us. There were no lists, nothing organised because there were so few officers,
so I just bullied them all aboard.
And when you got to France? Bruno asked. How did you get them ashore?
They couldnt put us all into the naval base at Toulon, where at least they had
some kind of control system, so we docked at Marseilles, at the commercial port,
and the Army laid on dozens of trucks to drive us to the nearest bases. But
there was no system for which unit went to which base, so the sergeant and I
told my lads to go home for a few days and as long as they reported back within
a week Id make sure it was OK. We all just rushed off the ship, boarded any old
truck, and lads, including my Harkis, were dropping over the tailboard at every
corner. We had raided the kitbags in the ships hold and got them some civilian
clothes and a few francs. Apart from that, all they had was my name and
address.
It sounds crazy, said Bruno. I knew the Algerian war ended in a mess, but I
didnt know about that. Vaguely, he heard Dougal call out five-fou in his
funny accent and the four men were changing ends. It looked as if the set was
almost over. He had barely noticed.
You have to remember, in those days there were no computers, the Baron went
on. There were just lists on paper. We lost ours in the chaos, and the
troopship was too crowded for any proper roll-calls. What wasnt lost was burned
by me and the sergeant when we got back to the regimental base at Fréjus.
Remember, I was the only officer who had stayed loyal, so they were not going to
give me a hard time. The Colonel even congratulated me for getting the men back
at all.
Game and set, called Dougal, and on the court they began collecting the tennis
balls.
The thing I remember best, said the Baron, was the very last moment. I stayed
at the foot of the gangplank, trying to be sure I had all my men. I was one of
the last aboard. And one of the Algerian dockworkers was standing there by the
bollard, ready to cast off the ships rope. He looked me straight in the eye,
and he said, Next time, we invade you. Just like that. And he kept his eyes
fixed on me until I turned and boarded the ship. Ill never forget it. And when
I look at France these days, I know he was right.
As always after their game, the group of men walked back to the clubhouse,
slowly this time since the rain had eased. They showered and then brought in the
ingredients of their ceremonial Friday lunch from their cars. Bruno provided the
eggs from his hens and the herbs from his garden. In early spring, he picked
boutons de pissenlit, the tiny green buds of the dandelion, but now it was young
garlic and flat-leaved parsley, and some of his own truffles that he had stored
in oil since the winter. Michel brought his own paté and rillettes, made from
the pig they had gathered to slaughter in February, in happy defiance of the
European Union regulations. Dougal supplied the bread and the cheese and the
bottle of scotch whisky that they took as an aperitif after their first,
thirst-quenching beers from the tap at the clubhouse bar. Rollo brought the
beefsteaks and Xavier the salad and the tarte aux pommes, and the Baron provided
the wine, a St Emilion 98 that was tasted and judged to be at its best.
Bruno cooked, as he always did, and when they had set the table and prepared the
salad the men gathered at the hatch between the kitchen and the bar. Usually
they joked and gossiped, but this time there was only one topic on their minds.
All I can say is that we dont yet have any firm evidence, and so no obvious
suspect, Bruno told them as he broke the dozen eggs, lit the grill for the
steaks, and threw a stick of unsalted butter into the frying pan. He began to
slice the truffle very thin. We have some leads that were following. Some
point one way and some another, and some of them I dont know about because I am
on the fringes of this investigation. Thats all I can say.
The doctors son has been arrested, along with a bunch of Front National
thugs, said Xavier. That we know.
It may not be connected, said Bruno.
It looks connected, said Michel. Front National thugs and a swastika carved
into the poor old bastards chest. Who else would do that?
Maybe the murderer did that to cast suspicion elsewhere, said Bruno. Have you
thought of that?
Which doctors son? asked Rollo.
Gelletreau, said Xavier.
Young Richard? said Rollo, startled. Hes still at the lycée.
He was playing truant from his lycée this week. He forged a note from his dad,
said Bruno, tossing the whipped eggs into the sizzling butter and the fresh
garlic. As the base of the omelette began to cook, he threw in the sliced
truffle and twirled the pan.
In the Front National? Richard? Rollo repeated, disbelief in his voice. I
never had any idea when he was at the college here. Well, he was younger then.
He paused. Well, I suppose there was one thing, a fight with one of Momus
nephews, but nothing too serious. Two bloody noses and some name-calling, the
usual thing. I suspended them both from school for a day and sent a note to the
parents.
A fight with an Arab? With one of Momus nephews, and then Momus dad gets
killed? said the Baron. That sounds significant. What was the name-calling?
Sale beur dirty Arab, that kind of thing?
Something like that, Rollo said stiffly. Look, I didnt mean it was just
one of those tussles that boys get into. It happens all the time, we know that.
I should never have mentioned it.
They fell into a silence, all eyes on Bruno as he lifted and tilted the heavy
iron pan, gave two strategic pushes with his wooden spoon and tossed the herbs
into the runny mix before folding the giant omelette over onto itself. Without a
word, they all trooped to the table and sat. The Baron poured the wine and Bruno
served the perfect omelette, the earthy scent of the truffle just beginning to
percolate as he divided it onto six plates.
One of your best, Bruno, said the Baron, slicing the big country loaf against
his chest with the Laguiole knife he took from the pouch at his belt. He was not
trying to change the subject, since all the men understood that something
significant had been said and the matter could not be allowed to rest.
But you did mention it, my dear Rollo, the Baron went on, reverting to the
topic. And now you must satisfy not just our curiosity but the judicial
questions this must raise. Our friend Bruno may be too delicate to insist, but
you understand what is at issue here.
It was just boys, Rollo said. You know how they are. One gets a bloody nose,
the other gets a black eye and then theyre the best of friends. He looked from
one to the other, but none was meeting Rollos eye.
Well, were they? asked Michel.
Were they what? snapped Rollo. Bruno could see he hated the way this was
going.
Did they become the best of friends?
They didnt fight again.
Friends?
No, but that doesnt mean anything. They got on. Momu even invited the boy back
to his home, sat him down to dinner with the family so he could see for himself
they were just another French family. No difference. Momu told me he liked the
boy. He was bright, respectful. He took flowers when he went.
That would have been his mothers idea, said Xavier.
Shes on the left, isnt she? Michel asked.