‘We would see him averting his gaze every time she entered a room, Inspector. We knew what he desired.’
‘He trembled in her presence.’
‘He sweated.’
‘Inspector, Brother Matthieu put the squeeze on Xavier so hard, we … we had to do something,’ confessed the blonde.
‘Xavier was losing his voice, wasn’t he?’ asked Kohler.
‘Yes, and this was causing trouble enough so we … we did what we felt had to be done,’ offered the Alto, lowering her eyes.
‘The picnic in early June.’
‘She never knew about the photos. I swear it,’ blurted Christiane.
‘But she sure as hell discovered she was pregnant, didn’t she?’
Herr Kohler wanted them to say Xavier wasn’t the only one who had used her, thought Genèvieve, nor was that the only time they had got her drunk on absinthe. He wanted to say, How could you have done that to her? But he didn’t say any of these things because he was thinking of something else.
‘I’m puzzled,’ he said. ‘You see, you madrigalists do everything as one. You follow orders, too. You have to, right? How else could that Basso Continuo of yours and his two pals have avoided the forced labour draft?’
The STO, the Service de Travail Obligatoire, a constant threat …
Herr Kohler swam up to them, his big, strong arms moving water back and forth to keep him in position. ‘Who suggested the picnic?’ he asked. ‘Was it Madame Simondi?’
When they didn’t answer, he said, ‘I think you’d better tell me.’
‘Before it is too late for us?’ blurted Christiane, her dark eyes rapidly moistening.
‘I suggested the picnic, Inspector,’ said Genèvieve levelly. ‘Guy had always wanted to see the mas César had leased to Mireille’s mother. It was a chance, then, for him to do so.’
‘But you’d seen it before, hadn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’d gone out there to see if it would be suitable.’
‘No.’ How can you think such a thing? I …’
‘We … we rode out on our bicycles just after Easter, Inspector,’ said Christiane, not looking at him but steadily at her friend. ‘Mireille was with us. We had a lovely day because when … when one was with Mireille, one always shared her love of Provence, of its great beauty and … and history.’
‘Did she know you would take Adrienne there for a “picnic”?’
The Alto bowed her head and, subdued, answered, ‘She … she thought it a good idea.’
‘She trusted you both, didn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘She wanted to join us as a full member herself,’ said Genèvieve, ‘but knew that Adrienne had the better chance.’
‘She accepted this,’ said Christiane, still not looking up at him. ‘Mireille was goodness itself, Inspector. Dedicated always to our success. Praising it, too. Always.’
He began to mount the steps, and when he had stopped on the third one, he was nearest to Christiane, and Genèvieve told herself she knew what he was about to do. He would single Christiane out now, demanding answers only from her.
Be careful, petite, she said silently. He cares passionately about those answers and is not distracted in the slightest by our nakedness.
‘Tell me about Dédou Favre,’ he said and, as she had thought, held a hand up to silence her.
‘Dédou must have seen us at the picnic,’ confessed Christiane stupidly. ‘That … that is the only way Mireille could possibly have found out about the … the postcards and … and Brother Matthieu’s little affliction.’
‘Then Dédou knew, didn’t he, ma belle, exactly who had raped Adrienne and, yes, how many of them had gone at her?’
She tried to blink away her tears but they wouldn’t stop. ‘It was only Xavier, I swear it!’ she shrilled. ‘We … we were all up in the house except … except for him.’
‘And drunk.’
‘Drunk, yes.’
‘On absinthe.’
‘Yes, damn you! Like last night. Last night …’ She gripped her mouth.
‘Dédou was arrested well before dawn on Monday, wasn’t he?’
‘Inspector …’
‘Shut up! Speak only when spoken to.’
Water was trickling slowly down his legs through the hairs. There were other scars, old scars, wounds from shrapnel; from bullets too. ‘Xavier said that if it wasn’t done, Dédou and Mireille would confront Bishop Rivaille with the matter. The Kommandant might be there — this we didn’t know at the time. You must believe me.’
‘The audition …’
‘Yes.’
‘So you all agreed to let Xavier turn Dédou in?’
‘We are one, Inspector. One because we have to be!’
‘Then why didn’t you share up the reward?’
‘What reward? There was no reward.’
‘Oh, but there was, meine kleine Liebling.’
‘Genèvieve, what’s this he is saying?’
‘The hundred thousand francs, I think. That can take time, Inspector. Xavier simply hasn’t received it yet.’
He wouldn’t tell them, thought Kohler acidly. He’d let them think what they would. As sure as these two had bodies to bring joy to themselves and to others, their young lives were over should the Resistance discover what they’d done. ‘Four maquis have died because of this,’ he said, ‘and that’s not counting Dédou.’
A great sadness had entered his eyes. ‘And what of Adrienne de Langlade?’ he asked, seemingly condemning them.
‘Brother Matthieu,’ grated Genèvieve. ‘Why not ask it of him? Of him! We know nothing of that business. Nothing, do you understand? We were away on tour.’
He flicked water at her as he went up the steps. ‘Oh but you weren’t. You were in Avignon. And what’s more, Mireille de Sinéty wrote it all down and hid it away for my partner and I to find.’
They were alone at last, and in the all but silent room the sound of still-lapping bathwater came harshly.
‘Is it really true what Herr Kohler said?’ asked Christiane in despair.
‘That bitch would leave things for them to find. I knew it!’ swore Genèvieve, getting up to pull off her sheath and throw it into the water.
‘She wrote it down, he said.’
‘The enseignes, you little fool. The talismans and cabochons — the rebus every young maid wore to tease and taunt the hearts and minds of her admirers.’
‘Her killers. Those who couldn’t have her telling others what had really happened to Adrienne.’
‘A bonfire, another “picnic” last October — is that what your loosened tongue will spit out next?’ demanded Genèvieve, watching her so closely now she had to shiver uncontrollably and pluck at the sheath that clung to her breasts. She had to say foolishly, ‘I must look like a ghost in this.’
We were drunk on absinthe — is that the excuse you’ll give if asked, wondered Genèvieve, stepping close to her, so close each hesitant breath the little fool gave was felt.
Slowly the sheath was removed. Christiane would feel it curling up as it came away but when her arms were stretched above her head, it would stop and be held there, binding her by the wrists. ‘You had to let him know about Dédou’s watching us at the picnic. You weakened, damn you! And don’t start crying and begging me to forgive you, Christiane. Not after that!’
The sheath was left for her to remove. Cast into the water, it spread outwards to join the other one and slowly sink, more ghostlike now than before. ‘It … it looks as if we, too, had been drowned in an accabussade. Our screams-’
The slap was hard and fast. Stung by it, Christiane waited.
‘We have to think,’ grated Genèvieve. ‘Mireille must have planned it all. That’s why the bishop wanted the sisters to remove things from her body before the detectives found them. He knew what she might do.’