Past Imperfect

TWENTY-SEVEN

Provence. July, 1965

In the two months after Jean-Luc Rosselot died, once again Monique stayed on the farm, hid away from the world. The Fievets helped out with her shopping and Dominic didn't see her in the village.

The investigation into his death was short, the post-mortem over in ten days: verdict of suicide. Jean-Luc had started the tractor and then purposely shut the garage door, had stayed inside until overcome by fumes. The first thing to alert Monique in the kitchen at the time was the throbbing sound of the motor through the walls. As it continued without the tractor emerging from the garage, she went into the courtyard and saw that the doors were closed. Clarisse had run out behind, had seen her father slumped dead over the tractor steering wheel as the doors were swung open.

Monique tried in vain for a few minutes to revive him, then ran to the Fievets to use their phone and call an ambulance. Running back, seeing Clarisse standing thoughtfully over the prone figure of her father, hugging tight to a small doll as tears ran down her cheek, had been the image to linger most with Monique. The doll. Practically all she had left.

Dominic hadn't been involved directly in the investigation. Harrault went with Servan assisting. Dominic was thankful, he didn't want to be remembered as the friendly face from the gendarmerie always associated with death in her family. Calling at the door to tell her that her son was dead, then twenty months later taking notes on her husband's suicide. He'd have hardly been able to face her.

When a few months later she did finally start venturing into the village, Dominic had his own crisis to cope with. His mother had been in hospital the past two weeks, her condition had deteriorated so much that the doctors felt sure that she wouldn't last more than another week. She knew that she was dying too, had begged Dominic to take her home again, said that she didn't want to die surrounded by 'old and ill people.' She'd even managed a taut smile at the irony. She wanted to be surrounded by some life and that which she held fondest: the garden, the sounds of the birds in the trees, and her son close by her side. The doctors argued that she might last longer where they could care for her better, but Dominic was insistent. A few extra days to be surrounded by bed pans and the smell of disinfectant? She was going home.

She lasted almost three weeks more. It was almost as if she didn't want to leave the beauty and tranquillity of the garden. September temperatures were still in the eighties, bright sunshine practically every day, and Dominic watered the plants early each morning and sat her on the back covered porch with her favourite coffee: Javanese with a hint of chicory and cinnamon. It reminded her of her childhood. Surrounded by the symbols that had marked the stages of her life — the coffee, the tangerine tree that her husband had planted the year before he died, her son — before she could truly feel at ease in leaving it all behind. Everything was in place. It felt right.

It was a small ceremony. Dominic's sister had travelled down just a few days before his mother's death and stayed for the funeral preparations. Her husband and children joined her for the funeral and Dominic's uncle on his mother's side was also there. He lived in Bordeaux and Dominic had only seen him a handful of times in the past decade.

Not long after, he saw Monique in a Bauriac cafe. She looked across and acknowledged him with a small nod, eyes downcast. Perhaps she didn't want to greet him with anything nearing a smile, thought it might seem inappropriate. But he had the feeling in that fleeting second that she knew. That her look said: 'I've heard and I'm sorry. Nobody knows better than me how you feel. We've both lost someone we love.'

Dominic wouldn't have been too surprised if she knew. He'd heard so much about her own plight through Louis, via Madeleine and the Fievets. One point he'd picked up on had been problems with a local bank, though details were sketchy from Louis at first. All the Fievets knew was that Jean-Luc had taken a bank loan for farm improvements and to buy equipment and had fallen behind with the payments. They didn't know how far behind, only that Monique had become increasingly concerned about it. It was also mooted as another possible reason behind Jean-Luc's suicide.

Marc Fievet helped out on Monique's land when he could and they shared the profits at market, but with him only being able to manage working it at less than thirty percent capacity, only half the monthly bank repayments were covered with no possibility of making a dent on the back payments. With each update from Louis, the situation seemed to get more desperate. She'd put the farm up for sale as soon as she was aware of problems at the bank, but three months had passed with still no takers.

Listening to Louis explain Monique's dilemma one day, Dominic was struck with an idea. He remembered a farmer he'd reprimanded a month or so back for parking badly on a narrow Taragnon lane. It transpired that he was a tenant farmer and the cottage he'd rented was separated from the land. Because there were no tracks or pull-ins for his car along one side of the land, the farmer had complained he was forced to stay on the road.

Dominic tracked him down over the next week to find out if the proposition of renting a farm with residence adjoining would appeal. A few details exchanged and the answer was 'yes'. Dominic checked with Louis and some others in the gendarmerie for character reference: it appeared the farmer, Croignon, was diligent, worked the land efficiently and always paid his rent on time.

