldn’t have liked to have had to ask them to sit down with Malcolm and Charlotte, who was
wearing ceramic earrings she had made herself in the shape of little pumpkins. Delphine had heard about the crash that morning
from Madame Lesprats, who had heard about it on her mobile from Sabine at the pharmacy in Landi.

‘She should be a spy, that cleaning lady!’ laughed Malcolm, as though he were the first person ever to realize that Madame
Lesprats was nosy. Delphine wanted to go up, but Alex, who had been sitting with Claudia, said that he didn’t think she was
up to it, though it was very kind. That looked rude, Aisling
thought, since she had bothered to come, so she took advantage of Malcolm showing the Marquis exactly which bit of car had
struck the bicycle to whisper the words ‘
fausse-couche
’ in Delphine’s ear. She had looked up ‘miscarriage’ specially in the Larousse that morning. Delphine understood then, naturally.
She suggested Aisling call around soon, if she wasn’t too busy, as there was something she would like to discuss with her.
Everyone stood around on the drive for a while, until Malcolm rubbed his hands briskly and announced that they had to be getting
on, which meant Delphine had to move her car.

As the d’Esceyracs were leaving, Delphine had called out in English that Aisling shouldn’t worry about the dogs when she came
up to the chateau, as they only barked at strangers. Charlotte Glover had definitely heard.

As soon as Claudia felt recovered, she popped down to La Maison Bleue and told the Sternbachs everything. They drove to the
village, and as soon as Madame Lesprats answered the door she knew the game was up. Madame Lesprats had heard everything,
long ago, from her great-aunt Amélie, even the parts that she felt sure Oriane had concealed all that time from Ginette. Madame
Lesprats had never been able to like Oriane, but she was a great believer in romance. Free to talk, she confirmed everything
that Claudia had heard from Oriane, including a great deal of detail about the mayor, who’d turned out to be a
collabo
, and the terrible things that had gone on at the chateau.

When they eventually escaped, they had a drink in the bar. Ella and Otto were planning to leave. They decided that the best
thing was to continue their research when they returned home, now they had the details there was no need to disturb the old
lady, though Ella thought it would be nice to send a
letter introducing themselves. If they discovered anything tangible, they would try to visit Jacky themselves, and then think
how to go on.

They told Aisling they were cutting their visit short to spend a few days with some friends who had a house over in the Lot.
Aisling said they had paid up to the end of the week anyway, but she was obviously needled that La Maison Bleue had been in
some way insufficient for them.

‘The Lot’s more fashionable of course,’ she said peevishly to Claudia, ‘but I thought they were the sort of people who wanted
something a bit more authentic. I shan’t bother to do them a barbecue.’

Claudia felt it was unlikely that Otto and Ella would be devastated by this.

It was a bit mean, Aisling would feel less slighted if she knew the truth, but since the wondrous release of the accident,
Claudia had a feeling she wouldn’t have to be bothering with Aisling much longer.

Alex and Claudia went to Cahors for the day. As they wandered rather boredly around the medieval centre of the little city,
she remembered the passionate grief that had possessed her as she stood before the war memorial in the village.

‘Why don’t we see if the museum’s open?’ she suggested.

The museum had more earnestness than exhibits, most of which were painstakingly handwritten accounts by local amateur historians
suspended as leaflets from chains set in the wall. Many were bad photocopies, their pages frayed and greasy from indifferent
tourist fingers. One wall had a home-made sign in felt tip reading ‘Le Maquis’, with a collection of photos pinned beneath.

‘Look,’ called Claudia, ‘here’s Castroux.’ She translated the description into English for Alex’s benefit.

‘Maquis le Moto, 1944. The group “Le Moto” was responsible for one of the crucial acts of sabotage following the Normandy
landings in 1944. Panzer Division “Das Reich” was due to travel north by train, but was delayed by six days due to the destruction
of a train and lines at Monguèriac, coordinated and carried out by “Le Moto”. Seven members of “Le Moto” were shot as part
of the infamous “Das Reich” reprisals before the division left the region.’

‘That was Larivière,’ Claudia explained. ‘The mayor told us that he was the one who betrayed the local partisans.’

Alex wandered away, but Claudia studied the picture. It was strange how small men looked, even such a short time ago. Their
heads looked normal, but their bodies were shrunken, child-sized, smothered in their ill-fitting jackets. The group was posed
before the church in Castroux. Eight men knelt in a row holding rifles, a ninth stood at one end, propped on a crutch, his
body half hidden behind what was presumably the famous Moto. They smiled crumbling Orwellian smiles at the camera, several
clutched cigarettes cocked over the barrels of their guns. Claudia recognized the names from the memorial: Aucordier, Boissière,
Charrot, Dubois, Nadl, Vionne. The photo must have been taken before the attack on the railway, before the German reprisals.
She wondered which one was Oriane’s brother. That part was true then, but it all seemed so impossibly far away that it was
hard to believe there were still living people who mourned these men. Claudia reached out to trace the lines of the photo,
but a warning of ‘Don’t touch’ immediately rattled out from the attendant in the corner.

