Spilt Wine

52. Of Waiting and Racing

Grattien arrived within fifteen minutes of the phone click, and as he walked across to the kitchen table, he opened a dossier.

"That's definitely her," said Jean-Paul as he stared at the photos.

"Her name is Eva Malpas. We've already sent two gendarmes to the office to get their files on her. How do you know Eva?"

"Only from across the counter in the cadastre office. I was there many times earlier this year getting files and maps for Monsieur Jacob. He sent me for more things every few days for a couple of weeks, wanting to know who all his neighbours were around his rows and patches. There was a dispute with his brothers and a sister, he didn't talk much of it, but what he did say didn't sound pretty. He finally had to let me go – but that's not the story here –"

"No, not precisely, but it matters – everything matters. The broader the view, the more we see," I said. "I don't think Lieutenant Grattien minds additional peripheral information. It makes our minds step out of bounds and look beyond to see much more."

"Monsieur Michaels is right. Following thought tangents, splinters and weird ideas is how many riddles are solved; riddles that have stumped the most brilliant analytical thinking. I think – why did I say that? No, I feel there is much to be said for slowing the brain and letting the senses take over. Let's all do that. You have my phone number, please interrupt my weekend. We need to resolve this."

Saturday 10 May 1986

Catherine and I lay in bed cuddling on Saturday morning with blank minds, knowing we had nothing to do through the weekend ahead. The cellar and the vineyards were finally in good hands again, so we were free to do whatever pleased us. But we couldn't go anywhere, still being captives in the château.

The thought of watching television repulsed us both, so we had decided to tell each other stories. "So Katy, tell me about your bike. That's not a standard Triumph."

"It's a '69 Triumph Tiger Daytona, a 490cc parallel-twin. Neat engine, low torque at the bottom end, but wind it to 3500 and above, it screams with power. You have to know where its sweet spots are and how to use them."

"It sounds like you competed."

"Never side-by-side, only time trials and hill climbs. I had fun, and I did very well. I rode to the events and stripped the bike there. Didn't have the money for the fancy carbs, the porting and polishing, the other things those who trailered their bikes did. But I had another advantage, I was light, more than forty pounds lighter than most of the fellows I competed with, fifty, sixty and more pounds lighter than some of them. I usually finished at or near the top of my class.

"I won my class several times at Shelsley Walsh, the oldest motorsport competition in the world. It's a wonderful hill climb, steep with sharp curves followed by a really fast push to the finish." She breathed a deep sigh.

"I loved Baitings Dam in Yorkshire. A wonderful course up the access road to the dam. Very narrow road, steep to the first hairpin then quickly the second and the third hairpin, all off-camber, then a lengthy straight to a square right-hander and a bumpy run to the finish. That is definitely a rider's hill, and the power boys couldn't compete with skill. I always did well there. Almost always won."

"I love this passion you have, this energy you bring as you speak. It's as if you're back there on your bike competing. You're still living the adventure, it's a part of you. When was that?"

"That was a few years after I had left my studies in Killarney. Aunt Elizabeth, Mamère's sister, had encouraged me to learn a trade, and I settled on drafting. I loved drawing and painting, but she said there is no money in those, so the closest we could find was mechanical drafting. I got bored with it and moved to architectural drafting. Same thing with that, so I left and headed out on my own in 1971 when I turned eighteen."

I nodded at her courage. "What did you do to support yourself?"

"I started with the usual thing girls did at the time to make money, I worked as a waitress. I ended up in Cork in a fancy place, I can't remember its name at the moment, I've probably buried it too deeply. The owner was a sleazy fellow who also ran the strip house down the street. He kept leering at me, then suddenly one day he groped me and told me I could make a lot more working down the street, he only wanted to check if my tits were real, he said."

She winced and squirmed at the memory. "I moved on to better things, moved to London and lived in a cheap place in Earl's Court for a while until I could afford something better as I worked my way up in the restaurant service. I had realised the value of my assets. I knew I was very attractive, and I was fluent in both French and English. I bought the bike in 1975, soon after I began serving in an upscale restaurant in Knightsbridge, the Capital –"

"I dined several times at the Capital in 1975, a Michelin star in Basil Street, just along from Harrod's."

"That's the place. My God, maybe I served you. What were you doing in London in 1975?"

"I don't remember any ravishing redhead. I must have always been there on your days off. You were probably out racing."

"So what were you doing there?"

"Do you remember I started telling you about taking a sabbatical from the Navy in 1975?"

"You mentioned it, but we drifted off to something else, or we were interrupted. We've been interrupted by a lot of things."

"We have been." I nodded and paused to gather my thoughts. "Well, in late 1974, I was driving a desk at headquarters in Ottawa, editing a Secret NATO naval warfare experimental tactics manual, among other boring admin duties. I had applied for special leave to go on a two-month mountaineering expedition to the Hindu Kush in the summer of '75. My request was denied so I requested permission to resign my commission. They countered with an offer of a sabbatical. I asked how long and they said up to two years.

"I started the sabbatical the spring of '75. In June I flew to Hanover to the Volkswagen factory and picked up the duty-free empty window van the group had ordered. From there, I drove it to the Air Base in Lahr, where, in a friend's garage, I converted it into a simple camper before going to Calais to pick up the members of the group arriving on the Hover-Lloyd from England. They had flown from Vancouver to London. Then we drove to Afghanistan –"

"You drove to Afghanistan? You say that like driving across town. But how does that put you dining at the Capital in London?" She tilted her head and looked into my eyes.

"Well, it leads to it. It was a –"

"Hold that thought. I really need to pee again." She winced and climbed out of bed, holding herself as she scurried off.