A few days later, Dominic missed the opportunity of broaching the subject with Monique. She was just inside the doorway of the local boulangerie as he was passing, and he wasn't sure if it was because there were other people within earshot, or because the subject was delicate and she might be embarrassed that he knew about her personal problems. Or that, as before, he found her beauty intimidating. He felt awkward and shy in her presence. By the time he'd thought about it, the moment had gone.

Afterwards, he even questioned his motives: was he really trying to help, or was he just using it as an opportunity to speak to her? After a few too many drinks at Louis' one night, with Louis teasing and goading him, he finally admitted with a sly smile that perhaps it was a bit of both. Louis offered to break the ice by getting a message through Valerie and the Fievets. 'She's so desperate, she's probably past caring where help comes from,' Louis ribbed. Dominic smiled and spun a beer mat across the bar counter.

Despite the ground-laying through the Fievets, Dominic was still nervous when they met. He needn't have worried. After some initial stumbling and condolences exchanged, it went well. Dominic felt at ease, it was almost as if he was talking to a long lost sister. They traded some background and details in between him explaining the proposition, and it suddenly struck him how lonely she was. Not just now with the loss of her son and husband, but that she had always been lonely in the village. In particular from the way she asked about his mother, whether she'd found it difficult at times in the village? It wasn't easy for outsiders to be accepted, he agreed. Shortly after she asked how he had found settling down in the area? He explained that his mother was only half Indonesian, and by the time it reached him it was barely perceptible. But yes, it had been difficult the first year or so, purely because he was from outside. Others in the gendarmerie also resented him because of his past Foreign Legion and Marseille experience. That he wasn't and never could be completely 'one of them.'

Monique nodded in understanding, her eyes warm and compassionate. She looked down after a second as she met the steadiness of his gaze, toying nervously with her coffee spoon. Perhaps that was how she viewed him, he thought. Another outsider battling against the hostilities of the close-knit village community, the two of them now also bonded by grief. They'd both lost someone they loved.

She went back over some of the details of the proposition. 'If this Croignon rents my farm in its entirety, are you sure about my staying at your mother's house?'

Dominic assured her that it was too big for him and, besides, he'd prefer not to stay with the memories it held. 'You probably feel the same way about your place.' They'd already discussed most of the main details. She would move into his mother's house and he would stay in a small apartment above Louis. The only initial stumbling block had been that Louis' current tennant didn't vacate for another four months. In the end the Croignons offered that Dominic could stay temporarily in the fourth bedroom above the garage. Repayment for broking the deal. Dominic wouldn't charge Monique anything the first year; then they'd discuss a peppercorn rent to cover his basic costs at Louis’.

Monique reached out and clasped his hand with a smile. 'Thank you.' She was deeply appreciative of the help, but had put up a bit of a fight that she should pay him something straightaway before seeing how strongly he was resolved. He wouldn't hear of accepting anything the first year. Dominic flinched a little at the electricity of her touch, felt his face flush slightly.

She was excited by the proposition: not only was the farmer paying a good rent, for the first two years he would share thirty percent of the profits on the fields already fully planted and cultivated. She could cover the bank payments and start getting her life back in order; a new house would also remove some of the memories and emotional burden. But she wanted to sleep on it overnight and speak briefly with the Fievets. Could they meet again the next day at the same time and place?

It took another two meetings to arrange everything: the loan details were complex and although the rent would easily cover the fresh payments, the back payments would need re-scheduling. Dominic showed her a couple of rescheduling options, but still Monique looked slightly lost and awkward. 'Jean-Luc always dealt with the accounts.' She asked Dominic if he would mind coming to the bank with her to help explain everything to the manager. So much of it had been his plan anyway, and he would be better equipped to propose the rescheduling options. She might fumble or leave out something vital.

Dominic was eager to help, contemplating a diary busy with reasons to see Monique stretching out ahead. By the next day, he had an appointment arranged with the manager at Banque Agricole du Vars, Bertrand Entienne. Monique gripped his hand again and this time kissed him on both cheeks.

A handful of meetings and already his feelings for her were running strong. Not only was she beautiful, but warm and compassionate, sincere. He hadn't met a woman like her before. He wondered if she had any of the same feelings for him — then quickly shook his head. He was being ridiculous. He hardly knew her, nor she him. It was a relationship so far based entirely on reliance and help. If he failed with the bank manager and his little scheme evaporated, there would hardly be any reason for her to see him again, he reminded himself soberly.

Bertrand Entienne was in his early forties with dark brown hair greased back and a rounded, slightly ruddied face. He smoked a pipe and his gestures were curt and formal as he showed them into his office. But at least he was smiling, looked eager to help, Dominic thought hopefully.

It didn't take long for the smile to disappear as Dominic explained the proposition.

'I'm sorry, we appear to be at crossed purposes,' Entienne commented. 'I thought you were here with a proposition to clear the loan in full. Some sort of sale or other arrangement going through. I would have thought my last letters were quite clear that that is all the bank would be able to accept at this stage.'

