The Retreat Page 8

Roman tapped his glass. ‘That’s enough. Mackie was on her own today. That was the problem.’

  ‘She wasn’t. Scout was there,’ Joanna protested.

  ‘Intermittently,’ Mackie returned. ‘Tell them where you were, Scout.’

  Roman put his hand on her arm. ‘I’m disappointed with this negativity towards a guest.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Mackie got up. There would be more remonstrations when she closed the dining room door.

  She had a voice mail from Rudyard, asking her to call him.

  ‘The tattoos match the emblem of a Bulgarian chapter of Hell’s Angels,’ he said. ‘A man was stopped by police officers in London

  today and asked informally where he got his done. He appears to

  have been somewhat defensive. He told the officers that it wasn’t a crime to get a tattoo, which, of course, it isn’t. He said everybody did it on holiday after a few drinks.’

  ‘If it was the same design as Scout and co. wear, and the bovver boys in Nice, that looks fishy to me.’

  ‘In the light of the recent clashes, yes. is. But it isn’t a crime to be tattooed. These flashes are all the rage. Presumably, people cover them up if they work in an office. I’ve seen a bank cashier with flashes poking out of his cuffs. We’ve sent an operative to get done with the Babel bodyguard design. It will be interesting to see who he pals up with. The man stopped by the officers went into a pub in Great Portland Street.’

  ‘That’s on my patch.’

  ‘Yes indeed. We’ve asked your station to keep a look out.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Scout Dingle has form for carrying a knife. He swore it was a present for his grandad – for skinning rabbits. He’s been questioned about assaults on immigrants in Birmingham and Luton and setting fire to their cars. No charges were made. Duroc had a bit of trouble in Paris after he was seen in a club for homosexuals.’

  ‘So they sent him to the backwoods?’’

  ‘It’s evident they wanted rid of him. He had a brilliant success at the École Polytechnique. He was tipped for the top.’

  ‘He’s asked me round to his house tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Why?

  ‘He bought some food when I was working on the community’s stall. He told me he’s investigating the fire at the Vietnamese restaurant. I think Scout might have been involved in that. You said he’s got form.’

  ‘For theft. I said he’d been questioned about assaults and setting fire to cars, but there were no charges. You should certainly keep a close eye on him, but stay clear of Duroc’s investigation. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on Duroc himself though. I’ll be in touch.’

  3

  She used the torch in her phone to light her way through the rhododendrons. Roman was waiting outside the conference centre. Its mirrored windows reflected the torchlight. It was a warm night.

  ‘Is there an alarm?’

  ‘Yes. It’s in reception. Wait here while I deactivate it.’

  She noticed a cardboard box stuffed with brochures and waste paper under the trestle table where delegates registered. She would have liked a closer look at that box, but he was behind her.

  ‘I use a room on the ground floor,’ he said. ‘It’s a five minute walk down the corridor. All the bedrooms are at the back.’

  ‘What about the lights?’

  ‘The conference centre can’t be seen from the château. In the unlikely case we get a prowler from the community, he — or she – will assume I’m working late. I sleep over here sometimes.’

  He opened a door at the end of the corridor and stuck the key card in the slot that activated the lights in here, and, hopefully, the hot water. She poked her head into the bathroom.

  ‘Full size bath and power shower. You weren’t having me on.’

  ‘Later,’ he said, pulling her into his arms.

  ‘Can’t we just talk for a bit.’

  He felt inside the inner pocket of his jacket. ‘Damn. I’ve left my wallet at the château. Make yourself comfortable while I go and fetch it.’

  ‘Do you need your wallet here? Do you have to leave money in the till, or something?’

  ‘No, of course not. ‘He put his hands on her shoulders: This is strictly between us. There’s a member of the community who’s a bit of a magpie. I won’t say who I think it is but money has gone missing.’

  ‘Have you said anything to them about it?’

  ‘You mean like a headmaster telling the class that if the miscreant doesn’t come forward, they’ll all be punished? I could have a private word, I suppose, but I won’t do that till I’m sure who it is. I won’t be long. Have a drink. There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge.’

