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Stephen walked out of the Hotel de France alone and across the dimly lit square to the church entrance. Its spire was silhouetted against a backdrop of stars.
‘Bona vesprada, estimat doctor…Como està?’ A soft voice nearly as deep as Jack’s greeted him in Catalan from the darkness.
‘Bé, gràcies, i vostè, Javert?’
Stephen had heard the quiet steps approaching from a side street and subconsciously recognised them as belonging to the police inspector he had met earlier that day. Being addressed thus in his native language merely confirmed a much older memory he had of the man before him. For ease Stephen switched to French: ‘I was pleased to note this morning when I saw you that you survived Algeciras.’ Javert bowed deferentially. ‘You no longer burn for your county as you did aboard Desaix, I feel.’ Stephen thought of the young cheerful hand who had been assigned to himself and Jack. He had then regarded the man as more of a steward than a guard, maybe because they shared Catalan, and he had seen the enthusiasm, speed, and exactitude with which he had carried out orders.
‘Of my three captains, Capitaine Christy-Pallière was by far the best, a decent, straightforward man, but he was transferred out the ship shortly after the battle. Maybe it was wrong that I left too, but at the time I did not feel I could serve aboard her under another commander; besides, I had already found that Naval life did not suit me as well as I had hoped – the continual currying favour, the insufferable emphasis on interest, with good men overlooked, the corruption….’ Javert shrugged and murmured. ‘My only option then was to become a prison guard.’ From past experience Stephen knew that the work could not help but destroy any cheerfulness in the shortest of times, but did not say anything to stop the flow of words from Javert, who continued:
‘Several years ago I applied for a job with the police, and the Préfecture accepted me because of my past experiences in the Navy and in Toulon as well as my meagre grasp of English. And you, Doctor Maturin?’
‘Ah, I have always been a physician, and that has never changed; most certainly not after those long and miserable wars between England and France,’ Stephen continued. ‘I trust your office has answered to your wishes, and you were able to achieve what you wanted, if you permit my asking?’
Javert thought about his reply. ‘I endeavour to be just.’
Stephen nodded. ‘May you continue on your way. It has ever been difficult to be just. Much more difficult than being kind.’ They stayed silent for a while, each pondering the words.
Then Javert breathed deeply, ‘Me n’haig d’anar, estimat doctor,’ he said with a bow to Stephen. ‘Adéu-siau.’
Stephen nodded ‘Adéu, M l’Inspecteur.’
*~*~*
Back in the Hotel, Stephen took his diary from the secret compartment in his bag and retired, not to his own room but to Jack’s, where he found his friend engrossed in writing a letter to Sophie. Stephen knew she would enjoy reading about the concerts they had attended in London, their journey across the Channel, the coach journey here to Montreuil, and Jack’s impression of the town as much as Jack enjoyed writing about them to her. He also suspected Sophie liked hearing about these activities far more than she would have enjoyed experiencing them first hand; she had never craved adventure and was happiest when she was at home. It was why she was not here with them now, although the original invitation from their old friend and onetime enemy Commandant Christy-Pallière and his wife had, of course, included her.
Jack looked up at his entrance and Stephen smiled at him. Their eyes met in a long established and easy understanding of each other’s wishes and needs. Both looked forward to their night together but there was no hurry – they had no fear of discovery or interruption here, and other things could be attended to as well. Jack returned the smile then went back to his letter as Stephen opened his journal and began filling it with his small coded writing that now more and more resembled the backwards prints of a trail of crabs across the paper.
‘Mass today was an uplifting experience, as much for my conversation with M., the mayor of the town; he sat beside me in church, often lost in prayer. He appears to be a devout Christian, a man who believes as much, if not more, in good works as good thoughts, and I was impressed to hear his ideas about bettering the lives of the poor. Long may his ideas prosper and bring happiness to the town and its townspeople, and we left the church together, deep in conversation.
‘I was surprised to see J, a man I remembered from aboard Desaix in the year ‘01, standing near JA beside the church gate. He was obviously an officer by his bearing and had the air of authority about him and clearly he was waiting for someone. However this authority seemed a hard-won burden for him, in contrast to JA on whose shoulders authority and command have ever sat naturally. However there was an even greater difference between them: JA’s eyes and his lips were made to be cheerful and kind, J’s lips are now thin and compressed, they are no longer used to smiling. Once J’s face would have broken in to a smile at the slightest opportunity, but now he looks serious and austere in his dark greatcoat. From the little he told me later, I realized that his duty at the Southern bagnes has changed him greatly.