Dominic ignored the rebuff and pressed on, explaining politely that Monique Rosselot had tried for four months to sell the property with no success. The market was severely depressed, it could be many months before a buyer was found, if at all. 'Surely it's better to get something secure now, get a rescheduled loan on track with the secure knowledge that all the future repayments will be met.'

Entienne rested his pipe in an ashtray to one side. He opened his hands out. 'I would if I could, but it's impossible. The papers went through to the judiciaire department a few weeks ago. My last letter I thought explained very clearly that this action was impending. Once the papers are with them, there's nothing I can do. It's out of my hands.' Arms folded again, hands inter-clasped. A closed gesture.

Dominic was sure it was still just an opening gambit. That Entienne would soften his stance once he'd seen some figures. 'I managed to work everything out.' Dominic passed across the folder he'd worked on earlier. 'As you will see, all of the fresh payments are covered, plus the back payments are amortized in either three or four years. I suppose that could be adjusted to two years in the bank's favour if need be.' But Dominic could tell that Entienne was paying scant attention as he pointed out the key figures on the schedule.

Entienne shook his head. 'I'm sorry, but the intervention by the judiciaire department makes consideration of this sort of suggestion out of the question. Once the file is with them, the loan is due in full as part of the preparation for court action. Also, there's far higher interest accruing to cover the extra costs of the legal department's action. So these figures are already inaccurate, I'm afraid.'

Dominic asked what sort of levels of interest. Entienne opened a file before him and perched some glasses on the end of his nose as he scanned down the columns. He picked up his pipe for another few pulls as he read out some figures.

Dominic added them together and felt his stomach sink. It was outrageous: 42 % per annum. Almost as bad as a Marseille loan shark. 'And what other options are there, apart from paying the loan in full before the papers are passed through for court action?'

'Hardly any, I'm afraid. If all the back money and accrued higher interest are cleared straightaway, a continuance on the existing schedule might be possible. But it will still have to go before the bank's loan committee, with no guarantees. And a week or so from now, even that option will probably be gone. The papers will be too far advanced. You see, in any court papers the bank is obliged to press for the full amount.'

Dominic was outraged. But he remained outwardly calm, explained that it would be virtually impossible for Madame Rosselot to find that sort of money at such short notice. He tried yet again to sell the virtue of the rental and a rescheduled loan. 'The tenant is extremely reliable. It would give the bank a firm schedule now, she could probably clear two back payments straightaway from the deposit as a gesture of good faith, and everything would roll forward cleanly from that point.'

Entienne wouldn't budge. Clearly he wasn't bluffing. 'I'm really sorry. But there's nothing I can do. Perhaps if you'd come here one or two months back, things would have been different.'

Dominic felt deflated. Monique was glancing down at the floor, embarrassed at the exchange. He'd let her down. He tried one last desperate plea. 'Surely even from the bank's point of view, what I am suggesting is far better than waiting on for a sale in such an uncertain market. There would be no guarantee at all of a buyer materializing before the due court date.'

Entienne's face flushed slightly, impatient now at Dominic's persistence. His hands unfolded and quickly back again. 'That, I'm afraid, will be a problem to be resolved between Madame Rosselot and the bank's judiciaire department. As I've explained to you already, Monsieur Fornier, quite clearly I thought, it really is all out of my hands now.'

Dominic saw red. Entienne's smug attitude. The pipe, the glasses, the hands folded over the folder — all defences against confrontation with real life and humanity. How to ruin lives without getting involved. He felt like leaping across and burying his fist in the middle of Entienne's smug little face.

Dominic took a long breath. 'Let me explain something to you, Monsieur Entienne — hopefully equally as clearly. Probably you know of the Rosselots, or at least as much as your little folder will tell you. What you might or might not know is that two years ago Monique Rosselot lost her only son — victim of a murder. I was one of the investigating officers. Then, just a few months ago, she lost her husband to suicide. Either he couldn't face life without his beloved son, or perhaps the demand letters you kept sending him pushed him over the brink.'

'I am quite aware of the situ-'

Dominic held one hand up sharply. 'Yes, yes — I'm quite sure that you are, Monsieur Entienne. That is obvious by your attitude today.' Entienne, already uncomfortable at the path the conversation was taking, glowered at the sarcasm. 'Monsieur Rosselot made a loan agreement with this bank almost three years ago. But he is no longer here and his commitments have fallen behind. And faced with that, Mrs Rosselot has summoned both the bravery and the good faith to come here today. Not only her first visit but her first proposal to this bank. A very clear and straightforward offer, I might add. With what she has suffered, with the loss of her son and her husband, she has had to make a lot of adjustments with her life — and all that she is asking today is that the bank make some small adjustments and meet her halfway.'

