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It was one of those nights when no one gets any sleep. Dorian woke three times instead of the usual once, Chloé had a nightmare, and Sophie, as she’d suspected, had a fever coming on. At 7.15, bleary-eyed and bilious, she was crawling back into bed when there came a knock on the door. ‘Am I disturbing? It’s Claire. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’ Sophie let her in. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘No, just told you to piss off. That’s unforgivable.’
Sophie waved it away. ‘I asked for it. I was the one disturbing.’
‘No, it was dreadfully rude of me. You were trying to be nice and I just... I woke in the night and felt terrible.’
‘Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re feeling better now. What did they –’ Sophie stopped herself. ‘No, you don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.’
‘No, I want to, it’s why I came. It’ll come out anyway, so I’d rather it was you. The others are so...’ Either the word she wanted didn’t exist or she didn’t want to say it. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, ‘They’re accusing me.’
‘Of what? Last night you said... killing your father? I don’t follow. When? And what’s it got to do with Henri Seibel?’
‘They’re saying Henri Seibel was my father.’
‘Seibel?’ Sophie’s jaw dropped. ‘Is that true?’
Luc emitted a barely audible sigh. Unnoticed by Claire, it reached Sophie clearly, both in sound and meaning: when his wife wasn’t actively hunting for clues, they knocked on her door uninvited, caring not a whit that she might be at death’s door herself.
‘Should bring the fever down,’ he said as he placed a glass of water and a Doliprane next to Sophie. ‘There’s a doctor in Saint Abel. I’ll see if I can get an appointment for today. They’ll have to let us out for that.’
‘Oh, I don’t need that, it’s only a touch of –’
‘In the meantime’ – he glared at them both as he tucked Dorian into the baby carrier – ‘I’ll leave you to it. Take this little man out for a stroll before it gets too hot.’
You would have thought that Claire, anxious as she was to be of no bother to anyone, would at least ask what the matter was, but she carried on as if she hadn’t heard. ‘Of course it’s not! But it’s what they claim. And they said Maman told me before she died that he raped her and I... I came down here now to get revenge.’ A tremor came into her voice, but she managed not to cry again, and said more firmly, ‘It’s rubbish! They invented. Or somebody told them. “A source of information.” But they wouldn’t say who, they just...’ She let out a snort of rage. ‘At first I was so upset, I didn’t want to come back out last night. But it was so ridiculous, I thought, I’m not going to let them rattle me. I don’t know what they’re trying to do. My mother’s just died and all they can think of... But the thing is, she never told me that! She never said it. They made it up!’
‘But why...’ Sophie couldn’t get her head round it, perhaps because her head right then wasn’t up to getting round anything, but even the brightest head, she thought, could make no sense of this. ‘They invented some cock and bull story to accuse you of murder?’
‘They grilled me about my movements, every minute. To prove there was time unaccounted for. You saw me come down for breakfast – what time was it then?’
‘I don’t know. Five past, maybe?’
‘But it’s not even the point! I didn’t do it!’ Her eyes became moist again. ‘I don’t understand. Why are they making it up? Why me? At least they could get their facts right.’
‘Facts?’ Her head was at least clear enough to zoom in straightaway. ‘You mean there’s something to it but the facts are different?’
‘No, I...’ For a moment Claire was troubled, as if searching for a way out. ‘I just mean... My parents were in America when I was conceived. My mother told me. Why would she lie about that? In some hippie community, she said. What are they claiming? That Henri Seibel was there as well? I don’t get it!’
‘Neither do I. It seems preposterous, I grant you.’ And yet she couldn’t believe they’d fabricated such a story from nowhere. To what purpose? Just when it seemed they were closing in on Martin Best, they came out in front of everyone and accused Claire instead. Two very different shapes: dense, unwavering punching ball and delicate drooping flower, both claiming innocence. But while there were good grounds for suspecting Martin, there seemed to be no logic behind the case against Claire. ‘Look, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but when we went next door on Sunday and Seibel was ogling... something made you react the way you did. I mean, more than just some dirty old man in the bushes.’
Again she was disconcerted, but now the response was angrier. ‘You don’t believe me? Fine. If you want to side with them, go ahead. I only came in to apologise, I don’t expect –’
‘I’m not siding with anyone.’ She put out a hand, urging Claire not to leave. ‘I’m just trying to make sense of it.’
