‘Who wins this struggle in our nation.’
‘Well, yes, but. In a perfect world. A world where you can live whatever life would make you happy.’
‘Interesting.’ He folded his arms, tapping an elegant finger against his elbow. ‘I have always pictured myself retiring to a quiet town perhaps in the mountains. Somewhere sedate, with a garden I can tend all year round.’
Camille’s eyebrow arched. ‘Really?’
‘No. I kill plants. It would be ill-advised.’
She snorted and they moved to the next room, working down a long corridor trying each door in turn.
Too many were locked. Who needed to lock rooms in an abandoned abbey?
There were fresh footprints in the dust. Something rattled.
Camille flung out an arm, stopping Guil in his tracks. They froze as the noise came again. Exchanging a look, they drew their weapons noiselessly.
Then a rat scurried from under a broken table, sending the snapped wood clattering.
Camille slipped her pistol back into her belt.
‘The sooner we’re out of here, the better.’
They found another open door leading into a room with a desk and chair, an expensive, but mud-stained jacket slung over the back of it.
‘What do you think Al will do after this is all over? Professional layabout?’
Guil gave her a pointed look. ‘You invited him into this team the same as the rest of us. You didn’t have to.’
‘I know.’
‘I think he challenges you and you don’t like it.’
She sighed. ‘I get you’re into the whole revolutionary “speak truth to power” thing but could you stop taking me apart so easily? I’m fragile.’
He laughed. ‘Camille Laroche, fragile is the last thing you are.’
‘You’ve still not told me what you’d really want for your future. What you would choose for yourself. You know, if not murdering shrubbery.’
‘Honestly? I think I would like to write – for a paper, pamphlets, I am not entirely sure. Even after the dust has settled on this revolution there will be many wrongs that need righting. I want to bring people’s attention to those problems that are all too easy to ignore.’
‘But what about your family? Out of all of us you have the most family left. Why stay here? Why not go back to Marseilles and be out of it.’
He looked away. ‘I don’t think I can go back yet. You know my father didn’t approve of my joining the army. If I go back in disgrace, a deserter … well. All I'll have done is prove him right.’
‘You don’t have to tell him.’
‘But I would know. I want – I want to do something he would be proud of.’
‘Was this the sort of thing you had in mind?’
‘I admit I had more pictured myself giving rousing revolutionary speeches from the tables of the Café Royal.’
‘Next job, I’ll see what I can do.’
‘And you? What will you do when this is over?’
‘Why is everyone asking me that?’ Camille grumbled, putting the collection of lint, odd cufflinks and twists of snuff back into the jacket. Nothing useful.