Entienne continued glowering. His hands were clasped even tighter than before. 'I'm sorry. As I've already explained, there really is nothing I can do.'

'You put everything forward to the legal department, what — three or four weeks ago? Are you really trying to tell me that you don't have the power to reverse what you enacted in the first place?'

'It's not as simple as that. I would have to argue a strong case to get the file back from judiciaire and approved by the loan committee. Such as I mentioned to you before — if all the money and penalty interest were cleared almost immediately.'

'And don't you think this is a strong enough case to argue: a young mother who has lost her son and her husband.'

Entienne shrugged uncomfortably. 'It's difficult to introduce such personal situations at this level with other departments. Behind every file there's a story, some sort of tragedy.'

'Oh, so now we're getting closer to the truth. It's not impossible, it's just awkward. You're willing to sacrifice what's left of a family's life so that you're not faced with any awkwardness — anything that might look bad on your future record — in front of the judiciaire and the loan committee.'

Entienne's glower had turned to abject hatred. He smiled tightly. 'As with you, Monsieur Fornier, I am just a functionary. As you are bound to impose the rules of French law, I have to follow the rules of the bank. I'm sorry. I wish things were different.'

No options left, thought Dominic. He'd tried being nice, both gentle and harsh cajolement, the candy bar and the sledgehammer. Entienne wasn't going to shift. They left.

'Shithead!' Dominic spluttered under his breath once they were outside. 'I'm sorry. I probably did more harm than good in there.'

Monique gripped his hand and pecked him on each cheek, said that she was touched by how he had stood up for her. 'Don't feel so bad. You did your best.'

But in the end it had all been impotent bravado, he thought; none of it had done an ounce of good. Worse still, he'd probably alienated Entienne so strongly that he'd block any chances of later compromises over the loan, if they arose.

As she walked away, he wondered how on earth she was going to cope with this new crisis on top of all else. It also struck him with a sinking feeling that he'd messed up so badly, she might not want to see him again.

'Fucking shits! All of them. Especially at the Agricole du Vars. And that Entienne's a prize dry prick. I could have told you that for nothing before you went to see him.'

Louis' insight into the world of local banking. Bauriac's regular 'Standard and Poors', expletive version. Just what Dominic needed to make him feel good, especially since three beers and two brandy chasers had so far failed miserably. His anger at Entienne burned with a vengeance, and Louis happily stoked with stories about banks in general and Agricole du Var and Entienne in particular.

'I wouldn't be too surprised if one of the du Var bank directors has his eye on the property. They know she's a widow, won't be able to find a lump sum easily.' Louis had seen it all before. It had happened to a friend of his. The director after the property ensures it's pushed it into the legal department early, high interest mounts up, the court fees add even more — in the end it's an impossible mountain of cash to find. The prices at auction are rock bottom and the bank director picks it up at little more than half price. 'It's a legal racket. What with the high interest and the court fees, my friend was left with virtually nothing from the auction.'

Dominic looked into his drink for inspiration. He could see practically the same scenario rolling out ahead for Monique, with nothing but an outright sale of the farm to stop it. 'What's the average time for a farm to sell in this area?'

'The market's never been worse. Eight, ten months — sometimes a lot longer. People have them on the market with no takers as much as two years before giving up and taking them back off again.'

Louis returned to his diatribe about the banks, in particular Entienne's hypocrisy because of his current situation with a young mistress. Dominic was only half listening. Eight months? Four had gone already. Could Monique make it in the four remaining? Dominic suddenly snapped himself back to Louis' conversation. 'What was that you said?'

'What — the girl, or about Entienne being a fucking hypocrite?'

'The girl. How long has it been going on?'

'Practically a year now.'

'And does his wife know. How many people do know?'

'His wife certainly has no idea. The rest's just a few guarded whispers around the village. Maybe it will get back to his wife eventually, maybe it won't.'

'Do they have any particular meeting places, or does it change each time?'

'She works at the jewellers not far away from him, but she walks around the opposite block from the bank and he usually picks her up there.' Louis leant slightly across the bar. 'Apparently they head to the l'Espigoulier hotel on the way to Aubagne. He makes the excuse of having a long lunch with clients.'

'Which days?'

'Mondays and Thursdays.'

The following Thursday lunch time, Dominic turned his solex into the car park of the l'Espigoulier Hotel. He had already identified Entienne's Citreon from in front of the bank and, sure enough, it was there. Dominic swung the solex out of the car park and fifty yards along to the first turn-off. And waited.

It was a small slip road and very few cars passed him. Probably thought that he was checking for cars speeding. It was over forty minutes before Entienne's car emerged.

Dominic revved up the solex. He would have to time his exit perfectly — too soon and he could go under Entienne's wheels.

