Lucie looked utterly dazed. Sandrine sat back on the bench seat and squeezed her hand.
‘Are you all right?’ she mouthed.
‘Not so bad,’ Lucie said.
‘I regret I am not returning to Carcassonne,’ Authié said, turning round from the front. ‘Assuming that’s where you have come from?’
Sandrine felt relief wash through her. ‘We’ll be fine,’ she said, ducking the question. ‘If you could drop us in the village, we’ll make our own way from there.’
Lucie had finished her running repairs to her face, lipstick and a dab of powder, and was now smoking.
‘You came to Le Vernet by train?’
Sandrine met his eye. ‘We did, yes.’
‘From Carcassonne?’
‘I told Captain Authié you had been staying out of town,’ Lucie said quickly.
‘Surely not here in Le Vernet?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said, desperately trying to decide what to say for the best.
In the mirror, she saw he was staring at her.
‘Where have you been, Mademoiselle Vidal? I have called on you at home in Carcassonne several times in the past week without finding you at home.’
‘I’ve been in Tarascon,’ she said, unable to think of anything better.
His eyebrows went up. ‘A charming place, but not somewhere I would imagine could hold many attractions. The sort of place which attracts partisans and those determined to cause trouble.’
‘Really, I didn’t know that,’ she said. ‘It seems pleasant.’
‘However, now I have found you,’ he continued, ‘I might take the opportunity of asking a few questions. You don’t object, I assume?’
‘No, no of course I don’t,’ she said.
Her eyes slid to Authié’s driver, who was clearly following every word. She frowned. There was something familiar about him, though she couldn’t think where they might have met.
‘. . . in your own words, Mademoiselle Vidal, if you would,’ Authié was saying.
Sandrine forced her attention back to him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Monday the thirteenth of July,’ he said in a level voice. ‘You were attacked at the river in Carcassonne. Near Païchérou.’
Sandrine’s mouth was dry. She glanced at Lucie. Hoping her friend hadn’t given Authié more information than she’d owned up to.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I went to the police station. Someone took my statement.’
‘It’s always better to hear it in your own words, Mademoiselle Vidal,’ he said.
For the next few minutes, the questions went back and forwards. Polite and courteous, there was nonetheless an undercurrent to everything Authié asked, and Sandrine was exhausted by the effort of saying enough, but not too much. By the effort of working out how to slip into the conversation the information Monsieur Baillard wanted shared.
‘He said nothing to you, the man you helped?’
‘Nothing that made any sense,’ she said, keeping her voice as casual as possible. ‘I mean, he rambled on and on, but it was all nonsense. I didn’t pay much attention.’
‘Try to recollect, Mademoiselle Vidal,’ said Authié. ‘What kind of things?’
Authié turned round in his seat. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one first to Lucie, who accepted, then to Sandrine. She shook her head. The moment had come.
‘Something about a book, I think it was – though that wasn’t the word he used.’ She pretended to think. ‘Codex, that was it. Yes, something about finding it and how it was valuable, very valuable.’
‘Did this man say he had seen this Codex?’
Authié’s voice was still calm, controlled, but Sandrine could hear the keen interrogation behind the words.
‘I think so, yes. He said it was hidden and it was safe, but I didn’t take much notice. I was more concerned about finding help. I was rather scared, to tell you the truth.’
‘Did he mention a key?’
‘A key?’ she blurted the word out. ‘No.’
‘Or a particular place?’
‘Something to do with Pyrène,’ she said slowly. ‘The Col de Pyrène, I think it was?’
‘Do you know the place, Mademoiselle Vidal?’
‘No.’
Authié narrowed his eyes. ‘Yet you remember the name?’
‘Only because he said it so many times,’ she said quickly. ‘He kept describing it. A place with a rock that looked as if it was covered with glass, or something like that. But maybe I misunderstood.’ She gave another shrug. ‘He was in such a state, Captain Authié, I’m afraid I wasn’t really paying attention. He’d had some kind of accident, you see. As I said, it all sounded like nonsense.’
Authié fixed her with a long, hard look. Sandrine worried she’d overdone it, made herself seem too gullible or naïve, too incurious. A frisson of fear went down her spine. Her fingers gripped the side of her seat.