  She needed some Dutch courage, but there were no spirits., just champagne. Do whatever it takes. Lie down in the name of duty and save the world from revolution and tyranny. As if she could do that.

  The room had the usual four star business accoutrements: desk, wifi, wide screen TV on the wall facing the sofa, two bathrobes.

  Did some of the delegates bring a partner? She doubted it. She looked in the closet for towels and extra pillows. On the desk, beside a brochure explaining about the facilities, was a stationery portfolio containing a postcard of the château and a scribble pad. Someone had written a number on the first page. Tucked inside the pad was an agenda. Under this, a list of delegates. Bingo! She rushed to the door, put the security chain on, then snapped the agenda, list, and the page with the number. She replaced the documents in the stationery folder and put it it back where it was. She was sweating.

  The shower was hot and powerful. Through the noise of the cascade. she heard someone hammering on the door. She slung on one of the bathrobes and let Roman in.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. I needed a shower. Iris always takes the hot water.’

  ‘You’re flushed,’ he said. ‘You were pale before.’

  ‘I should dry my hair.’

  ‘Leave it.’ He began undoing his shirt buttons.

  ‘I want you to know I don’t make a habit of this. I’m not promiscuous.’

  ‘I’m flattered. That means a lot to me.’

  He seemed entirely at ease with his nakedness. She didn’t blame him. He surely was fit for a man who sat in conferences all day and listened to the ramblings of people he didn’t care for in his study. His muscular chest was downed with fine dark hair. She had never seen a naked man with such a good body, except in films. She forgot about her wet hair and lay back on the pillows. She didn’t have to think of England. An aching sweetness flowed through her body as they moved together.

  His eyes were closed when she got up to get dressed. He had seen all he wanted to see. He had called her beautiful. It was very dark outside now. If the château was locked for the night, she would have to go back to the conference centre – good excuse But the entrance was open. There was a light on in the hall. Upstairs, they had those press in lights that go on and off temporarily.

  Her room felt different. It was still stark and lonely, but she had memories now, other than the dreariness of the château and the peevishness of the community. Get over yourself, she muttered. Job done. Before she switched off the light, she caught sight of Iris’s embroidery: Love Conquers All.

  4

  She missed the breakfast hour because she was talking to Rudyard.

  ‘Pat yourself on the back. That list is a godsend. How did you get it?’

  ‘At the conference centre. It was in a stationary folder in one of the bedrooms. I was waiting for Roman.’

  ‘Ah.’ There was a pause. ‘Was it in the line of duty?’

  ‘You told me to do what it takes. He went back to the château pretty much soon after we got to the room. He said he’d forgotten his wallet and there was a thief in the community. Do you think he wanted me to find the list?’

  ‘What do you think?’’

  ‘The funders have told him they’re pulling out. He’s fed up with the conferences and the community.’

&
nbsp; ‘It’s a significant breakthrough. Do you think you could turn him? Get him onside. Take advantage of the situation.’

  She felt cold, and something like shame.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  She went to the kitchen to fix herself a chicken sandwich. There was no one around indoors or out. Where were they all? Where was Roman? At two o’clock, she took one of the bikes and cycled to the town. Duroc lived in a house above the quay. She passed Chez la Marse and saw that the three big bikes were parked outside. The ground where the restaurant had been was smoothed over with white building sand. It was fenced off. A warning notice not to enter was affixed to the fence.

  The magistrate’s house was high up on the bank. She had to carry the bike up five slippery steps. His car was parked outside, so there must have been be another access from the road that led down from the square. The place was in desperate need of doing up. Weeds had sprouted all over the yard. He needed L’Oiseau here. Or Joanna.

  Duroc looked as though he had only just woken up. He was unshaven and wore old jeans and a t-shirt that needed a wash. He showed her into the salon and told her to sit down in a leather armchair by the inglenook while he made some coffee. Music blared from an iPod dock with powerful speakers. When two tribes go to war.

