“I’m sorry for disturbing you.” Stepping aside, he opened the door to the church.
It was dark and cool inside and smelled of old books and wax polish. It smelled of calm and, best of all, stability.
Robert Mongeau sat in a pew, surrounded by cheery light through the immortal boys.
Armand joined him. The two sat in silence for a few moments before Armand whispered, “Désolé.”
At Heathrow Airport, awaiting their return flight, Reine-Marie got a call from the museum.
“Oui, allô,” she said.
“Madame Cloutier? It’s Cecil Clarke. I just was looking at The Paston Treasure and I noticed something.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not sure how long they’ve been there, but there are markings on the clockface.”
“Words?”
“No, just lines, not even pictures. Squiggles. You didn’t…”
“Put them there? Of course not. We were never alone with it, even if we’d wanted to. Can you take a photo of them, please?”
“Why?”
“Please, just do it.” As soon as it arrived, she forwarded it, with shaking fingers, to Armand, Jean-Guy, and Amelia. Then she studied it herself. The doodles of a madman.
CHAPTER 33
The two men sat quietly. One silenced by grief, the other by knowing there were no words.
Armand could not even offer companionship. The man beside him was alone. Standing on an island in some vast ocean, no mainland in sight.
And so Armand sat quietly, also bathed in the brilliant boys. He’d have to leave soon to meet Jean-Guy, but for another few minutes Armand could sit with his friend. And hope and pray that a bridge, or a boat, might one day appear that would take Robert to a place of peace.
“She’s gone.” The words caused the dust caught in the sunshine to swirl about.
“Oui.” Armand waited a moment. Two. Before saying, “Would you like to talk?”
Armand assumed the silence was the answer, but then …
“She was fine when we went to bed.” Robert spoke to the Bible in his hand. “I gave her her meds, then I read to her until she fell asleep.” He continued to stare straight ahead. “We weren’t even halfway through the book.”
It seemed a non sequitur, but Armand understood. It was no longer a book, it had become a symbol.
He remembered finding, at the age of nine, the book his father had been reading. It was on the bedside table with a bookmark where he’d stopped. Where he’d expected to continue. But never did.
Young Armand took the book into his own bedroom and placed it in a drawer. Safe for when they came back. So that his father could pick up the story where he left off.
It had taken Armand more than forty years to finally open the book. He’d sat on the bench above Three Pines, day after day, holding it but not yet daring. And then, one day, he dared.
Armand, a grandfather by then, read to the end, finishing what his father had started. He hoped that one day Robert would too. But the minister did not have forty years to wait for the bridge, or the boat.
Jean-Guy got to the rendezvous location much earlier than planned and pulled into a small opening where Monsieur Godin, or Fleming, could not see him.
After confirming that Annie, Honoré, and Idola, along with Daniel and his family, were safely at the lake house, he opened an email from Reine-Marie.
Attached was a photo of the clock from the original Paston Treasure. All around the face there were lines, markings.
“Oh, merde,” he said. His heart was beating fast, in excitement or dread or both.
Curator just found this on original painting. Not there before.
Beauvoir forwarded it to Dr. Brunel to decode, copying Gamache.
“I remember the day I came home and told Sylvie I wanted to enroll in divinity school,” said Robert, smiling.
Armand listened. He wondered if the minister remembered he was there, or if he was talking to himself.
“She didn’t argue. Wasn’t surprised, though it meant a complete change in lifestyle. No more private clubs, no more business class travel. No more fine meals in ridiculously priced restaurants. We’d have to sell the business, the house, the lake house at Manitou. We’d have to watch every cent. But she didn’t argue. I think she was relieved that I’d finally seen what had been obvious to her for years. I was miserable and making everyone around me miserable.”
He turned slightly and looked at Armand. Studying his face for something. Then he looked away again.
“This’s our first posting, you know. I wanted a church in Montréal or Québec City, so the bishop sent me here.” He chuckled. “Took us a few days to even find the place. I kept calling the diocese to make sure they got it right.”
Robert shook his head. Lost in the past. Where Sylvie was beside him in the car.
As Armand watched, Robert reached out, palm up, then slowly closed his hand over hers as they searched the countryside for the place that seemed more myth than real.
“She’d decided to stop treatment by then. She wanted to just live out the rest of her days. That’s really why I wanted a city, so we’d be close to a hospital. But she wanted the countryside, where she’d be close to nature. She loved going for walks around here. Every evening after dinner, we walked, though recently we just sat in the garden.” He fell silent, remembering. And then he remembered. And lost her again, the island drifting farther out to sea.
For Robert Mongeau there would always be a before and an after. All events would henceforth be dated from Sylvie alive and Sylvie dead.
As Robert squeezed his eyes shut, Armand felt the sharp thrust into his own heart.
“I know, I know, I know she’s with God,” said Robert. “I know she’s at peace. But oh God, oh God.”
Armand reached out and took his hand.
He was aware of time ticking by. Aware Beauvoir was waiting for him. Aware Fleming might be too, just outside that door.
But this was important. He hoped, if something happened to Reine-Marie, someone would hold his hand.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” repeated Robert, crying openly now.
“It’s all right,” Armand whispered. They were, he knew, empty words. But he had to offer something.
Mongeau gathered himself, sat up straighter, took his hand from Armand’s, and wiped his eyes and nose with a handkerchief. Then unexpectedly smiled.
“I can’t imagine what Claude thought. I practically ran him over when I backed out of the drive on my way over here. After they’d…”
It took Armand a moment to understand what he was saying. “The driveway? At your house? Claude was at your place this morning?”
“Yes. I pay him extra to do odd jobs around the place. He was weeding the drive. In my hurry to get here, to get away, I didn’t see him. Thankfully he managed to get out of the way. He’s far more agile than he looks.”
“Was he there yesterday too?”
“Yes, but only after he’d finished work here.”
Armand stepped carefully, but Robert seemed grateful for the change of topic.
“Can you tell me how you came to hire Monsieur Boisfranc?”
“Claude?” The minister paused to think. “I thought I told you. He was recommended. Some woman staying at the B&B came to service one Sunday.” He paused. “I remember because Sylvie was too weak to come. It was a bad few days for her. First service she’d missed.” He reflected for a moment, then continued on. “The woman stayed for coffee and cake after and must’ve overheard Gabri and me talking about the search for a caretaker.”
“What did she say?”