The French Promise (34 page)

‘Can he call you back, sir?’

Luc couldn’t risk von Schleigel learning anything more. ‘I’m afraid not. I’ve checked out of my
hotel in Paris and am leaving the city this evening. Perhaps I could wait on the line for him, please? It’s important.’

Suddenly he heard a rustling and someone a little breathless came on the line. A man spoke, neither exasperated nor excited.

‘Monsieur Cousteau? This is Frédéric Segal.’

The voice. Luc felt as if his heart had paused, losing its rhythm momentarily before scrabbling to find it
again and in the wake of that it began to pound twice as hard, twice as loud.

‘Monsieur Cousteau? Are you there?’

‘Yes … yes, I’m here, Monsieur Segal,’ Luc hurried to say.

‘My wife says that you wish to do an interview …?’

Luc rapidly gathered his wits; this was the moment, if he was ever going to pull this mad scheme off. ‘I do,
monsieur
, thank you for coming to the phone. I’m a freelance
journalist and I’ve been contracted to write some travel stories around Europe for the
Diners Club
magazine.’

‘Oh, I see, how interesting.’

‘Well, we’re doing a special feature on Provence for our summer 1965 edition, which will publish next spring. I’ve been hearing very good things about your ice cream parlour. I thought it would add some colour to our pages on Provence.’

‘I’m delighted
to hear that. I think we run a very good café but yes, thank you, our ice cream is the best in the south, if I may be so bold.’

‘Well, news has travelled all the way to Paris. But actually, Monsieur Segal, I have some leeway to do more in-depth pieces about certain people in the south. I’m wondering how you’d feel if I interviewed you along the lines of “A Day in the Life of …” For example, learning
about your life and what it is to be serving ice cream to thousands of holiday-makers. I think it would make a cheerful story in many respects.’

Say no more
, Luc urged to himself. He knew his premise was thin but not so far out of reach as to be implausible.

‘I’m not sure my background is important to ice cream, Monsieur Cousteau … or to your readers.’ He added a self-conscious titter.

‘No, Monsieur Segal, I didn’t mean your background so much as daily life. It would be good for readers to meet
the man behind the successful café that is helping to put Fontaine-de-Vaucluse on the Diners Card map, so we’d look at your typical day. People love to see the world through other people’s eyes.’ Was it enough?

‘Ah, I see, so today’s Frédéric Segal, you mean?’

‘Yes, exactly.
I think we’ve all heard more than enough about life during the war. We want positive, colourful tales about interesting locations and destinations and experiences. That all begins with positive, colourful, interesting people.’

‘Well, I’m extremely flattered. That sounds splendid.’

Luc could breathe again. ‘Terrific, thank you. I am very much looking forward to meeting you,
monsieur
. The way this
would work is that I would do the interview – let’s say in the next week or so – and then we’ll send our photographer closer to the publication date to do all the main photography.’

‘Good, I will ensure the whole family is available.’

‘Perfect,’ Luc lied. ‘So essentially I might need to follow you for a day or so next week. Would that be all right?’

‘At my work, you mean?’

‘Sure. At
work, at play,’ he added, mentally crossing his fingers. ‘Do you have any interesting hobbies?’

‘Ah, I see, yes, of course. Well, I collect butterflies.’ How very appropriate, Luc thought. ‘I’m afraid I spend most of my time here in the café, of course,’ von Schleigel continued with a dry chuckle, and at its hideous sound Luc was transported back to 1943. It had been November then too and an old
man, a German accused of being a Jew-lover, was broken and bleeding from his interrogation by the Gestapo. He sat shivering in his underwear awaiting inevitable execution. Kriminaldirektor von Schleigel, who had led the interrogation, had chuckled then as he had just now.

And you didn’t know who you were talking to in 1943 either, Luc thought coldly.

‘I understand,’ Luc said. ‘Perhaps
you play tennis or boules?’ he tried, encouraging ideas of outdoor activities.

‘I don’t, I’m afraid to say.’

Luc closed his eyes with frustration.
Come on
, he pleaded silently.

‘I do take exercise, of course, no matter the weather.’

‘That sounds promising,’ Luc said, hiding his relief by sounding intrigued. ‘What is your preference?’

‘I like to walk; I often cycle.’

‘Terrific. Daily?’
Luc said, leading him with great care to where he needed to take his prey.