  ‘Frankie Goes to Hollywood.’ she said when he came back with a tray. ‘They’re from Liverpool. My home town.’

  He sat in the armchair opposite her. ‘I’ve been to Liverpool. Great city. Fantastic architecture. Art galleries. Ships. It was the second port of The British Empire, I believe.’

  ‘It’s gone into decline since then. It takes a lot of policing.’

  ‘You were in the police there?’

  ‘Yes. The Merseyside force. It’s where I cut my teeth.’

  ‘But you moved to London.’

  ‘I inherited a house there when my aunt died.’

  ‘That’s lucky.’

  ‘I’ve had to spend a lot money doing it up.’

  ‘More coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ What she wanted was a cup of tea. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something. It might help your investigation.’

  ‘Yes?’ he sounded cautious. ‘Is it about the fires in Nice? That’s not my investigation.’

  ‘It’s about the fire at the Vietnamese restaurant.

  ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘I heard that the family wasn’t welcome in this town. The morons I saw on the market in Nice were of the same aggressive type as the bikers sitting in the bar down there, on the quay. They were in the French Foreign Legion I believe, but they don’t seem to like foreigners.’

  ‘Are you suggesting they started the fire at the restaurant.’’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. If this was my patch — which, of course, it isn’t — I’d have pulled them in long ago.’

  ‘On what evidence?’

  ‘Threatening behaviour. They abused me verbally down by the estuary and followed me on their motor bikes. They nearly knocked me down.’

  He frowned. ‘Would you swear a deposition for that?’

  ‘If it would give you grounds to get them in for questioning. I came here for a quiet life.’

  ‘Me too. But you’re right. This town is small-minded, racist, homophobic. There’s a rumour going around that I’m a pédé. and because of that, unfit to be a juge d’instruction.’

  ‘What’s a pédé?’

  ‘It’s short for pédéraste, the common term applied to homosexuals. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality. There are many people of my kind in the establishment.’ He laughed. ‘Not every French official has a mistress to see at six in the evening.’

  ‘Did you choose to come to Pont du Calvaire?’

  ‘I’ve been asked to shake them up a bit. The prosecutor is corrupt and lazy. He lets the police investigate crime on their own. This has become a bad trend in France. The police in Pont du Calvaire are incompetent. There here have been many arson attacks in Brittany this last year. The interior minister wants to know why. Let’s not talk about this anymore. ‘Would you like to go for some cake?’

  ‘Gladly. I admire you for coming. You’ll be up against it here, won’t you? It’s like being a woman and a northerner in the Met. You need some front for that too.’

  ‘You aren’t happy in your job?’

  ‘I just needed a break.’

  He wheeled her bike past his car and down a hedged-in drive that gave onto the quay road. She glanced back down the bank and saw Scout and the bikers come out of the bar. They were tanked up.

  ‘See that?’

  Duroc turned to look at them. They staggered off towards the mouth of the estuary. They didn’t take the bikes.

  The château had an air of desertion. They must all be meditating, or whatever they did with themselves on Sunday afternoons. She knocked on the door of Roman’s study, and turned the handle. Sofka was lying on the chaise longue, her swirly skirt rucked up above her knees. Her feet were bare. Roman was sitting in the shrink chair, gazing intently at her and listening. They both looked round angrily.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Mackie said, retreating.

  He didn’t come after her.

  5

  She wore her skirt to dinner and her smartest blouse. She wanted to appear formal, unassailable, but she knew there’d be more brickbats. She was late again but the chair next to Roman was still vacant. They had just finished the soup. Joanna took her bowl before she could ask for some. She looked irritated, Sofka impassive, Iris stern. Herbert looked at his hands. Gerald nodded like an automaton. Scout crumbled bread onto the table. Throughout the second course of braised beef with vegetables — an insipid meal for the château, no one said anything. At last, Roman punctured the silence.

  ‘Did you have a pleasant afternoon with JP, Immaculata?’

  Scout looked up.

  ‘He took me out for tea. I’m full of cake. I think I’ll pass on dessert.’ She got up from the table. She could take the bathroom first. Iris detained her.