‘But then,’ she rushed on, ‘I slipped on the rocks and, like an idiot, banged my head. And in fact the man can’t have been so badly hurt as I thought, because when I came round, he was gone.’
‘You are quite sure – quite sure – you saw no one else at the river?’
Sandrine met his gaze. ‘Quite sure.’
‘You don’t remember someone helping you?’
‘Well, yes. Lucie and Max,’ she said. The nerves were thudding louder and harder in her chest. ‘It was awfully lucky they were there, otherwise I don’t know what would have happened.’
‘Before that,’ he said with a touch of steel in his voice.
‘No,’ she lied.
Lucie took her lead from Sandrine. ‘We looked, but there was nobody there.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid we thought you were making it up, you know.’
‘I know,’ Sandrine said, throwing a grateful smile at Lucie. ‘I must have sounded quite mad.’ She turned back to Authié. ‘I’m sorry not to be of more help.’
He didn’t reply. In the mirror, Sandrine saw him exchange a glance with the driver. The car slowed for a moment. Sandrine’s heart skipped a beat, suddenly anxious that they were going to be left in the middle of nowhere at the side of the road. Then, she realised, that might be better. Now she’d done what she had to do, she was desperate to be out of Authié’s company. She also had to get a message to Monsieur Baillard to let him know the plan was already in motion.
The car idled for a moment at the junction. Authié leant over and talked in an undertone to the driver. Then, instead of turning towards Le Vernet, they instead pulled out on to the main road that led towards Tarascon. A flash of alarm went through her.
‘You were going to drop us at the railway station,’ she said quickly. ‘There is a train due at the end of the afternoon.’
‘It’s such an unreliable line, Mademoiselle Vidal. I am more than happy to take you back to Tarascon.’
‘Tarascon?’
‘You said you were staying there,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ she said, immediately trying to work out how they would be able to get back to Foix where the car was hidden.
‘It’s no trouble. We are going that way anyway,’ he said. A few more seconds of silence fell between them. ‘I wonder, is your presence in Tarascon related in any way to this matter, Mademoiselle Vidal?’
Sandrine muddled her expression. ‘Is there a connection? I am simply accompanying our housekeeper to visit old friends. She’s rather unwell and can’t travel on her own.’
‘Most people don’t choose to travel these days unless necessary.’
‘Marieta isn’t most people,’ she replied, forcing another smile.
Authié’s face was inscrutable. ‘I shall need an address where you’re staying,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ Sandrine said brightly, wondering what the hell she was going to do when they arrived in Tarascon in an hour’s time.
TARASCON
‘We’re here,’ Sandrine whispered. Her stomach was a knot of nerves.
‘Wake up.’
Lucie’s halo of blonde hair bobbed away from the glass. She jumped at the sound of Sandrine’s voice, then quickly sat up straight.
‘Where are you staying, Mademoiselle Vidal?’
Sandrine stared at him, then, at the last moment, remembered the name of a hotel in the town.
‘We’re staying at the Grand Hôtel de la Poste,’ she said, ‘but actually I promised I would meet a friend in the Café Bernadac at the end of the afternoon. Thanks to you, Captain Authié, we’ve made good time. If you could let us out here, we can walk to the centre of town.’
‘You are staying there too, Mademoiselle Ménard?’
Sandrine glanced at her friend, worried that she might give the game away. Lucie gathered her thoughts and said the right thing.
‘I am. Just for tonight.’
‘You are both returning to Carcassonne tomorrow?’
‘I am,’ Lucie lied. ‘I can’t answer for Sandrine.’
The girls exchanged glances when the car didn’t stop. Sandrine leant forward and touched Authié on the shoulder.
‘Really, we can walk from here.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving you in this heat.’
‘If you’re sure,’ she said, struggling to keep the growing anxiety from her voice. ‘It’s in the Place de la Samaritaine.’
‘Do you know it, Laval?’
Sandrine turned cold. Sylvère Laval was the man who’d planted the bomb, who’d set Raoul up. Her eyes shot up and met his in the driving mirror. With a stab of fear, she knew he’d noticed her reaction to his name.
‘You’ve been so kind, Captain Authié,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. Her heart was thumping in her chest. Sandrine told herself to calm down. Everything had gone to plan, if ahead of time. She had to hold her nerve, not give herself away now.
