The French Promise (38 page)

‘I cried for days after you left,’ Robert said. ‘And even though I’ve deliberately blotted out a lot of my childhood, I don’t remember a happier time than when it was the three of us eating around our table.’

Luc swallowed. ‘I had to leave, Robert.’

‘She tried to console me and said when you came back it would be to take me away from all the fear.’

‘And here I
am,’ Luc said, his tone earnest, his gaze unflinching.

‘He doesn’t frighten me anymore.’

‘No, but I don’t think it’s him that you fear anyway. I think it’s what comes after him: a lonely life, not even a drunken father to feel responsible for. I’m offering you a way out of that bleakness and into a new life.’

‘You speak as though I’m your son.’

‘Let me be a better father to you than the one you’ve
had. I will give you my name if that is something that would please you.’

‘Bonet?’

He shook his head. ‘I am Luc Ravens now,’ he said finally,
and letting the sound of the name settle around him and within him. ‘Start afresh,’ he continued. ‘New name, new life, new village, new livelihood …’

‘New family,’ Jenny added, smiling gently at him. ‘Robert Ravens has a good ring to it.’

‘A good
pirate name?’ he quipped.

She chuckled. ‘The best,’ she assured him.

Robert returned his gaze to Luc. ‘I will come with you to Saignon, and we will talk then. Thank you, Monsieur Luc.’ His voice shook. ‘Thank you for coming back.’

They arrived by rail into l’Isle sur la Sorgue that same day; Robert admitted he had little to pack that a small holdall couldn’t carry. There was nothing other than his grandmother’s grave that he regretted leaving behind and Luc promised he would organise a proper headstone to honour Marie. Robert had choked up and not been able to respond clearly
to Luc’s offer. Once again, it had been Jenny who’d bridged that slightly uncomfortable gap by leaning against Robert, conferring a sort of hug that didn’t need arms or words.

Robert’s father had been unconscious when Robert arrived back at the cottage. He had left a note promising to return, but without stipulating when. They’d contacted the local
gendarmerie
to alert them that Dugas would need
some supervision. The policeman, who knew Robert well, asked why he’d taken so long to reach such an easy decision and assured him they would keep an eye on his old man for a
few days. But even as the policeman had said this, there was a sense of shared knowledge that Robert was not likely to return … not in a hurry, anyway.

After their arrival in the beautiful town, Luc checked them
in to a gite and took his charges straight out for a slap-up meal by the river.

‘You need feeding,’ he assured Robert.

They sat at the window of the restaurant and were able to see one of several great water wheels that had once been at the core of the town’s prosperity. The crystal waters of the Sorgue flowed past them in its shallow natural canals and Luc reminded himself not to allow any sense
of comfort to blur the reality of what lay ahead.

‘So we’re going up to Saignon tomorrow?’ Jenny asked, chewing on her fish and brightly coloured ratatouille.

Luc schooled his features to reflect an entirely casual air. ‘No, I think we’ll stay here a day or two. I have some business to see to … you don’t mind, do you?’

‘What sort of business, Dad? This is meant to be a holiday.’

‘I’m here in the
cradle of my industry, Jen. This is where the lavender came from. I have a couple of people I need to talk to – boring stuff. Equipment, contracts, orders, perhaps the chance to share a few ideas … that sort of thing.’ He didn’t look at her, kept eating as though the conversation was hardly worth having.

‘You’re right, that is
boring
,’ she said.

‘We could explore this town together,
if you’d like?’ Robert offered his younger friend. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit it.’

‘Really? You don’t mind being left behind with me?’

‘Why would I mind? You’re the first person who’s made me feel like smiling in years. And you’re the only person who
hasn’t looked away embarrassed when you first saw me.’

Luc held his breath. He knew he could trust Robert. He hoped Jenny would say yes.

‘We don’t need you, Dad,’ she said as flippantly as she could, but added a grin. ‘I will, of course, need you to leave money, though.’

‘Of course,’ he said, letting out his relief in a soft sigh. ‘Thanks, Robert. I appreciate it.’

‘It’s an honour,’ Robert added and Jenny looked chuffed.

‘Well, that’s great,’ Luc said. ‘I’ll be leaving early in the morning, and I’ll hope to be back in time to take
you two out for dinner, but if I’m running late, carry on without me.’

‘Fine,’ Jenny said, including Robert in a conspiratorial glance. ‘We’ll go to that expensive bistro opposite the church.’

Luc excused himself briefly to use the restaurant phone. His heart began to pummel a powerful beat behind his chest as he waited.

‘Frédéric Segal,’ said the horribly familiar voice when the phone was answered.

‘Monsieur Segal. It’s Laurent Cousteau again.’ There was a pause and Luc admonished himself for nervously filling it. ‘Er … the journalist,
monsieur
, he added hopefully, finding it hard to imagine that von Schleigel had forgotten.

