CHAPTER 31
What the hell’s wrong with you?’ demanded Julian Lawrence.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ Hal shouted. ‘What do you mean, what’s wrong with me? Apart from having just buried my father? Apart from that, you mean?’
He slammed the door of the Peugeot shut, too hard, then started to walk towards the steps, yanking off his tie and shoving it into his jacket pocket as he went.
‘Keep your voice down,’ his uncle hissed. ‘We don’t want another scene. There’s been enough of that this evening.’ He locked the car and followed his nephew across the staff car park towards the back entrance to the hotel. ‘What the devil were you playing at? And in front of the whole town.’
From a distance, they looked like a father and son going in to some sort of formal dinner together. Smart, dressed in black jacket and suit, polished shoes. Only the expressions on their faces and Hal’s clenched fists indicated the hatred the two men felt for one another.
‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ Hal shouted. ‘All you care about. Reputation. What people might think.’ He tapped his head. ‘Has the fact that it was your brother – my father – in that box even penetrated your consciousness? I doubt it!’
Lawrence reached out and put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder.
‘Look, Hal,’ in a softer voice. ‘I understand you’re upset. Everybody understands. It’s only natural. But throwing around wild accusations isn’t helping. If anything, it’s making it worse. It’s starting to make people think there is some substance to the allegations.’
Hal tried to shake himself free. His uncle’s grip tightened.
‘The town – the commissariat, the Mairie – everyone’s sympathetic for your loss. And your father was well liked. But if you keep on—’
Hal glared at him. ‘Are you threatening me?’ He jerked his shoulder, shrugging his uncle’s hand away. ‘Are you?’
The shutters came down over Julian Lawrence’s eyes. Gone was the look of compassion, familial concern. In its place, irritation and something else. Contempt.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘For Christ’s sake, pull yourself together. You’re twenty-eight years old, not some spoiled public schoolboy!’
He walked into the hotel.
‘Have a drink, sleep on it,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
Hal strode past him. ‘There’s nothing more to say,’ he said. ‘You know what I think. Nothing you can say or do is going to make me change my mind.’
He veered to the right and headed for the bar. His uncle waited a moment, watching him until the glass door had swung shut between them. Then he walked round to the front desk.
‘Evening, Eloise. Everything fine?’
‘Very quiet tonight.’ She smiled up at him with sympathy. ‘Funerals are always so difficult, no?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘You have no idea,’ he said. He put his hands on the desk between them. ‘Any messages?’
‘Only one,’ she said, handing him a white envelope. ‘But everything went all right in the church, oui?’
He nodded grimly. ‘As well as could be expected in the circumstances.’
He glanced at the handwriting on the envelope. A slow smile broke across his face. It was the information he’d been waiting for about a Visigoth burial chamber discovered in Quillan, which Julian hoped might have some relevance to his excavations at the Domaine de la Cade. The Quillan site was sealed, no inventory had yet been released.
‘What time did this come, Eloise?’
‘At eight o’clock, Monsieur Lawrence. Delivered by hand.’
He drummed his fingers on the counter in a tattoo. ‘Excellent. Thank you, Eloise. Have a good evening now. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.’
‘D’accord,’ she smiled, but he had already turned away.
