months, he’d seen Bruno less often. It made him miss him all the more.
Raoul raised his arm to attract the waiter’s attention.
‘ S’il vous plaît ,’ he said, ordering a second glass.
The shadows moved round. Now, as the beer took hold, weak as it was, Raoul found his thoughts moving from grief to something different, something sweeter. To the girl at the river. The way her eyes fluttered open, just for an instant, and her wild black hair, all out of place. Her strong, determined features.
Chapter 17
‘ I know she’s here, officer. Please check your records again.’
Sandrine looked down the corridor and saw Marianne standing at the desk in a blue dress, blue hat, matching gloves and bag. Immaculately turned out, as always.
‘Marianne!’ she cried, running to meet her.
Her sister immediately put her hand up to the cut on the side of Sandrine’s head, staining the fingertips of her glove.
‘Whatever happened? Are you all right?’
Sandrine winced. ‘It’s not too bad. How did you know I was here?’
‘Lucie came to the Croix-Rouge to let me know what had happened. She told me she and Max had taken you home, but although your bike was there, Marieta said she hadn’t seen you. I put two and two together . . .’
‘But how did you know I’d be at the police station?’
‘Lucie said she’d persuaded you not to come,’ Marianne said drily. ‘Obviously, she didn’t succeed.’ She turned to the officer. ‘Is my sister free to go?’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’
Neither of the girls was aware of him watching them leave. Or that, as soon as they’d gone, Ramond tore up his notes and put the pieces into the rubbish bin.
Sandrine could tell Marianne was cross, although she wasn’t quite sure why. She kept glancing at her, kept waiting for her to say something, but she walked fast and in silence. It wasn’t until they had passed Artozouls, with its display of fishing nets, lines, rods and hunting equipment, and were standing outside the boulangerie next to the église des Carmes that Marianne spoke.
‘Wait here,’ she said, producing a coupon from her handbag and vanishing inside.
Sandrine was aware of the sharp eyes of an old woman in a first-floor apartment in the building on the opposite side of the street. She smiled, but la vieille stepped back behind her lace curtain.
Marianne reappeared holding a brown paper bag. ‘It’s still warm.’
Sandrine bit into the bun, which wasn’t too bad at all. Solid, but thick with dried fruit so it tasted sweet despite the lack of sugar.
‘You’d think they’d have a queue around the block if people knew she had these available so late in the day.’
‘They don’t,’ said Marianne.
Sandrine frowned. ‘Then how . . .?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said sharply.
‘Why are you so cross?’
Marianne ignored the question. ‘You’d better tell me what happened.’
‘Didn’t Lucie tell you?’
‘No, all she said was that you’d had an accident down at the river, that she and Max had found you and taken you home.’
‘She did try to talk me out of going to the police station,’ Sandrine said, ‘but I thought I should report it. Now I wish I’d listened to her.’
‘Why?’ Marianne said quickly. ‘What happened? What did they do?’
‘Do?’ said Sandrine in surprise. ‘They did nothing, that’s the point. Nobody took me seriously.’
Marianne’s shoulders relaxed a little.
Sandrine continued. ‘In the end an officer took a few notes, and that was that.’ She pulled a face. ‘I was an idiot, you don’t have to rub it in. I know.’
To her astonishment, Marianne grabbed her arm. ‘Do you, Sandrine? Really, I don’t think you have any idea. That you would simply waltz into a police station – a police station, of all places – and make a scene. Didn’t you even think about Max?’
‘I didn’t mention him,’ she said, stung by how harsh Marianne sounded. ‘I gave Lucie my word I wouldn’t, though I
Raoul raised his arm to attract the waiter’s attention.
‘ S’il vous plaît ,’ he said, ordering a second glass.
The shadows moved round. Now, as the beer took hold, weak as it was, Raoul found his thoughts moving from grief to something different, something sweeter. To the girl at the river. The way her eyes fluttered open, just for an instant, and her wild black hair, all out of place. Her strong, determined features.
Chapter 17
‘ I know she’s here, officer. Please check your records again.’
Sandrine looked down the corridor and saw Marianne standing at the desk in a blue dress, blue hat, matching gloves and bag. Immaculately turned out, as always.
‘Marianne!’ she cried, running to meet her.
Her sister immediately put her hand up to the cut on the side of Sandrine’s head, staining the fingertips of her glove.
‘Whatever happened? Are you all right?’
Sandrine winced. ‘It’s not too bad. How did you know I was here?’
‘Lucie came to the Croix-Rouge to let me know what had happened. She told me she and Max had taken you home, but although your bike was there, Marieta said she hadn’t seen you. I put two and two together . . .’
‘But how did you know I’d be at the police station?’
‘Lucie said she’d persuaded you not to come,’ Marianne said drily. ‘Obviously, she didn’t succeed.’ She turned to the officer. ‘Is my sister free to go?’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’
Neither of the girls was aware of him watching them leave. Or that, as soon as they’d gone, Ramond tore up his notes and put the pieces into the rubbish bin.
Sandrine could tell Marianne was cross, although she wasn’t quite sure why. She kept glancing at her, kept waiting for her to say something, but she walked fast and in silence. It wasn’t until they had passed Artozouls, with its display of fishing nets, lines, rods and hunting equipment, and were standing outside the boulangerie next to the église des Carmes that Marianne spoke.
‘Wait here,’ she said, producing a coupon from her handbag and vanishing inside.
Sandrine was aware of the sharp eyes of an old woman in a first-floor apartment in the building on the opposite side of the street. She smiled, but la vieille stepped back behind her lace curtain.
Marianne reappeared holding a brown paper bag. ‘It’s still warm.’
Sandrine bit into the bun, which wasn’t too bad at all. Solid, but thick with dried fruit so it tasted sweet despite the lack of sugar.
‘You’d think they’d have a queue around the block if people knew she had these available so late in the day.’
‘They don’t,’ said Marianne.
Sandrine frowned. ‘Then how . . .?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said sharply.
‘Why are you so cross?’
Marianne ignored the question. ‘You’d better tell me what happened.’
‘Didn’t Lucie tell you?’
‘No, all she said was that you’d had an accident down at the river, that she and Max had found you and taken you home.’
‘She did try to talk me out of going to the police station,’ Sandrine said, ‘but I thought I should report it. Now I wish I’d listened to her.’
‘Why?’ Marianne said quickly. ‘What happened? What did they do?’
‘Do?’ said Sandrine in surprise. ‘They did nothing, that’s the point. Nobody took me seriously.’
Marianne’s shoulders relaxed a little.
Sandrine continued. ‘In the end an officer took a few notes, and that was that.’ She pulled a face. ‘I was an idiot, you don’t have to rub it in. I know.’
To her astonishment, Marianne grabbed her arm. ‘Do you, Sandrine? Really, I don’t think you have any idea. That you would simply waltz into a police station – a police station, of all places – and make a scene. Didn’t you even think about Max?’
‘I didn’t mention him,’ she said, stung by how harsh Marianne sounded. ‘I gave Lucie my word I wouldn’t, though I
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