The Three Evangelists

plates sliding in all directions over the earth, unable to stay put. Tectonic plates, they’re called. Well, he was having tectonic thoughts. The thoughts were sliding about inside his head and sometimes, inevitably, they clashed. With the usual sodding consequences. When tectonic plates move apart, there’s an earthquake, and when they meet, there’s an earthquake. What was Alexandra Haufman up to? How would Leguennec’s interrogation sessions go? Why had Sophia been burnt to death in Maisons-Alfort? Had Alexandra been in love with Kyril’s father? Should he wear some rings on his right hand, why on earth do you need a piece of basalt in order to sing well? Ah yes, basalt. When the plates move apart, basalt comes erupting up, and when the plates clash it’s something else. What was it? Andesite. That was it, andesite. And why was there that difference? No idea, he had forgotten the answer. He heard Alexandra preparing to go to bed. And as he sat there at three in the morning, on his stair, he was waiting for the tectonic activity to subside. Why had he shouted at his godfather? Would Juliette make an tie flottante pudding for them tomorrow, as she usually did on Fridays? Was Relivaux going to own up about his mistress? Who was going to inherit Sophia’s money? Were his ideas about village trade a bit too far-fetched, and why did Mathias go about in a state of undress?

Marc rubbed his eyes. There comes a time when your thoughts are in such a godalmighty tangle that you can’t get a needle through them. All you can do then is drop everything and try to go to sleep. Retire in good order, as Lucien would put it, away from the firing line. And was Lucien in a state of eruption? Could you say that? No, Lucien was more a case of chronic low-level volcanic activity. What about Mathias? Not tectonic at all, Mathias, he was like water, but a vast stretch of water, an ocean. The ocean cools down the lava flow. But on the ocean bed, things aren’t as calm as all that, there’s a lot of bad stuff down there: rifts, trenches, and even some revolting forms of animal life.

Alexandra had gone to bed. There were no more sounds from downstairs, no lights showing. Marc was drowsy but he didn’t feel cold. A light came on on the landing, and he heard the godfather coming softly down the stairs until he reached his level.

‘You really should go to sleep, Marc,’ whispered Vandoosler.

And the old man went on down with his pocket torch. He was going to take a leak outside, presumably. A simple, straightforward and healthy act. The older Vandoosler had never shown any interest in tectonic plates and yet Marc had often talked to him about them. Marc didn’t want to be sitting on the stairs when the old man came back up. He ran upstairs, opened his window to get some fresh air, and lay down. Why was the old man carrying a plastic bag, if he was just going to take a leak outdoors?

XX

THE NEXT DAY, MARC AND LUCIEN TOOK ALEXANDRA TO DINNER AT Juliette’s restaurant. The questioning sessions had begun and they were turning out to be slow, long-winded and unproductive.

Relivaux had been called in that morning, for the second time. Vandoosler passed on to all the information he’d gleaned from Inspecteur Leguennec. Yes, Pierre had a mistress in Paris, but he didn’t see what business that was of theirs, or how they knew about her already. No, Sophia had not known about it. Yes, he stood to inherit one-third of her estate. Yes, it was an enormous sum of money, but he would have preferred Sophia to be alive. If they didn’t believe him, they could go and take a running jump. No, Sophia didn’t have any personal enemies. A lover? That would surprise him.

Next came the turn of Alexandra Haufman. She had had to tell them everything over again, four times. Her mother would inherit a third of the estate. But her mother would certainly not refuse Alexandra anything, would she? So Alexandra would have a direct interest in all this money coming into the family, wouldn’t she? Yes, agreed, but so what? Why had she come to Paris? Who could confirm Sophia’s invitation to her? Where had she been last night? Nowhere. And you expect us to believe that?

Alexandra had been questioned for three hours.

In the late afternoon, it was Juliette’s turn.

‘Juliette doesn’t look too happy,’ Marc observed to Mathias between courses.

‘Leguennec upset her,’ Mathias replied. ‘He didn’t believe an opera singer could be friends with someone who runs a cafe.’

‘Do you suppose he’s irritating everyone on purpose?’

‘Maybe. At any rate if he wanted to wound her, he managed that.’

Marc looked at Juliette who was tidying away glasses in silence. ‘I’m going to have a word with her,’ he said.

‘No point,’ said Mathias. ‘I’ve already tried.’

‘Well, maybe I’m not going to say the same things,’ said Marc, catching Mathias’ eye for a moment.

He got up and began making his way through the tables to the counter.

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured to Mathias as he went past, ‘I’ve nothing clever to say to her. But I’ve got a big favour to ask her.’

‘You do what you like,’ said Mathias.

Marc put his elbows on the counter and gestured to Juliette to come over. ‘Did Leguennec upset you?’ he asked her.

‘It’s not serious, I’m used to it. Did Mathias tell you?’

‘Just a word or two-that’s a lot for Mathias, you know. What did Leguennec want to know?’

‘It’s not hard to guess. How come a famous singer finds time to talk to someone whose parents were provincial shopkeepers? So what? Sophia’s grandparents looked after goats, like everyone else back in Greece.’

Juliette stopped fussing about behind the counter.

‘To tell the truth,’ she said with a smile, ‘it’s my own fault. Because he was putting on his act of the policeman who doesn’t believe you, I started justifying myself like a child. I said that Sophia had these grand friends in circles I would never move in, but they weren’t the kind of people you could have a nice quiet conversation with. But he went on looking as if he didn’t believe a word.’

‘It’s just their policy.’

‘Perhaps it is, but it works. Because instead of thinking, I started saying really stupid things. I showed him my books, to prove I can read. To show him that all these years of being on my own, I’ve read and read, thousands of pages. So he looked at the bookshelves and he did begin to accept that I might have been a friend of Sophia’s. What a stupid bastard!’

‘Sophia said she hardly ever read anything,’ said Marc.

‘That’s right. And I didn’t know anything about opera. So we exchanged ideas and discussed things up in my study. Sophia was sorry she had missed the boat with reading. I told her that sometimes you read because you’ve missed some other boat. It sounds silly, I know, but there were some evenings when Sophia would sing while I played the piano and others when I would read while she smoked her cigarettes.’ Juliette sighed. ‘The worst thing was that Leguennec went straight off and asked my brother, to see whether by chance all those books belonged to him! As if. Georges only likes doing crosswords. He’s in publishing, but he never reads a word, he looks after distribution. Mind you, he’s pretty good at crosswords. Anyway, there it is: if you keep a cafe, you don’t have the right to be the friend of Sophia Simeonidis, unless you can prove to them that you’ve torn yourself away from your Normandy farm and brushed all the mud off your boots.’

‘Don’t get worked up,’ said Marc. ‘Leguennec’s getting up everyone’s nose. Can I have a glass of something?’

‘I’ll bring it to your table.’

‘No, on the counter please.’

‘What’s the matter, Marc? Are you upset too?’

‘Not exactly. I want to ask you a favour. You know the little house in your garden?’

‘Yes, the one you saw. It’s nineteenth-century, must have been built for the servants, I suppose.’

‘What’s it like inside? Is it in good condition? Could someone live in it?’

‘Why, d’you want to get away from the others?’

‘Tell me, Juliette, is it habitable?’