Perfect Freedom (15 page)

“But, monsieur, you don't know? Maître Barbetin is dead.”

“Oh?” Stuart tried to remember when he had last encountered the notary. It might have been a year ago. “Is there a notary here who has taken his place?”

“
Mais bien sûr, monsieur
. Maître Payrout.”

“Are Maître Barbetin's dossiers now in the hands of Maître Payrout?”

“Of course. Maître Payrout has taken over the succession of Maître Barbetin.”

“Good,” Stuart said. “Then I'll see Maître Payrout.”

“Do you have an appointment, monsieur?”

“But, mademoiselle, how could I have an appointment?”

“Oh yes. Of course,” the young woman agreed imperturbably. “Who shall I say?”

Stuart gave his name and she left him. He sat on a hard little modern chair and picked at the calluses on his palm. In a moment she returned and held open the door.

Stuart entered a freshly painted room filled with new filing cabinets and conventional office furniture. All of Maître Barbetin's dusty clutter had been swept away. A slim man of more than medium height stood behind the desk with his back turned to Stuart, looking through the drawer of a file.

“Bonjour, Monsieur le Maître,”
Stuart said with an affable smile. The notary turned and looked at him coolly and gestured to a chair. He watched while Stuart seated himself and then turned back to his files. Stuart's smile vanished. He felt suddenly big and awkward. He crossed his legs and saw the frayed cuff of his trousers and put down his feet squarely in front of him so that they would be hidden by the desk. Never before in his dealings with the people here had he been conscious of his clothes. Maître Payrout turned with a familiar folder in his hand and sat at his desk.

“What was it you wished to see me about?” he asked, resting his cheek against his hand with languid superiority. Stuart remained silent. I'll be damned if I'll be turned on and off like a spigot, he thought. I'll speak when you're ready to look at me. Maître Payrout lifted dark cool eyes toward him.

“I expected to find Maître Barbetin,” Stuart said. “It has to do with the boundary between my place and the Ladouceur place.”

“The Plain of the Saracens.” The notary opened the folder. “The area lying between the sea and the Ladouceur place is known locally as the Plain of the Saracens. In the act of sale Maître Barbetin drew up for you he attributed it to the Giraudon holdings.”

“That's right. It's part of the land I bought.”

“Ah, about that I know nothing. I'm handling the affairs of M. Ladouceur also. In such cases a notary is not in a position to judge. The documents are here. It is for a court to interpret them.”

“But who has taken over the Ladouceur place? Why was no claim made for twenty years?”

“M. René Ladouceur. Another branch of the family. He comes from a town about thirty kilometers from here. When M. Dunan came to me—”

“M. Dunan?”

“Yes, M. Etienne Dunan. When M. Dunan came to me about buying property, he was particularly interested in the Ladouceur place. I traced the succession to M. René Ladouceur. He had known of it, but as often happens when land has no value, he didn't want to pay the inheritance tax. Now, of course, everything has value here and he has taken possession. He has signed an agreement with M. Dunan. They intend to press the claim to the Plain of the Saracens.”

Stuart looked at his dusty shoes.
I've told Etienne all about your place,
Odette had said. All about the fact that he controlled access to the beaches they were so eager to get their hands on? “On what would they base their action?” Stuart asked numbly.

“In the will of the Widow Ladouceur, Lucienne, dated 1884, there is specific mention of the Plain of the Saracens. That of course proves nothing. I could leave you the Eiffel Tower if it amused me. At the same time, in numerous acts of succession of the Giraudon property, including one dated 1896, boundaries are established which also include the Plain of the Saracens. I haven't the slightest idea what the explanation is.”

Stuart squared his shoulders. “Well, it all sounds pretty vague. I think I'll just wait and see what happens.” His manner was deliberately breezy. He hoped to draw some reaction from the notary that would clarify the situation. Maître Payrout stroked his nose with the tip of one finger.

