Cruelest Month

bashfulness, but to keep warm.

‘Is it very bad?’

‘Bad enough. It’s about Annie.’ He thought he heard a sharp intake. ‘It shows her kissing a man they identify as Maitre Paul Miron. A Crown Prosecutor. Married.’

‘As is she,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘Oh, poor David. Poor Annie. It’s not true, of course. Annie would never do that to David. To anyone. Never.’

‘I agree. The gist is that I got out of being charged with murder along with Arnot because I had Annie sleep with the prosecutor.’

‘Armand! Mais, c’est epouvantable. How can they? I don’t understand how anyone can do this.’

Gamache closed his eyes and felt a hole open in his chest, where Reine-Marie should be. He wished with all his heart he was with her. Could hold her to him, could wrap his strong arms around her. And she could hold him.

‘Armand, what’re we going to do?’

‘Nothing. We stand firm. I’ll call Annie and talk to her. I spoke to Daniel last night. He seems all right.’

‘What do these people want?’

‘They want me to resign.’

‘Why?’

‘Revenge for Arnot. I’ve become a symbol of the shame that was brought on the Surete.’

‘No, that’s not it, Armand. I think you’ve become too powerful.’ After he hung up he called his daughter and woke her up too. She slipped off into another room to talk, then heard David stirring.

‘Dad, I have to talk to David. I’ll call you later.’

‘Annie, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault. God, he’s heading downstairs to the paper. Gotta go.’

For a moment Armand Gamache imagined the scene in their home in the Plateau Mont-Royal quartier of Montreal. David rumpled and bewildered. So in love with Annie. Annie impetuous, ambitious, full of life. And so in love with David.

He made one more call. To his friend and superior, Michel Brebeuf.

‘Oui, allo,’ came the familiar voice.

‘Am I disturbing you?’

‘Not at all, Armand.’ The voice was pleasant and warm. ‘I was going to call you this morning. I saw the papers yesterday.’

‘Have you seen this morning’s?’

There was a pause then Gamache heard Michel call, ‘Catherine, has the paper arrived? Oui? Could you bring it here? Just a moment, Armand.’

Gamache heard the rustle as Brebeuf turned the leaves of the paper. Then it stopped.

‘Mon Dieu. Armand, c’est terrible. C’est trop. Have you talked to Annie?’

She was Michel’s goddaughter and a particular favorite.

‘Just now. She hadn’t seen it. She’s talking to David right now. It isn’t true, of course.’

‘You’re kidding, because I believe it,’ said Brebeuf. ‘Of course it’s lies. We know Annie would never have an affair. Armand, this is getting dangerous. Someone’s going to believe this crap. Perhaps you should explain.’

‘To you?’

‘No, not to me, but to the reporters. That first picture was of you talking to Daniel. Why don’t you just call the editor and straighten him out? And I’m sure you have an explanation for the envelope. What was in it anyway?’

‘The one I gave to Daniel? Nothing significant.’

There was a pause. Finally Brebeuf spoke, seriously. ‘Armand, was it a crepe?’

Gamache laughed. ‘How’d you guess, Michel? That’s exactly what it was. An old family crepe my grand-mere made.’

Brebeuf laughed then grew silent. ‘If you don’t stop these insinuations they’ll just grow. Hold a news conference, tell everyone Daniel’s your son. Tell them what was in the envelope. Tell them about Annie. What’s the harm?’

What was the harm?

‘The lies will never end, Michel. You know that. It’s a monster with an endless supply of heads. Lop off one head and more appear, stronger and more vicious. If we respond they’ll know they have us. I won’t do it. And I won’t resign.’

‘You sound like a child.’

‘Children can be wise.’

‘Children are willful and selfish,’ Brebeuf snapped. There was silence. Michel Brebeuf forced himself to pause. To count to five. To give the impression of massive thought. Then he spoke.