‘There’s nothing to make sense of!’ She buried her head in her hands, and her voice came out muffled. ‘My mother dies, for once in my life I splash out on something I want, and look what happens! Am I cursed or what?’
Sophie waited for the misery to pass, then handed her a Kleenex. ‘You didn’t get on well with your mother?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Just inferring from what you said. Splashing out.’
A moment of silence, then she gave a bitter laugh. ‘Oh, you don’t want to hear about the shitty life I’ve had, believe me.’
‘And your father?’
‘Assuming he wasn’t Seibel, you mean?’ For once there appeared a chink of humour, even if it was grim. ‘I don’t even know where he is. He could be dead for all I know. They never married, I grew up in a sect near Digne – well, till I was five anyway. My mother escaped, took me with her, and I never heard of him again. The sect got disbanded a few years later, I know that, but what happened to him, I’ve no idea.’
‘Well, I’m sure this will get sorted out. If you were conceived in America, there’ll be a trace in the embassy’s visa records. Not to mention the DNA from Seibel. And you have a right to know what their source of information was. In fact, I’ll ask myself. Not directly because... well, I don’t think Captain Praud would be likely to tell me, but I happen to know Captain Eveno. I’ll see if he can get hold of it. They can’t maintain an accusation without saying what it’s founded on.’
Sophie had stopped some way short of saying she believed Claire entirely, but even this little offer of support earned her a look of such gratitude that she couldn’t help thinking one thing at least was true: Claire’s life must have been shitty indeed.
Half an hour later, with the Doliprane working its effect, she overcame Luc’s objections to join the rest of the family for breakfast. In less than two minutes, all the other guests were there, as if afraid that another body might be found at the top of the garden, and any absence was risky. Eddy and Maya went out on the terrace with Claire; Martin and Penelope sat on their own in a corner. Pausing at Sophie’s table to say hello, Lyle apologised profusely when a drop of sweat fell from his forehead straight into her coffee. She said it didn’t matter but he fetched her another anyway, muttering again that working out in this heat was no fun at all.
‘I don’t know what he does,’ said Tatty, ‘but one thing’s for sure – it works. Have you seen his physique? I practically swooned!’
‘You’d better move quickly,’ said Sophie. ‘He’s going back to the States next week.’
‘A little too intellectual for me. Books, books all the time. I bet he never stops even in bed. Proust for the foreplay, Zola for the climax. Like making love to a university syllabus. Speaking of which’ – she reverted to her theatrical whisper – ‘guess who I saw in the Zenhouse after dinner? Adeline and Isadora.’
‘And what,’ asked Magali, ‘is the connection with making love to a syllabus?’
‘The syllabus, none. But love? Ah!’ She stretched out her hands, fingers splayed. ‘The vibes. They were sitting back-to-back. Or rather, should I say, snuggling. And from what I could see, very much enjoying it.’
‘Hang on, Tatty, what are you saying? Maybe they were just doing yoga.’
‘Maybe. But I’d love to have been part of it. I’d have offered to make it a threesome but they didn’t need me butting in at that stage. Still, it gave me ideas, more than Lyle, even. Magali? What do you say?’
‘Me?’ Magali spluttered into her coffee. ‘You’re not serious, Fernande.’
‘Of course I am. After all, it’s not as if you’re new to it.’
‘To yoga?’ Magali grinned. ‘No, I’ve done a bit.’
‘Now, don’t be coy, dear. You know what I mean. You and... what was her name? Charlotte.’
‘Tatty...’ Sophie shot her a warning frown: Charlotte Perle was the one topic Magali didn’t like to talk about.[i]
But Magali was saved from answering by the arrival of Captain Praud, who waited until the room was completely silent before saying, ‘Good morning, everyone. And thank you for your cooperation yesterday. It allowed us to make some very good progress. But we still have a few loose ends to tie up, so I kindly ask you to cooperate further, if you will. More interviews. We’ll see if we need everyone, but it’s best to assume we will. Starting at 8:30.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Ten minutes. But please don’t rush your breakfast. Ah, I see you’ve almost finished, Madame Kiesser. Perhaps we could start with you?’
