Free Lost by Lucy Wadham

you informed of Madame Aron’s visit?’ he asked.
    Babette folded her arms more tightly and stared back at him, no doubt remembering how strongly she disliked him.‘Late May. Why?’
    She could not close her mouth completely and her teeth rested on her bottom lip, leaving little dents in the flesh. Her breasts were very large. They sat on her folded arms and stared at him like two heads.
    ‘Did you talk about their arrival in the village?’
    ‘No. I don’t know. Maybe. I probably mentioned it. What are you saying?’
    ‘I’m not saying anything. I’m asking questions. How often does Madame Aron come here?’
    ‘More often since her husband’s death. She always said how much she liked it. He didn’t, though. People don’t always like being reminded where they come from, do they?’ She dropped her arms, releasing her breasts from their trap.
    He noticed that all her fingers had gold rings on them.
    ‘When was the last time she came?’
    ‘Easter and then, before that, last summer. It was last summer she told me she had to sell. But it’s been on the market nearly a year.’ She shook her head. ‘No one’s interested. There’s too much work to do on it, it’s too far from the sea and it’s in Santarosa.’ She raised her eyebrows encouragingly. “They wrote on the advert, “an historic village”. Historic for what? For the Movement. Anyone from outside thinks that means terrorists, don’t they?’
    ‘Do you show people around?’
    ‘Of course I do.’
    ‘No you don’t,’ he said.
    Babette shrugged.
    ‘When was the last time you showed someone round?’
    ‘After her last visit. The end of April.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘An Italian couple. Young. She was very unfriendly.’
    ‘Does the agency always send the visitors?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Yesterday night when she didn’t show up, did you call anyone? What did you do that evening?’
    ‘I watched telly.’ She stopped herself. ‘What are you suggesting?’ Her voice got on his nerves. It was high-pitched and girlish.
    ‘I’m asking if you told anyone that she hadn’t shown up.’
    ‘No. Why should I?’ He stared at her, unyielding. ‘I might have mentioned it to Liliane. We speak all the time. I don’t remember.’
    ‘Liliane.’
    ‘Liliane Santini.’
    ‘I know. Did you?’
    ‘Did I what?’ She spat the last word.
    ‘Did you tell Liliane?’ he asked calmly.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Right. Will you show me where I’m sleeping?’ he said. ‘And give me keys to the back and front doors.’
    *
    Upstairs Alice lay fully clothed on the bed. Next to her on a scant bedside table stood a porcelain dragon with an apricot lampshade. It gave off the only light, a smudged haze that thickened the darkness elsewhere. On the other side of her slept Dan, his mouth open, arms thrown back on the pillow in a posture of triumph. She stared at the brown stain on the ceiling and listened to his gentle breathing.
    She pressed her hand hard against the bone between her breasts where the constricted feeling was burning her, affecting her breathing. She tried to breathe deeply. She closed her eyes and searched in her mind for Sam’s beginning. He had entered her life before she was ready for him and the expression in his eyes was apologetic, like that of someone who has burst in unannounced.
    She saw Mathieu’s naked body laid out before her, chest down, the three creases like small commas behind his ears. She saw herself kneeling beside him, hunched over him studiously and carefully, with both hands stroking his back, his bum, his thighs. She could not remember when Sam had been conceived, but it had been at a time when she stillmistrusted Mathieu. She had sensed his deep, ranging boredom, even then.
    The fist around her heart squeezed tighter and she breathed shallowly, allowing the pain to take over. It was Mathieu who had convinced her to keep their baby. There had been such an urgency in his desire for the child that it had frightened her. Still, the weeks had