Read Online The Devil's Cave: A Bruno Courrèges Investigation (Bruno Chief of Police 5) by Martin Walker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Martin Walker
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beside him. Then he put an unopened bottle of Bergerac Sec into a string bag, tied the bag to the boat and lowered the wine into the water to keep cool. There was no one else on the river as they paddled downstream, pausing to look at each boathouse and landing stage. Most of them were still padlocked from the winter, and they saw no signs of recent footprints or launchings.
Bruno thought he knew his river reasonably well, but it was the road and pathways he knew far better than this special viewpoint from the water. The trailing fronds of the willows cast a dappled light before being overtaken by the sudden darkness cast from the majestic oaks and chestnut trees. The river could seem black and still as night one moment and as clear as glass the next before frothing into ripples over the sudden shallows. The current was steady, a little slower than walking pace, speeding as the river turned into a curve before slowing into a deceptive stillness that seemed so perfect Bruno hardly wanted to disturb the surface with his paddle. The rhythm of his paddling was almost soporific, and even as he tried to focus on each possible landing, his thoughts kept drifting.
Helping Eugénie and her horse the previous evening had made him late for dinner. He’d been looking forward to it, an invitation to Florence’s apartment beside the college where she now worked. They had been six at table: the headmasterRollo and his wife Mathilde, Serge the sports teacher and one of the stars of the town’s rugby team, and an unusually subdued Fabiola.
It had been a simple meal. Smoked salmon to begin, roast chicken, a salad with an array of local cheeses followed by an apple tart bought from Fauquet’s. Sensibly, Florence had bought local wines. With the bottle of Pomerol that was Bruno’s contribution and Rollo’s bottle of Chablis, and the table made colourful by the bouquet of daffodils that Fabiola had brought, the evening had been a success.
Bruno had been pleased for Florence. Not only was it her first dinner party in St Denis but in Rollo she was also hosting her boss. Bruno had known Rollo so long it was a mild shock to think of him that way, but Florence had ever so slightly deferred to him and gone out of her way to include his wife, Mathilde, in the conversation. Inevitably, some of the talk had turned to questions of the college: the shortage of teachers prepared to work in rural areas, the lack of jobs for school-leavers, the curriculum changes. Bruno had taken advantage of the theme to ask if Rollo or Serge remembered Francette Junot.
‘She could have been a good athlete, but like a lot of girls she lost interest after reaching puberty,’ Serge had said. Rollo recalled that she’d had a gift for maths, but had never applied herself to schoolwork, as if determined to leave school and start working as soon as she could. The conversation had been about to take another turn when Mathilde said, ‘I didn’t know her well, but she was a deeply unhappy girl.’
Everyone sat up at that point. Mathilde, who worked part-time in a local accountant’s office, was not known for involving herself much in school affairs.
‘A man probably wouldn’t notice, but she never had the right kind of clothes, and the other girls made fun of her. Once I heard them sneer at her for wearing clothes from the
Action Catholique
, one of the other girls’ cast-offs. Kids can be so cruel at that age. That’s probably why she couldn’t wait to leave school.’
A silence had fallen until Florence said brightly that with her new job, her own days of getting clothes from the charity shop were now in the past. Bruno was relieved that he had remarked on entering how attractive Florence was looking, and had noticed that her blonde hair had been cut and shaped so that it softened her rather long face.
A grunt from Antoine and a sudden flurry of movement at the back of the canoe brought Bruno back to the present. Antoine had a bite. The green hills that rose
Bruno thought he knew his river reasonably well, but it was the road and pathways he knew far better than this special viewpoint from the water. The trailing fronds of the willows cast a dappled light before being overtaken by the sudden darkness cast from the majestic oaks and chestnut trees. The river could seem black and still as night one moment and as clear as glass the next before frothing into ripples over the sudden shallows. The current was steady, a little slower than walking pace, speeding as the river turned into a curve before slowing into a deceptive stillness that seemed so perfect Bruno hardly wanted to disturb the surface with his paddle. The rhythm of his paddling was almost soporific, and even as he tried to focus on each possible landing, his thoughts kept drifting.
Helping Eugénie and her horse the previous evening had made him late for dinner. He’d been looking forward to it, an invitation to Florence’s apartment beside the college where she now worked. They had been six at table: the headmasterRollo and his wife Mathilde, Serge the sports teacher and one of the stars of the town’s rugby team, and an unusually subdued Fabiola.
It had been a simple meal. Smoked salmon to begin, roast chicken, a salad with an array of local cheeses followed by an apple tart bought from Fauquet’s. Sensibly, Florence had bought local wines. With the bottle of Pomerol that was Bruno’s contribution and Rollo’s bottle of Chablis, and the table made colourful by the bouquet of daffodils that Fabiola had brought, the evening had been a success.
Bruno had been pleased for Florence. Not only was it her first dinner party in St Denis but in Rollo she was also hosting her boss. Bruno had known Rollo so long it was a mild shock to think of him that way, but Florence had ever so slightly deferred to him and gone out of her way to include his wife, Mathilde, in the conversation. Inevitably, some of the talk had turned to questions of the college: the shortage of teachers prepared to work in rural areas, the lack of jobs for school-leavers, the curriculum changes. Bruno had taken advantage of the theme to ask if Rollo or Serge remembered Francette Junot.
‘She could have been a good athlete, but like a lot of girls she lost interest after reaching puberty,’ Serge had said. Rollo recalled that she’d had a gift for maths, but had never applied herself to schoolwork, as if determined to leave school and start working as soon as she could. The conversation had been about to take another turn when Mathilde said, ‘I didn’t know her well, but she was a deeply unhappy girl.’
Everyone sat up at that point. Mathilde, who worked part-time in a local accountant’s office, was not known for involving herself much in school affairs.
‘A man probably wouldn’t notice, but she never had the right kind of clothes, and the other girls made fun of her. Once I heard them sneer at her for wearing clothes from the
Action Catholique
, one of the other girls’ cast-offs. Kids can be so cruel at that age. That’s probably why she couldn’t wait to leave school.’
A silence had fallen until Florence said brightly that with her new job, her own days of getting clothes from the charity shop were now in the past. Bruno was relieved that he had remarked on entering how attractive Florence was looking, and had noticed that her blonde hair had been cut and shaped so that it softened her rather long face.
A grunt from Antoine and a sudden flurry of movement at the back of the canoe brought Bruno back to the present. Antoine had a bite. The green hills that rose
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