Cast Iron

Chapter twenty-two

The party was drawing to a close. The traiteurs had provided a selection of tapas. From olives and stuffed prunes, to Iberico ham, prawns wrapped in bacon and frogs’ legs in batter. And, as a main, Nicole and Fabien had reheated delicious choux farcis, served with cubes of roasted potato. Empty bottles of wine stood on all the tables, the ambience mellow and everyone gently tipsy.

It was late afternoon now and some of the guests were starting to leave. Enzo sat in his favourite armchair by the window, bouncing Laurent on his knee, not even daring to think that the child might not be his. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Charlotte in deep conversation with Jean-Luc Verne.

He spotted his old acoustic guitar gathering dust in the corner of the room, and regretted that he played it so seldom these days. But he had consumed enough wine by now to contemplate the thought that he might just pick it up to serenade his remaining guests.

He was saved from what would probably have been the later embarrassment of it by Nicole’s return from the hall, where she had gone to answer a knock at the door unheard by almost everyone else. She cleared her throat and raised her voice to command the attention of the room, and announced, ‘Sophie’s birthday surprise for her dad has arrived.’ And, as Enzo turned, he saw her step aside to reveal a young woman with chestnut hair and the warmest brown eyes, creased now by discomfort and self-consciousness. She was slight-built, not much taller than Nicole, and dressed simply in jeans and trainers, with a white T-shirt beneath a short denim jacket.

Enzo realised with a start who it was and stood up immediately, still clutching Laurent.

Nicole stepped quickly forward to relieve him of the baby. ‘Here, I’ll take him.’

And Enzo locked eyes with the new arrival, a sudden collision of butterflies in his belly.

No one knew quite what to say, and it was Charlotte’s gently mocking voice that broke the silence. ‘Another of Enzo’s girlies?’

Which jolted Enzo out of his trance. He stepped towards the girl, his eyes still fixed fast on her. ‘This is Dominique Chazal,’ he told the assembled, ‘the gendarme from Thiers, without whom I could never have cracked the Marc Fraysse murder.’ And he paused. ‘I had no idea you were coming.’

‘It was Sophie’s idea,’ Nicole said. ‘She and Dominique stayed in touch after everything that happened up there.’ She turned to Dominique. ‘Isn’t that right?’

Dominique nodded, still clearly embarrassed to be the centre of attention. ‘Yes.’ She looked around. ‘Is she not here?’

‘Held up on the motorway,’ Enzo said. And still he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He took both her hands and kissed her on each cheek. ‘Come in, come in.’ He led her into the séjour, curious eyes upon them, and he avoided meeting the gaze of either Hélène or Charlotte.

The préfet said, ‘They didn’t make gendarmes that pretty in my day.’ And Dominique blushed.

In truth, Dominique was not pretty in any conventional sense. Enzo had always thought her quite plain — but beautifully plain, in the way that sometimes the simplest things in life are the most beautiful. The touch of colour on her eyelids, and the merest hint of red on her lips, lifted her out of the ordinary. The deep pellucid brown of her eyes provided a window to her inner beauty, and revealed a vulnerability which had prompted Enzo’s protective instincts. He remembered instantly the softness of her lips and the way every contour of her body had moulded itself to his.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said, and, without waiting to hear if she was, led her into the kitchen. They were momentarily on their own here, and Enzo had to resist the temptation to take her in his arms. Instead, he said, ‘This is unexpected.’

‘It was Sophie’s idea.’

‘But, still, you came.’

‘If Mohammed will not go to the mountain...’

Enzo couldn’t meet her eye, embarrassed. He glanced towards the séjour and said, ‘It’s not even a particularly auspicious birthday.’ He tried a smile. ‘Just one more step closer to the grave.’ Then paused when she didn’t return his smile. ‘You must have had to take precious leave.’

She shrugged. ‘I haven’t bothered much with leave in the last year or so. And, anyway, it’s not an issue anymore. I’ve quit.’

‘Quit the gendarmerie?’

‘Served my time and had to make a decision. I could sign up again or try for a real life. I decided to go for the latter.’ Her smile was brittle. ‘So here I am, the new me, footloose and fancy free and trying to figure out what to do with a life that hasn’t belonged to me for the last eighteen years.’ She tipped her head to one side in recognition of the irony. ‘It feels strange when they put it back in your own hands — sort of shop-soiled and used, and completely unfamiliar. As if you’ve been someone else, and only now realise that you haven’t a clue who you are.’

Enzo reflected that that’s how it must be for most people returning to civilian life after a career in the military. For it’s what the gendarmerie was, just another regiment of the armed forces.

‘Well, well... the famous Dominique Chazal.’ Charlotte strolled casually through from the séjour, arms folded, and surveyed them both with smiling condescension. She was, Enzo thought, more defensive than he had ever seen her. ‘So nice of you to drop by, all the way from... Thiers, was it?’

Enzo was awkward. ‘This is Charlotte,’ he said.

Dominique regarded her coldly. ‘I think I could have guessed that.’

‘Oh!’ Charlotte mock-flinched. ‘That sounds ominous. What on earth has Enzo been saying about me?’

