Past Imperfect (43 page)

'I could ask you the same question,' Dominic said coldly. Dominic noted the registration and asked Entienne for the car's papers.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that when I looked both ways from my turning, the road was clear. And then you came out suddenly from nowhere and hit me!'

'But that wasn't how it happened at all. It was all clear ahead of me - then suddenly you shot out. I didn't even see you, only heard the thud as you hit me.'

Dominic grimaced. 'Well - you'll get the opportunity of putting your side across in court. Papers,
please!
'

Entienne's face glowed red. 'This is outrageous! You know full well that's not how it happened,' Entienne spluttered. But his tone was now more hesitant and uncertain.

'I know nothing of the sort. Only that you're a menace on the roads and I could have been killed. I'm laying charges for dangerous driving. And if I don't have your papers in my hand in thirty seconds, I'll add obstruction of justice to the charge sheet!'

Entienne scampered back to the car and dug them out of the glove compartment. Suddenly he was not on familiar territory, not in control. Unprotected by his office walls, bank files, his pipe and glasses, he was vulnerable. A little flustered boy. Dominic was enjoying every minute. He leant over menacingly as Entienne passed the papers out.

Dominic noted the details and then asked Entienne's full name and address. Entienne enunciated the last words between clenched teeth, then said. 'I know why you're doing this, and you won't get away with it. I have a witness.'

Dominic looked across to the girl, now dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, trying not to smudge more eye makeup. 'Oh yes, I forgot. Your
witness
. Of course. Name and address please?'

The girl and Entienne exchanged glances. Entienne's face was now bright puce. 'Look - does she really need to be involved in all this?'

'But she's your witness, Monsieur Entienne. She's the one person who can stand up in court and support your account of the accident. Why on earth wouldn't you want her to be involved?' Dominic smiled.

'It's awkward, that's all.' Entienne's hands fumbled in his lap. 'If she didn't appear in court on my behalf, what would happen?'

'I would give my account, you'd give yours. Because I'm an officer of the law, my account would no doubt stand and you'd be charged with dangerous driving and vehicular assault. Three year driving ban and possibly an additional three to six months jail term - depends on the judge. I'm not sure how the bank would view such a charge.' Dominic watched each word strike home. Mallets of realization and then finally acceptance as Entienne's head slumped. In the same way that Entienne's words had beaten Monique into submission just days before. Retribution at its most divine. 'Oh, and I forgot one thing. Even though your
friend
wouldn't be speaking on your behalf as a witness, I'd still need to take her details. Along with the time and the hotel you were driving away from. Essential background for the hearing. I daresay some local reporter could also be arranged to cover the court case. So, Mademoiselle - your details please?'

Entienne slowly shook his head, his voice low and dejected. 'I don't think that will be necessary.' His eyes lifted up only fleetingly. 'Can we come to some other arrangement? I'm sure having gone to all this trouble, you have something in mind.'

Dominic looked sharply at Entienne. 'Are we talking about bending the rules now, Monsieur Entienne. The very same rules which you told me just the other day in your bank couldn't be bent?'

'Yes, yes. We are.' Total defeat.

'Well, I suppose we could have a meeting later this afternoon in your office to discuss the relative rules of our two professions. I will still need to take all the girl's details. But if we reach agreement, my file won't be going anywhere. And I'm sure, Monsieur Entienne, you have a similar file.'

Entienne nodded without looking up. They arranged to meet at four-thirty.

Dominic let them drive off first, and on the way back to Bauriac on his solex he ignored the occasional stares from passing cars - curious why the gendarme was smiling with such a badly bloodied nose.

The new loan schedule was approved within ten days. Dominic even managed to tweak the final conditions to allow five years on the back money and get the penalty interest struck off. Entienne totally erased the
judiciaire
period; it was as if the file had never gone there.

They celebrated with a bottle of champagne at Louis'. Dominic had made light of it when he told Monique, mentioned only that Entienne had a small skeleton in his closet which he used to advantage. But as the drink flowed, Louis couldn't resist telling the full story.