Entienne's car turned out, was starting to pick up speed. Okay… now!

Dominic flew out of the slip road and into the side of Entienne's car. In the end, his worry about being too early had made him time it slightly too late — instead of sprawling across the bonnet, he hit the windshield, one knee smashing through the passenger window as he spun dramatically over the top of the car and down the far side.

The fall looked good and Dominic broke it with his hands the far side. But he'd connected badly with the windshield, one shoulder felt stiff and his nose had banged against the glass; it was bleeding profusely, soaking his shirt. Still, all the better for effect, he thought as he straightened up.

Dominic feigned dizziness for the first thirty seconds, as if he was having trouble orienting what had happened and where he was. Entienne was in shock at first before turning his attention to the girl beside him. Her initial hysterical screams had subsided into sobbing.

Entienne got out slowly as Dominic took out a pad and started making notes. In that instant, beyond the blood and Dominic's dishevelled appearance, he recognized Dominic and mouthed, 'Oh, it's …' Then quickly bit his tongue and fumbled into '…are you all right? I'm sorry, I just didn't see you. You came out of nowhere.' Apology quickly turned to anger. 'What on earth were you thinking of, coming out suddenly like that?'

'I could ask you the same question,' Dominic said coldly. Dominic noted the registration and asked Entienne for the car's papers.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that when I looked both ways from my turning, the road was clear. And then you came out suddenly from nowhere and hit me!'

'But that wasn't how it happened at all. It was all clear ahead of me — then suddenly you shot out. I didn't even see you, only heard the thud as you hit me.'

Dominic grimaced. 'Well — you'll get the opportunity of putting your side across in court. Papers, please!'

Entienne's face glowed red. 'This is outrageous! You know full well that's not how it happened,' Entienne spluttered. But his tone was now more hesitant and uncertain.

'I know nothing of the sort. Only that you're a menace on the roads and I could have been killed. I'm laying charges for dangerous driving. And if I don't have your papers in my hand in thirty seconds, I'll add obstruction of justice to the charge sheet!'

Entienne scampered back to the car and dug them out of the glove compartment. Suddenly he was not on familiar territory, not in control. Unprotected by his office walls, bank files, his pipe and glasses, he was vulnerable. A little flustered boy. Dominic was enjoying every minute. He leant over menacingly as Entienne passed the papers out.

Dominic noted the details and then asked Entienne's full name and address. Entienne enunciated the last words between clenched teeth, then said. 'I know why you're doing this, and you won't get away with it. I have a witness.'

Dominic looked across to the girl, now dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, trying not to smudge more eye makeup. 'Oh yes, I forgot. Your witness. Of course. Name and address please?'

The girl and Entienne exchanged glances. Entienne's face was now bright puce. 'Look — does she really need to be involved in all this?'

'But she's your witness, Monsieur Entienne. She's the one person who can stand up in court and support your account of the accident. Why on earth wouldn't you want her to be involved?' Dominic smiled.

'It's awkward, that's all.' Entienne's hands fumbled in his lap. 'If she didn't appear in court on my behalf, what would happen?'

'I would give my account, you'd give yours. Because I'm an officer of the law, my account would no doubt stand and you'd be charged with dangerous driving and vehicular assault. Three year driving ban and possibly an additional three to six months jail term — depends on the judge. I'm not sure how the bank would view such a charge.' Dominic watched each word strike home. Mallets of realization and then finally acceptance as Entienne's head slumped. In the same way that Entienne's words had beaten Monique into submission just days before. Retribution at its most divine. 'Oh, and I forgot one thing. Even though your friend wouldn't be speaking on your behalf as a witness, I'd still need to take her details. Along with the time and the hotel you were driving away from. Essential background for the hearing. I daresay some local reporter could also be arranged to cover the court case. So, Mademoiselle — your details please?'

Entienne slowly shook his head, his voice low and dejected. 'I don't think that will be necessary.' His eyes lifted up only fleetingly. 'Can we come to some other arrangement? I'm sure having gone to all this trouble, you have something in mind.'

Dominic looked sharply at Entienne. 'Are we talking about bending the rules now, Monsieur Entienne. The very same rules which you told me just the other day in your bank couldn't be bent?'

'Yes, yes. We are.' Total defeat.

'Well, I suppose we could have a meeting later this afternoon in your office to discuss the relative rules of our two professions. I will still need to take all the girl's details. But if we reach agreement, my file won't be going anywhere. And I'm sure, Monsieur Entienne, you have a similar file.'

Entienne nodded without looking up. They arranged to meet at four-thirty.

Dominic let them drive off first, and on the way back to Bauriac on his solex he ignored the occasional stares from passing cars — curious why the gendarme was smiling with such a badly bloodied nose.

