Chasing Ghosts Madalyn Morgan (free e books to read txt) 📖

only thing that makes sense. Alain must have remembered being here with you - remembered your name was Lucien Puel and realised that the Lucien Puel who had been his doctor at the Louis Bertrand hospital in Canada was an imposter.’

‘No!’ Claire jumped at the sharp way in which Doctor Puel dismissed the idea. ‘No!’ he said again. ‘We never told anyone our names, not even our first names. The fewer people that knew the names of the Resistance members, couriers, doctors like me who were willing to stitch a wound or take bullets out of a body, the less chance there was of anyone giving out that information if they were captured by the Germans.’

Claire knew the no-names, policy. The Gisoir Resistance Cell which she had been a member of had the same policy, all the Resistance cells did. She sipped her brandy. Doctor D’Aramitz added another log to the fire, and Claire sat back and relaxed. The house had a strange feel to it. Calm and peaceful yet with a profound sadness that made the atmosphere heavy.

She cast her eyes around. With maroon drapes at the windows, embroidered cream cotton antimacassars protecting the arms and backs of the chairs and settee, and delicate lace runners on the dining table and sideboard, the room was more feminine than masculine, even though two men lived there. She looked up at the mantle shelf. Photographs in silver frames stood in a row. She recognised Doctor Puel and Doctor D’Aramitz, though they both looked much younger. There was a photograph of Dr Puel with a beautiful woman. He looked about forty and the woman early thirties. They were in summer clothes with cliffs and the sea in the background. It looked like a holiday snap that had been taken many years before. She guessed it was the beautiful woman who had made the soft furnishings, giving the house the feminine touch.

‘My grandsons,’ Dr Puel said, getting up and standing by the fire. He held a photograph of two young men with bronzed arms and legs in shorts playing tennis.

Claire stood up and joined him. ‘How long ago was this taken?’ she asked.

‘Some time in the late-thirties. Lucien and Matthieu were home from university for the summer.’

She held the photograph at arm’s length, so she could see both the photograph and Doctor D’Aramitz. ‘You haven’t changed much,’ she said. ‘And this,’ she held the photograph nearer and looked more closely at the other boy, ‘must be Lucien.’ Lifting her head, Claire glanced at Doctor Puel. With a warm smile, he nodded. Claire looked back at the image of the young Lucien Puel who, grinning cheekily, stood two inches shorter than his cousin. In an open-neck sports shirt, he looked handsome and relaxed.

The cousins were as different to look at as they could possibly be. Matthieu, well built with thick wavy black hair, dark eyes, high forehead, and a strong Norman nose, stood six-feet tall. Lucien, standing casually, hands in pockets, next to him looked about five-ten. He was slim with straight fair hair and boyish looks. On the photograph, Matthieu had a serious expression, Lucien a mischievous one. Claire tilted her head to the left and then right before passing the photograph to Thomas.

‘I can see how Beckman got away using Lucien’s papers,’ Claire told him. ‘Lucien has fair skin and his hair is blond or very light brown.’

‘Matthieu’s mother is my daughter. She has light brown hair and fair skin, like my late wife, but my son-in-law comes from just over the border in Spain and has an olive complexion. Lucien’s father was my late son. His wife is Danish. So--’ he said, opening his arms as if to say, that is why my grandsons look different.

Claire was desperate to find out anything she could about Simone, and although she had doubts as to whether this was the right time, she knew if she didn’t ask now, she might not get the chance again. She inhaled deeply to steady her nerves and said, ‘Doctor Puel, I told you that my husband spoke of a woman?’ The old man nodded. ‘Well, I believe he came to France from Canada to look for her. I was hoping that you might know her or know of her. I think my husband met her in the Gestapo prison, or later, while he was recuperating here in St. Emile.’

Dr Puel and his grandson looked at Claire with interest. ‘What is her name?’ the old man asked.

‘Simone.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Claire and Thomas sat and waited for Dr D’Aramitz to return with news of Dr Puel. The old man had left saying he needed to take his medication and would be back, but he looked exhausted and Claire wondered if saying he had to take medication was an excuse to leave and not return.

‘He left pretty damn quick after I told him the woman we’re looking for is called Simone,’ Claire said. ‘It’s obvious he knows her.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Thomas said, going over to the window and pulling back the curtains. ‘It’s snowing, again.’ He leant closer to the glass and peered out. ‘Heavily!’

Claire heard a door open and voices in the hall.

Thomas turned back from the window as Dr D’Aramitz came in. ‘My grandfather has retired for the night.’ He took a couple of steps into the room, but didn’t return to his chair by the fire, which Claire took as a sign that she and Thomas should leave.

‘Is your grandfather all right?’ Claire asked. ‘I hope we haven’t worn him out.’

‘Physically he is fine but emotionally he is drained.’ Dr D’Aramitz took hold of the door handle. ‘So, if there isn’t anything else...?’

‘Well--’

‘No!’ Thomas said, ‘there is nothing. We must be going. It’s only a few miles to the hotel, but the country roads around here are narrow and since it is