Monique looked horrified at Louis' dramatic account of Dominic spinning over Entienne's car bonnet. 'You shouldn't have, Dominic. You could have been seriously hurt.' He basked momentarily in the glory as she gripped his arm and kissed him. The third in as many weeks.

Croignon moved in a few days later, the day before taken up with moving suitcases of clothes and personal items between their homes, with Louis helping out with his van.

When they came to the room above the garage with Christian's clothes and toys piled on the bed, she looked on awkwardly. 'Do you mind if I take them to your place, put them in one of the rooms.'

'No, not at all. There's three bedrooms. It's up to you how you use them.' Dominic was more perplexed by the fact that two years had passed and she was still clinging to the memory. And not just one or two personal items, the room had been left as practically a shrine. He also hadn't realized till that moment that the room he would be occupying temporarily had previously been Christian's.

Two weeks later, Monique invited him over to dinner. Symbols of two cultures: lamb and aubergine cassoulet with cous-cous. He brought a bottle of Chateauneuf red and a Pinocchio colouring book for Clarisse. As things mellowed over dinner, she mentioned that she still felt guilty about not paying him any rent the first year and wanted to make a concession by inviting him over to dinner once every week. It would also, she pointed out, compensate for the fact that his own cooking arrangements were far from ideal, having to fit in for those first months around the Croignons. It was the least she could do.

He initially shrugged off the need for any return gesture, but she was insistent and, besides, it was an opportunity to see her regularly. He accepted with gracious reluctance.

The dinners were every Friday night or the first free weekend night if he had Friday night duty. It was difficult to mark the exact time when their friendship transformed first to strong affection, then finally to love. For him, it was probably much earlier than her.

At first it was just small signs. A look in her eyes, a smile, light kisses of thanks on his cheek for the wine or presents he brought. Even when her eyes seemed to openly invite him, he could see the hurt and pain beneath, and he held back. Felt suddenly fearful that he might be taking advantage, was reminded how damaged and frail she might still be.

Even the night when they first made love, five months after the regular dinners started, couldn't be taken as the main point of transition in their relationship. She'd had more to drink than normal that night, was more affectionate. After the meal, over coffee and brandy when Clarisse had gone to bed, she sat on his lap and kissed him, said that she'd like to show him what she'd done to his room.

She led him upstairs and, before opening his door, asked him to close his eyes and wait a second. He opened his eyes to the soft glow of five night lights burning. Their flickering picked out a flokati rug on the floor and ikat fabric draped on the wall above the bed as his eyes adjusted. She kissed him and they tumbled onto the bed, his mumbled 'It's beautiful' quickly lost.

She broke off only to ask him to close his eyes again - and when she prompted him to open them, she was standing at the foot of the bed naked, mocha and cream skin beneath the soft candlelight. She leant across and started taking off his clothes, planting soft butterfly kisses on his skin - then finally rolled her body on top of his. Her body slithered easily against him, glistening with the scented oil she'd applied, a slow and sensuous movement until he was fully aroused.

Their lovemaking was slow and gentle at first, gradually becoming more urgent. Her eyes were deep and soulful, and he traced their contour, the gentle almond slant at their corner, running the same finger slowly down her cheek and her neck. But there was something else in her eyes beyond the joy and abandon, a faint flicker of ghosts from the past that seemed to be holding her back - that the sudden urgency of her frenzy was as much to exorcize herself of them as to lose herself in joyous oblivion. A race between the two.

And as his own climax came, his head lolling breathlessly to one side, the image of the night lights and the soft tears of ecstasy on her cheeks reminded him again of the hospital. Of her long nightly vigils praying that Christian might live.

Some look in his eye, or perhaps the new tension she felt in his body - made her roll away suddenly. She too stared thoughtfully at the night-lights, one finger at her lips in contemplation. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured.

Later that night back with the Croignons in Christian's old room, the wind rose steadily. Dominic could hear it rustling through the trees and the field at the back of the house. He thought of the day that they were down by the river and the wind was high, the gendarmes placed like markers in the field. Uncomfortable, ghostly reminders; it took him a while to get to sleep.

