Red Rainbow by G Johanson (top books of all time TXT) 📗

even with him wearing his uniform. Gehring said César’s name to see if this did the trick. Her father pointed out that he’d left his daughter in the lurch. Which he had, calling off their wedding with only a month to go. That was the natural fatherly reaction. The unnatural reaction followed like clockwork, César’s almost father-in-law asking with concern, “Is he all right?”

He left your daughter on the shelf, man. You should want him stuffed and mounted and his internal organs in jars on your shelf.

“He is being treated well, he’s just helping us with our enquiries.”

“He wouldn’t have led you here.” Mr Chapelle’s faith in César’s loyalty was ridiculous, all things considered.

“Correct. We’re looking into his background, and your daughter seems the best person to fill us in on his activities the last few years.”

“She’s not seen him since...”

“I understand that. But she was with him for several years of the new regime. I’m sure this would help his case.”

The objections ceased at this. Her father wanted to be there, but Gehring vetoed this. She would not be so candid in front of her father. Gehring still didn’t know what he was going to ask her. All he knew was he didn’t want her censoring herself.

Emmanuelle opened the front door before he knocked, having monitored his arrival from one of the front windows. She invited him into the drawing-room where she had laid out two glasses on the glass coffee table. There was an abundance of glass in the room, three large vitrines placed around the room filled with models of old-fashioned ships (Napoleonic?). Gehring felt there was more to this than hobbyism, the ships serving as a reminder of some ancestral triumph. There was a complete contrast in taste and refinement here compared to César’s townhouse, the difference between old money and nouveau riche. Emmanuelle opened the bay windows, commenting that it could get a little stuffy, before pouring him out a glass of cordial. It was a surprise to see she wasn’t drinking César’s liquid sugar.

“I’m here to ask you about César.”

“I somehow knew that,” Emmanuelle said, her hand drawn to her throat which she clutched. Gehring had not seen any pictures of her before coming over. He’d expected her to be beautiful, which she was. Not as beautiful as Alexia, but ten times as elegant, thin and delicate, particularly her face, her nose narrow. Her black dress was off her narrow shoulders, her black hair cut short, not quite reaching her shoulders. “How can I help?”

She was desperate yet controlled. If Gehring hadn’t known her background, he might have believed she was only slightly concerned. That was all she allowed to show, Emmanuelle being strong so as to help César more. Gehring knew fine well why she didn’t follow through on her suicide threat. She would not leave this world voluntarily while César was still in it. Even if she could not have him physically present, he could not prevent her from feeding off her memories and fantasies. He was gone yet he was still here.

Gehring told her about the mysterious deaths at the theatre and how César had dined with their chief suspect. He asked her about anything suspicious she had seen in her years with him, any contact with any Resistance members.

“Neither of us moved in those circles. I can’t imagine that changing.”

“A lot can change in 18 months.”

“Sorry to correct you, but it’s 16 months. César is not a risktaker. He would have to be to do such things. I can’t see it.”

“He admitted to meeting with Florence Pascoe.”

“That’s plausible. He wouldn’t view that as risky. He is good at brokering deals. His job proves that.”

“An observation, Miss Chapelle. You speak highly of him considering what he did to you.”

“César loved me dearly. I don’t know what changed. Maybe it was the war. It has changed a lot of people,” Emmanuelle said, repeating a line Gehring had heard a lot the last few years. The war excuse. War didn’t change people, drink didn’t change people. War just presented a more extreme way of life, it didn’t craft monsters or saints. It just enabled people to show who they already were.

“But you still don’t think he’d be a risktaker?”

“No. I play it safe so I quite like risktakers, which makes it all the more surprising that I fell for César. He’s not my usual type at all.”

That meant nothing. Hypnosis knocked down any such preferences. The meeting didn’t lead to any particularly useful information bar one titbit, one ray of hope. César had regular sessions with a doctor throughout their courtship, so frequent as to be notable. That was something to look into. She was in no rush to send him on his way, and he was in no great rush to leave. The French Revolution clearly didn’t get rid of all of the aristocrats as this high society lady was no peasant.

Gehring thought about Emmanuelle on his drive home and again that evening. His divorce was done and dusted. She would make a very presentable memento to take home. She seemed a woman of her word – if he promised her César’s release on condition that she married him, she’d follow through. But he had Alexia more over a barrel. He did not know why César’s scraps intrigued him.

Gehring made a decision and presented his idea to Kretschmer upon his return. This would be a way of proving he wasn’t obsessed by César, even if it did mean he brought his name up straight away.

“I’m man enough to admit I may have been wrong about Vadeboncoeur’s involvement. He’s got women falling at his feet – there may have been a touch of envy there, of wanting him to be guilty.”

“Never make it personal. I found that out early.”

“You’re right. One of the women at his feet came in here promising to give us information on six of her countrymen if we released him. Wouldn’t budge without his release. I didn’t press it