The Darkest Season by R.J. Ellory

Author:R.J. Ellory [Ellory, R.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409198628
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2022-02-02T16:00:00+00:00

29

Carine Bergeron. She’d changed, of course. She was now – how old? Forty-three. Just two years younger than himself. And Martin? Where was his father? Was she married? What was she doing here in Jasperville? Had she never left, or did she make her own escape only to find herself pulled back here?

What Jack had heard in her words was hate. Hatred that he’d failed to keep the promise to go back and rescue her. Twenty-six years behind them. Twenty-six years for her to feel resentment and betrayal growing like a virus, weaving its way through every memory she possessed of their time together.

He’d left because he was afraid. He’d left because he didn’t want to die like Lisette Roy, Anne-Louise Fournier, like Thérèse and Juliette and his mother. Because he didn’t want to lose his mind like Papi or his father. And he hadn’t come back in all these years because he didn’t want to face Calvis or Carine or anyone that could remind him of his failing.

And did she know about the letter from Philippe?

Jack closed his eyes. He inhaled, exhaled, inhaled again. The cold filled his lungs. His heart still raced in his chest, and he willed it to slow down. After a few minutes, he turned and hurried back the way he’d come. He was relieved to see that Nadeau was still in the station.

‘Sergeant Nadeau,’ he said as he came through the door.

‘Monsieur Devereaux. There is a problem?’

‘Not a problem. I just wanted to ask about Carine Bergeron.’

‘Yes?’

Jack crossed the room to Nadeau’s desk.

Nadeau frowned. ‘Are you okay? You look very pale, monsieur.’

‘How long has she owned the boarding house?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ Nadeau said. ‘She was here when I arrived in May. I think she’s been here perhaps three or four years. Her parents used to run it.’

‘I knew them,’ Jack said. ‘They were here at the same time as me.’

‘I think perhaps that the mother, maybe the father, I don’t know . . . anyway, one of them became sick. I think the cancer. They moved away. I think Madame Bergeron came with her husband and her son to sell the place. I heard there was some difficulty with the husband. I’m not sure of the details.’ He paused. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘No reason,’ Jack lied.

‘You took a room there?’

‘I did, but there was a misunderstanding. The room is no longer available.’

‘Then you will stay in your own house?’

Jack looked at him. That was a detail he’d failed to take into consideration.

‘It looks like I have no choice,’ Jack said.

‘It’s not a crime scene, Monsieur Devereaux, but as much as possible I would ask you to maintain things as they are. There are papers, maps, books, photographs . . .’ Nadeau paused. ‘You will see for yourself.’

‘Okay,’ Jack said. ‘I guess that’s where I’ll have to go, then.’

Twenty minutes later, Jack Devereaux stood in front of the house.

He fought against so many images of Juliette, of Thérèse, of Papi in his coffin, how he’d looked like someone else entirely.

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