Shock flooded his body like a hot wave. Was she serious? The ramifications shook him, overtaking his mind. ‘A body? Why would there be a body in there?’
‘There’s definitely no body?’
‘Not that I saw and we walked to the far end and back again. The lights were on.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’ He wanted to joke that he’d have noticed a body but from Marthe’s sudden tension, he knew it would not be appreciated.
‘Hattie?’ Luc prompted.
‘There was no body. I promise you. We’d definitely have seen it. Alphonse put the lights on. There was nothing but bottles down there.’
She drooped suddenly and exhaled. ‘You’re absolutely sure.’
‘Yes,’ said Luc again, taking her hand, now worried about her state of mind. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
‘I thought he was dead,’ she whispered.
‘Who?’
‘Paul. Paul Rey.’ She closed her eyes. ‘All these years, worrying and wondering.’
‘That’s why you didn’t tell anyone about the cellar? Why the door was bricked up?’ Luc said, the pieces all clicking into place.
‘I couldn’t. I know it was wicked but Henri told me he’d killed him.’
‘Great-Uncle Henri?’
‘Of course,’ she said impatiently. ‘Who else?’
‘What happened?’
‘Rey wasun connard,’ she spat, wrenching her hand away, both fists clenched, the tendons stark white against her veined skin.
He and Hattie both jerked in surprise at the vituperative tone.
Her mouth tightened, lines fanning out in displeasure.
‘We were in the Resistance, Henri and me.’
Hattie leaned forward, as mesmerised by the story as he was.
‘We used the cellars to hide English airmen who’d been shot down and helped them to escape to Marseille on the Pat line. One night we were expecting two airmen who were due to stay for a few nights while we arranged papers and clothes for them. Transport had been arranged for them but it was delayed. Paul –’ her face contorted. ‘– thatsalopewould have sold his own mother – heard of the arrangements and followed them to St Martin. Henri caught him snooping and he threatened to go to the high command at Reims if we didn’t pay him.’ She paused and stared off into the distance, lost in memories.
‘What happened?’ urged Luc, conscious that he was digging up an unwelcome past, but Hattie was nodding at him. Urging him to carry on.
Marthe stiffened and lifted her chin, looking him directly in the eye. ‘Henri told me he had killed him and left him in the cellar. But before we could do anything about it, Henri was arrested and the Germans were searching for Paul. Henri told them that Paul had run off. We, me and Georges, bricked up the cellar so that the body couldn’t be found and then Henri was sent to a labour camp and I never saw him again. I know it was wrong but Rey was dead and he had no family, so no one would miss him. That cellar door had been hidden, so we were already hiding the best vintages in there.’
Luc stared at her.
‘It was an accident. Henri swore it was an accident. He hit him over the head with a champagne bottle.’ She put her hands up to her face. ‘Poor Henri, he was in such a state over taking a man’s life, but Paul would have destroyed everything. Everyone would have been rounded up and shot. The week before, a whole family in Reims was executed for helping with the Resistance.’ She stopped, her voice trembling. ‘I know Henri didn’t mean to kill him but he had to stop him.’ She paused and he could see her thin chest rising and falling in rapid shallow breaths. He glanced at the monitors but they remained quiet.
‘It’s okay, Marthe,’ said Hattie. ‘Do you want some water?’
Marthe took the plastic beaker that Hattie held out. ‘Thank you,cherie.’
She sipped and closed her eyes, clearly lost in unpleasant memories. Hattie looked on with concerned sympathy. Guilt nudged Luc at having dredged it all up again.