Enzo recalled only too clearly telling Dominique about Charlotte’s threat to abort their baby if Enzo did not agree to stay away. But before he could speak, Dominique said simply, ‘Enough.’ And Enzo felt the temperature in the room drop thirty degrees.

Charlotte’s smile was equally frozen. ‘I expect you two have kept in touch, then.’

Dominique said, ‘I haven’t seen Enzo since he left Thiers.’

Enzo shuffled uncomfortably, aware of the accusation in this.

‘Well, then, it was good of you to come. I expect you two will have a lot of catching up to do.’ Charlotte turned to Enzo. ‘We’ll have to leave early tomorrow. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Lannemezan. I’ll pick you up at eight.’ And she swung a saccharine-sweet smile towards Dominique. ‘Make the most of your time with him, because there won’t be much of it.’

‘All the more reason to appreciate it, then.’ Dominique fixed her with a patently hostile and unblinking gaze, until Enzo saw Charlotte look away, unable to maintain eye contact in the face of such naked animus. He had never seen her this cowed before.

It was night in the square below now, though light still spilled out from restaurants and cafés, reflecting on dark cobbles littered with leaves. The party was over. Everyone had gone. The apartment was a mess, but Nicole had promised to tackle it in the morning. She was taking charge of Laurent for the night, and had already retreated with him in his carrycot to her room. Her father had left a couple of hours earlier, and Fabien had gone back to Gaillac.

Charlotte had pulled Enzo aside before leaving for her hotel. She’d hoped to have dinner with him tonight, she said. There were things she wanted to talk to him about. But when he reminded her that they would have nearly three hours to talk during the drive to Lannemezan, she had cast a surly glance towards Dominique and left with a bad grace.

Sophie had texted again to say that she and Bertrand had found a hotel to stay overnight, and Kirsty had decided to take Sophie’s room, rather than stay at a hotel. She had retired with Alexis for an early night. And it had been some comfort for Enzo to know that his daughter, his son and his grandson were staying with him, all under the one roof, tonight. The only thing missing was Sophie.

Now Enzo and Dominique sat in the big old leather sofa which faced the French windows that looked out across the square. A slight breeze outside stirred the remaining leaves in the trees, to send flickering fragments of light from the streetlamps dancing across the darkness of the séjour. After some moments of awkwardness, they had fallen back into the easy companionship they had discovered during his time in Thiers. She let her head fall on to his shoulder, and he slipped his arm around her to draw her closer.

Silence was easier than addressing the unresolved issues that lay between them, and so neither of them felt inclined to break it for a long time.

When finally she spoke, the quiet of Dominique’s voice seemed to resonate in the room. ‘You promised you would keep in touch.’

‘I know.’

‘You didn’t.’

‘No.’

More silence. Then, ‘Why?’

Enzo sighed. ‘I think you know, Dominique.’

‘I’ll tell you what I know,’ she said. ‘I know that I want to be with you. It’s all I’ve wanted since you left. I’ve never met anyone like you, Enzo. You’re sensitive, intelligent, and you were mine. Even if only for a few days. I’ve lost count of the number of nights I’ve lain awake thinking I was never going to see you again. Dying a little with every day that you never called or wrote. Scared to contact you for fear that I didn’t mean to you what you meant to me.’

Enzo closed his eyes and felt the pain of regret at hurt given so casually, if only by default.

‘And then I thought, For Christ’s sake, girl, stop feeling sorry for yourself. If you want him, go and get him.’ She paused. ‘So here I am.’ She turned quickly on the couch, placing a finger over his lips to stop him from speaking. ‘And don’t tell me you’re too old for me. I’ve heard it all before.’

He couldn’t resist kissing her finger, then he turned his head towards her and smiled sadly. ‘Trouble is, it’s true.’

She sighed loudly and turned away.

‘Dominique, I’m old enough to be your father. You’re... what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six? Young enough to find someone your own age and still have a full life ahead of you.’

‘I don’t want someone my own age. I want you.’

‘I’m fifty-six today, for God’s sake! In four years I’ll be sixty. You don’t know how it feels, Dominique. To reach a point in your life where the distance still to go is far less than the road already travelled. When you spend more time looking back than looking forward, because there is comfort in memory and only fear of the future. When I’m seventy, you’ll just be turning fifty, and you won’t want to be looking after some old man.’

She swung herself across the settee suddenly to straddle his thighs and sit facing him, taking his face in her hands. Her own face just inches from his. ‘You’re wrong, Enzo,’ she said. ‘I’ve thought so much about this. The past is... Well, that’s your history. It’s a part of you. The memories that make you who you are. Good or bad, you can’t change them. But the future is still yours to make. However long you’ve got. You told me once about Pascale, how she died giving birth to Sophie. She could never have imagined that. She thought she had a whole life ahead of her. You both did. Don’t you see? You can’t look ahead and calculate the rest of your life by the law of diminishing returns. To live in fear, of anything, is not to live at all. You have to live for today, because you might be dead tomorrow. So damn well make the most of it!’ And she kissed him, fierce with passion, and he felt the warmth of her tears on his face in the dark.

He slipped his arms around her and pulled her to him, feeling her body soft against his.

