Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

Eve

Paris, July 1946

Georges, Kristina and I arrived in Paris in a sombre mood the following evening. Remembering what had happened the night she and Max were arrested had left Kristina almost comatose, and delays due to repairs on the train tracks meant the trip between Nice and Paris had taken longer than expected.

‘We had better get her straight to Madame Bonne’s apartment,’ said Georges quietly. ‘And ask her to call a doctor.’

‘Kristina’s banishment of Serge saved his life. He wasn’t there when the Germans came,’ I whispered back. ‘But he must carry the guilt of it. At least now Kristina can tell him that she and Max were reconciled before he was arrested.’

What Kristina had revealed about Serge did not change my love for him. I finally appreciated what my mother had come to see about their relationship: I understand the reasons why you couldn’t love me the way I loved you, and I forgive you for them.

After settling Kristina with Inès, Georges and I headed to Judge Regis’s house. There were two burly men wearing trench coats waiting in the garden and another two policemen standing by the door.

‘French intelligence,’ whispered Georges, indicating the two men in the garden.

‘Is it a good sign?’ I asked.

‘I would hope so.’

The butler led us to the drawing room where Judge Regis was waiting for us. ‘I have news for you,’ he said. ‘French intelligence observations of Martin La Farge’s house in Neuilly-sur-Seine have revealed an interesting coming and going of highprofile visitors, including Judge Clouzot. We have also received word that Martin La Farge and his lover, Sonia Vertinskaya, intend to leave tonight for Switzerland.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘We should go with the officers outside for the arrest. The president demands that I be present as the examining judge of the case. Clearly, he thinks I’m the only incorruptible member of the Ministry of Justice.’

*

Judge Regis sat in the front passenger seat of Georges’s car while I took the back. We followed behind the police and intelligence agents.

‘Martin La Farge is going to try to move the collection to Switzerland tonight,’ Judge Regis told us. ‘We were tipped off by the furniture removalist company – the same company that helped him loot Jewish homes during the war. The owner offered information in exchange for clemency. We are hoping to catch La Farge red-handed.’

‘Did the removalists witness the murder of édouard and Beatrice Fould?’ asked Georges.

Judge Regis shook his head. ‘They were there to do the looting and were called in after the fact.’

‘What about the gardener and the two maids? Wouldn’t they have heard trucks arriving?’ I asked.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Judge Regis, ‘if the storm that night was loud enough.’

‘So surely all of that, combined with the fact that Martin La Farge had a reason to cast suspicion on Serge because he wanted to keep the gallery he’d gained during the war, turns the tide of assumed guilt to him?’ I asked, finding it frustrating that it had been so easy to convict Serge, but the evidence for placing the guilt on Martin seemed to require watertight evidence.

‘That’s not all,’ said Judge Regis. ‘He hated Serge Lavertu for another reason. His sister, Madeleine La Farge. He apparently blames Lavertu, along with the Bergerets, for corrupting Madeleine and seducing her into their bohemian way of life.’

My reality shifted. ‘His sister?’ I echoed faintly.

Georges glanced at me in the rear-view mirror, puzzled by my reaction.

All three cars pulled up behind a grove of trees. One of the agents walked over to the car and signalled for Georges to wind down the window. ‘We’ll walk the rest of the way. There are ten policemen already stationed around the property to assist. We’ll lead and you follow behind in case of gunfire.’

Up ahead of us, I saw a house with a mansard roof and an equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius near the front door. I buckled at the knees as the awful truth loomed over me. This was my mother’s childhood home exactly as Serge had described it.

‘Are you all right?’ Georges asked. ‘Who is Madeleine La Farge, by the way? Has Serge ever mentioned her?’

I shook my head. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

Georges turned his attention back to Judge Regis. ‘You didn’t tell us about Sonia Vertinskaya. What’s the story there?’

‘She worked as an informer for the Gestapo, afraid that they would close her business and arrest her mother if she didn’t.’

‘Do you think she’s aware that Martin La Farge might have had something to do with the murder of the Foulds?’ Georges asked.

Judge Regis shrugged. ‘Even if she didn’t know beforehand, I’m quite sure she has learned the truth by now.’

The gates had been left open by the removalists. Martin was standing by the truck supervising the loading of the crates of what was almost certainly the Foulds’ art collection. I cringed now that I saw the family resemblance. He shared my mother’s perfect features and her Nordic blondness. It was his broken nose that had thrown me. No wonder my mother had run away from her family with a brother like that.

Sonia came out of the house carrying a Louis Vuitton cosmetic case. The intelligence agents turned around to us and nodded.

Then, like a storm of swarming wasps, they and the police converged towards Martin La Farge. Sonia saw them coming and went running back into the house. One of the policemen ran after her, but Martin was surrounded.

‘Martin La Farge,’ announced the police sergeant. ‘You are under arrest for the murder of édouard and Beatrice Fould.’

Martin said nothing at first, only put his hands in the air. His face hardened, and I thought he was going to start resisting. But then Sonia was brought out of the house by the policeman. She was wrestling with him and shouting expletives. A slow smile came to Martin’s face.

‘The game is over, my dear,’ he said. ‘They know all about what you’ve done. I can’t cover for you anymore, I’m afraid.’

Sonia stopped resisting and looked at him. ‘ Connard! ’ she cursed. ‘You poor excuse for a man!’

And I had to agree. Martin La Farge was not only a murderer and a thief, but he had no honour. Not even to his lover. I felt tainted knowing that I was related to him.

Not able to bear seeing anything else, I turned and walked back towards the car. Georges ran after me. ‘Eve, don’t you want to see the art? They’re opening the crates now.’

I turned and looked at him.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

What would he think of me when I told him the truth? It was one thing to be born poor, quite another to be related to a monster – a man who had betrayed his country, committed cold-blooded murder, been responsible for the deaths of innocent children, and who knew what other dark deeds? But Georges deserved to know the truth before he developed any further feelings for me.

I nodded back towards the house. ‘The man they just arrested... is my uncle .’