In the centre of the camp was a large open space where hundreds of men with shaven heads were working the dust-dry ground, each with a pickaxe or a shovel. Most were stripped to the waist, shoulders red in the fierce sun. All around the periphery, the same sullen gardes mobiles and police flicking at their boots with their leather crops. The prisoners worked in silence.
Lucie was chattering to Captain Authié, expending her energy on being charming. She wasn’t talking about Max, but rather asking Authié about himself. What was his position, what had he done before the war? Authié listened and responded pleasantly enough. Sandrine didn’t know if it was an act or if Lucie did trust him, despite everything, but she felt her nails digging into her palms. She was terrified Lucie might let out where they had come from, even though she had stressed and stressed again the importance of being discreet. She prayed she wouldn’t get carried away and say too much.
‘It sounds quite a journey,’ Authié was saying. ‘I hope this fiancé of yours appreciates the effort you have gone to on his behalf.’
‘He will,’ said Lucie. ‘And he’ll be grateful for your help.’
They stopped at a tidy brick structure with two windows either side of the door, clearly an administrative building. The two guards stood to attention. The driver opened the door for Authié and followed him into the building, leaving Lucie and Sandrine sitting in the back of the car.
‘What an extraordinary piece of luck,’ Lucie said.
‘It might be,’ Sandrine said in a low voice, ‘but be careful. I don’t believe for a moment that Max is the reason Captain Authié is here.’
‘Neither do I,’ Lucie said, ‘but it’s the best piece of luck all the same.’
They continued to wait. The door of the office remained closed. The air rang with the sound of pickaxes striking the stony and parched land, the oppressive huts stretching out as far as she could see, and everywhere the endless barbed wire, three layers thick, with trenches in between, furrows of dried brown dirt. Hell on earth was how Raoul had described the camps at Rivesaltes and Argelès. Until now, Sandrine had thought he was exaggerating.
‘I need some air,’ she said, opening the door and getting out of the car.
She stood beside the Citroën, looking around. Behind the administrative block stood a patient, silent line of men with luggage, blankets and coats, the prisoners from the train, she realised. Despite the ferocious sun, Sandrine wrapped her arms around herself, to protect herself from the chill seeping into her bones.
Lucie also got out of the car. She was very pale again and Sandrine hoped she wasn’t going to be sick. Finally, when Sandrine had started to give up on anything happening, the door opened and a soldier beckoned them inside.
‘This is it,’ Lucie whispered. Sandrine squeezed her hand, but didn’t answer.
They followed him up the steps and into a bare office with a wooden desk, two metal filing cabinets and three chairs. Authié was sitting in one, though he got up as the girls entered. On the far side of the desk, a heavy-set man in uniform remained in his seat. On the wall behind him was a large paper map of the camp, the various sections marked in different-coloured ink.
‘I’ve been explaining your situation to the Commandant,’ Authié said, ‘and although it is irregular – you shouldn’t be here at all – he has kindly agreed to make an exception on this occasion. He will allow you, Mademoiselle Ménard, to see Blum for five minutes. They are going to fetch him now.’
Lucie’s blue eyes shone with gratitude. ‘Captain Authié, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.’
‘It is not me you should be thanking,’ Authié said, smiling at the Commandant. ‘It is under the condition that I sit in on the interview. I hope that will not be too uncomfortable for you.’
‘If the Commandant thinks it necessary,’ Lucie replied, ‘then of course you must.’
‘Standard practice,’ the Commandant said. ‘In these “exceptional” circumstances Captain Authié has mentioned.’
The telephone rang. The Commandant stretched forward. ‘Yes?’ He nodded. ‘Yes, good.’ He dropped the receiver back in its cradle. ‘Blum is here. Next door.’
‘Thank you,’ Authié said, standing up. ‘Mademoiselle Vidal, if you might be so good as to wait in the car. We don’t wish to cause the Commandant any more inconvenience than is strictly necessary.’
There was a knock on the door and a police officer came into the room and saluted.
The Commandant pushed himself out of his chair. ‘Over to you, Authié. Five minutes, no more.’
‘Mademoiselle Ménard?’ Authié said, opening the door for Lucie to go through.
Lucie looked vulnerable. Sandrine smiled at her, trying to give her courage, watching until she was out of sight. Then, she went back outside, as she’d been asked to do.
Certain she would go mad if she had to wait in the confined atmosphere of the car – there was something claustrophobic about the smell of the overheated leather and the lingering scent of old tobacco – she stood beside the open door.
The driver was half leaning, half sitting on the bonnet. He pulled a cigarette from a packet in his pocket. Sandrine heard the scratch of the match, then a sigh as he exhaled. A white trail of smoke drifted in her direction.
Although she was worried about how Lucie might be holding up, Sandrine was grateful for time to marshal her thoughts. Monsieur Baillard’s plan was to set a rumour running, then for her to talk about the forged Codex at Antoine’s funeral. His reasoning was that if Antoine’s murderers weren’t in Tarascon already, they were likely to turn up for the funeral. Authié certainly – the man Raoul knew as Leo Coursan – as well as others. If there were others. Monsieur Baillard clearly believed that at least two rival groups were seeking the Codex.
Now here, at Le Vernet, was an unexpected opportunity to set her part of the plan in motion four days early. Sandrine frowned. If Raoul and Monsieur Baillard had hidden the forgery already, as planned – and she could get a message to them to let them know to be on their guard immediately – then all would be well.
But if there had been a hitch? She knew, via Geneviève, that Eloise had delivered Raoul safely to the rendezvous. But what if Monsieur Baillard hadn’t arrived? Or if the site they’d chosen turned out not to be suitable after all?
