Voices on the Wind Read Free

Katharine Alfurd said aloud. ‘They put a statue up in the market square after the war. I heard about it, but I didn’t want to see it. Nobody must mention your clay feet, my darling, because at the end you redeemed all those terrible mistakes you made.’ She stood up, confronting the memories suppressed for so long. ‘I loved you so much. I loved you, but I couldn’t save you, because you wouldn’t listen. You just laughed and kissed me and it was too late then. But there was you, Pierrot. You saved my life and I tried to get you hanged for it –’
    Forty years ago. She had married, soon after the war, had a child, settled down to a normal life. Which meant that she had given in, because she knew she couldn’t win. Her husband had persuaded her that it was hopeless to continue. Pointless to torture herself over what was past. She could remember the night very clearly. They were nestled close together in bed, talking as they often did after making love. It was always a vulnerable time for her. ‘Give up, my darling. There’s nothing you can do, and there isn’t any proof. Put it out of your mind once and for all, and for God’s sake let’s be happy. Let the dead rest in peace.’ That was the moment when she finally accepted defeat. Judy; Fred; Janot; Ma Mère. Jean Dulac, her lover, whom she had never really stopped loving. And Philippe Derain, who was Pierrot. That was why she couldn’t stop talking about it now, telling perfect strangers who thought she was making it up. Because she was guilty and the dead were not at rest. In the night’s silence she heard their voices on the wind.
    She had never mentioned her wartime life, nor had Robert Alfurd. When he died it was as if she was released from a vow of silence she didn’t know she’d taken. Naturally, nobody believed her. Now Christian Eilenburg was in the spotlight. Forty years ago had become Now. Fate, or God, if you believed in Him, had given her a second chance to put those ghosts to rest. The terrier ran to the garden door and looked expectant. ‘Yes, Polly dear, we’ll have our walk. As soon as I’ve done this.’
    She was put through to Roulier’s room, and he answered as if he had been waiting for the call. ‘This is Katharine Alfurd. You’d better come down and see me. Yes, tomorrow would be fine.’ She hung up. A sentence floated into her mind; it had no connection with the brief conversation. The candle of the wicked shall be put out. From the Old Testament. Of course, it was a coded message, broadcast from London. There had been a group of them crouched round the forbidden radio on the top floor of a deserted factory. She remembered the excitement when the message was repeated. How they embraced each other in their joy. The candle of the wicked.…
    â€˜You bastard,’ she said quietly. ‘Whoever you are, you’ll pay for that.’
    Paul Roulier put through a call to Paris. His exchange was short. ‘I made contact and I’m going there tomorrow. It may take some days but I’m confident it’s going to work.’
    They had moved him to the prison hospital. His blood pressure was already low after the long flight from Chile. A few days after the first examinations had begun, Christian Eilenburg had a heart attack. When he recovered, he merely smiled. He accepted the pills and submitted to the tests, and all the time his eyes mocked them. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he died, just when he was in their hands and they were preparing him for sacrifice? He could cheat them at the last, by dying before the trial. How frustrating for his enemies, how bitter for the people crying for revenge. And how convenient for others, who were cursing the Chilean Government that had given him up. After they had felt safe for so many years. They must be praying for him to die. A week after the attack, the senior police doctor examined