When the two men returned from the hillside, Richard’s head full of wise advice on the arcane mysteries of viniculture, Angela went off to make tea and returned with a trolley complete with their best — and only — tea service, of Noritake china brought back from Singapore by Richard. Sandwiches were made with local salmon from the Wye, covertly produced by Jimmy with a meaningful wink, followed by Moira’s classic sponge.
When the ritual hospitality had been completed, with every sign of genuine appreciation on the part of the pair from St Mary Church, Angela stood up to push the tea trolley towards the door.
‘If you have something confidential to discuss with Richard, perhaps I should leave you in peace?’ she offered. Immediately, Louis jumped to his feet and raised his hands in a Gallic gesture.
‘No, please stay, Doctor Bray!’ he pleaded. ‘From what I understand of your expertise here, you may well be able to advise and perhaps assist.’
Quite happy to hear what all this was about, Angela abandoned her trolley and sat down again in one of the armchairs, the two visitors occupying the settee, with Richard in the remaining part of his late aunt’s three-piece suite. Louis sat forward, his hands clasped between his knees as he broached the sensitive reason for his visit.
‘I am afraid we have a family problem. It goes back a long way — in fact, about twenty-five years!’
His story was quite long and Angela found it very sad, certainly explaining the unhappiness that both Richard and she had sensed in the pair opposite.
Louis described how he had been commissioned into the French army in the mid-1920s. Soon afterwards, he married Emily and she accompanied him when in 1928 he was posted to Indo-China, which was part of the then extensive French colonial empire. They were sent to the relatively remote garrison town of Yen Bai in the north of Vietnam where Emily, a teacher by profession, taught part-time in the small garrison school. She soon became pregnant and rather than having her live in the bleak garrison quarters, Louis rented a pleasant bungalow a couple of miles outside the town. There was no lack of servants to look after them and when their son Maurice was born, he had a devoted baby amah, a Siamese woman named Sukhon.
Unfortunately for the Dumas family, they came to Yen Bai when political trouble was brewing, an upsurge of feeling against the French colonialists. On the tenth of February 1930, about fifty soldiers from the locally-recruited regiment revolted and joined an equal number of nationalist party members in a sudden attack on the French officers and troops.
On the day of the uprising, Captain Dumas was already on duty in the town, his wife being in her school. All officers and men were recalled into the garrison, where they had to organize a defence, then a counter-attack. Unfortunately, in spite of desperate concern for their nine-month-old son at home, they were besieged for most of the day and quite unable to leave to bring him into the safety of the garrison. When the short-lived revolt was crushed, apparently with great ferocity, Louis with a troop of his men, rushed back to his home to find it completely destroyed, along with several other nearby residences.
‘It was burnt to the ground, just a heap of smouldering ashes!’ he said, with a bleak resignation still in his voice, a quarter of a century after the awful event. ‘One of our servants was lying dead nearby, beaten to death as he presumably attempted to escape into the trees. There was no trace of the other three servants, including the amah — nor of our baby son, Maurice!’
There was a sob from the settee as Emily Dumas put a handkerchief to her eyes. Angela laid a compassionate hand on her shoulder. ‘What a terrible thing to have happened,’ she said softly.
Louis nodded. ‘We were naturally utterly distraught,’ he continued, in his rather formal English. ‘Emily was so ill that the doctors soon sent her back to France to live with her parents in Paris. I stayed behind in Yen Bai to make all the enquiries I possibly could, before also being repatriated to France on compassionate grounds.’
‘Was there no better information as to what had actually taken place?’ said Richard, choosing his words carefully. What he really meant was whether any bodies had been recovered from the fire and Dumas understood and appreciated his delicacy.
‘You will appreciate that this was a time of political turmoil, with violent anti-colonial unrest and a hostile, uncooperative population. One other body was found in the ashes, but it was an adult male. The regiment scoured the countryside for miles around, sometimes brutalizing the locals in their anger at the revolt and the loss of French lives, but of the amah and our child, there was no sign. I spent two months contacting every organization I could — embassies, military and the Red Cross, all without avail. There was no news nor sighting of either Maurice or Sukhon. Then I was sent home and although I never ceased to seek information, nothing was ever forthcoming.’
Both Richard and Angela were beginning to wonder where this tragic story was leading and how it could possibly involve them, when Monsieur Dumas continued his story.
‘I was posted to a staff position in the War Ministry, probably out of sympathy for our loss in the line of duty. Emily and I lived in Paris and slowly she recovered, though the catastrophe undoubtedly put a strain on our marriage for some time. Eventually in 1934, our second son, Victor, was born and after what had happened, he was cherished perhaps even more than was good for him. Gradually our lives returned to what passed for normality, until the war came and in 1940 we had to flee to London. The rest I think I have mentioned to you before, that I fell ill and was pensioned off on medical grounds. Somehow, when peace came, France had lost its attraction for us, as both my parents had been killed during the war. Eventually I became the beneficiary of their estate and became financially independent.’
Richard thought that this was a considerable understatement, but it was none of his concern.
‘So you came to Wales and went back to your traditional family roots — making wine?’ he said, to lighten the rather sombre atmosphere.
Louis Dumas nodded. ‘Yes, and we have settled into a quiet, peaceful mode of life for the past ten years. Now Victor is twenty-one and, thankfully, is very interested in the vineyard. He is keen to take over the management as I get older and he has ambitious plans for its extension.’
Angela began to wonder what their problems could be, as it sounded as if they were living an idyllic life, being well off, with a pleasant house, a satisfying occupation and what sounded like a devoted son. However, Richard was beginning to guess the direction in which the story was leading, but he made no attempt to anticipate Louis’s narrative.
‘We heard no more for many years, until about four weeks ago, when I had a telephone call from London. It was a man calling himself Pierre Fouret and claiming to be my long-lost son Maurice!’
There was a strained silence for a moment, broken only by a stifled sob from Madame Dumas.
‘You must have been shocked!’ exclaimed Angela, with spontaneous sympathy. ‘What did you say?’
Louis ran a hand slowly over his brushed-back hair. ‘I was not so much shocked as a little angry — and curious as to how he had obtained my address. Though for years I had desperately sought out information about Maurice, this was the first time that anyone had approached me on the matter.’