For the next three weeks, Monique came up with an excuse for each of their regular dinner dates. On the fourth, she phoned and said that she wanted him to come over, but that it should be with them just as good friends, as it was before. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done what I did that night. I wasn't ready - and it wasn't fair on you. I'd perfectly understand if you didn't want to see me again.'

He came over. It was a lesson that the ghosts from her past would sometimes stand between them; and perhaps if he'd read the signals deeply, he'd have realized that that would always be the case. Part of her heart, her soul, would forever be buried with Christian and Jean-Luc.

It was another three months before they became lovers again. Monique promised that this time she wouldn't leave his bed. But over the coming months, as spring arrived, there would still be times when she felt she just couldn't. She would suddenly be cocooned again in the past, the ghosts and memories ripping her apart - and she would feel that she had nothing to give to the present, to him and Clarisse.

Dominic was always understanding when those times came, would phone her the next day to see if she was better. Her grey moods usually didn't last long, a few days at most.

As the summer arrived, they took to eating outside at night on the back patio. Monique had also found a babysitter nearby and they started to go out more. He took her to see Lawrence of Arabia and they held hands and kissed in the back row like two teenagers. On her birthday, he took her to a new restaurant in Cannes he'd discovered: Pierre T'être. It was on a narrow lane full of restaurants that meandered gently down to Cannes harbour with small candle-lit tables on each staged terrace. Monique found the atmosphere magical.

It was late summer when he finally proposed. She looked concerned. She reminded him not only that she had a daughter but the scars the past had left on her. Part of her heart might always be dragged back there. Could he live with that?

He said that he could, but deep down he was thinking that she would gradually improve - he had seen marked improvement already in the past months - until finally the ghosts and the pain of her memories faded to insignificance or went completely. And he felt very close to Clarisse; with gifts every few visits and occasional hugs, if he was still some way from becoming a surrogate father, he was at least a favourite uncle.

Monique made him wait two months before she answered; to be sure that any impulsiveness on his part had mellowed. They were married the next February, 1967. Louis was best man and looked comical in a dress suit. The small reception was also held at Louis’, and he had trouble totally escaping from his proprietary role, occasionally barking orders at the waiters. Harrault and Levacher were the only ones present from the gendarmerie.

And Dominic was right, the ghosts from the past did subside - until their first born. A son. Apart from it being an horrific breach birth which could have cost Monique's and the baby's life, Dominic should have read the warnings when she first mentioned during pregnancy that she hoped for a boy.

The second sign that she might see it somehow as a replacement for Christian was when she asked, if it was a boy, if they could call him Yves - Christian's middle name. He began to wish that it was a girl purely to avoid any possible complications. A gain to replace a past loss: a macabre tangle of emotions that could only lead to problems.

But in the end he resigned himself to fate, consoled himself that if it was a boy and somehow managed to bury Monique's reliance on the past - that in an obscure way it might be a godsend.

He didn't know how wrong he would be.

Monique didn't tell him about the dream until two months after the birth. That moments after urging the nurses that she'd like her husband by her side, when she was fully under the anaesthetic and the doctors were fighting to save her life, she'd seen Christian.

In the dream, they were dining at Pierre T'être. Dominic had taken her there the night she'd announced she was pregnant; perhaps that was what had made the connection, he thought. She saw Christian in the distance as she looked up the street. As she left the table and walked towards Christian, the other people and the tables in the street seemed to fade into the background - only the steps and the candlelight from the tables remained prominent. Guide lights marking the path to the solitary figure of Christian ahead, the harbour a misty silhouette far behind her. She'd seen his face clearly, seen the gentle tears in his clear green eyes. As she came closer, she thought she heard him say, 'It's all right... it's all right' - but it was barely a whisper. And in that moment she had reached out to touch him - though their hands never quite connected. She'd awoken then. A nurse was leaning over and telling her that everything was all right. 'You have a little boy.'