The Three Evangelists

slacker, a prince, a dilettante, a fanatic-whatever. Very practical in some ways. Except it’s not you who gets to choose, it’s him.’

‘I understood,’ said Lucien, ‘that we were supposed not to be saying anything.’

‘I’m on edge,’ said Marc. ‘I have a right to speak. This is my floor we’re on.’

‘While we’re up here, was it you who threw together that stuff I read on your desk? About village trade in the eleventh century? Are those your ideas? Is there any evidence for them?’

‘Nobody gave you leave to read that. If you don’t want to come out of the trenches, nobody’s forcing you.’

‘No, I thought it was good. But what the hell is your godfather up to now?’

Vandoosler had come up silently behind the men who were working. He stood behind Leguennec, being a whole head taller than him. Leguennec was a Breton: short, stocky, with iron-grey hair and broad hands.

‘Hello, Leguennec,’ said Vandoosler softly.

The inspecteur turned round with a start. He stared at Vandoosler, quite overcome.

‘Hey, don’t you recognise your old boss?’ said Vandoosler.

‘Vandoosler…’ said Leguennec slowly. ‘So you’re the one behind this.’

Vandoosler smiled. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Same here,’ said Leguennec. ‘But…’

‘I know. I won’t let my name appear anywhere. At least not yet. It wouldn’t be right. Don’t worry, I’ll be as discreet as you’ll want to be, if you don’t find anything.’

‘Why did you call me in?’

‘It looked as if it was your kind of problem. And anyway it’s on your patch. And you were always nosy in the old days. You liked to go fishing, and even catching spider crabs.’

‘Do you really think this woman has been killed?’

‘I don’t know. But I’m sure something’s wrong here. Quite sure.’

‘What do you know about it?’

‘No more than you heard this morning in that telephone message. That was a friend of mine. By the way, don’t bother looking for the workmen who dug the first trench: they were friends of mine as well. That will save you some time. Not a word to Relivaux. He thinks I’m trying to help him. He has a weekend mistress in the 15th. I can give you the address if you need it. Otherwise there’s no reason to alert him, we let him stew and then come down on him if we have to.’

‘Naturally,’ said Leguennec.

‘I’m off now. I don’t want to cause trouble for you. And don’t bother to contact me about the tree,’ said Vandoosler pointing to the hole in the ground. ‘I’ll be able to see everything from next door, I live in the attic.’

He made a gesture towards the clouds in the sky and disappeared.

‘They’re filling it in again!’ said Mathias. ‘They didn’t find anything.’

Marc gave a sigh of genuine relief.

‘End of story,’ said Lucien.

He rubbed his arms and legs which were stiff from the long vigil, squeezed between the hunter-gatherer and the medievalist. Marc closed the window.

‘I’m going to tell Juliette,’ said Mathias.

‘Can’t it wait?’ asked Marc. ‘You’re working this evening anyway, aren’t you?’

‘No, it’s Monday. We’re closed on Mondays.’

‘Oh, yes. Well, as you like.’

‘I just thought,’ said Mathias, ‘that it would be an act of kindness to tell her that her friend is not buried under the tree. We’ve all worried enough about it. It’s nicer to think she has just gone off somewhere, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course, do as you like.’

Mathias disappeared.

‘What do you think?’ Marc asked Lucien.

‘I think Sophia got a card from this Stelios, that she went to see him, and being fed up with her husband, unhappy in Paris, and feeling homesick for her native land, she’s decided to run off with her Greek. Good idea. I wouldn’t care to sleep with Relivaux. She’ll send a message in a couple of months when the initial turmoil has calmed down. A postcard from Athens.’

‘No, I was talking about Mathias. Mathias and Juliette, what do you think? Haven’t you noticed?’

‘No, nothing special.’

‘Little things? Haven’t you noticed little things?’

Oh, little things. It happens all the time you know. Not worth getting worked up about. Does it bother you? Did you fancy her yourself?’

‘No, no,’ said Marc. ‘I don’t really think anything about it. I’m talking rubbish. Forget it.’

They heard the commissaire climbing the stairs. Without stopping, he called out that there was nothing to report.

‘Cease fire,’ said Lucien.

Before leaving the room, he looked at Marc who was standing at the window. The light was fading.

‘You’d do better to get back to your villages and their trade,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to see. She’s on some Greek island. She’s playing games. Greek women like playing games.’

‘Where did you get that information?’

‘I just made it up.’

‘You’re probably right. She must have run away.’

‘Would you like to share a bed with Relivaux?’

‘Have a heart,’ said Marc.

‘Well, then, you’ll see. She’s run away.’

XV

LUCIEN FILED THE WHOLE BUSINESS AWAY AT THE BACK OF HIS MIND. Everything he put there fairly soon ended up falling into inaccessible compartments of his memory. He opened his notes on his chapter about propaganda, which had suffered from the interruptions of the last fortnight. Marc and Mathias also went back to their books which no publisher had commissioned. They saw each other at mealtimes, and Mathias, who came back from his work late at night, would greet his friends soberly and pay a brief call on the commissaire.

Invariably, Vandoosler asked him the same question. ‘Any news?’

And Mathias would shake his head and go back down to the first floor.

Vandoosler never went to bed before Mathias was back. He must have been the only one who remained on the alert, along with Juliette, who, especially on the Thursday, anxiously watched the door of the restaurant. But Sophia did not come back.

The next day, Friday, was a day of May sunshine. After all the rain that had fallen in the previous month, it seemed to act as a tonic on Juliette. At three o’clock, she closed the restaurant as usual, while Mathias was taking off his waiter’s apron and, naked to the waist behind a table, was looking for his sweater. Juliette was not unaffected by this daily ritual. She was not the kind of woman to get bored, but since Mathias had been working in the restaurant, things had been better. She had little in common with the other waiter or the chef. It’s true that she had nothing in common with Mathias either, but he was easy to talk to, about anything one liked, and that was very agreeable.

‘Don’t come back till Tuesday, Matty,’ she said, taking a sudden decision. ‘We’re going to be closed for the weekend. I’m going back home to Normandy. All this kerfuffle with trees and trenches has upset me. I’m going to put on boots and go walking in the wet grass. I like wearing boots and the last days of May.’

‘Good idea,’ said Mathias, who couldn’t imagine Juliette in rubber boots.

‘Come too, if you like. I think it’s going to be fine. You look the sort of man who likes the countryside.’