The Public Prosecutor (38 page)

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Authors: Jef Geeraerts

BOOK: The Public Prosecutor
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Albert removed the rubber caps from his Mannlicher rifle’s sight and checked to see if the lenses were misted. They were clear. He replaced the rubber caps and grabbed his binoculars. It was cold and wet. The sun had just risen and the dew was beginning to glisten here and there on the heather. Lying on his belly in the wet grass next to Cummings, Albert bowed his head to relieve the pain in his neck. He wriggled his toes in his brand-new wellingtons. He could feel the sweat building up under his sleeveless body warmer. The dreaded pain was absent. Jokke had done an internal examination the previous morning, but his prostate had turned out to be normal. He felt reassured, at his best here in the wild loneliness and silence of the Highlands, in his element.
Cummings spat tobacco juice into the grass by his shoulder, looked to one side and whispered: “We wait. They’ll hang around. Probably.”
The wind picked up and the mountain ridge disappeared in a bank of dark-grey clouds. Albert knew from experience that the weather could be unpredictable in this part of the world. According to Cummings, unexpected showers of heavy rain were called “rain-buffs”. Cummings said little and only spoke when he had to. From time to time he would volunteer information about the wilderness around them - tracks, smells, the landscape, the behaviour of the fauna - but even then it sounded as if he was talking to himself.
Albert liked Cummings and preferred to have him as his stalking partner. He also preferred stalking to coursing with dogs.
“The big one looks fairly good,” Cummings whispered without removing his binoculars. “Six points…”
Albert knew that the man was prone to understatement. His heart started to race and his mouth became dry, as it always did immediately before a shot. Maria was going to be delighted with her surprise trophy, he thought. He pushed back his Gore-Tex cap and took in the unparalleled open landscape. It must have been the same in Roman times, he thought, when they built the wall to keep out the Picts. All he could hear was the gentle rush of the wind. It started to drizzle, but Cummings pretended not to notice. He snorted and spat tobacco juice into the grass for the umpteenth time, a tic he repeated at ten-minute intervals. He could pick out a target at six feet and more. Albert couldn’t resist a smile.
Cummings was one of those people he could tolerate for ever. He reminded him of some of the farmers he had known as a boy. Walter called him “the Shadow”, because he never wandered further than a couple of yards from Albert’s side during a hunt. Walter was stalking in a nearby valley with Will Mackenzie. They had made the usual bet: a bottle of malt for the biggest deer. The bottle was given to the ghillie, but usually emptied by the entire group.
“Sir,” Cummings whispered.
“Yes…”
“He’s a good one. Get him.”
Albert cleared his throat, removed the caps from his sight, rested the butt against his cheek, unfastened the safety catch and waited until the herd came into view. He slowly lined up the cross-wire with the chest of the larger stag - the place hunters refer to as “the spot” - held his breath and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
A second shot followed, then something unexpected happened, something so unexpected it set his heart thumping:
the herd had vanished from the face of the earth
. He checked his sights and glanced at Cummings:
Cummings had also vanished
.
A wave of panic ran through his body. He jumped to his feet and shouted “
John!
”
Albert woke with a jolt, startling the warm body pressed against him.
“Mr Albert, what’s the matter?” a woman’s voice asked.
Albert was shaking from top to toe. His back was soaked with sweat.
“It was a dream…” he spluttered. “I was hunting…”
She switched on her bedside lamp.
“It’s five o’clock. You should get up.”
He turned on his back, closed his eyes, rested his hand on her belly and started to fiddle with her pubic hair.
“How about
your
belly?” she asked.
“So so,” he said. “I’m seeing a doctor friend later, at ten.”
“Mm… I know…”
“Maria…”
“I’m going to miss you in Scotland.”
“Me too, Mr Albert.”
He remained on his back, panting for breath like an old man, and said nothing.
“When do you get back?” she asked.
“Sunday evening…”
“Will you come to my bed? To our bed?”
“Yes, Maria, yes…”
She fell silent. He looked at her and saw the tears in her eyes.
“
Kochanie
…”
She threw her arms around him and rested her warm head against his cheek. He buried his nose in her thick auburn hair, which drove him wild. He wanted to say: “I’ll bring back something for you”, but he checked himself. He wanted to surprise her.
“You should get up,” she said for a second time and sniffed away her tears. Albert had to laugh. Just like Cummings in my dream, he thought. For one reason or another he longed to go hunting. At the same time the following day he would probably be wandering around the Highlands with “the Shadow”.
Maria freed herself from his arms, jumped out of bed stark naked, ran to the door, got up on the tips of her toes and plucked a bulb of garlic from the string her mother had given her to ward off evil powers, witches and ghosts.
She sat beside him on the bed and gave him the garlic. He gently caressed her smooth, warm, muscular back.
“Take it with you,” she said.
He kissed her and got to his feet. He knew she didn’t like long farewells.
“See you Sunday.”
“Keep the
czosnek
with you all the time,” she said.
“Will do,
kochanie
.”
“Say something else.”
“You’re my Third Woman according to Buddha.”
She whimpered and shook her head back and forth.
He turned quickly, opened the door, peered outside and listened. Nothing but the sound of traffic on Amerikalei. He looked back, but she was already in bed with the sheets pulled over her head.
He crept silently downstairs. As he passed Amandine’s bedroom, he thought: even if she were to catch me in bed with Maria she would pretend nothing had happened.
He sat on his bed and sniffed at the bulb of garlic. It was so dry it had lost its smell.
25
 
Albert adjusted his alarm clock to six forty-five, lay back, pulled the duvet up to his neck and fell asleep immediately.
 