  ‘Have you paid a contribution yet?’ she asked. ‘Two hundred pounds would be reasonable, considering that you’ve stayed here for nearly four weeks, with full bed and board.’

  Roman protested: ‘Two hundred pounds is excessive. Joanna has been here for two months and hasn’t...’ He bit his lip. Joanna reddened and looked away from him.

  ‘Joanna is considered to be a member of the community.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Mackie said. ‘I think two hundred pounds is very reasonable.’ She looked at Roman. ‘I’ll come and find you tomorrow. I don’t suppose you take cards?’

  ‘Only at the conference centre. That’s a separate concern. I’ll be there all day tomorrow. Telecoms conference. There’s no need to pay anything, you know. Anyway, you’re not leaving yet.’ He glared at Sofka.

  ‘But we agreed. Two more weeks at the most.’

  ‘Show some courtesy. That applies to all of you. I’m disappointed in you all. Immaculata came here as a seeker, just as you all did. Remember how you felt when you arrived, and reflect on that. How each and every one of you performed on the stall. The takings were OK at first because we were a novelty. That’s all it was. They didn’t care who was serving. The novelty wore off so you had to try harder. Immaculata had never sold before, and she isn’t confident using French.’

  ‘She isn’t competent,’ Iris said.

  ‘That’s enough. I am head of this community, and I insist that you give her a second chance.’

  Mackie was in her dressing gown when he came to her room. He took her in his arms.

  ‘Roman, don’t. Not here. Iris is in the bathroom.’

  ‘Bugger Iris.’ He picked up the copy of The Age of Reason which was lying on the duvet. ‘What do you think of Matthieu?’

  ‘I think he’s a bit of a shit. He didn’t give his partner time to consider whether she wanted an abortion. He just took it for granted.’

  ‘On le fait passer, yes. But she’s wise to him. She
decides to act according to what she wants. Autonomously.’

  ‘You mean she keeps the baby? Good. I haven’t read that far.’ They sat together on the bed.

  ‘Matthieu doesn’t know how to act. That’s his problem. He’s too complacent.’

  ‘Is that philosophical?’

  ‘He can’t commit himself to anything. He can’t engage with life so he can’t live life to the full. No action, no fulfillment. Remember the postcard at the beginning? He’s sympathetic towards the Spanish partisans but he lacks the motivation to do anything other than think and screw his mistress. He’s not engaged with his relationship with her either because he thinks he’s in love with the Russian girl. He isn’t authentic.’

  ‘That’s all a bit obscure for me. I’m just following the story. You know, I don’t think you should single me out.’

  ‘Why not? You’re the most interesting woman I’ve met in a very long time. I was bored before you came. You don’t know how bored, Immaculata.’

  ‘I’ve told you time and time again not to call me that. It’s as though you see me as some fantasy woman, not me. I’m Mackie. Not Immaculata, not Mackie the Knife, just Mackie. How can you be bored anyway when you’re running conferences? You meet different people. I could understand it if was just this lot in the château.’

  ‘One meets different people, that’s true, but the calibre of those who come here varies. The only interesting conferences are the Babel ones. There are ideas, political and philosophical discussions. But even that has begun to feel like forced labour.’

  There was movement outside the door.

  ‘Are you having a good listen, Iris?’ Mackie called. There was shuffling, then it receded.

  ‘Who’s forcing you?

  ‘Nobody. That’s why I’m planning to sell up at the end of the year.’

  ‘I thought Babel owned it.’

  ‘They’re pulling out of the conference centre. I own the château. Don’t say anything to the community, please.’

  ‘I won’t. I don’t think they’re speaking to me anyway.’

  He touched her face. ‘If you’re worried about Iris, come and sleep with me in my room. It’s got an en-suite. It’s downstairs at the end of the corridor, miles away from Gerald, who’s deaf and Herbert, who’s gaga. I’ll be at the conference centre all week from Tuesday, so we can’t meet there. There’s a four day residency coming from Belgium. I’ll wait for you, the whole night through.’