The Ghost Who Fed Them Bones (20 page)

“Even though she is dead?”

“The dead can speak, you know,” the Earl assures him impatiently. “Our lot up at the Château never stop,” which is a wild exaggeration.

“So you are under the impression that you have met the ghost of Ml e. Picard, and she, the ghost, has informed you that she has been murdered by her father and buried in a copse outside Montauban, as depicted in the map we found in her father’s car?”

“Exactly.”

“I see.” The Commissaire hesitates. He glances at Capitaine Herbert. He looks down. He is obviously not relishing the prospect of informing the Earl that he is stark raving mad. “Have you any independent evidence of this?”

“When can you start?” demands the Earl, ignoring any such appeal to mundanity.

“We wil have to get approval first,” the Commissaire explains. “That might not be easy. While I obviously believe you …

and then there is the question of the cost. Major digs are expensive. They eat their way through a modest budget in no time.”

“Hang the cost,” explodes the Earl. “I wil foot the whole bil . You just get your men out there.”

“Wel , that wil make life a little easier,” concedes the Commissaire. He is transparently considering how to describe al this to his superior. But if the local nobility insist, and are wil ing to pay the bil , then it may be politic to comply. They haven’t anything to lose after al .

“Leave it with me,” the Commissaire reassures the Earl. “I wil come back to you shortly, and I am convinced that the news wil be positive so long as you are paying.”

“Oh, I am paying al right,” the Earl confirms. “Give me the paperwork and I wil sign it.”

“Indeed we wil ,” the Commissaire concludes. “Please have the kindness to spare me an hour to make the necessary arrangements.”

“One hour it is, then,” confirms the Earl.

“One hour.”

We shake hands and leave. I would give anything to over-hear what wil be said between the Capitaine and the Commissaire next.

In the end, the Earl decided he would stay at the Château, it was so peaceful, so long as he could avoid Peter’s dad, Mihail Romanov.

However, Fiona said she stil wanted to come to Valflaunès.

Mike was almost panic-stricken. “What are you doing?”

“Fiona is going to spend a few days with us.”

“What wil Mum and Dad say?”

“Does it matter?”

“How wil John react?”

“He doesn’t mind.”

“Is that what Fiona said?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know it is true?”

“It doesn’t matter. It is up to her.”

“Mum wil go berserk.”

“There is a plus side.”

“What is that?”

“Sarah is coming too.”

“She is?”

“Yes.”

“She never told me.”

“She never told me, but she is.”

Mike looked at me. “You are mad!”

“Why?”

“How else could you have pul ed it off?” He held his hand out for me to shake it.

That’s brothers for you.

* * *

Sarah and Fiona sat in the back seat of the car as we drove over to Valflaunès. They were both in party mood, as if they had been released from a crippling constraint. It was like they were going on holiday somewhere. They chatted and they laughed, and they virtual y ignored us. It was only when we arrived at the gates that they started to pay attention to their new environment.

“So this is it, is it?” Fiona asked.

“We are here,” I replied.

Fiona said nothing further as the gates eased themselves back against the track verges, nor as Mike drove up the stony roadway towards the house which was stil hidden from view.

“It is wild here,” Fiona remarked.

“It is never touched,” I confirmed.

“I like it,” said Sarah.

“Me too,” Fiona added.

Fiona was suddenly just an easy-going enthusiastic girl. I felt so much for her, even affection, and certainly a strong desire to stroke her bare leg, but she was ful y engaged with Sarah and I wasn’t sure what we should do in front of her.

We rounded the bend to the house. Mum and Dad’s car was already parked there. I don’t know why, but I felt disappointed. I didn’t want them to be back just yet but, there again I could not imagine us being their alone either.

I ran up the steps onto the terrace. Dad was there reading a book. He struggled to his feet from a point below his centre of gravity on the garden chair. “Hel o, Fiona. Hel o, Sarah.”

“Hel o, Mr. Lambert.”

“Come inside.”

Mum was in the kitchen arranging things from their journey. She emerged delightedly to give Sarah and Fiona three kisses each on the cheek, then to hug and kiss us long and longingly.