‘Yes, I remember. Where are you calling from?’

‘I promised I would call you the night before I arrived in Fontaine-de-Vaucluse,’ Luc said, hoping to deflect
the man.

‘So where are you staying?’

Was his cover blown? He’d taken precautions. He tried again. ‘Some
gîte
I found.
Maison de Marie
or something. So tomorrow, Monsieur Segal – are we still walking up your hill?’

‘How are your knees?’

‘I’ll be fine.’
Euphoric, even
, he thought. ‘I will not be a burden.’

‘I would leave you if you were, Monsieur Cousteau,’ von Schleigel
replied.

They both laughed. There was no warmth at all and Luc was sure he could picture the insincere smile of Horst von Schleigel.

‘Well, I plan to leave my café at seven sharp.’

‘Shall I meet you there?’

‘Where are you coming from?’ Segal asked but it was not lost on Luc that this was the same question he’d been asking since the beginning of their conversation.

‘I’m in Cavaillon this evening,’
he said evenly.

‘Cavaillon? Whatever for?’

‘I’m not keen on cities when I’m writing stories and Cavaillon was on the train line, plus it gives me an opportunity to write about one of the smaller towns of Provence.’

‘I see. I would have thought l’Isle sur la Sorgue would make more sense.’

Luc felt his insides clench; Max had warned him of the man’s propensity for suspicion.
That’s what comes from
being a war criminal on the run, von Schleigel
, he thought viciously. ‘It’s too much like Fontaine-de-Vaucluse, though. And my editor wants to make sure I cover as much of the Luberon while I’m here.’

‘Cavaillon is a good dozen or so kilometres from here, Monsieur Cousteau. I presume you have a car?’

‘Actually, no,’ Luc lied, even though he’d rented one as soon as they’d arrived in l’Isle
sur la Sorgue. ‘There are trains into l’Isle sur la Sorgue, buses into Fontaine-de-Vaucluse,
passing motorists who will pick up a hitchhiker,’ he said. ‘I may even yet rent a car and drive in this evening and stay locally so I don’t risk any hold-ups.’

This seemed to satisfy von Schleigel.

‘We could meet at the base of the hill,
monsieur
. It’s easy to find – the road ends conveniently
there.’

‘Very good.’ It suited Luc all the more to meet under the cover of darkness.

‘Seven a.m., then.’

‘I will not be late, Monsieur Segal.
Au revoir
,’ he said and didn’t wait to hear the response. He placed the receiver on the cradle and bit his lip in thought.

‘Everything okay,
monsieur
?’ the barman asked.

‘Yes, thank you. Put the call on my bill. It was local.’

The man shrugged. ‘Order a coffee. We’ll call it square.’

Luc nodded, returned to the table where Jenny had clearly been telling Robert about the loss of their family because her eyes looked watery. Their heads were close together and their age difference didn’t seem to matter.

‘So,’ he began, ‘I may have to leave earlier than planned.’

Robert waited.

‘Perhaps before you wake.’

‘Why?’ It was Jenny
who predictably skewered him with the question.

‘I have to meet someone very early.’

‘In the dark?’

He smiled crookedly. ‘Yes, actually. We’re looking at some fields at sunrise. It’s the only time I can meet him.’

She shrugged. ‘Fine.’

And that was that. They ordered coffee, Luc talked about his time as a Maquisard during the war, Robert talked about
his happy childhood with Marie and within a
couple of hours Luc was tucking his daughter into bed and kissing her goodnight.

‘Jen, you are all right about being left for the day with Robert, aren’t you?’

She’d lifted a shoulder as she clambered into the small twin bed beside his. ‘He’s lovely. I’m setting myself the task of making him laugh out loud tomorrow.’

Luc felt a pang of remorse. ‘If anyone can, you can.’

‘I’d rather you
were with us,’ she said softly. ‘But I know you have a lot of things on your mind. Are you worried about the farm?’

‘No. Tom will run it well,’ he said. ‘He’s taking his new role as supervisor very seriously.’

‘What can anyone here teach you about lavender growing, Dad?’ It was not an accusation.

‘Plenty.’ He hated the lie he was hiding behind. ‘The exchange of information is important. And if
I’m going to get the Bonet fields in Saignon yielding again, it helps to reacquaint myself with the local conditions, knowledge …’ He made a promise he would never lie to her again.

She nodded and yawned. ‘Are we going to Saignon after this?’

‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.’ He kissed her cheek and turned off the light, moving quietly towards the door. ‘Hey, Jen?’

‘Mmm?’ she said, sounding
sleepy.

‘I love you more than lavender.’

‘Love you more than Chanel, Dad,’ she yawned.

Luc smiled, closed the door and found Robert sitting on the edge of the bed in his room.

‘Everything all right?’

Robert’s eyes sparkled. ‘I’ve never slept in such fine linen,’ he said, touching the sheets reverently.