‘Yes. I like to walk around our pretty town. It’s amazing how different it looks in the early hours when it feels like I have it all to myself. I learn a lot too during that walk.’ Luc let him talk about new cafes opening up, others that may close, teenagers getting up to mischief, older people drowning their sorrows or
clandestine meetings of lovers. He waited through it for the right opening, listening to von Schleigel brag about how far he could reach in his cycle in a single hour’s ride. ‘Twenty miles is now easy for me,’ Luc heard him boast but he was not interested. He held his breath.
Say it
, he urged silently down the phone line. ‘Most weeks, although it’s irregular in winter, I do take a hike up a fairly
decent incline.’

Bingo! ‘Is that so?’ Luc chimed in, showing enthusiasm in his tone. ‘Is it picturesque at the top of the hill?’ he asked, holding the image of that summit clearly in his mind’s eye.

‘Picturesque? Monsieur Cousteau, when you see Fontaine-de-Vaucluse you will likely weep with the joy of
its beauty,’ he said somewhat theatrically, but then von Schleigel had always been
an actor. ‘It will certainly inspire your photographer.’

‘Well, now, I believe that’s exactly what the story is looking for. A beautiful landscape for us to shoot you against,’ he said, deeply aware of the subtext beneath his words. ‘Perhaps I could accompany you, as well as visit the café?’

‘Indeed. You said next week, didn’t you?’

‘How does next Wednesday sound?’

There was a pause
as he heard von Schleigel turning pages, presumably of a diary. ‘Yes, actually, I think that would be fine.’

‘And should we walk together up to the top of the hill that morning, Monsieur Segal?’ Luc held his breath.

‘Oh? Whatever makes you think I do the hill walk in the morning?’

Luc wanted to bite his tongue out. What a stupid mistake!

‘Forgive me,’ he said, covering his despair by keeping his
voice smooth and casual. ‘I presumed as you said you walked the town in the early hours that you’d follow the same pattern.’ He gave a tight chuckle. ‘Any time of the day is fine with me. You just name the time.’

‘No, you’re quite right. I’m far too tired to walk of an evening. But are you up to the challenge,
monsieur
?’

‘Don’t worry about me. I assure you of my fitness.’

‘Good, because
next week I would need to set off before first light, seven a.m. perhaps, and I don’t walk slowly.’

‘Truly, that’s fine.’

‘Call me when you get in. We can make arrangements.’

‘Why don’t we just meet at the café on the morning of your choice?’ Luc ventured.

‘What if my plans change? How can I contact you?’

Old habits died hard. Luc knew exactly what von Schleigel was doing.

‘Of course,
that makes sense,’ he said carefully. ‘But I don’t know yet where I’ll be staying. I’ll leave word at the café with your staff.’

‘Very well. So where else in our region will you be visiting and writing about?’

Luc hadn’t been ready for that. ‘Ah, well, I thought I might take a wander around some of the villages near Mont Mouchet,’ he said, the first place that came to mind. He wished he hadn’t
but he instantly reassured himself that no connection could be made. ‘Then come into the Luberon before I head down to Marseille, back to Avignon, Lyon … I’ll probably call into various villages as the mood takes me – Lacoste, Bonnieux, Roussillon, Menerbes.’ He listed them simply because they came to mind from his youth. ‘I have a few contacts to meet – from ochre gatherers to fruit preservers to
lavender growers.’ He couldn’t help himself.

‘Far too late for any of those experiences.’

‘Just like ice cream, it’s all about the pictures.’

‘Very good. Well, you have a busy time ahead. I shall see you next week, seven a.m. sharp. Oh, by the way …’

‘Yes?’

‘Who told you about our café?’

Luc clenched his fist. Again, von Schleigel had caught him off guard. ‘It was an English couple,’ he lied instantly,
his mind racing ahead to fabricate a credible tale. ‘I met them in Hampshire when I covered the Farnborough Air Show. They’d been holidaying in France and had spent most of their time in and around the Luberon last year in Lourmarin.’

‘Ah, another beautiful village.’

‘Yes. They visited your café and spoke rapturously about your ice cream.’
Calm it now, Luc,
a small voice warned. ‘They
said you were a marvellous host.’ He remembered the grainy photo, picturing it now in his mind. ‘They said the way you presented the ice creams in a floral shape was unique.’

