The Crowded Grave

house. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind,” Bruno said, but as soon as he spoke he wished he hadn’t. He and Annette may have declared a truce, but inviting her to sleep in the same house was pushing it a little far.
    “I don’t think my reputation in St. Denis could fall much lower than it has,” Annette said, a twinkle in her eye. “But it might damage yours. Still, so long as you think you’re safe with me I’m prepared to risk it. There’s not enough room in the kitchen for all of us, so Florence and I can do the washing up and you and Fabiola take Gigi for his walk. By the time you’re back, I’ll probably be asleep.”
    The other two women agreed so fast—Fabiola already putting on her coat—that Bruno suspected this had been contrived between them. Evidently Fabiola had something to say, and by the time they reached the lane, she was just as ready to say it as Gigi was for his exploration of the paddock. It was a cloudless night with a rising moon, the stars bright and clear and the air still fresh with the new scents of spring.
    “Annette is thinking of handing in her resignation, and I want you to persuade her not to,” said Fabiola, direct as ever.
    “She’s pretty much burned her bridges with St. Denis,” he replied. “She’ll always be known as the woman who accused us of barbaric practices, not just here but all across the Périgord. It’s the kind of label that sticks, and she’ll have to live with the consequences.”
    “Consequences?”
    “She publicly attacked one of the main industries of this part of the world, which means she attacked people’s jobs and their livelihoods, and those people are going to fight back. The mayor and the council are running a media and political campaign against her, and they won’t care about her good works in Africa.”
    “If she withdrew herself from this whole foie gras case, wouldn’t that help? She knows she made a big mistake.”
    “Perhaps if she’d done it yesterday, but it may be too late. I’ve been tied up on this security business so I’m not up-to-date, but I think there’ll be some nasty stories in tomorrow’s newspapers. As far as the mayor’s concerned, St. Denis is fighting for its life.”
    “Annette said she’d had a call from someone at
Libération
who is doing some kind of story. She said she was shaken by the questions.”
    Bruno nodded. The mayor had sent him an SMS message telling him to be sure to buy a copy of the paper.
    “You can fix this, Bruno, the mayor listens to you. And once she recuses herself from the case, you’ve won. What more do you want?”
    “He listens, but he makes up his own mind, and he has to get reelected. So he’ll be thinking about the voters, which means the farmers and the people who work in the foie gras trade and the shops and the restaurants, and the accountantsand businesspeople who depend on them—it’s most of the electorate.”
    “So what do you think we should do?”
    “In her shoes, I’d apply for a transfer to another district, somewhere urban where she can make a fresh start. I’m sorry, Fabiola, but short of her agreeing to eat foie gras on TV and say she likes it I’m not sure there’s an alternative.”

26
    Strapped in tight, with his feet hard against the floor and his arms braced on the dashboard, Bruno was certain the car was going to hit the tree. But Annette twitched the steering wheel and seemed to be braking and accelerating at the same time as the small Peugeot went into a brief skid and then rocketed forward to the next turn. Over the howl of the engine he could hear the stones from beneath the trees being exploded against the untouched tree trunk. He was glad to be wearing the helmet that Annette gave him because his head slammed into the roof every time she flew over a bump. His neck muscles tired from resisting the constant g-forces. He was impressed by the obvious strength in Annette’s forearms as she kept the car under control at what seemed like insane speeds.
    “God, that makes me feel so much better,” Annette said as the car rocked backed and forth after a hand-brake turn that left Bruno dizzy. “Would you like to try another circuit or shall we head back?”
    “I think I have to get to work,” he said. “But thank you, it’s been a revelation. Where did you learn to drive so fast?” He was delaying the moment he’d have to get out of the car, not sure whether he was too disoriented to stand up straight.
    “In Madagascar. Most of