“How was it?” I asked.

“We had fun,” Mum replied. “Saw everybody … ” She hesitated. “That’s it, real y. We saw everybody and talked and drank and ate a lot.”

“We have been having al kinds of fun here. We are going over to Montauban in the next few days to dig up a dead body. Fiona’s father has cleared the house. I won a bet on which of Alice’s body parts would turn up next in Inspector John’s garden and nobody would pay up … ”

“Would you like some tea?” Mum asked Fiona and Sarah, interrupting me.

“I was tel ing you about what has been going on … ” I protested.

“And very reassuring it was too,” Mum countered.

“I’l listen to your stories about Agay.”

“That’s up to you, Paul, but I real y do not want to hear about bodies being dug up piece by piece, and especial y about you betting on it. That’s disrespectful and negative. I want peace and calm right now, relaxing with Fiona and Sarah. “Shal we go onto the terrace?”

“That would be nice,” said Sarah.

Mum hates al horror stories. She feels that it is disruptive to the healthy state of the universe and not what we are here for, which is to bring serenity to the cosmos. That is why I relish shocking her. I have had al this sanctimonious stuff imposed on me al of my life. I know what she is saying because I see more beyond the immediate world than even she does. She can only occasional y spot ghosts and visiting entities, although she can regularly sense them. I know what supernatural phenomena are al about, and I know that you don’t have to be so solemn about them. After al , a good chunk of them are a pain in the butt. Maybe there is a divine purpose behind it al but, if there is, whoever it is doesn’t seem keen that we should know what it is, so we can safely ignore it until he is more explicit. Why twist your brain with self-torturing speculation? Mum likes tormenting herself in order to examine her anxious insights and smooth them systematical y into tranquil ity. She is a spiritual washer-woman. She extracts the fabric of the world from the drum of her washing machine, creased through with its imperfections and afflictions, and she systematical y irons them flat and folds them away. She doesn’t like real ironing, though. She was brought up with maids to do al that sort of thing.

So I went off to tel Dad about the events up at the Château instead, and he listened politely, not that he was particularly interested either. He has heard quite enough about improbable (to him) entities in his life, and he is bored of endless accounts of things he cannot see. Stil , he was glad that Mike and I had been having a good time there, whatever it was.

I wasn’t there when the sleeping arrangements were organised but Fiona and Sarah decided to sleep together in a double bed downstairs in the main guest room, not that it is particularly impressive. They seemed excited enough by it, though, and, away from the Château, much more inseparable than I had expected. They almost ignored Mike and me, not in an unkind way, but certainly in a dismissive one. Indeed, they simply disappeared and didn’t invite either of us to join them.

From when they returned from their walk, or whatever it was that they did, I started looking for signs that Fiona would spend the night with me but she resolutely refused to betray any indications of intimacy. Sarah, on the other hand, began to show quite a lot of interest in Mike which made Fiona’s behaviour al the more annoying. Their respective attitudes kicked me off into a sulk and I announced that I was off to find Luc and to go into Montpel ier – did anyone want to come with me?

No, not tonight. Luckily Luc was around and we went into the city and we partied until four in the morning, although most of my mind lingered on Fiona throughout the night. We bumped into Natalie and I had a couple of dances with her, for old times’ sake.

I half-hoped that I would find Fiona in my bed or waiting up for me, but I knew deep down that she wouldn’t be doing either – nothing so subservient or inelegant.

The next morning she asked about my night out and listened politely to the answer before announcing that she, Sarah and Mike were dropping back over to the Château to see what was going on. Did I want to come?

“No, thanks.” My lack of explanation was meant to hurt.

Fiona looked at me hard and shrugged her shoulders, and within twenty minutes they had gone.

* * *

When they returned it was with the news that Mihail Romanov was pul ing strings al over the French government to get the dig dug. Evidently he had not been that interested in the story – he has probably buried a few of his enemies himself, and maybe even personal y – but when he heard that the ghost of the victim was directing the police towards her own body, that did get him going. Maybe it worried him. Maybe the supernatural is a yet unconquered world for him. Maybe he just wanted some excitement. Whatever the reason, he was puppeteering with al eight of his hands. The Earl and Countess were highly amused that he knew so many people. For a moment the Earl may even have felt some admiration for him.