Sandrine glanced towards the gatehouse. Did she really have a choice, though? Authié was going to ask her questions, she couldn’t avoid that. If she appeared to be ignorant of the Codex now, yet full of information by Wednesday, the whole plan would look suspicious and start to fall to pieces.
Wishing Marianne was here to advise her, Sandrine stood by the car, trying to work out what she should do. She also wondered why Authié had really come to Le Vernet in the first place. And what, exactly, was his job?
The driver lit a second cigarette, this time offering the packet to her. Sandrine shook her head. The echo of metal striking the unforgiving earth continued to reverberate around the camp. The sun continued blasting down upon the bare heads of the prisoners. Suddenly the door flew open and a young officer she’d not seen before appeared on the steps of the gatehouse.
‘Captain Authié wants you, Mademoiselle Vidal,’ he called. ‘There’s been an incident. Come quickly.’
Sandrine’s stomach lurched. ‘What’s happened? Where’s Mademoiselle Ménard, is she all right?’
She blinked, accustoming her eyes to the gloom after the brightness of the day outside, then followed the guard down a corridor to a small interview room. Lucie was sitting on a chair in the centre of the room, holding a handkerchief to her face. Her blue and white dress was stained down the front with splashes of blood.
‘Oh God,’ said Sandrine, crouching beside her. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s nothing. I’m all right.’
Sandrine turned on the guard. ‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘Where’s Captain Authié? Where’s Max?’
The young officer looked embarrassed, but didn’t answer. Sandrine turned back to Lucie.
‘Tell me what happened,’ she repeated, dropping her voice. ‘Did you see Max?’
Lucie nodded. ‘They’ve taken him back.’
‘Is he all right?’
A wail came from behind the handkerchief. ‘I hardly recognised him, he’s so thin, and his glasses – they won’t let him have his glasses – and I, well I just lost my head.’
Sandrine put her hand on Lucie’s leg. ‘I don’t understand. Where is Captain Authié?’
‘He’s so thin, so pale. His eyes are hollow.’ She stopped. ‘He couldn’t believe it, though, Sandrine. He couldn’t believe I’d come. His face, when he saw it was me, I . . .’ She broke off. ‘I know you don’t like him, Sandrine, but Captain Authié was pretty decent. He was called away, or pretended to be, and left us on our own for a while.’
‘So did you tell him?’ Sandrine said quietly. ‘Did you manage to tell him your news?’
For a moment a smile lit Lucie’s face. ‘You should have seen him, Sandrine, when he understood. He was so happy.’ The smile began to fade. ‘Happy at first, then . . .’
‘How did this happen?’ asked Sandrine, pointing at the handkerchief.
‘Stupid. I was stupid,’ said Lucie. ‘When the guard came back to take Max away, I’m afraid I flew at him. Tried to stop them.’
‘The guard hit you?’ said Sandrine in disbelief.
‘No, he pushed me, I lost my footing. Banged into the door.’
‘Oh Lucie.’ Sandrine looked towards the open door. ‘And where’s Captain Authié now?’
‘Trying to smooth things over with the Commandant.’ Lucie shook her head. A single drop of blood dripped from her nose on to her lap, a starburst on the skirt of her dress. Sandrine saw her shoulders slump a little more. ‘I’ve made things worse for Max, haven’t I?’
She squeezed Lucie’s arm. ‘I’m sure you haven’t.’
‘What do you think will happen now?’
The sound of a siren suddenly split the air, making both girls jump.
‘What’s that?’ Sandrine said, glancing at the guard.
‘Roll call. Four times a day. Make sure everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.’
‘Where else are they likely to be?’ Sandrine muttered, then broke off at the sound of Authié’s voice.
‘Mademoiselle Vidal, if I may have a moment of your time.’
To her surprise, he took her elbow and steered her into the corridor.
‘Your friend’s behaviour was remarkably ill judged . . .’ he said.
‘I appreciate that,’ Sandrine began.
He kept talking over her. ‘. . . and it certainly won’t help Monsieur Blum. The Commandant has absolute power here, do you understand? He only allowed Mademoiselle Ménard to see her fiancé – although I gather there is some doubt about her status – as a personal favour to me. He had no obligation to do so.’
‘Lucie is aware of that,’ Sandrine said. ‘She was upset, but deeply regrets causing you personal embarrassment.’
‘Does she?’
For a moment, they held one another’s gaze. Sandrine forced herself not to look away. He was dangerous, she knew that. But, for whatever reason, he had helped. Sandrine felt the full force of his character, realising how Raoul had once been prepared to follow him and why Lucie had wanted to put her trust in him.
‘What can we do to alleviate the situation, Captain Authié?’
‘I have dealt with it,’ he replied.
‘Will it make things worse for Monsieur Blum?’
‘I regret that is not something over which I have any influence.’
Again, for a moment, Sandrine thought she saw the mask slip. Something in his voice suggested that he felt the injustice of what was happening here in the camp. An awareness of the barbarity of the place.
‘Most of these men here,’ she said, ‘have they even done anything wrong?’
Authié’s expression altered. Sandrine willed him to say something, to speak beyond his position or responsibilities or the chill air of the corridor, but he did not.
‘Shall we?’ he said.
Sandrine helped Lucie to her feet, then walked down the corridor and out down the steps.
In silence, they got into the car. Authié sat with his driver in the front, a different man in a lieutenant’s uniform. Sandrine and Lucie sat close together in the back.
As they drove through the camp to the gate, Sandrine saw rows of prisoners gathering under the burning sun, men as thin as sticks, standing and looking straight ahead. The guards’ voices were harsh as they shouted the roll call.
She couldn’t help herself twisting round as they pulled out of the gate and on to the road to the village, watching the camp get smaller and smaller behind her. Then they turned the bend, and Le Vernet disappeared from view.