‘Revenge for Arnot. I’ve become a symbol of the shame that was brought on the S?reté.’
‘No, that’s not it, Armand. I think you’ve become too powerful.’ After he hung up he called his daughter and woke her up too. She slipped off into another room to talk, then heard David stirring.
‘Dad, I have to talk to David. I’ll call you later.’
‘Annie, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. God, he’s heading downstairs to the paper. Gotta go.’
For a moment Armand Gamache imagined the scene in their home in the Plateau Mont-Royal quartier of Montreal. David rumpled and bewildered. So in love with Annie. Annie impetuous, ambitious, full of life. And so in love with David.
He made one more call. To his friend and superior, Michel Brébeuf.
‘Oui, all?,’ came the familiar voice.
‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘Not at all, Armand.’ The voice was pleasant and warm. ‘I was going to call you this morning. I saw the papers yesterday.’
‘Have you seen this morning’s?’
There was a pause then Gamache heard Michel call, ‘Catherine, has the paper arrived? Oui? Could you bring it here? Just a moment, Armand.’
Gamache heard the rustle as Brébeuf turned the leaves of the paper. Then it stopped.
‘Mon Dieu. Armand, c’est terrible. C’est trop. Have you talked to Annie?’
She was Michel’s goddaughter and a particular favorite.
‘Just now. She hadn’t seen it. She’s talking to David right now. It isn’t true, of course.’
‘You’re kidding, because I believe it,’ said Brébeuf. ‘Of course it’s lies. We know Annie would never have an affair. Armand, this is getting dangerous. Someone’s going to believe this crap. Perhaps you should explain.’
‘To you?’
‘No, not to me, but to the reporters. That first picture was of you talking to Daniel. Why don’t you just call the editor and straighten him out? And I’m sure you have an explanation for the envelope. What was in it anyway?’
‘The one I gave to Daniel? Nothing significant.’
There was a pause. Finally Brébeuf spoke, seriously. ‘Armand, was it a crêpe?’
Gamache laughed. ‘How’d you guess, Michel? That’s exactly what it was. An old family crêpe my grand-mère made.’
Brébeuf laughed then grew silent. ‘If you don’t stop these insinuations they’ll just grow. Hold a news conference, tell everyone Daniel’s your son. Tell them what was in the envelope. Tell them about Annie. What’s the harm?’
What was the harm?
‘The lies will never end, Michel. You know that. It’s a monster with an endless supply of heads. Lop off one head and more appear, stronger and more vicious. If we respond they’ll know they have us. I won’t do it. And I won’t resign.’
‘You sound like a child.’
‘Children can be wise.’
‘Children are willful and selfish,’ Brébeuf snapped. There was silence. Michel Brébeuf forced himself to pause. To count to five. To give the impression of massive thought. Then he spoke.
‘You win, Armand. But will you let me work behind the scenes? I have some contacts at the papers.’
‘Thank you, Michel. I’d appreciate it.’
‘Good. Go to work, concentrate on the investigation. Keep your focus and don’t worry about this. I’ll take care of it.’
*
Armand Gamache dressed and headed downstairs, plunging deeper and deeper into the aroma of strong coffee. For a few minutes he sipped his coffee, ate a flaky croissant, and talked to Gabri. The disheveled man had toyed with the handle of his mug and told Gamache about coming out, about telling his family, about telling his co-workers at the investment house. And as he spoke Gamache realized Gabri knew how he was feeling. Naked, exposed, being made to feel shame for something not shameful. And in his oddly quiet way Gabri was saying he wasn’t alone. Thanking Gabri Gamache put on his rubber boots and waxed Barbour field coat and went for a walk. He had a lot to ponder and he knew that everything is solved by walking.
It was drizzling slightly, and all the joyous spring flowers were lying down, like young soldiers slaughtered on a battlefield. For twenty minutes he walked, his hands clasping each other behind his back. Round and round the quiet little village he went and watched as it came alive, as lights appeared at the windows, dogs were put out, fires were lit in grates. It was peaceful and calm.
‘Hello there,’ called Clara Morrow. She stood in her garden, a mug in her hand and a raincoat over her nightgown. ‘Just surveying the damage. Are you free for dinner tonight? We thought we might invite a few people over.’
‘Sounds wonderful, thank you. Would you join me?’ Gamache indicated his circular walk round the Commons.
‘Sure.’
‘How’s your art? I hear Denis Fortin’s coming to visit soon.’ Seeing her face he knew he’d stepped in something sticky and stinky. ‘Or shouldn’t I have said anything?’
‘No, no. It’s just that I’m struggling a little. Things that were so clear a few days ago are suddenly muddy and confused. You know?’
‘I know,’ he said ruefully.
She looked at him. She often felt foolish, ill constructed, next to others. Beside Gamache she only ever felt whole.
‘What did you think of Madeleine Favreau?’
Clara paused to collect her thoughts. ‘I liked her. A lot. Didn’t really know her all that well. She’d just joined the ACW. Lucky Hazel.’
‘How so?’
‘Hazel was supposed to take over from Gabri this September as president, but then Madeleine said she’d do it.’
‘Didn’t that upset Hazel?’
‘You’ve clearly never been an Anglican Church Woman.’
‘I’m not Anglican.’
‘It’s great fun. We hold church socials and teas and twice a year we have a sale of goods. But it’s hell to organize.’
‘So that’s hell,’ smiled Gamache. ‘Only mortal sinners run ACWs?’
‘Absolutely. Our punishment is to spend eternity begging for volunteers.’
‘So Hazel was happy to get out of it?’