“As I say, it's not for me to judge. However, you might be well advised to reach some compromise with M. Ladouceur.”

“That's the one thing I'm not going to do.” Stuart rose.

“I'm at your service, of course, if there's anything I can do,” Maître Payrout said impassively. He got up with a compressed economy of movement and conducted Stuart to the door. Stuart found himself regretting the absence of old Maître Barbetin. At least he would have known where he stood with him.

Documents. Proof. The ill-concealed maneuvers of Etienne Dunan. It didn't add up. If there were documents why should Dunan offer to buy? If there weren't any documents what did he hope to accomplish through Odette? Surely nothing would come of it.

Stuart couldn't shake off a sense of foreboding. He needed home, he needed his family. He drove the big car as fast as he dared on the narrow road. When he reached the house he didn't linger outside to do any of the things he might ordinarily have done, but went straight in. Robbie looked up from the sofabed where he was curled up reading as Stuart entered. He waved a greeting to the boy and crossed the room to the sink beside the stove where Helene was peeling chestnuts. He put his hands on her waist.

“It's good to be home,” he said. Helene looked up at him with a smile.

“What was it all about?” she asked.

“I'll tell you but first I want a kiss.” He was tired and a little frightened from the afternoon and he needed reassurance.” Over his shoulder, Helene saw Robbie lift his head slowly from his book and regard them with wide dark eyes. She twisted her body away from Stuart and picked up another chestnut.

“Don't be silly, darling. Tell me what Odette wanted.” The force with which she had torn herself from him was like a slap in the face and for an instant he was stunned. He touched her lightly on the shoulder and withdrew to a chair beside the table and started to tell her about the afternoon. There were times when Robbie's constant presence got on his nerves. In his present mood it would have been a comfort to make love to her. Always having to wait until the day was done and he was sleepy and Robbie had been sent to bed, it was no wonder their physical relationship should have been so drastically curtailed. It's school for you, my boy, he thought as he reported his conversation with the notary.

Her mind fixed on all the unfamiliar talk of the money Stuart might make. Money to send Robbie away? Money to restore Stuart's leisure? No, things were better as they were. She refused to acknowledge the constant effort she was obliged to make to resist him, to sublimate her passion in her devotion to Robbie, but she sensed danger in anything that might ease the burden of his work. She warmly endorsed his stand against the threatened invasion. It was all he wanted to hear from her. So long as they were in accord they would win in the end.

He talked himself into believing that he would hear no more about it, that Odette's offer had been made in good faith, but he couldn't recover his peace of mind. It was almost a relief when a second note arrived from her asking to see him.

His own nerves were partly responsible for the conversation getting off to an unpleasant start. The setting was the same; they were alone again in the bar. This time, she didn't prepare a tray of drinks but came out from behind the bar and locked the door.

“You won't get anywhere by taking me prisoner,” he said with a playful smile.

“I don't want to be interrupted,” she said without looking at him.

“Listen,” he said, “I haven't much time. I suppose it's more about Ladouceur?”

“Yes, I—”

“In that case, I have even less time. It seems to me that Etienne is playing a dirty game.”

“He's offered to buy your land at a fair price,” she said. “There's nothing dirty about that. If you refuse to sell, why shouldn't he be interested in how M. Ladouceur's claim turns out? What's wrong in that?”

“I should think our friendship would mean enough so that you'd persuade him to keep out of it.”

“Our friendship!” Odette cried. That was all it had meant to him. She had expected very little, only some small recognition of a girl's blind love, but he had always remained aloof, playing with her. If he had shared only one defenseless moment with her, she would be defeated now. “Our friendship?” she repeated. “I have a husband. How dare you think I would consider you before him? I will do everything for him that I would once have done for you.”

Stuart's own anger was checked as he realized how much it must be costing her to be caught between two loyalties. “Yes, I understand,” he said placatingly, “but what do you want of me now? I would never ask you to betray somebody you care for.”

