Bruno, Chief Of Police

crime, that thesis you found for me was very useful indeed. It was exactly what

I needed to track down the missing photo.’

‘Good, I’m pleased. Look, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know you would be

here, and I think your children need you.’

He had already turned, alerted by the sound of infant howls from the second

court where a ball had bounced on the centre line and two children each claimed

it. He sorted that out, and then saw a similar tussle looming on the third court

so he went and stood silently by the net to make sure they stayed calm. From the

corner of his eye he saw Christine still hovering on the far side of the fence.

He looked at his watch and held up a finger; one moment.

At five p.m. he blew his whistle and the children collected the balls and ran

into the clubhouse for their snack.

‘Sorry,’ he said to Christine. ‘I have to go and join them soon.’

‘That’s fine. I was just passing by and saw the courts and thought I’d take a

look. I didn’t know you’d be here, but since you are, is there anything specific

you’d like me to look up in Bordeaux? I’m going there for a couple of days on

Thursday, to that Centre Jean Moulin I told you about, you remember? Resistance

research.’

He nodded. ‘Let me think about it and get back to you tomorrow. I don’t really

know what I’m looking for. More information on Hamid, I suppose, and which group

he was with before he joined the Army down near Toulon in 1944. If I get the

rest of the names of his team, maybe we could see if any of them crop up. And

then there’s this Giulio Villanova.’

‘I think I know what to look for. I read the thesis. You’d better go to your

children. You’re very good with them; you’d make quite a father.’ She blew him a

kiss and sauntered off slowly towards the road that led to the cave, now and

then bending to pick a wild flower. He watched her for a moment, enjoying the

swing of her hips. She turned and saw him, and waved. Twice she had used the

phrase ‘your children’ and Bruno did not think it was accidental from a woman

with no children herself. He waved back and went into the clubhouse to be

greeted by the usual bedlam of a score of five-year-olds and as many mothers.

The latter eyed him gleefully, giggling like a pack of schoolgirls as they

rolled their eyes and asked about his new lady friend.

CHAPTER

22

In the low light of the hotel lobby, Isabelle looked striking and almost

mannish. Her hair, evidently still wet from her shower, was slicked back from

her brow, and she was dressed entirely in black. Flat black shoes, black slacks

and blouse and a black leather jacket slung over one shoulder, all set off by a

bold crimson suede belt at her waist.

‘You look lovely,’ he said, kissing her cheeks. She had on the merest hint of

eye make-up, lipstick to match her sash, and no perfume but the fresh scent of

her shampoo. He led her to his van, which he had cleaned out specially, at least

the front seat. As he showed her in, Gigi looked up from sniffing at the large

cool box that was strapped on top of the spare wheel. He put his head over the

front seat and licked Isabelle’s ear. Bruno set off over the bridge.

‘This isn’t the way to your place,’ she said. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘It’s a surprise picnic,’ he said. ‘A place you probably do not know, but you

should. And it’s a pretty drive.’ He had thought carefully about this dinner and

toyed with the idea of taking her home, but decided on balance against it. They

had been together frequently enough and clearly liked one another so there was

going to be sexual tension in their evening anyway. It would be all the more

loaded if they were on his territory, his bedroom just a few steps away.

Isabelle, he judged, was a woman who would decide for herself whether and when

and where to take a lover, and yet it would feel odd to him – and probably to

her – if he did not make an advance on his own turf. Neutral ground was called

for, and the lady wanted a picnic, so a picnic it would be.

He drove up the long hill past the water tower and out onto the plateau that

gave the best views along the bank of the river, and Isabelle made suitably

appreciative noises. At a road so small it looked like a track, he turned off.

They climbed another low hill, and came to the foot of a high and almost

vertical cliff where he parked on a small patch of ancient gravel, opened her

door for her and then released Gigi. He took a small picnic bag from the cool

box and she heard the tinkling of glasses.

‘I want you to meet a friend of mine,’ he said. He led her up a track, round a

corner and there, nestling into the base of the cliff, was a small house. It had

a door, two windows, and its roof was the great rock itself. A small stream

flowed from the base of the house through a gutter to tumble down the hill with

a soft sound. In front of the house was a narrow terrace, with an old metal

table and three chairs, and beyond it was a small vegetable garden. A black and

white mongrel dog was tied to a hook screwed into the doorpost, and growled when

it first saw Gigi. But Bruno’s dog knew his manners and approached slowly and

humbly, his tail wagging as if asking permission, and the two dogs sniffed each

other courteously.

‘They’re old friends,’ Bruno explained. ‘We go hunting together.’

The door opened and a small elderly man poked his head into the open. ‘Ah

Bruno,’ he said, as if they had last met a few minutes ago. ‘Welcome, welcome,

and who is your friend?’

‘Isabelle Perrault, this is Maurice Duchęne, owner and keeper of the sorcerer’s

cave, who was born in this cliff house and has lived here all his life. Maurice

Duchęne, meet Inspector Isabelle of the Police Nationale, a colleague but also a

good friend.’

‘My home is honoured to receive you, my dear Mademoiselle.’ The old man,

terribly bent with age, came forward to shake her hand. He had to cock his head

sideways to peer up at her, but Bruno noticed his glance was keen and almost

roguish.

‘A beauty, my dear Bruno, you have brought a real beauty to my home, and my

magnificent Gigi, prince among hunting dogs. This is a pleasure, such a

pleasure.’

‘Come, sit and have a drink with us, Maurice, and then with your permission I’d

like to show Isabelle the cave. And could you bring us some of your water?

Isabelle is from Paris and she will never have tasted anything like it so we

must take care of her education.’

‘Gladly, gladly, my dears. Sit down and I shall be with you immediately.’ He

turned and hobbled back into the house. Isabelle sat, and Bruno took a dark wine

bottle with no label from his bag and three small wine glasses, and poured.

Isabelle sat back and turned to look at the view, a vast sweep of the valley

with trees marking the river’s meandering course and more cliffs on its far

side.

‘Here we are, here we are, the finest water of mother nature and father

Périgord,’ said the old man, coming out with a tray and a jug of water and three

tumblers that were opaque with age. ‘Straight from the rock, straight into my

kitchen and bathroom, always running water. It never runs dry. And Bruno has