Tug of War

Chapter Twelve

‘Didier, my old friend, what more can I say? I beg you. . No! For God’s sake, what am I saying? I’m your doctor! I order you to stay on the train for another hour. An hour, that’s all — it can’t take longer than that — and go straight through to Paris. Why Reims? The best heart specialists are to be found in Paris and I’m giving you an introduction to the very best. I say again — why Reims?’

‘Calm down, Christophe! You risk an apoplexy and there isn’t another doctor for miles,’ said Didier, comfortably. ‘I’ve heard your advice and I’m truly grateful for it. And I’m glad you’ve called round. I was just going to make myself a mushroom omelette. . I picked some of those little chanterelles in the forest this morning. And Dorine’s given me a pot of her wild boar pâté. . it’s about the place somewhere. . Would you like to join me? Good. In that case, I’ll open a bottle of Hermitage and we’ll have a farewell feast, the two of us.’

‘Didier, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. Thank you. You assume — rightly — that I can be distracted by the promise of one of your omelettes, but not to the point of forgetting my question! You have not answered my question.’

‘Reims has a reputation for excellence in medicine. I’m sure I shall find someone who can give satisfaction. You know I hate the capital. Four eggs or three?’ He rattled the stove and turned his attention to the frying pan to hide his expression. He did not lie convincingly and Christophe was not easily deceived.

‘Absolute rubbish! No one hates Paris even if he’s on his deathbed. Which you aren’t by a long chalk!’ the doctor added hastily. ‘You’re up to something. Are you going to tell me about it? Look, if you’re doing a fugue — organizing a flight from your daughter and her barn-storming husband — just say so. I can help you. I can put on a grave face, wring my hands and tell them that in no circumstances could I possibly, as your physician, allow you to contemplate a trip across the Atlantic.’

‘I can’t deceive you, Christophe.’ Didier smiled. ‘And I don’t want what could be your last memory of me to be that of a cussed old idiot who didn’t listen to good advice when it was given with care and concern. I have other things to do in Reims.’ He was aware that friendship demanded a less dismissive explanation and added awkwardly: ‘Unexpected. It’s all most unexpected. After all these years of hoping. . I may find a cardiologist though that is not the main object of my journey — I was just putting up covering fire to distract Paulette. Well, yes, and you! There’s someone I have to look up. An old army chum. I’ve tried for years to trace him but with no success. I’d given up all expectation of seeing him again — had to admit he very probably hadn’t survived that bloody awful business up on the Chemin des Dames in ’17. But I was wrong. I have reason to believe he’s alive and living in Reims.’

The doctor relaxed. ‘Why on earth didn’t you say so? That could all work out very well. You can see your friend — now don’t go and get roaring drunk. . I absolutely forbid it. One celebratory glass of champagne perhaps? — and then go straight on to Paris. Here, I’ll put this envelope on the mantelpiece. I’m giving you an address and an introduction to an excellent chap.’

‘If God spares me and I have no success in Reims, I’ll go straight there, I promise.’

‘Good. Good. Now tell me where you’ll be staying in Reims.’

‘At the Continental. I thought I’d treat myself to a bit of comfort. I’ve got a tarte tatin to follow if you’re interested. Not for me, of course — but I’ll gladly watch you eat it. A glass of mirabelle with it?’

Left alone after the affectionate farewells and the last-minute advice and repeated instructions, Didier washed the dishes and put them back in their place on the dresser. He glanced around, checking that he’d left everything in good order. Soldierly habits acquired in the trenches had stayed with him. Even at the lowest moment of that degrading episode the men had shaved, cleaned out their billy cans, deloused themselves and maintained their equipment.

Good Lord! Equipment! He was getting forgetful. Time to get this over while he still had his wits. Didier went to his bedroom and pulled a chair over to the wardrobe. He climbed up and felt about under a selection of hats on the top shelf until he found it.

The six shot Lebel army revolver sat easily in his grasp. He’d handled and cleaned it regularly since the end of the war. He wrapped it in a silk scarf and pushed it into the centre of his suitcase, standing ready packed on the chest at the bottom of his bed. He added a box of bullets and closed it with a snap. He was ready. Looking up, he caught his reflection in the dressing-table mirror and drew in his breath, startled by what he saw.

He’d seen the same expression countless times on faces of comrades, an unforgettable blend of terror and resignation.

He was about to go over the top.