shrugged. ‘Can’t really blame her. The last known Cagot in the world…Of breeding age.’
‘Apart from Miguel.’
She shivered. He touched her face.
‘Maybe we should go there too,’ he said. ‘The beaches of Namibia. It might be safer…Gotta be safer.’ He caressed her hair, cupped her cheek; he devoutly wished he wasn’t falling in love with her. He knew it was dangerous. If he dived in the pool he could break his neck, because he still didn’t know the depths. He kissed her again even though he didn’t want to, he kissed her because he had to.
She pushed him away again.
‘And she said something else. It reminded me…’
‘What?’
‘Of what José said to you.’
‘You mean?’
Amy’s expression was stern. ‘She said this. She said the mystery, the Nairn stuff, the whole thing, it’s bigger than we could imagine, bigger than anything. It’s something to do with the Holocaust, the Nazis, the Jews…I don’t know.’
‘That’s what she said?’
Amy exhaled. ‘Sort of.’
Then she suddenly, and unexpectedly smiled.
‘So we go there. So we don’t. Come here!’
She was reaching for his shirt buttons.
But their lovemaking was halted by a brusque knock on the bedroom door.
‘Monsieur! Mademoiselle!’
David immediately tensed. Rigid and wordless, he gazed at Amy, asking, with his eyes: what shall we do; she shrugged in return – a helpless, despairing shrug.
He got up, and swallowed his fears, and padded across.
‘Who is it?’
‘S’il vous plaît. La porte.’
They were cornered. They had no escape. They could hardly jump from the balcony. The next knock was louder and aggressive.
‘Open the door!’
28
Behind the door was a policeman. He flashed a badge and told David in accented but otherwise perfect English that his name was Officer Sarria. The cop was in a smart kepi and dark uniform, and he had a colleague right behind him. The second man was in a black single-breasted suit, a very white shirt. Unsmiling. Wearing sunglasses.
Sarria pushed inside the room, past David; the policeman looked at Amy, sitting at the edge of the bed.
‘Miss Myerson.’
‘You know my name…?’
‘I have been following you both across France. We need to speak. Now. This is my colleague –’ He gestured behind. ‘He is another policeman. I am going to talk with you. Now.’
David bridled at the idea of being interrogated, here. He felt cornered. Skewered. Something terrible would happen, hidden away up here. In the privacy of their room, on the top floor. He envisioned blood – flayed across the bathroom wall.
He glanced Amy’s way; she half-shrugged as if to say what else can we do? Then he turned back.
‘OK. But…downstairs. On the terrace. At the back. Please…?’
The four of them took the clanging hotel lift to the ground floor. In the lobby, David noticed another policeman, standing at the hotel door, in the sun: radio buzzing. The hotel was being defended.
They walked the other way, onto the al fresco terrace, towards an isolated table – almost nearer the sea than the bar. It was discreet, sheltered by potted fir trees. No one could see them.
Amy held David’s hand, she was perspiring. The two policemen sat either side of the couple. David could feel himself sweating, as well. He wondered briefly if he was ill. What if they had caught an infection? From the bodies, in the vault, turned to liquor? Why had the corpses been stored so carefully?
The words smallpox and plague ripped apart what equanimity he had left. He tried to focus on the matter at hand. The policeman was talking.
‘I was born…just up there in Bayonne,’ said Sarria, apropos of nothing at all. He looked back at Amy, then David. ‘Yes, I am Basque. Which is one reason why I know you need help.’
‘So…what is it?’ said Amy, bluntly. ‘Why are you here, Detective?’
‘We have been tracing Miss Bentayou. She is possibly a material witness to the criminal slaughter of her family.’ His nod was sombre. ‘Oui. And we know she flew out of Biarritz, to Frankfurt.’
‘So she’s in Germany –’ David replied, hastily.
‘And from there, she flew straight to Namibia, according to the airline records.’ His face showed irritation. ‘Do not try to deceive me, Monsieur Martinez. We have been following this whole mystery for some time. The trail of chaos and blood…from the murders in Gurs…to that house in Campan, where someone heard two gunshots.’ His words were terse. ‘And the old priest in Navvarenx church told us your name. After that, it was easy to find out more. The news story about you, and so on.’ The officer glanced