“You wouldn't? But you would take money and not be too concerned about where it came from.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means just that—the Widow Muguette!” She laughed harshly. “A child wouldn't have believed such a story. Where do you think I got that money? I got it from a married man who made the mistake of writing me letters. I'm ready to do as much for Etienne. I warn you you'll be sorry if you refuse his offer.”

So that was it. Stuart shook his head. “Is it possible you mean what I think you mean?” he asked quietly. “Is it blackmail you're suggesting?”

“I don't care what you call it.”

“But I didn't make the mistake of writing any letters.”

“Your wife will believe me. I can tell her enough in five minutes so she'll believe me.”

Stuart was too shocked to protect himself. Afterward he realized he had only to tell her that Helene knew all about it to take all the wind out of her sails. “You're talking like this because you're angry,” he said, “but I know you're not capable of doing such a thing.” He reached out and gave her arm a little shake as if to coax her into being herself, but she shook him off.

“I'm capable of many things you know nothing about,” she cried. “The man I went to had plenty of money. I did him no harm. And I made it possible for you to have what you wanted most in life. Now Etienne has his chance to make his fortune and he's willing to pay you well. There's nothing wicked about that.”

Stuart turned away from her with a sigh. Had he completely misjudged her? Had she always been a tough little schemer? He was so hurt at her turning on him that he kept forgetting the threat she represented. Her voice recalled him to the business at hand.

“Shall we discuss the details?” she suggested.

“Do you really want me to believe you'd go to Helene?”

“You're making a great mistake if you don't believe it.”

“And you think you're doing nothing wrong even though I tell you I don't want to sell? What if I sold the whole place and made my fortune, too? You know I don't care about being rich. I like the way I live now. You know how grateful I am to you. Don't you think it's wrong to try to destroy the good you've done?”

“Most people are happy enough to make money,” she replied. “Maybe you'd better stop trying to be so different. It doesn't get you anywhere. I've found that out.” Her tone was bitterly vindictive and he knew that there was nothing more he could say.

“I suppose eventually you'll make me angry, but for the moment I'm too surprised by you to feel anything else. Now I think you'd better unlock the door and let me go.” She glanced up at him, as he lounged against the bar, and in spite of his shabby clothes his look of unattainable superiority made her courage falter.

“You might as well face it,” she said defiantly. “Either you accept Etienne's offer or I go to your wife and you'll lose the place anyway. Do as you like.”

“Let me out of here.” His voice was filled with such violence that she fumbled with the key and it took her a second to get the door open. He didn't move until she had done so and then he strode past her without a word or a glance. He went to the car and started home with a pounding heart. How could he have been so wrong about her? A blackmailer! She had blackmailed to help him. Everything he had done with the money seemed tainted in the shock of the discovery.

He gripped the wheel and felt pain all through his body as if he'd been poisoned. He rolled through the familiar country without seeing it but aware that it was threatened, just as he was threatened by a danger to which he could no longer close his eyes.

All the while, there was the other aspect of the situation clamoring for his attention. What was he to do? Tell Helene? The alternative was to give in and let Etienne have his way, but Helene had made it clear that she thought he should hold out. The place was hers as much as his. He would have to take his medicine. They could face this together. The affair with Odette had had no real importance and had been over for years. He reminded himself how Helene had developed and he was able to hope she wouldn't take the matter as seriously as he did.

Dinner was difficult. Robbie really was a nuisance sometimes. Even after he had gone to bed and they were alone, they would have to whisper. Several times during the evening Helene asked if he was worried about anything and each time he had to lie. When Robbie finally kissed them both goodnight and left, Stuart stood in front of the dying fire and waited while Helene prepared for bed.

“There
is
something I have to tell you,” he said in a low voice when she approached. She glanced at him in surprise and began to gather up the cushions.

“Well, come to bed,” she said. “It'll be warmer.”