‘In her place, I wouldn’t have stirred from the house. She’s really in a tight spot now, Juliette.’ Marc banged his fist on the counter and finished his beer.
‘What can we do?’ asked Juliette.
‘I’m going to Dourdan to see what’s to be done there. I’m going to look for whatever Dompierre was after. Leguennec can’t stop me. Siméonidis is free to let anyone see his archives if he wants to. The police can check that I haven’t taken anything. Have you got her father’s address?’
‘No, but anyone will tell you over there. Sophia had a little house in the same street. She bought it so she could visit her father, without having to stay under the same roof as her stepmother. They didn’t get on. It’s a little way out of the town centre, rue des Ifs. Wait, and I’ll go and check.’
Mathias came over, when Juliette went into the kitchen to get her handbag.
‘Are you off now?’ said Mathias. ‘D’you want me to come with you? It might be wise. Things are hotting up.’
Marc smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Mathias. But I think you’d better stay here. Juliette needs you and so does Lex. And anyway you’ve got the little Greek to look after and you’re very good at that. It makes me calmer to know you’re here. Don’t worry, there’s nothing to be afraid of. If I need to contact you, I’ll telephone here or to Juliette’s house. Tell the godfather when he comes.’
Juliette came back with her address book. ‘The street is the allée des Grands-Ifs. Sophia’s house is number 12. The old man’s is somewhere nearby.’
‘OK, got it. If Leguennec asks, you went to sleep at eleven and didn’t hear a thing. He’ll work it out for himself
‘Of course,’ said Juliette.
‘Tell your brother to say the same, just in case. I’m just looking in at our house then I’m off to get the train.’
A sudden gust of wind blew open a window that had not been closed properly. The storm was arriving, apparently a fiercer one than the météo had forecast. It seemed to invigorate Marc, who jumped down from his stool and hurried out.
Back home, he quickly packed a few things. He didn’t know how long he’d be away, or if he would find anything. But he had to try and do something. That fool Alexandra could think of nothing better to do than go driving round at night again. The fucking idiot, how stupid could you get? Marc cursed as he threw a few things into his rucksack. He was trying to convince himself that Alexandra had indeed just been driving around. And that she had lied to him simply to protect herself. That was it, there couldn’t be anything else behind it. It took a lot of concentration. He didn’t hear Lucien coming in behind him.
‘Are you packing?’ asked Lucien. ‘You’re making a terrible mess of it. Look at your shirt!’
Marc glanced up at Lucien. Of course, there were no classes on Wednesday afternoons.
‘Bugger the shirt,’ he said. ‘Alexandra is in deep trouble. She went out last night, like a complete idiot. I’m off to Dourdan. I’m going to search in the Siméonidis archives. At least they won’t be in Latin or Old French, that’ll make a change. I’m used to looking through papers quickly, perhaps I’ll find something.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Lucien. ‘I don’t want you ending up with a knife in the guts too. Let’s stick together, soldier.’
Marc stopped stuffing things into the rucksack and looked at Lucien. First Mathias, now him. Coming from Mathias, he understood it and was touched. But Marc had never believed that Lucien was interested in anything except himself and the Great War. Interested, and committed even. Well, perhaps he had been mistaken about a lot of things lately.
‘Do you mind?’ said Lucien. ‘You look surprised.’
‘I was thinking of something else.’
‘I can guess what you were thinking. But forget it, it’s better to work in pairs. Vandoosler and Mathias here, you and me over there. Wars don’t get won single-handedly, look what happened to Dompierre. So, I’m coming with you. I’m used to archives too, and we’ll be quicker if there are two of us. Let me just pack a bag and let the school know I’ve got another dose of flu.’
‘OK,’ said Marc, ‘but hurry. The next train’s at 14.57 from the Gare d’usterlitz.’
XXIX
JUST UNDER TWO HOURS LATER, MARC AND LUCIEN WERE PROSPECTING the allée des Grands-Ifs. A gale was blowing in Dourdan and Marc took deep breaths of the north-westerly. They stopped in front of number 12, which was surrounded by protective walls either side of a high wooden door.
‘Give me a leg-up,’ Marc said. ‘I’d like to take a look at Sophia’s place.’
‘What’s the point?’ Lucien asked.
‘Just curious.’
Lucien put his bag down carefully, checked that nobody was around in the street and linked his hands.
‘Take your shoe off,’ he told Marc. ‘I don’t want muck on my hands.’
Marc sighed, pulled off one shoe and, holding on to Lucien, climbed up to peer over the wall.
‘Can you see anything?’ Lucien asked.
‘There’s always something to see.’
‘Well, what?’
‘It’s a big place. Sophia was very rich, of course. The garden goes down in a slope behind the house.’
‘What’s the house like? Ugly, I guess?’
‘No, not at all,’ Marc replied. ‘It looks a bit Greek, but with a tiled roof. It’s long and white, single-storey. She must have had it built. That’s odd, the shutters aren’t even closed. Wait, no, there are wrought-iron bars on the windows. That’s Greek too. There’s a garage and a well. It’s all modern, the only thing that’s old is the well. Nice place in summer.’
‘Can you come down?’
‘Why? Are you getting tired?’
‘No. But someone might come.’
‘Yes, you’re right, I’ll come down.’
Marc put his shoe back on and they walked along the street noting the names on doors or letterboxes, when there were any. They preferred not to ask anyone, so as to be as discreet as possible.
‘There,’ said Lucien, after about a hundred yards. ‘That smart little house with flowers round it.’
Marc made out the name on a tarnished brass plate: K. and J. Siméonidis. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Remember what we agreed.’
‘I’m not stupid,’ said Lucien.
‘OK, OK.’
A rather fine-looking elderly man opened the door. He looked at them without speaking, waiting for an explanation. Since his daughter’s death, he had had to open the door to many people: police, journalists, Dompierre.
Lucien and Marc took it in turns to explain the reason for their visit, trying to put it as kindly as possible. They had agreed on this in the train, but the great sadness on Siméonidis’ face made it come naturally. They spoke very gently of Sophia. By the time they had finished, they almost believed their story, which was that Sophia, as their neighbour, had entrusted them with a personal mission. Marc told the story of the tree. It’s always best to have an element of truth in a made-up story. After the tree incident, Sophia had still been anxious. One evening when chatting to them in the street, she had made them promise that if anything happened to her, they would try to find out what had happened. She was not confident in the police, because they have so many missing persons. But she would trust them not to give up. That was why they were there, out of respect and friendship for Sophia, and feeling they should carry out her wishes.
Siméonidis listened attentively to this story, which started to sound more and more clumsy to Marc as they went on with it. He invited them in. A uniformed policeman was in the sitting-room, asking questions of a woman who must be the second Madame Siméonidis. Marc did not dare to look hard at her, especially since their entrance had interrupted the session. He noted out of the corner of his eye a woman of about sixty, rather plump, with her hair in a chignon, who only made the vaguest of greetings towards them. She was concentrating on the policeman’s questions and had that energetic look of people who wish to be considered energetic. Siméonidis crossed the room briskly, taking Marc and Lucien with him and being deliberately careless of the policeman who was occupying his sitting-room. But the policeman brought all three of them up short, jumping to his feet. He was young, with that obstinate, closed look, typical of the worst kind of short-sighted idiot who obeys orders without thinking. They were out of luck. Lucien sighed in an exaggerated way.