‘Tell me, Mathias,’ she asked, ‘this morning while I was dressing Kyril, I saw Monsieur Vandoosler going off with Leguennec. Has anything happened? Do you know?’
Mathias looked at her. She was still smiling, but she had wobbled a little while back. The best thing to do was talk to her.
‘Vandoosler didn’t say anything when he went out,’ he said. ‘But Marc and I met a weird guy, name of Christophe Dompierre, from Geneva, very odd character. He had a story about something that happened fifteen years ago, that he wanted to sort out all by himself, and somehow connected with Sophia’s murder. It was some ancient bee in his bonnet. But he absolutely insisted that we weren’t to say a word to Leguennec, so we promised. I’ve no idea what he’s on about, but I wouldn’t want to give him away.’
‘Dompierre? The name doesn’t mean anything to me,’ said Alexandra. ‘What was he hoping to find?’
‘He wanted to see Relivaux, ask him some questions, find out if he had had any unexpected visitors lately. It wasn’t clear. But he’s definitely waiting to see Relivaux, he’s determined to do that.’
‘He’s going to wait for him? But Pierre’s away for a few days. Didn’t you tell him? You didn’t know? We can’t let this guy hang about in the street all day, even if he is crazy.’
‘Marc told him. Don’t worry, we know how to reach him. He’s taken a room in rue de la Prévoyance-nice name, isn’t it? Danube Métro station. I’ve seen the real Danube. Well this won’t mean anything to you, but it’s a quiet part of town, where he was brought up apparently. Odd chap, very single-minded. He even went to see your grandfather in Dourdan. We only have to let him know when Relivaux gets back, that’s all.’
Mathias came round to the front of the bar, and took Kyril a yoghurt and a slice of tart, and patted his head.
‘He’s got a good appetite, your little boy,’ said Juliette. ‘It’s nice to see.’
‘What about you, Juliette?’ asked Mathias, coming back to the bar. ‘Does that ring any bells with you? An unexpected visitor? Sophia didn’t say anything?’
Juliette thought for a while, but shook her head.
‘No, nothing at all. Apart from the famous postcard with the star, nothing happened. Well, nothing that disturbed her. You could always tell with Sophia and I think she would have said something to me.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Mathias.
‘Well, no, perhaps you’re right. Not necessarily.’
‘People are coming in, I’d better see to them.’
Juliette and Alexandra stayed at the bar, chatting, but Mathias arrived with the orders and Juliette disappeared into the kitchen. There was too much noise now. It was impossible to talk peacefully at the bar.
Vandoosler called in. He was looking for Marc, who was no longer at his post. Mathias said that he was probably hungry, which would be normal at one o’clock. Vandoosler grumbled and went out again before Alexandra could ask him anything. He found his nephew at the gate to their house.
‘Deserting your post, I see?’
‘Oh, please don’t talk like Lucien,’ said Marc. ‘I just went to get a sandwich because I was feeling weak. Come on, I’ve been working the whole bloody morning for you.’
‘For her, St Mark.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You know perfectly well who I mean-Alexandra. We’re still getting nowhere. Leguennec is interested in Elizabeth’s father’s criminal record, but he can’t forget the two hairs in the car. Alexandra had better keep very quiet. If she steps out of line at all, he’ll nab her.’
‘Is it really that bad?’
Vandoosler nodded.
‘Your Breton’s an idiot.’
‘My dear Marc,’ said Vandoosler, ‘if everyone who got in our way was an idiot, it would be too easy. I suppose you didn’t get a sandwich for me?’
‘You didn’t say you’d be back. Shit, you only had to telephone.’
‘We don’t have a phone.’
‘Oh no, of course.’
‘And don’t say “shit” to me, it gets on my nerves. I’ve still got police reflexes.’
‘Yeah, it shows. Shall we go in? You can share my sandwich, and I’ll tell you all about Monsieur Dompierre. The pigeon arrived this morning.’
‘See, I told you it would.’
‘Excuse me, I had to go out and catch it. I cheated. If I hadn’t run downstairs, I would have lost it. But I don’t know whether this is any use at all. Maybe just a sparrow. Whatever you think, I’m giving notice, I’m resigning from this look-out business. I’ve decided to go to Dourdan tomorrow.’
Vandoosler seemed greatly interested by the story of Christophe Dompierre, but he couldn’t say why. Marc thought perhaps he didn’t want to say why. Several times, his uncle read the card wedged on the fireplace under the coin.
‘And you don’t remember the quotation from Moby Dick?’ he asked.
‘No, I told you. It was a rather grand sentence, technical and lyrical, with “widest expanses” in it, but it didn’t have anything to do with what he was talking about. It was philosophical, a quest for the unattainable, that kind of thing.’
‘Still,’ said Vandoosler. ‘I would have liked it if you could have identified it.’
‘You don’t think I’m going to read the whole book to find it for you, do you?’
‘That would be too much to hope for. Your idea of going to Dourdan is all very well, but you’re going without any idea what to look for. From what I know of him, I’d be surprised if Siméonidis has anything to say to you. And Dompierre certainly won’t have told him about the “few little pointers” he found.’
‘I want to see what the second wife and stepson are like. Can you take my place this afternoon? I need to think and stretch my legs.’
‘Off with you, then, Marc, I need to sit down. I’ll borrow your window.’
Vandoosler spent the rest of the day watching the street. It kept him entertained, but what Marc had told him of Dompierre was worrying him. He found it surprising that Marc had chased after the man. Marc was good at impulsive actions. Despite his underground lines of conduct, which were firm and even a bit too pure, recognisable by those who knew him well, Marc fired off in all directions when he attempted to analyse things, yet his many deviations, in terms both of logic and temperament, could sometimes lead to valuable results. Marc was torn between the twin perils of angelism and impatience. One could count on Mathias as well, not so much for detective work as for registering things. Vandoosler thought of his St Matthew as a kind of dolmen, a great standing stone, sacred, but unconsciously absorbing all kinds of perceptible events, its particles of mica open to the winds. Well, anyway, a complicated man to describe. Because he was also capable of brusque movements, of racing off, of taking risks at judiciously chosen moments. As for Lucien, he was an idealist, liable to be tempted by every manner of excess, from the top of the scale to the bottom. In the cacophony of his agitation, collisions and impacts were always possible, striking unexpected sparks.
And Alexandra?
Vandoosler lit a cigarette and returned to the window. Marc was drawn to her, that was all too likely, but he was still very entangled in his feelings about the wife who had left him. Vandoosler found it hard to follow what was going on with his nephew, because he himself had never kept for more than a few months promises meant to last fifty years. Why did he make so many promises, anyway? The face of the young woman with her Greek ancestry touched him. From what he had seen of her so far, Alexandra was an interesting combination of vulnerability and boldness, authentic but repressed feelings, and moments of wild but sometimes silent bravado. It was the kind of mixture of enthusiasm and sweetness that he had known and loved long ago in another person. Whom he had abandoned in half an hour. He could still clearly see her walking back down the platform with the twins, until they were just three little dots in the distance. Where were those three little dots now? Vandoosler sat up and gripped the balcony rail. He had neglected for ten minutes to watch the street. He threw away his cigarette and reviewed once more the string of plausible arguments incriminating Alexandra that Leguennec had drawn up. He still needed to play for time, and for something else to crop up to slow down the investigation by the Breton inspecteur. Dompierre might just do.