Chapter 37
That damned summer party meant absolutely nothing.
For some reason, possibly as an emotional defense mechanism, Bente had simply started going through the practical details in her head during their discussion.
The journey home from Bordeaux, contact with the production company, the rest of the research, the summer party.
And that was where she had gotten stuck—what were they going to do about the party?
It was just something she had blurted out in the moment, a meaningless thought that for some reason had come out of her mouth.
But yes, they did need time to think. She needed to give Didrik the chance to do that. And she needed time herself.
Was she going to lose him? If he had time to think, would he realize there was someone better out there? Some famous, successful woman who, unlike Bente, wanted children. But who, unlike Lovisa, also understood Didrik’s career and way of life. Someone who was perfect for Didrik.
Someone who wasn’t Bente.
The thought was like a thorn in her flesh. She wasn’t good enough for him, of course she wasn’t. How could she have believed anything else?
She stayed in her hotel room until dinner. They still had material to go through; she might as well distract herself by making a start.
She took the box of Jér?me’s mother’s letters down to the outdoor dining area in the inner courtyard—she wanted a change of scenery. She ordered a salade Nicoise and turned her attention to the letters. They were all written by Jér?me’s aunt, his mother’s sister.
She read each letter carefully, first while drinking a glass of white Bordeaux, and then, a coffee.
The letters were well written, and were mostly about life in Paris during the occupation.
However, a lot of information was omitted, so the content was often sparse.
The love between the two sisters shone through; no doubt they’d written to one another as a way of trying to maintain some kind of normalcy.
Then she saw it.
This particular letter opened with the usual details about the availability of food and other essentials.
Jér?me’s aunt wrote that it was hard to obtain eggs, then she added a few details about how her husband had been spending his time.
Next came the fateful words. Everything inside Bente froze, and the last spark of hope she’d felt was extinguished.
She paid the bill, gathered the letters together, and went up to Didrik’s room. She stood outside his door for a few seconds. Closed her eyes. Should she disturb him? Yes, they were here to do a job. She knocked.
Didrik opened the door and gave her a questioning look. Silently she handed him the letter. He took it and read, first to himself and then the shattering words out loud.
“My beloved sister, the news you shared with me is heartbreaking. So many people who have disappeared. Darling Mathieu. It feels like only yesterday that he was running barefoot among the vines when I came to visit. Please, God, let him survive. All this time I thought he was in Paris. Poor Mathieu. Again, please let him survive.”
Didrik glanced at the top of the letter. “This was the summer of 1944.”
Bente nodded. “And no one seems to have heard from Mathieu after that. He must have been arrested.”
Didrik looked pensive.
“So I presume we’ve solved the mystery,” Bente continued. “He and Sven were taken prisoner, and neither of them was ever seen again.” She couldn’t stop her voice from trembling, and quickly cleared her throat.
“Mm,” Didrik said, gazing at her.
Was he going to hug her? She didn’t think she could bear that right now. “I’ll go and fetch the camera—we ought to film this.” She hurried to her room and returned with it. She placed the letter on Didrik’s desk, then read it aloud.
“But we still don’t know how, when, or why the bottle was sent to Sven’s parents,” Didrik said, looking into the camera.
“Like we said before, maybe Hugo and Juliette sent it after Sven disappeared?” Bente speculated. “Because Sven wanted his parents to have it.”
“That’s one possible explanation.”
They switched off the camera. Didrik came over to her, put his arms around her, and she allowed herself to be hugged.
They had searched for the origins of the bottle, found the sender, been astonished by the love story of the two young men at the vineyard, and now they had reached the end of the narrative.
A heartbreaking end, one that made her feel a sense of resignation.
What had made her think she could hope for more?
This was the Second World War. Millions of people’s stories had ended in tragedy—why should Sven and Mathieu have been any different?
She looked at Didrik. They had shared their own story, but now it was over too. She took a deep breath. “I’m going back to my room to pack. I can return the boxes to Sylvie first thing tomorrow.”
“No, don’t bother—I’ll take them. You have an early train to catch.”
“Won’t you be on the train?”
“My brother is coming down—I just found out. So I’m going to stay for another day and meet up with him—he’s working on a project here.”
“Okay,” was all she could manage.
She made her way slowly to her room. He really had been serious.
They had definitely broken up.