Background
Charles and Helen continue to investigate the mystery of Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin.
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Helen and I immediately set about our search of the microfilm library and, within minutes, found two records under G for Gaudin. One was the birth of Alain Gaudin in 1948, and the other reported the death of Estelle Gaudin in 1975. However, there was no record of Suzanne Gaudin, nor even of Françoise Gaudin, whom Father Lacroix had mentioned as still living in Versailles.
A short while later, he returned and we told him what we had discovered. "Ah, yes!" he said. "Estelle Gaudin. I had forgotten about her. There is a headstone in the unconsecrated section of the cemetery. Unusually lavish, under the circumstances."
"What do you mean, 'under the circumstances'?" I asked.
"Well, there would have been a good reason why she was buried in unconsecrated ground. Perhaps she wasn't a Catholic. She might even have committed suicide, or have been a prostitute. Usually such people are buried in unmarked graves, or ones with a very simple cross."
"How sad for them to be discriminated against after death," I said.
Father Lecroix gave me a withering look. "Ground that has been consecrated by the bishop is quite rightly reserved for the faithful."
Helen intervened diplomatically. "I understand that the Church must take a moral stance, Father. In a literal sense, these people were considered to be beyond the pale, weren't they?"
The priest appeared not to notice the hint of satire in her tone. "Precisely. They are placed outside the boundaries set for those who have earned the Church's blessing."
"It is odd that we weren't able to find any records for Françoise or Suzanne Gaudin, since they both lived in this parish."
"There could be any number of reasons for that, my dear. Perhaps they were born and died somewhere else - or they might have been foundlings - who knows? You could try the Paris Archives. They keep the civil register of births, deaths and marriages."
"I appreciate your help, Father," Helen said, extending her hand formally.
He took it between his two hands and said, "Bless you, my daughter."
Nodding coldly in my direction, he strode off towards the street.
"That's odd," I muttered, "I thought that he said that Françoise had suffered from a mental defect caused at birth. So why wasn't the birth recorded?"
Helen shrugged. "I don't know. Anyway, Father Lacroix doesn't seem to like you much, does he? Never mind! Let's have a look around the cemetery. I'd like to see that memorial to Estelle before we go."
"All right, but I doubt it'll tell us anything. On the other hand, it's a lovely evening to be out with one's favourite ghoul, in the dead centre of town."
"Very funny."
Helen seemed fascinated by the lichen-covered headstones. Most had standard inscriptions such as 'In Loving Memory' or 'Rest in Peace'. Occasionally there was a biblical quotation, and in one or two rare cases, a memorable epitaph.
"Come and have a look at this one!" she exclaimed. "It's a doozy!"
The inscription was to Germain Madec, known as 'Germain the Dwarf', according to the headstone. He lived from 1870 to 1895 and his epitaph was a two-pronged barb of simplicity: 'His life was short'.
I smiled. "Clearly a good Catholic, though. Buried on the right side of the palings." Then, as an afterthought, "Perhaps he was a court jester."
"More likely a comic turn at the Moulin Rouge, poor man."
Eventually, we came to Estelle's final resting place. As Father Lacroix had said, it was a lavish memorial - a grand marble plinth, inscribed 'Estelle Gaudin, 1916-1975, Beloved mother of Alain and Françoise'. Under her name were the words, 'Free at last'.
"Now that is interesting," I said. "Whoever put that up, it certainly couldn't have been Françoise. It must have been her brother. I wonder where he lives now."
"What a strange epitaph. A hard life, perhaps?"
"...or maybe a prolonged illness before she died."
"Born during the Great War - growing up through the Great Depression - it couldn't have been easy."
"I think we should pay a visit to Mademoiselle Françoise Gaudin and see if we can find out more," I said.
"Yes, but not tonight. We've made good headway and we ought to celebrate with a decent dinner before we drive back to Paris."
"Now that's a good idea! Where do you suggest?"
"The Alcôve restaurant in the Hôtel Le Louis Versailles."
"That sounds expensive."
"It is, but being a sugar daddy doesn't come cheap."
"Sugar daddy?"
"Only joking."
Only joking, I wondered, as we headed back to her car.
Fifi seemed a little out of place as she swept up to the front entrance of the historic Le Louis Versailles Château, but Helen handed the keys to the valet with panache.
"Take good care of her, my man. She is more precious than you could possibly know."
She winked, and the valet smiled.
This joke is going to cost me a fortune, I thought ...but what is money for?
After an apéritif in the bar, we made our way through to the dining room. Helen looked at the menu briefly. "I think I'll have the Royal Virgin Sea Bream with citrus fruits, cromesqui Thai rice and parmesan."
"That sounds good," I said, "...and a bottle of champagne, perhaps, to celebrate?"
"Why not? I wonder what it is that makes the virgin sea bream so special."
"Probably not the same as the virgin sturgeon."
"What do you mean?"
"Caviar comes from the virgin sturgeon,
The virgin sturgeon is a very fine fish.
The virgin sturgeon needs no urgin’,
That’s why caviar is a rather rare dish."
"I'm not quite sure how to take that."
You would, I thought, if I quoted the second verse.
As things turned out, I did not need to. Helen ordered a half bottle of Sauternes to go with her dessert, and then announced - rather tipsily - that she was in no fit state to drive.
"Nor am I," I confessed.
"Then we'd better make use of the room I booked, hadn't we, Charles? My treat. You can always sleep on the sofa bed, if that would make you feel more comfortable."
