“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds.
“What did they write on the statue of Helvetia?” she repeats. “Did it directly implicate Hamidou?”
“No,” he says, looking around nervously, sweat dribbling down both sides of his face. He pulls his handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his blazer and pats his skin.
He’s always known, she realizes. Known and turned a blind eye to protect the school.
“They added some words to our motto,” he admits. “They wrote: ‘Molesting young women to become fucked-up citizens of the world.’”
“They were expelled for that?”
“It was very disrespectful and vulgar,” he whispers, still looking around him like a frightened animal. “And they were doing drugs—”
“You didn’t bother to ask them why they did it?” Kersti says accusingly. “You weren’t concerned they were trying to tell you something?”
“Hamidou felt they were troublemakers—”
“So you got rid of them and kept Hamidou.”
“There was nothing in the world to suggest Madame Hamidou was doing anything inappropriate,” he says. “The students adored her! I have to trust the members of my faculty—”
“But you’re not at all surprised by what I’m telling you, are you?”
He averts his dark eyes and leads her by the elbow farther away from the minglers.
“You suspected, didn’t you?” she presses, when they’re hidden behind a tree.
“Madame Harzenmoser occasionally used to roam the dorms late at night,” he confesses. “Over the years, on more than one occasion, she observed Madame Hamidou leaving some of the students’ rooms.”
“Harzenmoser told you that?”
“Yes, but we decided to give her the benefit of the doubt,” he explains. “The students loved her, as you know. We both felt strongly that if she were doing anything untoward, the students in question would come forward. No one ever did, so we surmised she was just offering comfort. Maternal comfort. Or perhaps the girls were sick when she visited them—”
His voice falls off and he withers visibly under Kersti’s hard stare.
“You knew,” Kersti hisses. “You both knew and you let it go on. You didn’t even fire her!”
“We didn’t know. She is beloved here—”
“She’s been molesting students for four decades!”
“We never knew that,” he repeats, his voice climbing. “No one in forty years ever came forward! Certainly we would have dismissed her and pressed charges if anyone had ever spoken up. You can’t expect us to have fired her without grounds.”
“But the vandalism? Those girls came forward! And Hamidou’s late night visits to students’ rooms?” Kersti reminds him. “My God, shouldn’t you have investigated?”
“It was a different world back then,” he tells her. “It was not the topic du jour like it is now. Even when you were students in the nineties, no one knew or understood anything about such matters.”
“And what about the past twenty years?” she fires back.
“We’ve never had a complaint.”
“Did you ever suspect she had something to do with Cressida’s fall?” Kersti pursues. “Is that why you had your friend close the investigation so quickly?”
“Of course not—”
“As soon as I tell Deirdre what Hamidou did to Cressida, she’s going to demand a new investigation. Be prepared.”
She leaves Bueche standing there, stunned, and goes off in search of Jay.
“Where do you keep disappearing?” he asks, coming toward her.
“I was talking to Bueche,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“I have to talk to Deirdre,” she tells him. “I have to tell her.”
“Kerst, it’s like a hundred degrees out here,” he says. “You’re getting worked up, you haven’t eaten since breakfast . . .”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Babe.”
“We’ve worked so hard for this,” he says, placing his hands on her stomach. “For them. First we flew to the UK, then we took a train here. You’re speaking to all these people and getting stressed and emotional. I agreed to come here to celebrate this hundred-year anniversary thing. Not to follow you around while you play detective.”
“I’m not playing detective,” she says. “You want me to eat? I’ll eat.”
She grabs a handful of cheese tarts from a passing tray and devours them all, realizing she’s actually starving. “Look, why don’t you go back to the hotel.”
“No way. Not without you.”
“Just wait for me at the hotel,” she says calmly. “I’m going to talk to Deirdre, and then I’d like to hang out with Noa, Raf, and Alison for a few hours. I came here to see them, too.”
“What about Hamidou?”
“Hamidou is Deirdre’s problem,” Kersti says. “She can handle it however she wants. I’m just going to tell her what I know and give her the Polaroids.”
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
He pulls her into his arms and holds her. “You’ve got my sons in there,” he reminds her.
“I know.”
“What time will you be back at the hotel?”
“We’re grabbing a bite at the Pont Bessières,” she says. “No later than eleven?”
He nods reluctantly. “Any idea yet who sent you the Polaroids?” he asks her.
“Not yet.” She looks at her watch. “It’s not quite four. I’m still waiting for the guy at the front desk to call me.”
“Behave,” he tells her, and disappears across the lawn.
Kersti spots Alison sitting by herself on the front stoop of Huber House. “I’m hiding,” Alison confides. “I’m afraid to bump into Hamidou right now. I saw her sitting there in the audience—it was just the back of her head—and I started shaking and I wanted to throw up.”
“Bueche knows,” Kersti says.
Alison turns to her. “You told him? Or he already knew?”
“I told him, but I think he knew.”
“Fucker,” she mutters. “Of course he did. I feel like going up to that podium and telling everyone right now.”
Kersti imagines how that would go down. May I have your attention please? I’d like to let everyone know that our treasured Madame Hamidou has been sexually abusing her students for forty years, me included. If it’s happened to any of you out there, please put up your hand! Dozens of hands shooting into the air. Oh, and Monsieur Bueche and Madame Harzenmoser have known all along but they covered it up to protect the school’s reputation. Happy 100th birthday, Lycée. Enjoy yourselves, everyone!
“I could never do it though,” Alison admits. “I couldn’t even tell you up till today. It’s so fucking humiliating.”
“You have nothing to feel humiliated about.”
“I let her,” Alison says. “Even when I was old enough to know better. I loved her.”
“As a mother.”
“Who knows anymore?”
Kersti puts her arm around Alison, but Alison quickly squirms away. “I’m fine,” she says stiffly.