The Sixth Key(23)

Rahn tipped his brandy in La Dame’s direction before he drank it down. ‘I’ll be the Faust of my generation and you can be my Wagner!’

‘Doctor, to walk with you is ever an honour and a profit, and yet . . . to aid and abet your work for the Devil would, I’m afraid, lead me astray. Facilis descensus Averni and all that! It is far too easy to enter Hell, but getting out is another matter entirely. I’m afraid I’m of rather a different constitution to you.’ He poured more brandy into their glasses.

Rahn looked at it appreciatively; his head was swimming and the room was agreeably blurred. ‘Remember that night in that Czechoslovakian pub? You vowed to be Sancho Panza to my Don Quixote . . . and that means you don’t believe in devils, nor in Hell, because Sancho, the dear man, was a materialist!’ He lifted the glass and took a swig.

La Dame nodded. ‘Like Sancho Panza, I may not believe but I don’t discount the power of belief. Haven’t you heard of those Indians in America who go off to a mountain to die? They may be lunatics but they always die because they believe they will; that is the trouble with lunacy – sometimes your illusions can turn out to be real because you believe in them!’

Rahn said, ‘The Countess P always said she would know the day of her death. Now there is a regal woman, a true descendant of the Cathars! She hasn’t returned any of my letters, you know. I think she’s mad at me because of the way I left France. I’m hoping to see her while I’m here; perhaps she and I can go to the caves at Ornolac again in the Tourster, if she’s feeling up to it. Do you remember how much she loved those caves?’

‘You don’t know, Rahn? Didn’t Deodat get a hold of you?’ La Dame said, all frowns.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’ He paused, trying to construct the words.

‘Come out with it, La Dame.’

‘The Countess P passed away about two months ago. The magistrate was looking for you . . . I assumed you knew.’

Rahn’s heart sank. ‘The last time I saw Deodat was three years ago, after we returned from the caves at Lombrives. I left France shortly after that. Two months, you say?’

‘She had a stroke.’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Well, the old buzz— I mean, the grand madame, was right about knowing when she was going to die. Apparently Deodat made a visit a week or so before the fatal day. She seemed perfectly well, in top form, enjoying the best of health, but she told him she had ordered a coffin because she had a sense she was going to meet her maker.’ He fixed Rahn with a significant look. ‘A week later she was cold and in the ground, just like that! You see what a devil of a thing belief is? It can kill you!’

But Rahn wasn’t listening. He was recalling the last time he had seen the Countess. She had been standing, a tall figure dressed in yellow, in front of her old château in Toulouse, with its broken shutters and half-cracked pots brimming with flowers. Her voluminous hair framing a face still beautiful and unlined, her intelligent eyes half closed from the glare, and her mouth upturned in a smile that belied her sadness. She had not waved goodbye, nor had she said the words. She had always expected that he would return.

‘Apparently she left something for you,’ La Dame said, breaking into his thoughts.

‘What?’

‘A box. Don’t ask me what’s in it, nobody knows. Apparently it’s sealed – the instructions were that you alone should open it. She was always a mysterious old crone. Do you remember those séances? And her eyes; I swear she was strange! Not to mention all that talk about being the reincarnation of Esclarmonde de Foix!’

‘I believed it,’ Rahn said, feeling miserable. ‘She could have been that great Cathar dame, the guardian of the Cathar Grail.’

‘I don’t know about the Grail but I can imagine the Countess P giving the Inquisitors a run for their money.’

‘Let’s make a toast to our friend.’ Rahn raised his glass. ‘To the Countess P!’

‘To the old buzzard, may she rest in peace!’

Rahn shot him a glance and La Dame shrugged. ‘I mean it in the most affectionate way.’

They drank in silence, contemplating mortality. The café began to fill. Its interior grew noisy and full of smoke. Rahn turned to look for the commonplace man. He had his back to them.

‘Well,’ Rahn said, slurring his words, ‘before I disappear, I guess I’ll have to make a detour to Arques to see Deodat about that box the Countess left me. After that I’ll go to Toulouse to pay my respects to the Countess. It’s been good seeing you again, La Dame!’