‘That’s right. We go to the same school in England.’
‘When did you arrive here in France?’
‘Two days ago.’
‘I see.’ He paused and leaned back in the dining chair. It creaked. For a moment I was worried he would break it. ‘David?’
‘Yes?’
He swung forward. ‘What were you doing at about one o’clock yesterday afternoon?’
He knew. The bastard knew. I’d have to tell him now. My mouth was dry and I hesitated.
‘Hein?’ He was a big man, and leaning forward he seemed even bigger.
‘I was, er... with Mrs Jourdan.’
The policeman exchanged glances and a twitch of the lips with his sidekick. ‘And what were you doing with her, David?’
I was, that is, we were, well...’ I squirmed.
‘Yes?’
‘We were having sex.’
‘Ah.’ A smug smile of triumph crossed the policeman’s face. He thought this was funny. ‘Tell me more.’
So I told him the whole sordid story, and it did seem sordid that early in the morning when told to a policeman in slow English. I told him about overhearing Dominique shout at Tony the night before, and my suspicions about Tony and Mel, and Dominique’s motivation for seducing me.
‘Did you see or hear anything last night?’
‘No. I went to bed pretty early. About ten. It took me a while to get to sleep, maybe an hour or two. Then I slept until Mr Jourdan woke me up this morning.’
‘And Guy?’
‘He went to bed the same time as me.’
‘Did you hear him get up in the night?’
‘No.’
‘No other noises outside?’
‘Nothing woke me till this morning.’
‘I see.’ Sauville paused, studying me. He was probably just thinking of his next question, but I found the silence unnerving. At last he spoke. ‘When you were with Madame Jourdan yesterday, did she seem suicidal?’
I thought before answering. ‘No. Quite the contrary. She seemed animated, excited. I think she was enjoying her revenge on her husband.’
‘And you? How did you feel about being manipulated in that way?’
‘Actually, it made me quite angry,’ I said. Then I hesitated, worried I had put my foot in it. ‘Of course, not angry enough to murder her or anything.’
The inspector dismissed my comment with a contemptuous wave of his hand. ‘What about Guy Jourdan? What was his opinion of his stepmother?’
I paused. I was still a schoolboy. I didn’t want to get my friend into trouble with the authorities. I tried to think through the angles.
‘Just answer the question honestly,’ Sauville commanded.
I did as I was told. ‘I don’t think he had ever met Dominique before this week. I think he didn’t like the idea of her. He called her a bimbo and a tart.’
‘I see. Not nice things to say about your stepmother?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But as I said, it wasn’t her he didn’t like. It was the idea of her.’
‘Very philosophical. And the younger brother? Owen?’
‘I have no idea what Owen thinks about anything. I doubt if anyone has.’
The large policeman raised his eyebrows. Then he leaned back once again in his chair. ‘Bon. Thank you for your cooperation, David. But I must ask you to remain here until we have concluded our investigation.’
My heart sank. I wanted to get out. Quick. I was looking forward to the family crisis Tony had ordered me to invent, now more than ever. ‘Do you have any idea how long that will be?’
‘A few days,’ replied the inspector. ‘Perhaps more.’
‘You won’t tell Mr Jourdan what I said about his wife, will you?’ I asked.
‘Oh, we will have to. But I think you’ll find he knows already.’ Sauville winked and smiled gratuitously. ‘Au revoir.’
I left the room to be met by Patrick Hoyle, who was demanding to see the inspector urgently in fluent French. He pushed past me, almost crushing me against the door-frame with his great stomach, and began to harangue Sauville. I left them to it and went to look for Guy.
I found him in the garden, sitting against the trunk of the olive tree beside the old watchtower. He was looking down between his knees, ignoring the morning sun throwing golden sparkles across the sea in front of him. Bees were murmuring in the lavender behind. I winced as I remembered this was the spot where his father had seduced Mel.
‘Guy!’ He ignored me. I ran over to the watchtower. ‘Guy!’
He turned to face me. I had never before seen Guy as he looked then. The muscles in his face were clenched tight, his blue eyes were cold and hard and his skin pale.
‘Yes, Lane?’
‘Look, I’m er, sorry...’
‘Sorry? Sorry! For what?’
‘Well, about Dominique.’
‘What about Dominique? About shagging her? Do you want to apologize for screwing my father’s wife? Is that it? Because if it is, then your apology isn’t accepted.’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I wish I’d never done it.’
‘Bullshit. You loved every second of it. You probably thought you were a real stud, didn’t you? I bet it beat fondling some slag’s tits at the school disco. If you could find one desperate enough to let you, which I sincerely doubt.’
I tried to ignore the venom in his voice. ‘Who told you? The police?’
‘They asked me about it. But I’ve just spoken to my father. He told me a lot of things. About you and her. And about him and Mel.’ He watched my face for a reaction. ‘You knew about that, didn’t you?’
‘I guessed.’
‘You guessed! What the fuck is going on here? My father screws my girlfriend, my friend screws my stepmother, and I don’t have a fucking clue. And you know where my faithful father was when his wife was being smothered with a pillow?’
‘No.’
‘In some club in Nice. And for club read bordello, by the way. That’s why he didn’t discover her till three o’clock this morning.’
‘Guy, I am sorry. If there’s anything I can do...’
‘There is. I should never have asked you out here. This isn’t your world, Lane. You’re way out of your depth. Go back to the sad little semi-detached stone that you crawled out from under and leave me alone. OK?’
He was glaring at me with something close to hatred in his eyes.
‘OK,’ I said. I left him alone.
I hid in my room and tried to make sense of the previous couple of days. I couldn’t. I had never known anyone who had been murdered before. And I wasn’t sure I had ever really known Dominique. The body I had thrilled to touch was now lifeless, the skin cold, the muscles stiff and rigid. But the person? Who was she? The very proximity of death made me shiver, the callous nature of my relationship with the victim made me cringe with guilt. Then there was my friendship with Guy ruined, probably permanently. He had shown me the kind of anger that would take years to die away, if it ever did. He hated me now, and I had so badly wanted him to like and respect me. I even felt guilty about Guy’s father, although I knew his sins were greater than mine. I had done something very wrong, and someone had died, and I would have to live with it.
I picked up my book. For the first time since I had started to read it, War and Peace came into its own. I wanted to lose myself in Napoleonic Russia, which seemed at that moment much less threatening than twentieth-century France.
But after two or three hours, hunger began to gnaw at my stomach. I hadn’t eaten anything since a croissant very early that morning and the anxiety was releasing its own juices. I was eighteen. Eighteen-year-old boys get hungry regularly. I decided to brave the possibility of bumping into Guy or Tony for the chance of food.