Page 45 of The French Wife

‘Yes.’ Annette cleared her throat. ‘As I said before, memories of the German occupation in this town are long. And the artist was actually a German officer of the Wehrmacht stationed here during that time. He must have already been an artist before he was in the army because these paintings are obviously done by a professional. And he must have really felt at home here. He clearly understood the area very well from the way he depicted it.’

‘That’s incredible,’ Emma said. ‘I found three of his paintings in an abandoned cabin on my land. Do you know his name?’

‘Yes, his name was Hans Bauer. We don’t know what happened to him at the end of the war, although some of his early paintings are on display in Munich. I checked with all the German museums and art galleries there and he seems to have faded from view after the conflict. With his talent, he would surely have become well-known if he was still active. I’d love to see the pictures you’ve found – I didn’t know there were any more in existence.’

‘Of course. I’ll bring them in to show you when I’m next in St Marie. I’m curious, though. Why haven’t these paintings sold yet? It’s a very long time since the war.’

‘Well, it took the people who inherited these paintings a very long time to come forward. The old man didn’t want anything to do with them because of who’d painted them. He died a year or so ago and it was only then that his widow came forward and asked me to have a look at them with a view to selling them.’

‘How did they come to have them?’ Emma asked, standing back and admiring a painting of the abbaye with the evening sunlight glowing on its walls.

‘Herr Bauer must have lodged in their property. They inherited it from the wife’s grandmother. There is a studio behind the house where he stayed while he was stationed here. Apparently, it wasn’t until after he’d left that they found the paintings.’

‘A studio behind the house?’ Emma asked, remembering her recent visit to Madame Brodin’s. ‘What is their name?’

‘My client is not that keen on being associated with the sale of the paintings, so I’ll tell you in confidence. Her grandmother was called Marie Argène. My client inherited the house from her. Her name is Madame Brodin.’

Emma frowned. ‘That’s strange. I went to talk to her the other day. Her grandson put me in touch with her. He said she might be prepared to speak about the war years, but she was very reticent when I visited her and didn’t tell me much at all. She certainly didn’t say anything about any paintings, and she didn’t seem to know much about her grandmother’s lodger either.’

Annette smiled ruefully. ‘As I said, she is very cagey about the sale of the paintings and the war generally. She hasn’t even told her family she’s selling them, for fear they would disapprove. Apparently, her husband always told her they shouldn’t be profiting from the German occupation, that it would be almost as bad as collaborating. She clearly feels guilty about it, but she’s not well off and needs the money for her medical care.’

‘I see.’

‘She asked me to come look at them a few weeks ago. I was amazed at what they had stashed away in that studio. It was a treasure trove, believe me. I took most of them. There were a couple of unfinished ones. I didn’t think I could sell those, so I left them there. It was a shame because they were clearly beautifully done, just like the others.’

‘I’d love to see them,’ Emma said, her curiosity aroused.

‘Perhaps you could go back and ask Madame Brodin, although I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention that I’d told you her name.’

‘Perhaps I could find a way of getting her to show me the studio. I’ll ask her grandson if she’d talk to me again. I don’t want to simply turn up out of the blue.’

‘No, she certainly doesn’t like to be surprised. Now, shall we go and look at those frames? What size were you looking for?’

Emma followed Annette downstairs and spent some time looking at the ready-made picture frames on sale. In the end she chose some dark frames with subtle hints of gold which picked up the faded quality of the photographs.

‘I will speak to my grandmother,’ Annette said, ‘and see if she’ll talk to you about her wartime experiences. How will I let you know?’

‘I’ll come in again in the next few days with the small Hans Bauer paintings,’ Emma said. Then, thanking her, Emma put the frames in her bag and left the gallery.

She next walked to the police station, which was on the way out of town on the Boulevard des Promenades. At the front desk she asked to speak to Inspector Brodin and was shown through to a cluttered office at the back of the building where the inspector was sitting back in his chair, his feet on the desk.

‘Ah! Madame Hudson,’ he said, jumping up to shake her hand. ‘Thank you for coming. Our experts have checked the weapons you discovered on your premises and they are not dangerous. I thought you’d like to know.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I’d just like you to sign these official papers, confirming the details of where you found them and to release them to the state. I’m afraid we cannot return them to you, they are state property now. As are the grenades and the ammunition.’

‘Of course,’ she said, scribbling her signature on some papers he pushed across the desk.

‘They almost certainly belonged to Resistance fighters, but there is no way of finding out who owned them or where they came from. The German weapons you found would have been stolen by the Maquis to supplement their stash of arms.’

‘That’s fascinating,’ Emma said, imagining a group of Resistance fighters running through the dark to raid a German position in a hail of gunfire.

Inspector Brodin leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘Speaking of the war, how did you get on with my grandmother?’ he asked.

‘She’s a formidable lady,’ Emma replied. ‘She told me a few things, but I got the impression she wasn’t keen on talking about those days. She didn’t really want to be drawn.’

‘Did she tell you about selling her wartime paintings?’