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Beth was in a large modern study with minimal leather furnishings. A long desk housing a computer monitor was mounted under a louvered window, and a second man was seated at a small dining table in front of it. He was halfway through eating a plate of sardines. The man in the oilskin was speaking to him in a low whisper, and they both turned as she entered.
The second man was wearing a burgundy towelling dressing gown and backless slippers on his feet. His wet black hair was in disarray about his boyish features, and he had a shadow of stubble that looked as if it had been applied with a sponge. He was significantly younger than the man in the oilskin, twenty-five at the most, but from their body language she could immediately tell they were a couple.
“Come. Sit,” said Roland as he dragged a chair out from under the table.
The other man impassively rose and moved to a second door as soon as he saw the blood trickling out of Beth’s bunched fist.
“Erik will dress your cut.”
She dropped hard onto the chair and looked at the plate of sardines covered in paprika. The aroma became overpowering and Beth felt as if she were about to pass out. Now her circulation had slowed, the cut and her fright from the dog attack were vying for attention.
“Sorry about this.” She allowed her head to drop to her knees so she could get some blood back into it, and saw Erik’s feet return. She heard the crinkling and ripping of a wrapper and him whispering something to Roland in French.
After a few moments she looked up, and Erik was biting his lip as he waited. He gently took her hand with water-shrivelled fingers and carefully cleaned it with a disinfectant wipe. He had bloodshot eyes, but she assumed it was because he’d been in the shower. She noted his spotless nails had clear varnish on them. Then he wrapped a bandage around her palm and fingers. As he wound it, his dressing gown gaped at his hairless chest and Beth saw what looked like a white burn just below his left nipple.
Roland had his back to her while he poured a glass of brandy from a decanter on a shelf. She took in the modern décor and aubergine walls. The only items that reflected the exterior of the cottage were the three ancient but lethal-looking animal traps that were mounted on the wall over a modern fire appliance that looked like an HD TV with white coals inside. Lazy orange flames danced about them.
“Sorry about Kimba; he really wouldn’t have harmed you,” Roland assured her.
Beth doubted that.
“You’re our first intruder in a long time. We got Kimba when some of the younger men from the village decided to call on us at night. That was some time ago, but he’s still standing guard.”
“Well, he terrified me.”
“Did you get lost?” He handed her the balloon glass.
“Thank you. Yes.” She took a sip and warmth glided into her stomach. “On purpose, though.”
Roland frowned slightly. “We’re used to hikers during the summer months, and make sure Kimba’s in his kennel, but not many people find us at this time of year.”
Beth had acknowledged Erik still hadn’t spoken and seemed happy for Roland to do the talking. She looked past his shoulder to the computer screen.
Roland saw her narrow her eyes at the document there. “I am Roland Desmoulins...” He waited, as if expecting recognition.
Beth pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. Erik looked at the floor as if he was more than used to these moments of disappointment for his partner.
“Political journalist for Le Monde before it became a slave to its investors. Now I find myself... freelance.” He stroked his lank moustache. “If it wasn’t for the bricks and mortar of my father...” He gestured around him. “I wouldn’t even be that.”
Beth didn’t feel comfortable in their company and surprised herself by gulping the significant remainder of the brandy. “Thanks for your kindness.” She looked at them both and Erik nodded slightly. “I really shouldn’t waste any more of your day.” She just managed to get the words out before the spirit shrivelled her throat.
Roland seemed as eager for her to leave as she was and got to his feet. “Let me direct you back to the footpath.”
Beth wondered if she’d offended him by not recognising who he was. She stood unsteadily and Erik supported her arm. His grip was firm.
“Where are you staying?”
“I’m not actually staying anywhere. I had to make a stop off on my way home.” Beth had seized on the casual enquiry and she knew why. “My husband was killed in a car accident near here.” She lifted her arm from Erik’s grip as he released the pressure of his fingers.
Roland exchanged a brief glance with Erik. Was it because neither of them knew how to respond to such a revelation?
