Tug of War

He paused to fill his coffee cup.

‘And that’s the easy bit,’ said Charles. He gave Joe a level look. ‘We’re both skirting round mentioning the obvious, aren’t we?’

‘Yes. And it goes right back to the begi

‘There we have it,’ said Charles with relief. ‘I’ve always suspected she hated my cousin – though I had no idea what good grounds she had for that hatred! And now, we’re looking at a woman who’s prepared to move heaven and earth to have this husk of a man brought back here into her life so that she may care for him. She knows how difficult that will be for her and for Georges. It would have been easy to have ignored the appeal in the paper – “Great heavens! What a surprise – doesn’t this man look incredibly like poor dear Clovis who was killed up near Crao

‘I’m bound to say there is a perfectly reasonable motive. She must know (as you say, she’s done some research on this) that the condition of shell-shock, Kriegsneurose or la confusion mentale de la guerre, whatever you want to call it, is not invariably irreversible. She must have considered the possibility of his recovering his memory with a click and a bang one of these days. There are many well-documented incidences. And what happens then? Clovis comes racing, hands down, back to his home to confront his faithless wife and reclaim his long-lost son? She’d lose everything. Would Aline be prepared to take even the slightest risk of this happening?’

‘Certainly not. She would not want that. She would prefer to have him under her control. Here. Not in Reims or anywhere else speaking his mind – should it ever come back to him. But – and I think you’ve seen it, Joe – there’s something else. Something darker.’

‘Yes. I think I have. The patient in Reims is not just a pathetic leftover from the war, he’s Clovis Houdart, the man she hated, the man who would have taken her son from her, the man who stabbed her lover to the heart and killed off her hopes. I’d guess that she’s pi

‘To torture and torment him,’ Charles finished for him. ‘She’s a vindictive woman who’s not happy unless she has someone in her power and if she can’t charm them into submission, she’ll resort to other means. I really believe – and, Joe, I would be only too relieved to hear that you think my suspicions absurd – that she means to have her revenge in her own twisted way. If she were to acquire him, be granted custody, I think I would be sent away back to Provence in short order and, after an almighty row, Georges would flee. With me? Perhaps. Into the army? More likely. He’s still maintaining, by the way, that Thibaud is not his father. And she would be left head to head with that poor, dribbling wreck. I can’t think any further.’ He stumbled to a halt, shaken by his own dark thoughts. ‘You’ll think the worse of me for even entertaining such dreadful suspicions.’

‘No, Charles. My mind has plumbed much the same depths. Look here – you have said to me, lightly and on one or two occasions, that you thought Aline might be “a bit mad”,’ said Joe tentatively.

‘Just a ma

‘I think your fears may not be unfounded,’ said Joe. ‘I agree we could risk terrible consequences if the man – Thibaud – were to be turned over to her.’

‘But, I’d guess the ultimate decision rests with the French authorities, am I right? And they will act without the benefit of witnessing the little scene down in the cellar just now. You begin to see why I would so have liked you to arrive and declare him English! Our problem would have been carted off over the Cha

‘Cooped up?’ Joe’s memory was stirred. ‘“Sometimes the female has to fetch him back . . . and sometimes he’s ripped to shreds by his mate . . .’” he muttered, remembering with horror. With all the assurance of Athena she had told him the truth and had never attempted to conceal her intentions. She had no fear of interference by a foreign policeman, however deep he dug. His enquiries could only lead to the inevitable truth: the patient was her husband, her claim indisputable and she would have him returned to her.

‘Charles! I must return to Reims! At once.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘No, it’s not a rout! Let’s think of it as a strategic withdrawal, shall we? Like the retreat from Mons. We’re going to regroup with Varimont and Bo

‘If you say so. It feels like a defeat to me. And let’s hope the hotel can offer us a billet when we turn up a day earlier than expected. What are we waiting for?’

They were sitting, luggage stowed away, engine ru

‘We’re waiting for Charles-Auguste. He’s bringing me something from the house. And here he comes.’

Charles hurried over and placed a large brown envelope on the back seat. ‘No problems. She’s brooding upstairs in her room. Tell Bo

He turned away and slapped the car on its rump as Joe put it in gear and started off down the drive.

‘Not saying goodbye to Georges then?’ Joe asked.

‘We said our goodbyes in private,’ Dorcas said. ‘I hate all that fussing about round car doors.’

‘How is he bearing up?’

‘Not well. But what would you expect? His main concern is for his mother. She’s suffered a shattering blow today.’

‘I’m not sure I’d waste my sympathy on Aline Houdart,’ Joe commented.

‘What? She comes across the murdered corpse of a man who is either her husband or her lover being uncovered by a foreign policeman who proceeds to hypnotize her into a confession of goodness knows what – of course she deserves sympathy. You’re jolly lucky it was Georges who threw a torch at you – I’d have aimed a little higher.’