‘I want you,’ she said.

‘I want you, too,’ he whispered. ‘I just—’

She kissed him again to stop him speaking. ‘Just know that I am yours, Enzo, and that I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone. And that I am going to treasure every moment that I have with you, and not count them off as they pass.’ She drew a long, slow breath. ‘You don’t spend a year thinking about someone, and missing them as much on the last day as the first, without realising that you must be in love.’

Her words dropped into his heart like molten metal into water, consolidating themselves into tiny bullets that pierced all the emotional armour he had so carefully built around himself for protection. He slid to the edge of the sofa and stood up with her in his arms, marvelling at how light she seemed. He grinned. ‘Not bad for an old man, eh?’ And he carried her through the darkness of the hall and into his bedroom.

Their lovemaking was not the frantic, lust-driven sex that might be expected of two people who had not slept together in nearly a year. It was slow and tender, and so filled with emotional commitment that it left them both drained, spreadeagled on the bed. Not lying on it, but floating on it, not a ripple breaking the surface of their sea of post-sex tranquillity. And Enzo wondered if, finally, after all these years, he had found the woman who would make him happy for the remainder of his life.

Moonlight lay in angles and shadows across the rooftops, and poured like liquid through the window, splashing across their naked bodies.

For a time they dozed, drifting in and out of sleep, she turning to hold him, then turning again to let him spoon her. At some point she emerged from her sexually sated slumber to an awareness of Enzo lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands propped behind his head on the pillow. And she sensed something dark. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Lying to me is not a good way to start our relationship, Enzo.’

He rolled his head to one side to look at her earnest face in the moonlight and smiled. ‘You’re right.’

‘Is it me? Us?’

‘No. You are everything that is not wrong with my life.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s Charlotte.’

He heard the tiny explosion of air that signalled Dominique’s irritation. ‘I don’t know why you still give her the time of day.’

‘Because she’s the mother of my son, Dominique.’ He closed his eyes and ran the next words through his head several times before he spoke them. ‘At least, I thought she was.’

Dominique pulled herself up on one elbow and stared at him in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

He found it difficult now even to form the sentence. ‘She told me there had been someone else.’

‘When?’

‘She didn’t say. But...’ He was almost afraid to say it, in case speaking the words aloud would give them substance and truth. ‘She hinted there was a chance that Laurent might not be mine.’

He was aware of Dominique going limp. ‘What a bitch she is.’

Enzo said, almost as if apologising for her, ‘She doesn’t always endear herself to everyone.’

A silence lay between them, like the ghost of Charlotte herself. Then Dominique said, ‘Where are you going with her tomorrow?’

‘To the high-security prison at Lannemezan. To interview the serial killer Régis Blanc.’ And he explained about the Lucie Martin case, and Charlotte’s ability to get him access to Blanc.

Dominique listened in silence. She had played an important role in discovering who had killed the celebrity chef, Marc Fraysse. Now she said, ‘Let me help.’

‘How?’

‘I’m a trained police officer, Enzo. I can be useful in the investigation. You know how it can sometimes throw more light on a problem to have two minds working on it from different angles.’

‘I can’t take you with me to see Blanc.’

‘No, but you can brief me when you get back. We can do this together.’

And for some unaccountable reason Enzo felt a huge wave of relief. Almost for the first time since Pascale had died he didn’t feel alone anymore. Carrying the burdens of his life, his family and sometimes, it seemed, the whole world. All on his own. He turned to her again, suffused by a nearly overwhelming sense of affection, cupping the back of her head in his hand and drawing her to him to kiss her. He wanted to tell her he loved her. But he was scared to say the words. Three simple words, said too easily, that carried a weight far greater perhaps than any other three words in human history. He knew she wanted to hear them, but still they wouldn’t come.

Suddenly she turned away and slipped out of bed. She leaned over to dip into her overnight bag and pulled out a sheer satin dressing gown. He heard the smoothness of it on her skin as she drew it around her. Then she held out her hand towards him. ‘Come on.’

He shimmied across the bed and slid out to stand up beside her. She seemed so small next to him. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To lay your ghosts to rest. The only way to remove uncertainty is to know the truth.’ She took his hand and led him across the room. He snatched his dressing gown from the door, black silk with embroidered dragons, and pulled it on as she drew him out into the hall. There was not a sound from the other rooms. Streetlight lay in squares across the floor, divided and subdivided by the panes of glass in the double doors leading to the séjour. They stepped through them, avoiding the lines, almost like the games of peever Enzo remembered playing in the school playground.

Nicole had left a bag of Laurent’s things sitting on the table. Dominique rifled through them until she found what she was looking for. A hairbrush with fine soft bristles, wisps of gossamer dark hair trapped between them. With thumb and forefinger, she teased some free and held it up to Enzo. ‘You of all people, my love, should be able to use his DNA to test for paternity.’

Then he saw a shadow cross her face, as if a cloud had passed before the moon.

‘But one thing you should know. I can’t ever give you a son. Or a daughter. We tried, my ex and I, and failed. They tested us. He was declared fertile.’ There was the slightest catch in her voice. ‘And I was told I would never bear a child.’