34.
“I HAVE FOUND ANNETTE VALLON,” NICOLAS SAID ON THE TELEPHONE.
Marshall, jangled awake by the ringing, became entangled in the cord and dropped the receiver. He fumbled to restore the connection but had to wait for Nicolas to call back. Marshall had slept late again—insomnia lasting till dawn—and had been dreaming of cranes migrating, their necks stuck out straight like jet fuselages.
Robert must be dead, Marshall had decided. If his body was still alive, his spirit was gone. Marshall was sure Caroline had told him the truth. And he was repelled by the thought of pursuing the broken wreck of the gallant young man he had known, if only fleetingly. Marshall knew he was overreacting, but the wave of revulsion was overwhelming. It was pointless, perhaps even perverse, to keep hunting for people he had known long ago, in a wholly different world. He should stop, pack up, go home. Home?
“She’s alive? Annette?”
“It is true.”
“I’m …” Marshall cast about for words. “I don’t know what to say. How did you find her?” He hardly knew if he was awake.
“We were searching in Paris, but she lives in a village southwest of Angoulême, in the Charentes. Her name now is Bouyer.”
“Bouyer? Are her parents still alive?” Marshall couldn’t collect his thoughts.
“I don’t know,” said Nicolas. “I spoke to her, but she didn’t mention her family. Listen, Marshall, she is eager to see you. At first she seemed hesitant, and I wasn’t certain that she remembered you, but she spoke with great eagerness after I explained to her how my family knew you. She was very gracious then, as if I had used a password!”
Two days earlier, Marshall had telephoned Nicolas about the disappointing end to his search for Robert Lebeau. He didn’t feel like tracking down someone at a mental institution, he had said. Now he said, “Nicolas, you are like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.”
“I should have accomplished this much sooner, but I foolishly followed some false trails.”
Marshall rose from bed and stood by the window. Across the street several similar cars nested in a row. A small truck was backing into a narrow space. He took a deep breath. He was awake now.
Nicolas apologized for limiting his search to Paris. “I found her through another résistante in the Bourgogne line, a woman who knew her and had seen her in Paris a few years ago. She should have been easy to find, because so many aviateurs have stayed in touch with the people who helped them. I must tell you that I was deeply afraid the Vallons had met a bad fate, and I was overjoyed to locate your Annette.”
Annette had suggested that Marshall come on Wednesday afternoon for tea, and Nicolas had the directions for getting there.
“The train to Angoulême is simple,” Nicolas said. “I would drive you, but it is necessary to tutor my pupils.”
“Thanks, Nicolas. Don’t worry. I think I’ll rent a car down there and go exploring.”
Marshall scribbled down Annette’s telephone number and promised to come to Chauny soon for Sunday lunch.