Louis described how he had been commissioned into the French army in the mid-1920s. Soon afterwards, he married Emily and she accompanied him when in 1928 he was posted to Indo-China, which was part of the then extensive French colonial empire. They were sent to the relatively remote garrison town of Yen Bai in the north of Vietnam where Emily, a teacher by profession, taught part-time in the small garrison school. She soon became pregnant and rather than having her live in the bleak garrison quarters, Louis rented a pleasant bungalow a couple of miles outside the town. There was no lack of servants to look after them and when their son Maurice was born, he had a devoted baby amah, a Siamese woman named Sukhon.
Unfortunately for the Dumas family, they came to Yen Bai when political trouble was brewing, an upsurge of feeling against the French colonialists. On the tenth of February 1930, about fifty soldiers from the locally-recruited regiment revolted and joined an equal number of nationalist party members in a sudden attack on the French officers and troops.
On the day of the uprising, Captain Dumas was already on duty in the town, his wife being in her school. All officers and men were recalled into the garrison, where they had to organize a defence, then a counter-attack. Unfortunately, in spite of desperate concern for their nine-month-old son at home, they were besieged for most of the day and quite unable to leave to bring him into the safety of the garrison. When the short-lived revolt was crushed, apparently with great ferocity, Louis with a troop of his men, rushed back to his home to find it completely destroyed, along with several other nearby residences.
‘It was burnt to the ground, just a heap of smouldering ashes!’ he said, with a bleak resignation still in his voice, a quarter of a century after the awful event. ‘One of our servants was lying dead nearby, beaten to death as he presumably attempted to escape into the trees. There was no trace of the other three servants, including the amah — nor of our baby son, Maurice!’
There was a sob from the settee as Emily Dumas put a handkerchief to her eyes. Angela laid a compassionate hand on her shoulder. ‘What a terrible thing to have happened,’ she said softly.
Louis nodded. ‘We were naturally utterly distraught,’ he continued, in his rather formal English. ‘Emily was so ill that the doctors soon sent her back to France to live with her parents in Paris. I stayed behind in Yen Bai to make all the enquiries I possibly could, before also being repatriated to France on compassionate grounds.’
‘Was there no better information as to what had actually taken place?’ said Richard, choosing his words carefully. What he really meant was whether any bodies had been recovered from the fire and Dumas understood and appreciated his delicacy.
‘You will appreciate that this was a time of political turmoil, with violent anti-colonial unrest and a hostile, uncooperative population. One other body was found in the ashes, but it was an adult male. The regiment scoured the countryside for miles around, sometimes brutalizing the locals in their anger at the revolt and the loss of French lives, but of the amah and our child, there was no sign. I spent two months contacting every organization I could — embassies, military and the Red Cross, all without avail. There was no news nor sighting of either Maurice or Sukhon. Then I was sent home and although I never ceased to seek information, nothing was ever forthcoming.’
Both Richard and Angela were beginning to wonder where this tragic story was leading and how it could possibly involve them, when Monsieur Dumas continued his story.
‘I was posted to a staff position in the War Ministry, probably out of sympathy for our loss in the line of duty. Emily and I lived in Paris and slowly she recovered, though the catastrophe undoubtedly put a strain on our marriage for some time. Eventually in 1934, our second son, Victor, was born and after what had happened, he was cherished perhaps even more than was good for him. Gradually our lives returned to what passed for normality, until the war came and in 1940 we had to flee to London. The rest I think I have mentioned to you before, that I fell ill and was pensioned off on medical grounds. Somehow, when peace came, France had lost its attraction for us, as both my parents had been killed during the war. Eventually I became the beneficiary of their estate and became financially independent.’
Richard thought that this was a considerable understatement, but it was none of his concern.
‘So you came to Wales and went back to your traditional family roots — making wine?’ he said, to lighten the rather sombre atmosphere.
Louis Dumas nodded. ‘Yes, and we have settled into a quiet, peaceful mode of life for the past ten years. Now Victor is twenty-one and, thankfully, is very interested in the vineyard. He is keen to take over the management as I get older and he has ambitious plans for its extension.’
Angela began to wonder what their problems could be, as it sounded as if they were living an idyllic life, being well off, with a pleasant house, a satisfying occupation and what sounded like a devoted son. However, Richard was beginning to guess the direction in which the story was leading, but he made no attempt to anticipate Louis’s narrative.
‘We heard no more for many years, until about four weeks ago, when I had a telephone call from London. It was a man calling himself Pierre Fouret and claiming to be my long-lost son Maurice!’
There was a strained silence for a moment, broken only by a stifled sob from Madame Dumas.
‘You must have been shocked!’ exclaimed Angela, with spontaneous sympathy. ‘What did you say?’
Louis ran a hand slowly over his brushed-back hair. ‘I was not so much shocked as a little angry — and curious as to how he had obtained my address. Though for years I had desperately sought out information about Maurice, this was the first time that anyone had approached me on the matter.’
‘Did he explain himself?’ asked Richard.
‘He was very polite and restrained, apologizing for springing such a momentous matter on me without warning, but said he could explain all the circumstances, if I would be willing to meet him.’
‘Did he not give you at least an idea of his story?’ asked Angela. ‘It sounds very much like some kind of confidence trick.’
Louis shook his head. ‘He said it was too complicated to explain on the telephone, but he was sure that he could satisfy any doubts I may have. He asked if we could meet at any location that I cared to suggest.’
‘What did he sound like?’ asked Angela, fascinated by the strange story. ‘And what language were you using?’
‘He had excellent French, but with a strange accent that had a North American twang, but I was sure it also had an Asian element in it — which was partly why I didn’t dismiss him as an obvious impostor and slam the phone down.’
Monsieur Dumas looked across at his wife, who was sitting bolt upright on the settee, agitatedly twisting a small handkerchief between her fingers.
‘I told the man that I would consider meeting him after discussing the matter with my wife and asked him to call back later that day. I was almost afraid to tell Emily, in case it aroused false hopes which would almost certainly come to nothing.’
The French woman spoke for the first time since the story began unfolding. ‘I’m now sure that he is genuinely my son Maurice, but Louis is still very cautious,’ she said very quietly, before he continued.
‘On that first day, both of us were naturally extremely dubious, suspecting that we were dealing with some form of scam, as I think the Americans call it. But after a long talk, we felt we could not risk rejecting any further contact with the caller in case he had some genuine information, so when he phoned later that day, I arranged to meet him on neutral ground, so to speak.’
Louis Dumas went on to relate the rest of this remarkable story, which Richard felt was highly ingenious and detailed, even if it eventually proved to be a tissue of lies. He arranged to meet the alleged Maurice in the lounge bar of the Angel Hotel in Cardiff, an easy place for both to rendezvous, the stranger coming by train from Paddington and Louis driving the dozen miles from his vineyard.
‘It was obviously going to be a fraught meeting, but the young man handled it impeccably. He did not throw his arms about me and cry “Father”, but offered a polite handshake and an invitation to take lunch after a drink.’
‘Did his physical appearance offer any help?’ asked Angela, now completely hooked by the drama.
‘Not really. He was a pleasant, but ordinary-looking young man, of an apparent age that matched what Maurice would have been now, just twenty-six years old. He was quite well dressed, though not ostentatiously so.’
‘Did you recognize any family resemblance at all?’ asked Richard.
Louis replied that there seemed to be no features that resembled either his wife or himself, but equally