The new loan schedule was approved within ten days. Dominic even managed to tweak the final conditions to allow five years on the back money and get the penalty interest struck off. Entienne totally erased the judiciaire period; it was as if the file had never gone there.

They celebrated with a bottle of champagne at Louis'. Dominic had made light of it when he told Monique, mentioned only that Entienne had a small skeleton in his closet which he used to advantage. But as the drink flowed, Louis couldn't resist telling the full story.

Monique looked horrified at Louis' dramatic account of Dominic spinning over Entienne's car bonnet. 'You shouldn't have, Dominic. You could have been seriously hurt.' He basked momentarily in the glory as she gripped his arm and kissed him. The third in as many weeks.

Croignon moved in a few days later, the day before taken up with moving suitcases of clothes and personal items between their homes, with Louis helping out with his van.

When they came to the room above the garage with Christian's clothes and toys piled on the bed, she looked on awkwardly. 'Do you mind if I take them to your place, put them in one of the rooms.'

'No, not at all. There's three bedrooms. It's up to you how you use them.' Dominic was more perplexed by the fact that two years had passed and she was still clinging to the memory. And not just one or two personal items, the room had been left as practically a shrine. He also hadn't realized till that moment that the room he would be occupying temporarily had previously been Christian's.

Two weeks later, Monique invited him over to dinner. Symbols of two cultures: lamb and aubergine cassoulet with cous-cous. He brought a bottle of Chateauneuf red and a Pinocchio colouring book for Clarisse. As things mellowed over dinner, she mentioned that she still felt guilty about not paying him any rent the first year and wanted to make a concession by inviting him over to dinner once every week. It would also, she pointed out, compensate for the fact that his own cooking arrangements were far from ideal, having to fit in for those first months around the Croignons. It was the least she could do.

He initially shrugged off the need for any return gesture, but she was insistent and, besides, it was an opportunity to see her regularly. He accepted with gracious reluctance.

The dinners were every Friday night or the first free weekend night if he had Friday night duty. It was difficult to mark the exact time when their friendship transformed first to strong affection, then finally to love. For him, it was probably much earlier than her.

At first it was just small signs. A look in her eyes, a smile, light kisses of thanks on his cheek for the wine or presents he brought. Even when her eyes seemed to openly invite him, he could see the hurt and pain beneath, and he held back. Felt suddenly fearful that he might be taking advantage, was reminded how damaged and frail she might still be.

Even the night when they first made love, five months after the regular dinners started, couldn't be taken as the main point of transition in their relationship. She'd had more to drink than normal that night, was more affectionate. After the meal, over coffee and brandy when Clarisse had gone to bed, she sat on his lap and kissed him, said that she'd like to show him what she'd done to his room.

She led him upstairs and, before opening his door, asked him to close his eyes and wait a second. He opened his eyes to the soft glow of five night lights burning. Their flickering picked out a flokati rug on the floor and ikat fabric draped on the wall above the bed as his eyes adjusted. She kissed him and they tumbled onto the bed, his mumbled 'It's beautiful' quickly lost.

She broke off only to ask him to close his eyes again — and when she prompted him to open them, she was standing at the foot of the bed naked, mocha and cream skin beneath the soft candlelight. She leant across and started taking off his clothes, planting soft butterfly kisses on his skin — then finally rolled her body on top of his. Her body slithered easily against him, glistening with the scented oil she'd applied, a slow and sensuous movement until he was fully aroused.

Their lovemaking was slow and gentle at first, gradually becoming more urgent. Her eyes were deep and soulful, and he traced their contour, the gentle almond slant at their corner, running the same finger slowly down her cheek and her neck. But there was something else in her eyes beyond the joy and abandon, a faint flicker of ghosts from the past that seemed to be holding her back — that the sudden urgency of her frenzy was as much to exorcize herself of them as to lose herself in joyous oblivion. A race between the two.

And as his own climax came, his head lolling breathlessly to one side, the image of the night lights and the soft tears of ecstasy on her cheeks reminded him again of the hospital. Of her long nightly vigils praying that Christian might live.

Some look in his eye, or perhaps the new tension she felt in his body — made her roll away suddenly. She too stared thoughtfully at the night-lights, one finger at her lips in contemplation. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured.

Later that night back with the Croignons in Christian's old room, the wind rose steadily. Dominic could hear it rustling through the trees and the field at the back of the house. He thought of the day that they were down by the river and the wind was high, the gendarmes placed like markers in the field. Uncomfortable, ghostly reminders; it took him a while to get to sleep.

For the next three weeks, Monique came up with an excuse for each of their regular dinner dates. On the fourth, she phoned and said that she wanted him to come over, but that it should be with them just as good friends, as it was before. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done what I did that night. I wasn't ready — and it wasn't fair on you. I'd perfectly understand if you didn't want to see me again.'