Maria Landowska got up around five thirty, washed herself with cold water at the sink in her room, pulled her black maid’s outfit over her bra and panties, and made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where she clattered around as she did every day, preparing breakfast for Mr Albert and Madame, who usually ate in the dining room. She poured herself a cup of coffee and warmed the teapot with the idiotic cosy with hot water.
Baroness de Vreux got up at six o’clock sharp, took out her curlers, brushed her hair, sprayed it with lacquer, splashed some water under her arms and put on pantyhose, a skirt, a blouse and a three-quarter-length jacket. She appeared in the kitchen ten minutes earlier than usual and invited Maria with a smile to accompany her to the chapel to help her carry a large box of candles. It wasn’t the first time. Maria reluctantly slipped on a nylon anorak and sandals. At twenty past six, the women left the house and crossed Amerikalei. Maria Landowska was head and shoulders taller than the woman at her side. She was carrying a heavy package under her arm as if it weighed nothing. She had to slow down her pace to allow the woman to keep up. They entered Saint Michael’s church via a side door that lead to the library. A door at the end of a corridor opened into the shadowy chapel, where a dozen or so elderly men and women were on their knees at prayer. Candles were burning next to the altar in front of a statue of Our Lady with a crown on her head and a sceptre in her hand. A child with the features of a wizened old man rested in the curve of her left arm.
“Stay with me until mass is finished,” Baroness de Vreux whispered. She pointed to a chair at the end of the row. The Opus Dei priest, a thin forty-year-old with a pallid complexion, hurried into the chapel accompanied by an altar boy, and started to recite the prayers of the mass according to the Latin rite in a loud voice, his back to the assembled congregation. The men and women, who had nodded to one another when they arrived, all held sets of rosary beads. They prayed with their eyes closed. A vague odour of candle wax, incense and damp cellar filled the chapel. They got to their knees during the consecration, and everyone - with the exception of Maria - went forward to Communion, which they received on the tongue, returned to their places and knelt in prayer, their hands covering their faces. Baroness Amandine pretended not to notice that Maria had not gone to Communion. When the mass was over, those present exchanged a “kiss of peace”, placing their hands on each other’s shoulders and touching cheeks.
Baroness Amandine gestured that Maria could leave the candles where they were. When they stepped out of the chapel into the busy morning traffic, Baroness Amandine suddenly stopped in her tracks, looked at Maria with a strange grin, removed an envelope from her handbag and said: “This is a ticket for the train to Warsaw. The train leaves at ten thirty from central station with a connection in Brussels South for Cologne and Berlin. I’ve included twenty thousand francs as a reward for loyal service.”
“But… what about my clothes?” Maria spluttered, her face ash-grey, gasping for breath. She stared at Baroness Amandine with her eyes wide open.
“They’ll be sent on later by mail. And now I would like you to get out of my sight for ever,” Baroness Amandine concluded. Her final words were uttered with complete indifference.
She raised her head, fleetingly covered her mouth with a limp right wrist, turned and carefully crossed Amerikalei with a look of satisfaction on her face.
Maria Landowska was stunned rigid. She staggered backwards, sat down on the bluestone steps of the church and stared vacantly at the envelope, which she held in her hand as if she had no idea what to do with it.
 
At seven thirty, Albert was preoccupied with his daily ritual in front of the bathroom mirror. The pain in his groin was gone and he had filled the WC with a healthy waterfall. These old muscles of mine are still made of iron and steel, he thought, pulling in his belly, inspecting his hirsute athletic torso, admiring his profile and humming his favourite ‘Dark Eyes’.
He brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth with water, checked to see if there was any blood in it (there wasn’t) and returned to his bedroom in good cheer, where he dressed at his leisure in a beige shirt and a lightweight Prince de Galles jacket and trousers, which suited him to perfection. He selected a black tie with flecks of gold. Maria knew exactly what he was planning to wear that day. Gone with the Grand Cross emblem! Today was to witness the return of the Renaissance man in all his glory: a flash of the eye here and there at the office, just like Cardinal Richelieu always did as he wandered the corridors of the Trianon, his head held high, before going hunting in the forests of Fontainebleau.
He made his way downstairs two at a time and found Baroness Amandine in the dining room affectedly spooning yogurt into her mouth, her hands chubby and white, the traditional teapot-with-cosy in front of her nose.
He took his place beside her and waited for Maria to appear with a plate of scrambled eggs as she did every morning. Baroness Amandine unexpectedly returned her spoon to the table. “By the way,
la Polonaise
is no longer with us,” she announced as if it were a piece of trivia.
Albert was taken aback. “No kidding…”
“You’re not an American. You know what Daddy thinks about such
barbarie
. All I said was that
la Polonaise
is no longer with us.”
Albert felt as if someone had grabbed him by the throat. He was speechless.
“Besides, you went a little too far,
mon ami
,” Amandine continued, her voice trembling. “There’s one thing I will not tolerate: being humiliated
under my own roof
!”
“Where is Maria?” Albert whispered through gritted teeth.
“Ha ha, on the train to Warsaw. I took care of the ticket and arranged for another maid.
Le chanoine
Zwaegermans already has someone in mind. “And another thing,” she continued in a triumphant tone, “Didier has recently become a full member of Opus Dei and I have arranged through connections with
Sa Majesté
for both him and Geoffroy to be granted the title of baron,
linked only to the name de Vreux.
”
Albert was dumbfounded and slowly began to realize that his muscles were refusing to work. His stomach contracted and a twinge of pain shot from his groin to his kidneys. His heart skipped several beats. He took a deep breath, stared at her with eyes full of venom and said in a low voice: “Didier’s well suited to that sect. He’s always been too stupid to be a lawyer. Hardly surprising, since he inherited the brains of his mother and Granny de Wasseige, the result of years of intermarriage.”

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