and the salad in the other, and he brought the steaks to the table.
You waited, she said. Another man would have come in to see that I was doing
it his way.
Bruno shrugged, handed her her plate and said, Bon appetit. She shared out the
potatoes and left the salad in the bowl. Good. He liked to soak up the juices
from the meat in his potatoes rather than mix them with the oil and vinegar of
the salad.
The potatoes are perfect, he said.
So is the steak.
Theres one thing that nags at me, said Bruno. I saw Richards father, and
somehow the boy knew that old Hamid had won the Croix de Guerre. Now unless you
or
J-J
told him that during the questioning, I dont know how he would have
known about it if he hadnt seen it on the wall or been in the cottage. Were you
in on all the interrogation sessions?
No.
J-J
did that in Périgueux. But the sessions are all on tape so we can
check. I dont think
J-J
would have tripped up like that. Is it something he
could have heard at school from one of Hamids relatives?
Possibly, but as I told you, he didnt get on too well with them. There was
that fight in the playground.
Too long ago to mean much. He watched with approval as she wiped the juices
from her plate with a piece of bread and then helped herself to salad and
cheese. That steak was just right.
Yes, well, the credit is all yours, and thank you for bringing dinner, and the
wine. He thought he ought to keep the conversation on the case, but there was
not much new to say. The boys father says hes absolutely sure Richard didnt
do it.
What a surprise! she said. Dont you have a candle, Bruno? With this electric
light, I wont be able to see the stars, and they must be brilliant here.
I know the boy too, and I think the father may be right. Bruno went into his
boot room and brought out a small oil lamp. He took off the glass case, lit the
wick, replaced the glass, and only then turned off the terrace light.
That would mean we have no suspect at all, she said. And the press and
politicians baying at our heels.
Hang on a moment, he said. He went into the house for a sweater, and came back
with her leather jacket and his mobile phone. In case you get cold, he said,
giving her the jacket and thumbing in a number.
Momu, he said. Sorry to bother you, but its Bruno. Something has come up in
the case. You remember when young Richard had that fight in the playground and
you had him home to dinner to teach him some manners and show him how French and
normal you all were? You remember that?
Isabelle watched Bruno as he spoke on the phone. Without looking in her
direction, he knew that she was appraising him. The call ended, but he held the
phone to his ear and delayed returning to the table, trying to fathom her
intentions. He assumed that she liked him, and she was bored in St Denis just as
she was bored in Périgueux. She probably thought he might make an amusing
diversion. But she was out of her depth here in the country. Had this been
Paris, she would have known the ways to signal whether or not she was ready to
stay, but she was smart enough to understand that the social codes were
different here, the mating rituals more stately, more hesitant. She would
probably find that interesting in itself, to flirt a while with a stranger in
this strange land they called la France profonde, deepest France, and probably
eat some excellent meals along the way.
Bruno imagined her telling herself that the food alone would be worth the
detour. Well, she would have to learn that he was nobodys temporary plaything.
She would have to wait for the end of his phone call and then go back to her
modest room in the Hôtel de la Gare, listen to the music on her iPod and muse
about a man who grew his own food, built his own house, did not have a TV set,
and wasnt even looking at her as he turned off his phone. A man who was very
far from sure he even wanted a dalliance with a young woman as clearly clever
and ambitious as Isabelle.
Another dead end, said Bruno. Momu thats the son of the murdered man had
your chief suspect round to dinner when he was thirteen years old, and told him
how proud the family was that his father had won the Croix de Guerre fighting
for France. Thats how Richard knew about the medal. He sank down on his chair,
and seemed to collect himself. Some coffee, Isabelle?
No thanks. Id never sleep, and I have to get up early to make sure the murder
book is up to date and check on those tyre tracks.
J-J
will be coming down
tomorrow to make sure everything is in order for the guy from Paris.
He nodded. By the way, theres some demonstration being arranged for Monday at
noon, a march of solidarity organised by our Communist councillor, but the Mayor
will probably lead it. I dont expect many people, mainly schoolchildren.
Ill tell
J-J
, make sure the RG are there with their cameras, she said, with a
nervous laugh, and stood, suddenly hesitant, uncertain how best to take her
departure. Just for the files, she added. But I think we both know how much
the official files can never know and explain.
Thank you for giving me such an unexpected and pleasant evening, and Gigi
thanks for you for the dinner hes making from the scraps. Ill see you to your
car. He walked round the table, walked on past her to her car, and held open
the car door for her. She kissed him briefly on both cheeks, but before she
could close her door Gigi darted past Brunos legs and put his paws on her
thighs and licked her face. She gave a start, then laughed, and Bruno pulled his
dog away.
Thank you, Bruno, she said sincerely. I enjoyed the evening. Its lovely
here. I hope youll let me come again.
Of course, he said, with a kind of courteous neutrality that he knew she would
find very hard to read. He wondered if she felt disappointed to be leaving. It
would be my pleasure, he added, and was surprised by the brilliant smile she
gave him in return, a smile that seemed to transform her face.
Isabelle closed the door, started the engine and reversed back down to the
track. She turned, then looked in the mirror to see him standing there and
waving farewell, Gigi at his knee. As the lights of her car disappeared he
looked up and gazed at the great sweep of the stars twinkling in the black night
above him.
CHAPTER
14
After considerable thought while he washed the dishes from supper and fed Gigi
what few scraps remained, Bruno concluded that, of all his friends, the Baron
would be the most suitable partner to play mixed doubles with the mad
Englishwoman and her friend. He caught himself; with Pamela and Christine. He
said them aloud, enjoying the soft sounds they made, thinking they were names to
be murmured in gentle intimacy. He liked both names, just as he liked the name
Isabelle, another soft sibilant, to be breathed gently into a lovers ear. He
dragged his thoughts back to the delicate question of a partner for the mixed
doubles. The Baron was old enough to be reassuring, socially at ease, and a
character, with a touch of eccentricity unusual in a Frenchman. It was a
well-known fact, established in all French school textbooks, that the English
liked eccentrics.
Bruno rather liked them too, and sometimes wished he had a touch more
eccentricity himself. He relished the moments when he had stepped out of his