He came over. It was a lesson that the ghosts from her past would sometimes stand between them; and perhaps if he'd read the signals deeply, he'd have realized that that would always be the case. Part of her heart, her soul, would forever be buried with Christian and Jean-Luc.

It was another three months before they became lovers again. Monique promised that this time she wouldn't leave his bed. But over the coming months, as spring arrived, there would still be times when she felt she just couldn't. She would suddenly be cocooned again in the past, the ghosts and memories ripping her apart — and she would feel that she had nothing to give to the present, to him and Clarisse.

Dominic was always understanding when those times came, would phone her the next day to see if she was better. Her grey moods usually didn't last long, a few days at most.

As the summer arrived, they took to eating outside at night on the back patio. Monique had also found a babysitter nearby and they started to go out more. He took her to see Lawrence of Arabia and they held hands and kissed in the back row like two teenagers. On her birthday, he took her to a new restaurant in Cannes he'd discovered: Pierre T'etre. It was on a narrow lane full of restaurants that meandered gently down to Cannes harbour with small candle-lit tables on each staged terrace. Monique found the atmosphere magical.

It was late summer when he finally proposed. She looked concerned. She reminded him not only that she had a daughter but the scars the past had left on her. Part of her heart might always be dragged back there. Could he live with that?

He said that he could, but deep down he was thinking that she would gradually improve — he had seen marked improvement already in the past months — until finally the ghosts and the pain of her memories faded to insignificance or went completely. And he felt very close to Clarisse; with gifts every few visits and occasional hugs, if he was still some way from becoming a surrogate father, he was at least a favourite uncle.

Monique made him wait two months before she answered; to be sure that any impulsiveness on his part had mellowed. They were married the next February, 1967. Louis was best man and looked comical in a dress suit. The small reception was also held at Louis’, and he had trouble totally escaping from his proprietary role, occasionally barking orders at the waiters. Harrault and Levacher were the only ones present from the gendarmerie.

And Dominic was right, the ghosts from the past did subside — until their first born. A son. Apart from it being an horrific breach birth which could have cost Monique's and the baby's life, Dominic should have read the warnings when she first mentioned during pregnancy that she hoped for a boy.

The second sign that she might see it somehow as a replacement for Christian was when she asked, if it was a boy, if they could call him Yves — Christian's middle name. He began to wish that it was a girl purely to avoid any possible complications. A gain to replace a past loss: a macabre tangle of emotions that could only lead to problems.

But in the end he resigned himself to fate, consoled himself that if it was a boy and somehow managed to bury Monique's reliance on the past — that in an obscure way it might be a godsend.

He didn't know how wrong he would be.

Monique didn't tell him about the dream until two months after the birth. That moments after urging the nurses that she'd like her husband by her side, when she was fully under the anaesthetic and the doctors were fighting to save her life, she'd seen Christian.

In the dream, they were dining at Pierre T'etre. Dominic had taken her there the night she'd announced she was pregnant; perhaps that was what had made the connection, he thought. She saw Christian in the distance as she looked up the street. As she left the table and walked towards Christian, the other people and the tables in the street seemed to fade into the background — only the steps and the candlelight from the tables remained prominent. Guide lights marking the path to the solitary figure of Christian ahead, the harbour a misty silhouette far behind her. She'd seen his face clearly, seen the gentle tears in his clear green eyes. As she came closer, she thought she heard him say, 'It's all right… it's all right' — but it was barely a whisper. And in that moment she had reached out to touch him — though their hands never quite connected. She'd awoken then. A nurse was leaning over and telling her that everything was all right. 'You have a little boy.'

She hadn't mentioned the dream earlier, she explained, because at the time the joy of having Yves had consumed all else.

For the first few years, her absorption with Yves seemed natural: the love and affection of a doting mother to her new-born child. But as the years progressed, he began to notice how fearful and protective she was. It became an obsession: never letting Yves out of her sight, ensuring that there was never an unguarded moment in his life. Dominic railed against it. It wasn't a natural childhood, he argued: Yves was unable to have any freedom, could not play with his friends out of sight of her for any length of time.

Monique promised repeatedly that she would change, but any easing in her protectiveness was minimal. The only thing to help was the birth of Gerome a few years later — though mainly when Gerome was old enough to play with Yves, keep him company. They could partly watch and protect each other.

Her intense protectiveness became a recurring argument through their years together. She was well aware that it was a fault: 'But I could never again go through the trauma of losing a child.' She and Jean-Luc partly blamed themselves for Christian's death. Felt they'd allowed him too much freedom, he'd been let loose to play in the fields or with friends most days. Only natural, Dominic supported; he himself had enjoyed such a childhood in Louviers. She had stifled Yves terribly and now Gerome too was heavily under her protective wing.

