She was speaking quietly and trying, Joe thought, for the dispassionate tone he had advocated. ‘Does Julie have any idea why she would have behaved in this way?’

‘Oh yes. She thinks she did it to divert Langlois’s anger. To turn his rage away from her and the girls on to the boy who counted for so little in that household. A sort of whipping boy, you might say. First in line for punishment when punishment was necessary.’

‘A demonstration of her loyalty and her acceptance of the situation between them?’ suggested Joe.

‘That’s what the girls think,’ said Dorcas. ‘But I don’t think that would be enough. Not enough to make a mother do such a dreadful thing, do you?’

‘You have a different theory?’ he enquired gently. The question of mothers would always be a tricky one with Dorcas, deserted practically at birth by her own.

‘Yes. See what you think. There’s a girl in the village . . . No! Don’t shudder in that showy way!’ she said crossly. ‘All right – I know I exaggerate sometimes . . . occasionally I lie. But I always know that I’m not deceiving you or I wouldn’t do it. This is a true story, so listen! Have you seen Cora with the red hair who works in the chemist’s? No? Well she was a very pretty girl but she’s never married. When she was just old enough she went to Godalming to do her bit for the war effort. The gaffer in the factory she was sent to was a no-good. She came home pregnant and only when the baby was born did she tell her father what had happened. She’d been raped. It’s a good family. The mother wanted to bring the child up as her own and the father went straight off to Godalming and beat the man nearly to death. They arrested Cora’s dad and he was up on a charge of GBH. They put him away for five years’ hard labour.’

‘A sad story. And not uncommon,’ said Joe quietly.

‘It got sadder. When the baby was born they kept trying to persuade her to feed it. She wouldn’t. Wouldn’t even look at it. It kept howling with hunger and then it suddenly went quiet. When her mother ran upstairs to see if all was well, Cora was lying in bed just staring and the baby was by her side. Not breathing. It was dead. She tried to explain to the doctor who came that she hated the baby and couldn’t bear to touch it.’

‘Terrible tale. Were there repercussions for poor Cora? I’m afraid she could have been facing a murder charge.’

‘There would have been but it was all hushed up. So hushed that nobody speaks of it outside the village.’ She added thoughtfully, ‘But the doctor is very highly respected. You often hear them say, “I’d give my right arm for that man! He’s a champion feller.” But the point is, Joe, if Albert’s mother treated him as she did, don’t you think there may have been a sinister reason for this? Vulnerable young girl attacked by stranger passing through? She might well, like Cora, have secretly hated the child. But that’s not something a woman could ever confess to. She disguised the nastiness for our benefit.’

‘She was spinning us a tale, you think?’

‘Yes. She gave us a much more romantic and acceptable version. Well, it certainly captured your sympathy, didn’t it? Can’t say you weren’t warned! Old Langlois told you – “Don’t fall for her nonsense.” A woman in her situation must get used to lying convincingly. A way of life, I’d have thought. But I’ll tell you what, Joe . . . however dispassionate you might think yourself, you can’t let Thibaud be handed over to her. Can you? He’d be at her mercy! Think of the awful life he would lead.’

Joe spoke sharply in a sudden rush of anger. ‘I’m a foreign policeman passing through. I have no authority, no magic wand. If the French can prove to their satisfaction that this woman is the patient’s mother, that’s it. Nothing I can do. Now, I’m grateful for your insights, Dorcas, never think otherwise, but if you’re going to get so involved with these claimants I think you’d be better kept at a distance. I’ll go by myself to see the Tellancourt family tomorrow morning and leave you behind.’ He glanced at his wrist-watch. ‘Half past one. I think I could probably make that phone call to the doctor now. He should have something for us. But first we’ll go and have a well-earned lunch, shall we? We’re a bit late but I expect they’ll be able to put something together.’

Varimont answered the telephone himself. His staccato tones had the added energy of excitement: ‘Sandilands! Glad you rang. Look – why don’t you come round to my office if you’re free? Soon as you like. Much easier to show you what we’ve found, I think, rather than explain. Oh yes, we have found something. Not much but it could make all the difference, I think you’ll agree.’

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.’