Anyway, with political clout and unlimited funds, the dig was organised for the day after tomorrow. Suddenly I was back in the limelight. Without me, nothing much was going to happen. I had Fiona’s attention again. She dragged me off for another walk, this time between us.

Out of eyeshot and earshot of the house she turned on me furiously. “What the fuck are you playing at, Paul?”

“What do you mean?”

She stared at me infuriated.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your behaviour is crap!”

“You are total y ignoring me.”

“What do you expect me to do – hang al over you? I am a married woman, right? We are in public, right? Sarah doesn’t know a thing about us, and she is never going to get the slightest inkling, right? This child, if it comes, is my child, not yours. Mine and John’s, and I suppose Peter’s by extension, but that is al . I like you, Paul. I real y do. Maybe I more than that, but this is not about us. This is dynasty, you know that. It is a different deal entirely. In another world, I sincerely hope that we meet again and that we wil be al owed to be together for as long as we both wish it, but it is not going to happen in this one. We have to accept that. You have to accept it. I have to accept it. We both do it reluctantly, I’m sure, but it is fact.”

She took my hand and played with my fingers, for old times’ sake. “Love me. Be assured that I love you. Know that. But nobody else must suspect it or have any idea of what has happened between us, other than those who already know.” She didn’t even demand my explicit agreement. Obedience was required not solicited. “So, are you excited about the dig?”

she continued.

“I don’t think I am going.”

Fiona turned away with a hiss. “Paul, you are pathetic.”

“I think I am going back to Brussels.”

“Oh great! What a big man you are.”

“What is there for me here?”

“What is there for you here?”

“Yes, what is there for me here?”

“And Alice?”

“She can work through your father.”

“And you are just going to chuck her away?”

“That is what you make me want to do.”

“So it’s al my fault, is it?”

“Yes, at the moment.”

“Paul …. ”

“Yes?” I sulked.

“ …. you are going to do your duty, you are going to show respect to Alice, and you are going to stop acting like a spoilt brat.”

Funnily enough, her command worked. I didn’t feel like being awkward any more. I felt freed in some way. Fiona had that effect on me, which is why she was so painful to be without.

I turned and shuffled away towards the perimeter fence. Fiona caught up with me.

“Paul, I know that this is hard for you. It is hard for me too, although maybe you don’t care about that.”

“I care more that it is hard for me.”

Fiona laughed. “That I can believe. That even could be why I love you far more than I intended to. People who are al wrapped up with themselves are very compulsive.”

I ignored the remark.

“OK,” Fiona suggested quietly, “let’s walk for a while silently together.”

Which is how our relationship was final y laid peaceful y to rest, like a much-anticipated calm, yet sudden, death – as much a contradiction in terms as a contradiction of our wishes. We slipped into the separate dimensions of people who barely know each other, but who have great respect for each other for what we choose no longer to remember.

* * *

The trip to Montauban has become a procession. We seem to have acquired three cars of commissaires and wil be meeting a bunch more on our arrival in Montaubon. Mr. Romanov’s manoeuvring has tipped some big hitters out of their offices and onto the road.

There are six cars in al . I am driving one with the Earl in the passenger seat beside me. Mike is cosying up to Alice in the back. I am stil trying to get my brain around how it works that Alice actual y appears to be sitting there, and Mike is visibly trying to come to grips with Alice being there at al . Poor guy – for once he must feel the weird one.

It wil take about two and a half hours to reach Montauban, and we are travel ing with a visible police escort top and tail.

God knows what that is for.

For the moment, Capitaine Herbert’s car is taking the lead behind the escort. We wil draw up a final plan over lunch as to how to reach Alice’s grave.

“So Alice is convinced she knows exactly where she is?” Mike queries, glancing at where he thinks Alice is. Through my rear view mirror I can see that he is being extremely careful not to squash her, which is quite funny.