In turn, Monique's advice with his career was equally as incisive. Drawing it out of him that he'd only stayed in Bauriac because of his ailing mother, she pushed him to take a transfer a year after they were married. Career-wise, he was stagnating in Bauriac. At heart, part of him had recognized that fact, but he'd become numbed into acceptance by routine. It had taken Monique to bring it to the surface.

It was also Monique's encouragement that led him to take his Inspectorate exams not long after, and she had advised on many of his career moves since. Her style was gentle, no more than a series of questions, so that in the end he felt he had all but arrived at the decision himself.

It was ironic, Dominic thought. She had such intuitive views about his career in the same way that he could see the errors she was making as a mother. A clear picture only gained by being detached from the problem, taking an overview. But in the case of Yves, he wished he'd been wrong.

In his teens came the backlash effect of Monique's protectiveness. At fifteen he left home and got in with the wrong crowd. He started off with sporadic promotional work for a chain of clubs and discotheques, handing out cards on street corners. He would turn up at the clubs late evening and started drinking heavily, peppered later with some drugs — marijuana at first, then cocaine. He started free-basing and took extra work as a drugs packet 'runner' to some of the clubs to pay for his habit. Often he was paid half in cash, half in cocaine. Dominic picked him up one night after one of the clubs had been raided.

Yves had been lost to them for almost two years. Throughout, Monique had been inconsolable. Where had she gone wrong? She'd done everything to shield him, to guide him on the right path, but still he'd drifted away. Not once did Dominic say, 'I told you so,' suggest that her obsessive protectiveness might have caused the problem, made Yves crave freedom and rebel.

Dominic kept Yves' name clear of any charge sheets, but added a condition: that he remain with them at least six months and attempt to dry out before deciding what he wanted to do with his life. In the end he stayed ten months — a painful period of adjustment and regular visits to a drugs counsellor — before embarking on his national service. He joined the French navy.

The two years of discipline combined with the frisson of travel broadened Yves outlook. He came back a changed person and enrolled for another year, taking a special course in maritime communications. When he returned, he joined the national police in Marseille as a sergeant. History was repeating itself.

Within two years, he was covering the Vieux Port area attached to narcotics. His maritime communications background and his knowledge of the drugs trade was invaluable in an area where most shipments came in by sea. Gerome was at Nice University, studying pure maths with a second in IT software architecture, hoping later for a career in computer programming. He had never been a problem.

Monique had long ago ceased to view either of them as any form of replacement for Christian, but she still worried about Yves, especially with his current work. That one day he might swing open the wrong warehouse door to face a milieu gun in the shadows.

Throughout the years of arguing against her unreasonable protectiveness, a recurring fear for Dominic had been that one day he might be wrong. That having urged her to loosen the reigns, told her not to worry, nothing would happen — against all odds it might. He'd often contemplated how he'd face her given such a circumstance. For it to happen twice and him feel that he was partly to blame: it was unthinkable.

When Marinella Calvan's call caught up with Dominic in Lyon, Yves was a DI still stationed in Marseille and Gerome was working for a computer company in Sophia Antipolis. Clarisse was married with three children — two girls and a boy — and lived with her husband, a sales manager for an agricultural feed company, near Ales.

Dominic maintained an apartment for himself and Monique in Lyon, but six years ago had bought a four bedroom farmhouse just north of Vidauban, only thirty-five kilometres from Taragnon. Gerome stayed there and commuted to work, and they came down at least every other weekend. Some weekends Yves would also join them and Clarisse and her family would visit every few months.

The words echoed in his mind. 'Yes, I do know someone who could verify Christian Rosselot's background.' But apart from the ghosts that might be awoken in Monique's mind, he had also buried his own secrets through the years: he'd never told Monique that he had doubted Machanaud's guilt. Since the light sentence had been so controversial and Monique felt that it was partly at the root of Jean-Luc's suicide, it would have been insensitive and mocking. It would have hinted that Jean-Luc's suicide was completely in vain rather than just misguided. He couldn't do that to her.

For the same reason, when years later he discovered just how long Machanaud had been incarcerated — fourteen years between prison and mental institutions — he didn't tell Monique. The fact that Jean-Luc could have smiled from his grave because Machanaud had received just punishment would have been scant compensation. The overriding image would be that his suicide had been pointless.

Marinella Calvan said that she would send over a tape and accompanying transcript by messenger. It would be with him early tomorrow. His first reaction was that it was all nonsense, would probably all quickly evaporate to no avail. Though he wondered if his underlying curiosity was because of the terrible injustice he suspected might have been wielded against Machanaud, compounded by his own guilt at discovering later, too late, the severity of that injustice. But how many ghosts and secrets from the past would he need to trade to discover the truth?