Tug of War

Bo

Joe stood up. ‘Well, let’s remember what Uncle Helmut von Moltke said, shall we? “No plan survives contact with the enemy for more than twenty-four hours.” Oh, I say . . . do you have a place where a chap might . . .?’

‘Of course. Let me show you.’

Bo

‘Well – what did you make of the Inspector?’ Joe asked affably when they settled once again in the car.

‘I liked him,’ she said. ‘Good-looking and he has lovely teeth. I wasn’t happy to see you making such a fool of him. Are you always as devious as this?’

‘What on earth can you mean?’

‘Stop it, Joe! Come off it! I’ve a jolly good mind to tell Aunt Lydia that you’ve set me up as some sort of apprentice Mata Hari. She won’t be pleased! “The child doesn’t speak French” indeed! How could you know he was going to make a phone call the minute you had your back turned?’

‘Did he? Well, I never! I wonder who he rang with such urgency?’

‘Two calls actually. You were gone a very long time. The first was to a superior, judging by his respectful tone.’ Her face lit with mischief. ‘He was passing on his first impressions of the English policeman. I understood most of it . . . dur à  cuire . . . would that be flattering? He warned whoever it was at the end of the wire that he should not consider attempting bribery. He judged you unsusceptible to that sort of thing. I was longing to tell him you’re really about as straight as a corkscrew! But, dumbly, I just had to listen to this ill-informed judgement. The second was to the doctor at the mental hospital confirming the appointment and asking him to spruce up the patient and make him look as attractive a proposition as he could.’

‘Spruce him up? Huh! They seem to think I’m going to sign a form or two, pop this man into the back seat and drive him straight back home to Blighty.’

‘Yes, I think so. And if that’s what’s going to happen, you might as well put in for the bribe, don’t you think? I couldn’t hear the doctor’s response but he didn’t seem to like the suggestion. The Inspector was getting exasperated with him.’

‘Always useful to know these things. Look, I think before we check into the hotel, I’ll buy you a hot chocolate. Or a lemonade? Both? There’s a chocolatier over there. And we can pore over the maps and work out my best route to the hospital. I imagine you’d rather stay behind and have a rest? I’ll tell the receptionist to watch out for you and send you up some di

‘Joe?’

‘Absolutely not! A mental institution is no place for a young girl. Don’t even think of it!’

‘Not in the least, Commander! Don’t concern yourself. It is nothing but a delight to welcome such a fresh young presence inside these drab walls. Better than a bunch of flowers!’ The director twinkled gallantly at Dorcas and hurried to draw up a chair for her. ‘And may I assure the young lady that she will witness no scenes of a distressing nature during your visit?’

From the reports, Joe had pictured a dour, earnest and competent clinician in a long white coat. He was surprised and intrigued by the figure who had come himself to the main door of the hospital to greet them. Impeccably dressed in a grey suit and formal stiff collar, Patrice Varimont was short and bustling, radiating energy and good humour. His dark hair was parted precisely in the centre and controlled by a touch of pomade, his cravat was pi

Varimont settled behind the desk in his well-ordered room, rearranged a neat pile of folders and smoothed down one side of his trim moustache and then the other. He glanced at a wall clock. ‘Five o’clock! Perfect timing! We ’ll have English tea.’ And, without a signal given, the door opened to admit an orderly carrying a tray. ‘One more cup please, Eugène.’

Eugène nodded and went off at the double to fetch it.

When the doctor was happy with the parade of crockery and the timing of the brew, he invited Dorcas to officiate and, while she busied herself happily with this familiar task, he launched at once into the case.

‘Before I take you to see the patient, a briefing, I think? Tell me, to save our time, what you already know of our poor unfortunate.’

Joe outlined his knowledge, rather underplaying the extent of it and claiming no acquaintance with the medical aspects of shell-shock. ‘I am here, sir,’ he summarized, ‘to explore the implications of your recent revelations regarding the man’s country of origin. To try to answer the question, “Is he English?” No more than that. If he proves to be such, arrangements will be made to convey him to a suitable establishment over the Cha

‘None that I can discover.’ The doctor stirred uneasily. ‘Look – he’s not a new arrival, you understand. This is not the first hospital he has fetched up at since repatriation. We are just the first ones to interest ourselves in identifying and solving his problems. He has been passed along, shedding, doubtless, any information . . . clues . . . clothing . . . at each move. I’ve attempted to back-track but it’s hopeless. I’ve got as far as an asylum in the Arde

‘It’s a sorry case, Commander, but, as I would guess you know from experience –’ he glanced briefly at Joe’s head wound – ‘not at all unusual.’ After the slightest pause he said confidentially, ‘Can’t help noticing that your surgery was not done by the hands of an expert. Hope you don’t mind my mentioning it. If you would like to have someone unpick that, um, attempt and try again I can put you in touch with a friend in Paris who would rise to the challenge.’

Joe smiled his thanks.

The doctor pressed on. ‘Three hundred and fifty thousand Frenchmen, Commander, were declared missing in combat during the four years of war. Blown to bits, vaporized, buried under tons of earth, some just wandered off quietly perhaps. Leaving behind in limbo countless grieving relatives. And these late releases from prisoner-of-war camps have cruelly led their waiting families to nurse a false hope that one day their loved one will be restored to them. People whose dear ones disappear find it genuinely impossible to believe that they will not come marching through the door at any minute. So much grief, so much yearning, and never an end to it.’