The Sixth Key(39)

‘Before you say what I know you are going to say, please let me remind you that were it not for this lucky fedora, we may never have got out of that cave!’ Rahn remarked, rather wounded.

‘But you’d have to admit, Rahn, it does look rather odd teamed with those loose beige pants, and that flying jacket that appears to have been stolen from a Pabst film set.’

But before Rahn could reply to his friend’s audacious accusation Madame Sabine’s shrill voice sounded from the house, telling the magistrate not to be late for dinner, since regular meals were better for his digestion.

‘Damn that woman!’ he cursed under his breath, before calling out in a sweet voice, ‘Yes, Madame!’ Then: ‘Quickly, Rahn, my boy, get in that bloody automobile before she comes, or she’ll find some reason for me to stay.’

They took the road to Couiza and not far from Serres, Deodat told him to make a left turn.

‘I forgot to tell you, La Dame sends his best regards,’ Rahn said.

This made not the slightest difference to Deodat’s mood, but Rahn did notice him grumble something under his breath. It must have been something unflattering, even offensive, because he smiled.

‘Will you ever forgive La Dame?’

‘Never,’ was Deodat’s quick answer, his determined cheerfulness wavering a little. ‘I told you before and I’ll tell you again, that day in the cave, when he convinced you to chalk in those engravings just to get a better photo . . . well, that was the end of everything as far as I’m concerned.’

Rahn wanted to say there was no use taking pictures if the drawings were not going to come out, but he knew Deodat would never change his mind, so he looked out at the road and tried to think of something besides his own troubles.

The country they were passing through was imbued with a special sadness and Rahn knew the reason for it – it was the soil’s memory of bloodshed. Long ago the Cathars of this area had taken refuge in deep caverns within those wild hills, and in those densely wooded forests and shadowed narrow valleys pierced by the snaking river Aude. They had run away from their homes fearing the inquisitors and their terrible tortures, tortures that either led to the stake or to the murus strictus – a form of imprisonment so terrible it not only resulted in the loss of one’s sanity but also one’s humanity. In this country many had died but not one had ever revealed the whereabouts of the treasure of their people.

This now brought to his mind the promise he had made to the Countess P one evening after he had played her favourite piece, an improvisation of Handel’s suite, Gods Go a-Begging. She had said to him, ‘I only ask one thing of you, my dear, I want you to promise me that you will remember. You must remember – will you do that for me?’

He had nodded, but what he had promised to remember he didn’t know exactly. He had always meant to ask her, only now it was too late.

By the time they arrived at Bugarach the day had turned windy. The priest’s residence was set deep in a short valley some way from the township, near a brooding volcano whose hidden fires fuelled the hot springs of Rennes-les-Bains. The Maison de Cros stood large and stately at the end of a long dirt road and as they arrived a young woman met them. Immediately, Rahn was struck by how much she looked like the actress Louise Brooks who played Lulu in the Pabst film Pandora’s Box: dark hair cut short to accentuate the cheekbones; straight fringe to accentuate the eyes; red lipstick to bring out the mouth; somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five; long limbed and graceful in a pantsuit that flowed as she walked, smoking a cigarette held in one of those long filters. She introduced herself as Eva, the abbé’s niece, and escorted them through several rooms, sparsely furnished and decorated in an old style. Rahn didn’t like the house. It smelt of blocked drains and ashes and reminded him of a church. He did see a painting that interested him as he passed, a good reproduction of Poussin’s Les Bergers d’Arcardie hanging on the wall of the study. In fact the study walls were covered with paintings and he would have liked to have taken a moment to look at them. In the meantime, Eva talked with Deodat and Rahn overheard that she was visiting from Paris.

‘My uncle will be so happy to see you, magistrate, he’s been asking for you; in fact, he’s been a little anxious awaiting your arrival. He’s in the garden. These days he’s taken to sitting there for hours. He seems to like the fish pond.’

The garden was dilapidated and its withered trees shivered occasioning a chorus of rustles in the late autumnal breeze. It was saved from gloom by its southerly orientation, which meant that it was mostly bathed in sun and it was in this sun that the old abbé sat, strapped to a wheelchair, with his knees covered in a thick red blanket and his head adorned with a black wool cap. Someone had placed him very near a large pond crowded with carp and ringing with frogs, and the old man stared into it with a vacant determination.