Luc’s guilt intensified for different reasons now. He should have come back much earlier
than this. ‘I hope you’ll be comfy.’

‘I don’t know how to repay you,’ he said.

Luc looked at the livid scar on his young friend’s face, wondering what sort of future lay ahead for him. ‘Robert, I am the one who is in your debt. This is nothing. I believe your grandmother would approve of us being together again, though.’

‘I know she would,’ he said softly.

Luc took a step inside and leant against
the wall. ‘Are you all right really about me leaving you with Jenny? Her mother would kill me.’

Robert’s expression turned urgent. ‘I will guard her with my life, Luc. She is … she is like sunshine in my world of winter.’

Luc smiled. Yes, the dreamy boy still lived strongly within the older man. ‘Robert, if you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?’

His companion shrugged.
‘Honest work. Farming.’

‘How about lavender?’

Robert looked up at him, puzzled.

‘Would you like to learn how to grow and keep lavender? How to run a whole farm of lavender? How to distil the oil and help me find buyers?’

‘To be
you
, do you mean?’

Luc nodded. He hadn’t really thought this through but even as he was saying it, it felt right. It seemed so obvious.
‘I can teach you; I’ll
share everything I know.’

Robert blinked in bewilderment. ‘Become a lavender grower in Saignon?’

‘Why not? If I’m going to bring the Bonet fields back to their purple glory, I’m going to need someone I can trust who knows how to farm lavender and who takes a vested interest in the business. You can be my right-hand man in France. The lavender will always need a keeper and I won’t be
around forever. Besides, you come from farming stock – you already have the fundamental knowledge.’ Robert looked stunned. ‘I accept.’

Luc’s spirits took flight.
I did it
, Marie, he cast out silently.
I came back for him
.

‘We’ll talk more when my business today is concluded. Don’t say anything to Jenny yet. This is between us, all right?’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you for taking care of her.
I’ll be gone when you both wake.’ He handed Robert some money. ‘Eat with it,’ he insisted, pinching his own biceps.

‘I will keep her safe,’ Robert promised again.

Last, Luc pulled an envelope from his pocket. ‘Would you do me one other special favour, please?’ He held out the envelope. ‘Would you keep this for me?’

Robert stood and took it, glancing at it. ‘This is addressed to Jenny.’ He frowned,
looking back at Luc.

He nodded. ‘Just hold it. Would you do that? Do not give it to her … unless …’ He didn’t finish.

‘Unless what?’

‘Don’t give it to her,’ Luc said. ‘Just keep it for me.’

‘Luc, I’m not five years old anymore. I know you’re not going to meet a lavender farmer in the early hours of the
morning in winter. But I’ve figured that whatever it is, it’s private and important. But now
I get the feeling it’s dangerous.’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he passed off as he handed over the letter. ‘It’s just a silly superstitious thing. Hold it for me.’

Robert nodded, frowning, then his eyes lit fiercely. ‘All right. But I will not give it to her ever, so you had better come back.’ He paused. ‘I hope he’s worth it to you.’

Their gazes locked; Luc was in shock and knew he wasn’t hiding
it. How could Robert know?

‘Lisette wasn’t the only person you mumbled about during your fever,’ he muttered.

Nothing more needed to be said. Luc hugged him briefly. ‘I will see you tomorrow.’

He closed Robert’s door. What was he doing? Leaving his child, going off on this mad trip of revenge and what if something happened to him? It was possible he could be injured, lost – killed, even. Who would
look after her then? How would Jenny survive with both parents gone? But he was in too deep now; there was too much history driving this and he was close enough to von Schleigel that an acid taste was already souring his mouth at the notion of meeting his nemesis again.

It’s the past – let it go!

He could hear Lisette’s voice in his head. She was never one for looking back; could never
be accused of being overly sentimental. He was the romantic. He was the emotional one who made decisions from the heart.

The inner voice, his conscience, had the final word.
Finish it! Let the Bonets rest in peace
.

Luc pushed away from the wall that he’d slid down to sit against and contemplate his life. He felt numb, having
sat there for so long without realising how time was ticking
by him. He tiptoed back inside their room to see that his daughter was soundly asleep. He kissed her tenderly, watched her stir but not wake and then he picked up the few items he’d hidden in the wardrobe and tiptoed from the upstairs apartment and out into the crispy cold night, walking as quietly as he could over the cobbles to where he’d parked their rental car.

L’Isle sur la Sorgue
looked deserted. Bars were closed and he shared the street only with a drunk who weaved a crooked path, murmuring softly to himself. It was near enough to silent in the town. He checked his watch – shocked to discover that it was nearing three a.m. He shivered, remembering a time in 1943 when the streets were deserted because of the Nazi curfew and bars stayed open only for Germans … and the French
starved while petty bureaucrats like von Schleigel held monstrous power over tiny communities.