Laval negotiated the narrow streets, then drove into the main square and pulled up outside the shadowed colonnades of Les Halles. Sandrine’s fingers were on the door handle and she was out of the car looking across to the awning of the café on the far side of the square. Behind the buildings, the boucherie and the tabac on the corner, the rise and fall of the Vicdessos and the Pic de Sédour were visible. Castles floating in the sky, she thought.
Authié also got out and looked at the tables outside the café.
‘Do you see your friend, Mademoiselle Vidal?’
Sandrine pretended to look. She shook her head. ‘Not yet, but, as I said, I’m awfully early. You don’t need to wait with us. We’ll be quite all right.’
She saw him hesitate. ‘When will you and your housekeeper be returning to Carcassonne, Mademoiselle Vidal? You didn’t say.’
‘After the weekend,’ she replied. ‘On Monday or Tuesday. It depends on the trains, of course.’ She held out her hand. ‘You’ve been more than kind, Captain Authié.’
He did not take it, but instead turned to Lucie. ‘And you, Mademoiselle Ménard?’
‘I told you,’ she said in a tired voice. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘So you did.’
Sandrine glanced at her. Under her powder, she looked grey and drawn, as if she might faint. There were beads of sweat on her forehead.
‘Come on, Lucie,’ she said softly. ‘Let’s find a seat.’
Still Authié didn’t go. Sandrine could do nothing but sit down at the nearest table and pray that he wouldn’t join them. He stood in front of her, blocking the sun. Then, to her relief, she saw Eloise Saint-Loup on the far side of the square.
‘There she is,’ she said, raising her hand to attract Eloise’s attention. ‘Eloise, over here.’
She saw Eloise take in the little group and immediately change direction and walk towards them. Sandrine leapt up and ran to meet her, talking in a loud, excited voice.
‘Thanks to Captain Authié, we are early to meet you here. I said you wouldn’t expect us yet.’ She turned to him. ‘Again, thank you for driving us back.’
Authié ran his eyes over Eloise. ‘And you are?’
‘Eloise Saint-Loup,’ she replied, meeting his gaze.
Authié glanced at his watch, then nodded to Laval.
‘If I need to talk to you again, Mademoiselle Vidal, I’ll call on you in Carcassonne.’
‘If you think it necessary,’ she said.
Authié gave a cursory bow, then got back into the car. Laval shut the door, then climbed in himself and they left.
Sandrine stood until they’d disappeared around the corner of the square, then she whistled and slumped down on the chair. Her legs were shaking.
‘That was the longest few hours of my life,’ she said.
‘What was that all about?’ Eloise asked. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until Wednesday.’
Sandrine explained what had happened.
‘Which is why it was so lucky you came along when you did,’ she finished. ‘I was dreading Captain Authié would insist on escorting me to the hotel and ask to see the register.’ She sighed. ‘And his driver, Sylvère Laval, do you know him?’
‘I don’t think so, why?’
Sandrine shrugged. ‘I don’t know, he seemed to be looking at you. It’s probably nothing.’ She glanced at Lucie, who was looking more wrung out than ever. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’ve felt better, kid.’
‘It’s not surprising, it really is dreadfully hot,’ Sandrine heard herself saying. ‘You could do with a rest.’ She stopped, then smiled at the realisation she was sounding more like Marianne every day.
‘Our car is in Foix,’ she said to Eloise. ‘But before I think about how to get it back, I have to find Monsieur Baillard and tell him what’s happened. It’s terribly important. It’s all so much earlier than we’d planned.’
‘He’s staying with Inspector Pujol,’ Eloise said. ‘I’ll take you, if you like.’
‘Is anyone else with him?’ Sandrine said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Eloise smiled. ‘No,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Raoul stayed up at the site to keep watch. He’s fine. Everything went like clockwork. My husband’s acting as the messenger between him and Monsieur Baillard.’
Only now did Sandrine know for certain that Raoul had made it to Tarascon without being caught. That he was safe.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
‘He seems nice,’ Eloise said. ‘Mind you, he asked an awful lot of questions.’
Sandrine looked at her. ‘Questions about what?’
Eloise laughed. ‘What do you think? About you, of course.’