‘I feel honoured,’ von Schleigel said, but Luc heard the closure in the man’s voice. It was as if Luc had passed his test.

Luc’s hand shook as he replaced the receiver, glad he’d taken the precaution of not phoning from his room. He trembled not from fear, not even from anticipation; it was the old rage, racing through his body, matching the speed of his blood being pumped rapidly enough that he was aware of his heart beating. He was so close now. He thought about ringing
Max, but then decided not to. Kilian’s son would be full of fresh warnings and Luc needed no doubt in his mind now. He reached for his grandmother’s silk pouch that hung at his chest, which he could feel through his clothes like a touchstone. Its former contents of lavender seeds had kept him safe as she’d promised but would his luck hold now that he’d emptied the seeds into the fertile land
of Launceston?

When Jane had asked about the odd talisman around his neck he’d lied. It contained a single item but he couldn’t tell whether it would fulfil its purpose.

He left the lobby’s public telephone and minutes after
arriving back at their room, Jenny burst through the door.

‘Dad!’

He kissed the top of her head. ‘Well, you look happy. Did you have fun?’

‘I did. Juliette and I
are going to write to each other every month!’ Jenny sighed. ‘But I’d rather live in France.’

He smiled. ‘You’ve only been in Paris for a few days.’

‘I mean, I really like being here in Europe. Tasmania is so sleepy.’

‘That’s what your mother and I liked most about it.’

‘Yes, but you’re old, Dad. And you’d had your fun in London and Paris.’

He stopped emptying his pockets onto the desk and frowned,
only now realising that Jenny was leading up to something. He watched her take a deep breath.

‘I’ll just come right out and say it. I want to ask if you’ll consider letting me attend boarding school here … Um, in France.’

‘What?’ He didn’t mean to sound as loudly incredulous but she’d ambushed him cleverly while his defences were down. Lisette had often hinted at her concern whether their decision
to move to the wilderness on the other side of the world was the right impulse for their children.

He’d snorted at her gentle fears then. ‘I grew up in a place like this,’ he’d said, waving an arm around the fields of lavender.

‘In France, though, Luc. With the rest of Continental Europe on your doorstep and a family that took you to Paris regularly.’

‘And why I lost a lot of people in the war.
Europe did us no favours.’

‘We love Bonet’s Farm but that’s our life, our choice. We must never stop their curiosity about the world.’

Her counsel haunted him now. He didn’t want to lose Jenny. ‘I knew you’d take it badly,’ Jenny accused. ‘I haven’t said anything,’ he countered. ‘Your face says enough, Dad.’

‘Has your new friend been putting ideas in your mind?’ She shrugged. ‘We’ve
only got a few more weeks.’ Her tone said it all. ‘Then back to school for me in bor—’

‘Don’t say it,’ Luc warned. ‘You start in February.’

‘Dad, I want to go to school in Europe, not Tasmania!’ She said it softly and accusingly as though he had somehow injured her.

‘What do you know about London or Paris other than the insides of very good hotels, the menus of some fine restaurants, and how to
shop in Knightsbridge or at Chanel?’ he blustered.

‘That’s the point!’ she retaliated, keeping her voice even. ‘I want to know a lot more and I can’t do that from the other side of the planet. Dad, I love fashion, I love art, I love design, I love shops and creating things. I love the music, the food. I don’t know yet what it is I want to do but I don’t think I can do it nearly as well from over
there.’ She pulled at her favourite skirt. ‘Seriously, Dad, how many seasons do you think it will be before this comes into fashion in Launny? Ten?’

He looked at her, aghast. ‘Jenny, you’ve got years before you have to think about your future career.’

She slumped on her bed. ‘I want to use my French. I want to be able to be on this side of the world. It’s exciting.’

Luc bit back on the despair
that was about to spill from his mouth and decided that he needed to think this through
and give Jenny time. She was dealing with plenty, as Jane had counselled, and he had exposed his daughter to a lot in a short period. She’d left a tiny, quiet hamlet to be plonked into two of the world’s biggest, most exciting capitals. He should only blame himself for this fascination.

He sat beside
her and put an arm around his daughter. ‘Let’s not talk about this now, Jen. You’ve said what’s on your mind. Shall we allow it to sit in front of us for a while?’

‘You sound like Mum now,’ she groaned.

‘Your mother was the most pragmatic woman I’ve ever known. You should be grateful I’m sounding like her. Listen, how do you fancy a trip to a place called Mont Mouchet?’