“January the 10th.”
“I’m very sorry,” Erik said. His voice was more sonorous than she expected, but his commiseration was indifferent. She’d thought his previous silence was because he couldn’t understand her conversation with Roland, but it was obvious they both spoke English.
“Were you also in the car?” Roland was looking at Erik.
Erik was examining her scars.
“Yes. Do you remember it?” She knew she’d wanted to ask the question before she’d entered the house.
Roland theatrically rolled his eyes up. “I do remember reading about it. Erik?”
Beth wondered if he was throwing the question to his partner because he was suddenly uncomfortable with having to talk to a recently bereaved woman.
Erik just nodded, then realised from Beth’s gaze that it would be insufficient. “On the TV news.”
“The driver of the car we crashed into fled the scene. He may even have come by here. That’s why I was walking this way.”
They both nodded and looked at the floor. It was definitely her cue to leave.
“Did the police ever question you?” She knew she would have to return if she didn’t ask the other inevitable questions now.
“No. But, of course, if we’d seen anything we would have reported it.”
Beth persisted. “I know it was some months ago, but do you recall seeing anyone pass through here, perhaps someone that alerted your dog? Could you think back a couple of months to anyone Kimba might have barked at? Somebody you might have rescued like you did me.”
Roland was already shaking his head. “You don’t seem to realise how far back we are from the road.”
“We don’t want any more trouble,” Erik said firmly.
Beth looked at Roland and he seemed chastened. Perhaps she had the dynamic all wrong.
“I wish I could tell you something, but if we’d seen anything, we would have reported it.” Roland repeated.
“If you do remember anything – and I mean anything that may have seemed innocent at the time but you think could help me – would you contact me?” She reached inside her shoulder bag and extracted her purse. Inside were some of Luc’s Avellana business cards. She handed Roland one. “Anything at all.”
Erik took the card from Roland’s hand and briefly examined it. “Of course.” He nodded a little too earnestly.
Beth held his eye. “Thank you for the bandage... and this.” She raised the brandy glass and looked around for a surface to leave it on. Roland stepped forward and relieved her of it.
He showed her through the small coat-lined hallway to the front door and quickly opened it. “There’s a track through that gap in the hedge. Take a right turn at the fence. You can follow it all the way back to the road.”
Beth felt relieved to be outside again and nodded thanks to Roland. She made her way to the hedge on the edge of the front garden before turning back to the house. The front door had already closed, and the bare tree reflections on the window made it impossible to see if they were watching her through it. She swivelled on her heel again and angled her body so she could pass through the overgrown opening in the hedge.
Her hand pumped in its tight bandage and she told herself she was being paranoid. With their home in the centre of the forest, it was perfectly plausible that Roland and Erik hadn’t been aware of the collision. They were a good distance from the road, and even if the driver of the brown camper had made his escape into their neck of the woods, he may well have circumvented the house and the dog for obvious reasons.
Roland and Erik had seemed nervous, but then so would she if she was so isolated and a stranger turned up out of nowhere. It also sounded as if the couple had been subjected to homophobic attacks in the past. They obviously valued their privacy.
So why had she felt compelled to give them one of Luc’s business cards? She could easily have jotted down her number for them. There had been a notepad and pen on the computer desk. But she’d wanted to present them with something of his, something that identified the man who had lost his life right on their doorstep.
She told herself it was being in this secluded place and having the dog attack her that had put her on edge. She would feel much better about the encounter when she was safely in the car.
Beth arrived at a high, creosoted fence and a wider, curving dirt track with trees and barbed wire either side. Crows squawked as she paused before turning right. It had to lead back to the road eventually.
She found it less than fifteen minutes later and her car five after that. Her flowers still lay on the kerb where she’d left them. She momentarily stared into the darkness and the route she’d taken into the forest. There were heavier rain droplets in the air, but she only really noticed when she was back in the driving seat and could hear them fluttering against the windscreen.
Beth put her key in the ignition and used the accident site to turn around.