Claudia and Alex mooched dutifully around the cathedral until she thought they had better get on with it and suggested they
stop for a coffee. Naturally, the charming café with a wisteria-draped terrace overlooking the river was closed, and they
sat too near the traffic outside a horrible little pizzeria. Arabic music played loudly and the coffee came in plastic cups.
She plunged in. What was it about leaving people that meant they always showed themselves at their best just when you needed
to believe the worst of them? Alex asked if she was sure she meant what she said, that it wasn’t just the shock of the accident,
would she prefer to discuss this in London? Then he said that he understood, and Claudia watched him try not to burst into
tears. He didn’t bluster or say anything spiteful, just held her hand and told her that he loved her, that he was unspeakably
sorry. Claudia began to cry and tugged off her ring.

‘Don’t be theatrical, darling.’

‘What do you want me to do with it? Throw it in the river?’ Her nose was running.

‘Do what you like with it. It’s yours. You might wear it sometimes, to think of me.’

Claudia sobbed harder and said she was sorry, sorry, sorry, though she wasn’t tempted to tell him everything, even now when
he seemed noble and she was full of her own awfulness. He fetched some paper napkins from the pizza maker and held them out
to her.

‘I can’t keep it anyway. I’ll have to get another for the next one.’ He was trying to smile.

‘You could ask Sarah Ashworth.’

‘Too late, darling. I am irremediably corrupted, thanks to you. She’s just too Clapham.’

Claudia felt a little prod of regret, after all he had been to Oxford.

‘Not Chiswick?’ she said.

They both laughed, at first forced and then really, and held hands as they went to find the car. Claudia felt huge affection
for him, stroking the sleeve of his shirt, feeling his palm warm and firm against her own smaller one. Having told him she
would never marry him, she suddenly liked him enough to wish she could. They were silent on the drive home though, along the
tiny green roads in their hired car.

‘I’m going to sell my flat,’ said Claudia. ‘I think I’m going to find somewhere in Paris.’ As she spoke she realized she meant
it.

‘I thought you might,’ answered Alex, and Claudia realized she was a very great fool. But all he said then was that he would
give her a number of someone who would be able to get her a good deal.

At Murblanc, Aisling was having a crisis on the terrace. She was clutching what was obviously not her first glass of wine,
and as they helped themselves from the jug of rosé, to Claudia’s astonishment, Aisling took one of her cigarettes. She smoked
it like the men in the photo, held between thumb and finger, her hand curled over the smouldering end. Jonathan was clearly
at a loss. Aisling explained she had been to see Delphine, for a coffee. Delphine had shown her over the house, she had opened
up a wonderful long gallery in the old part of the chateau. Even though Aisling was furious, she wasn’t totally able to curb
the admiration in her voice. The gallery was full of frescoes, painted over, but you could see through in the light, it looked
almost like Fontainebleau.

‘Never mind, Aisling, darling,’ said Alex, ‘what happened? Did Delphine leave you off the WI cake list?’

Aisling glared at him. ‘Delphine wants to make the chateau into a hotel. She asked if we might think of selling one of our
fields. They want to make a golf course and a gym and a new driveway.’

‘How awful,’ Claudia murmured.

‘She’s going to Paris tomorrow. There are some Americans interested in investing, she said.’

‘Americans!’ said Alex, and Claudia gave him a look before she remembered they were now split up.

‘She thought I’d be pleased. She even asked if I wanted to help as a sort of consultant. She offered me a job, to work for
her! As if she thinks I’m Madame Lesprats!’

‘Steady on.’

‘Oh, shut up, Jonathan. As if you care how hard I’ve worked to make this place what it is! You’d probably be happy to spend
the rest of your life playing Scrabble with the likes of Malcolm Glover.’

‘You know, it mightn’t be a bad idea, darling. The golf course. This place could do with a bit of investment. Everything’s
dying around here. ‘

Aisling stood up and threw her rosé in Jonathan’s hapless face. ‘You’re disgusting!’ she screamed, and ran into the house.
They heard her feet on the stairs and the slam of her sitting room door.

Claudia assembled some bread and ham and tomatoes and set it out on trays by the pool, then took a cup of tea up to Aisling.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked softly.

‘I’m sorry. So embarrassing, in front of you two. And after what you’ve been through. It’s just, he doesn’t see it, any of
it, how hard I work, how hard I try. It might not be much, it’s not everyone’s idea of a good life, but it’s mine and I try
so hard.’

Claudia winced a bit at that.

‘I hate him sometimes,’ Aisling went on, ‘ I really do. Sometimes I catch myself wishing he would just drop dead, it would
be so much easier than having to leave him. He has no idea how much work he makes for me, pretending to think he’s doing anything
in that study all day but look at pornography, that’s work! And the fact that he can’t amuse himself, I’m always having to
get things up for him, he’s worse than the boys.’

Claudia was embarrassed for her now, she wanted these surprising confidences to stop before Aisling said something she would
mind later. ‘But you and Jonathan seem happy, on the whole,’ she managed, trying to keep the phrase ‘rub along’ out of the
conversation.

‘Oh, we rub along. Maybe he doesn’t really look at porn sites all day. It’s just, when he said that, I realized I’ve lived
with him all this time and he has no idea of who I am. And then you realize that’s marriage. You give your life to a stranger,’
she added dramatically, swigging the tea, ‘and now that hateful woman wants to spoil it all.’

Claudia hugged her, and Aisling wept loud and snottily in her arms. After a while she fished about for a hanky, producing
a scrap of embroidered pansies Claudia recognized from Cahors market. She thought that if Aisling had been born in a different
age, she would have made a good colonial wife,
keeping up standards to the bitter end until she was hacked to bits by rebel swords.