‘Why?’

‘There’s someone
who may still be there that I’d like to see again.’

‘Someone being ..?’

‘A friend. He also helped save my life once.’

‘What happened?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it, I promise, on the journey down.’

She nodded before sighing. ‘Oh, goodie. Me and two middle-aged men talking about old times.’

Luc had to laugh. ‘He was only five years old when he helped to nurse me back to health.’

Her eyes widened.
‘Five? So he’s twenty-four now?’

Luc was impressed at the lightning-fast calculation. ‘Yes, Robert would be a young man now.’

‘Around the same age as Max. Where is Max? He’s meant to be taking me and Jane out today.’

He’d forgotten she didn’t know about Max’s change of plans and quickly explained, vaguely irritated that she looked quietly devastated as he finished with a sigh. ‘I’m sure we’ll
see him another time,’ he said, knowing it was a flippant remark. He had no plans to meet Max again, although he would write to him about their unfinished business.

‘He promised to take me to Laduree. Well, I’ll take up his invitation if I live over here. You see, Dad, I’ve already got friends in places: Max, Jane, Juliette and her parents, perhaps even your saviour, Robert.’

Luc blinked,
not truly surprised but in equal measure unnerved that Jenny had already moved past his caution and in her mind was planning life in Europe.

‘Well, I don’t even know yet whether I can find Robert. But I’d like to visit his village on our way through to Saignon.’

‘I don’t mind which route we take. Where’s Jane?’

‘Er, I guess she’s at her hotel,’ he said nonchalantly, surprised that he felt vaguely
embarrassed.

‘Are we seeing her tonight?’

‘If you’d like. In fact, I thought I’d suggest that she come south with us, as I’d like to leave tomorrow.’

‘Okay,’ she said. He’d been ready to sell the idea of Jane coming along but Jenny hadn’t batted an eyelid.

‘You don’t mind?’ Now why was he creating obstacles that weren’t there?

She frowned, looking back over her shoulder. ‘No. Why should I? I love
Jane.’

He shrugged. ‘Good. I’ll ring her later and we’ll make arrangements. Right now, how do you fancy a stroll along the river and through some of my favourite gardens, with a good cup of coffee somewhere?’

‘I’d love it. Let me grab some extra film for Harry’s camera. I want a photo of us on that beautiful bridge with the lampposts.’

‘Pont Alexandre,’ he murmured to himself, remembering how
he and Lisette had once kissed on the bridge, promising to be together forever having survived the war.

Luc phoned Jane as soon as they returned to the hotel later that afternoon.

‘Jenny’s pleased to hear you’re coming south with us. I’ll look up the train times but let’s plan to get away early in the morning. Now, I had better take my daughter to one of the tourist haunts for a quick
dinner shortly – would you join us?’

‘Listen … Luc, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you and Jenny should have some private time tonight.’

That was odd. He hadn’t expected a brush-off.

‘Oh. What will you do?’

‘I’m not helpless,’ she laughed. ‘Besides,’ she added in a teasing tone, ‘I’ve had many nice offers.’

‘I’ll bet. Are you sure?’

‘I am.’

‘Everything all right?’

‘Don’t fuss. I’m
fine. I just don’t want to crowd in. And besides, if we’re heading off early, I need to re-pack, get myself organised – I’ve got a letter to write, so I’ll be completely occupied, I promise. I’ll order room service and have a long soak in the bath.’

‘Remembering yesterday, perhaps?’

She didn’t respond as he’d hoped and in fact gave him only what sounded like a loud silence of embarrassment. He
missed her already; never thinking he could feel so comfortable with a woman again, so why this strange behaviour?

‘Shall I call later? I’ll give you the train times and we can swing by in a taxi in the morning.’

‘Er … sure.’

He frowned; she didn’t sound sure at all. ‘Right. Well, have a nice evening.’

‘You too. Bye.’

He looked at the receiver, wondering at how cool she’d sounded. It
really didn’t match up to their heated passion of yesterday when she couldn’t get enough of him. What had happened?

Jane turned around after replacing the receiver. ‘I didn’t even sound convincing to myself,’ she said, mournfully.

‘You did all right,’ her companion said. It was Max Vogel.

‘Come on. Let’s go down and find a quiet spot somewhere and you can tell me everything.’

They ended up in
the hotel café in a private booth, ordering a simple meal.

‘So, Max, this had better be important because Luc is surely wondering what sort of game I’m playing. That was a very awkward conversation.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry I was in your room.’

‘Tell me why you lied to Luc. He thinks you’ve left Paris.’

Kilian’s son sipped his glass of wine. ‘Has Luc told you anything yet of why he returned to France
at this time?’

She looked at him, confused. ‘I didn’t even know Luc last week so I can’t pretend to understand his motives, nor does he need to be explaining anything to me. But I was under the impression it was to get him and Jenny away from their sorrows, give them a chance to reconnect.’

‘Yes, all of that,’ Max agreed, looking around nervously.

‘Max, I don’t know you very well either, but you
seem worried. What’s troubling you?’

‘Look, it’s none of my business but I know you care about him, so the only reason I’m telling you this is because I think he needs friends around him right now.’

‘Speak plainly, Max.’

He sighed. It took a long time. He spared her little detail. When their simple meal of a salmon terrine was finished his tale was still not fully told. Jane listened
in rapt silence, her expression shifting between fascination and horror.

Finally, over coffee and a warming cognac, Max shook his head. ‘I’m obviously telling you all this because I’m worried.’

‘That he’ll confront von Schleigel,’ she replied in a scared whisper.

‘It’s why he came to France. He wants revenge.’

Her gaze narrowed and her expression was tinged with scorn. ‘And now you’re worried?’

He shrugged, clearly embarrassed. ‘I thought I wanted him to go after von Schleigel but when I met Luc, when I saw how much anger he holds, I became unnerved.’

‘“Go after” him? What is this … a game of cops and robbers to you?’

‘No, I … I guess I just wanted Luc to have the opportunity to confront this man. Let him know that we know who he is and that his disguise is no longer intact.’

‘And then
what?’

He looked uncomfortable now, and wouldn’t meet her angry gaze. ‘Jane, I don’t care what happens to von Schleigel, but I don’t want Jenny to be without both parents and … Von Schleigel is ex-Gestapo. I’m nervous of how he’ll react when Luc confronts him. I don’t know what Luc might try, either.’

‘“Try”?’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘Max, you’re the one who loaded the bullet into the gun!’
she admonished in a
growled whisper. ‘What did you think Luc might do with the information you fed him? His wife is dead, so is his son. He’s probably just got his head around the fact that his Jewish family perished in horrific circumstances, but he’s not in that despair alone so perhaps over time it had become bearable. But then you rake it all up for him and present him with irresistible facts
all wrapped up with the very location of the man Luc holds as the devil in his heart. What did you think he might do? He’s a former Maquisard!’

Max wiped a shaking napkin over his mouth. ‘Von Schleigel has escaped justice.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Max. We’re talking about a man’s life here. And I don’t mean von Schleigel’s! He can rot in hell for all I care. Luc is a passionate man and
he’s hurting. Look back at his life and it’s all about death and loss. Even if he does make von Schleigel pay the ultimate price, it won’t offer any healing. It will just add a whole new dimension of guilt …’ She ran out of steam and shook her head. ‘I won’t be a party to murder and neither should you.’

‘I’m not sure I can stop him now—’

‘You can. Or I will.’

‘With all due respect, it’s not your
business to—’

‘With all due respect, Max, you just made it my business. It is now my concern to stop this madness!’ she snapped. ‘Go and see him and put a halt to his meeting with von Schleigel or I will get directly involved.’ She held his gaze defiantly. ‘Where is von Schleigel?’

Max backed down, dropping his gaze as he took a slow breath. ‘I’ve been so driven. This began as being all about
my father, and it’s snowballed into something bigger than I’ve fully grasped.’

‘But why, Max? What did you think you’d get out of it?’

‘Nothing,’ he admitted. He suddenly looked so unsure of himself. ‘I was lost in the thrill of chasing him down, I think. So many got away. I feel guilt. My father was German; he was one of the hated men in uniform. Maybe I’m trying to level the scales
on his behalf. Whatever it is, I … I couldn’t let it go – the research and then the hunt was a way of dislocating from my own grief from my mother’s death. I’m ashamed to say that I haven’t considered the consequences of my actions. You’re right, I’ve pushed Luc into a corner.’ He leant his elbows on the table and covered his face for a moment. ‘But von Schleigel’s out there, Jane, living the good
life …’