The person he was waiting for was M, and I noted from subtle changes in his demeanour that the mayor seemed pleased to see J, whose pale eyes appeared to twinkle in return. I felt that M’s eyes rested with affection on him, and that perhaps their shoulders brushed against each other longer than necessary before J took his station one step behind and to the side of the mayor as they walked towards the mairie. Why did I think this? Was it that my impressions were clouded by the profound affection I bear for JA, and which has been returned to me manifold over these past decades? Or was it perhaps that I simply believe J worthy of some happiness?’
Stephen paused and recalled the tour of M Madeleine’s rosary factory to which they had been invited when he had expressed his interest in the workers’ conditions. He looked down, as it would not do for his friend to see him smiling while he remembered Jack’s sigh of, ‘If you must, you must. Buy yourself a new rosary, I beg.’
Stephen returned to his diary: ‘The tour itself was everything I could hope for and I revered M’s efforts for his people even more by its end. Afterwards in his office, before I could express my thanks, he was called away by a servant announcing that M l’inspecteur begged the indulgence of M le maire because of a recent disturbance near a bakery. Did I imagine an increased brightness in M’s eyes and an eagerness in his step when he strode out of the door to greet J even though they had only parted ways a couple of hours earlier? Witnessing such affection is infectious, I find, and I had a sudden desire to close the small gap between JA and myself and press a kiss to his mouth. Prudence made me hold back however as we were in public and so I contented myself in pointing out to him that we were fortunate in our arrangement of rooms here at the hotel, that our shared anteroom did away with the need to creep along corridors, with their undoubtedly creaking floorboards which might wake other guests.’
Stephen continued with a certain complacency. ‘I was gratified to note that my words had the effect I had hoped for. Even after many years I can still make JA blush like a maiden. We very nearly did not hear M return. He had invited J to join us because J has some knowledge of English. I wonder if JA remembers J? He does not seem to recognise him at all, but then J has changed so very much.
At the entrance to the factory building I noticed once more how closely J and M stood and even leaned towards each other, quite unconsciously. I know I should not tolerate anyone invading my privacy like this, unless it was dear JA. We made our farewells and went our separate ways: JA and I to walk back to the hotel, M and J to the bakery, I suppose.
Montreuil has some excellent and unusual flora and on our walk I was delighted to point some of it out to JA. I had just explained Populus nigra ‘Italica’ in contrast to Populus nigra ‘Gigantea’ to him, when we rounded a corner and discovered M and J so engrossed in each other that they neither heard nor saw us, their heads held in a familiar and intimate pose. We retraced our steps, so as not to be seen, and at once I felt an urgent desire to explain in more detail about those exotic leaves to JA. To that avail I was obliged to direct him behind some shrubs so he could look more closely.’
At the memory of his mouth pressed to Jack’s, of his hands roaming over Jack’s sides and back, all of it concealed behind the wide tree trunk, Stephen felt a blush rising, and he busied himself once more with pen and paper, hoping his friend had not noticed this because he wished to complete his diary entry on M Madeleine and Javert. Stephen very nearly sighed, collected his thoughts and continued
‘Their conversation when they passed us, unseen, indicated that they likely know love like Jack and myself, or that they are at least not far from opening their hearts to each other.’
Jack raised his head. ’I mentioned to Sophie that Bonaparte prepared for the invasion of England in this town. Do not you think we should have stayed in a different hotel? It cannot please you that he was supposed to have been here, maybe even in the self-same rooms.’
Stephen, touched by the delicacy of his friend’s words even though it was a bit too late for them now that they had already spent a night at the inn, put down his pen.
’Bonaparte is a subject of the past, so I do not mind at all. Our rooms are comfortable, our beds wide and sturdy.’ He did not have to look up to know his words had brought a blush to Jack’s cheeks. ‘And the inn cannot be held responsible for a situation of years gone by.’
Stephen took up his pen once more and returned to his contemplation of the inspector. ‘J wears his hair in a short queue, undoubtedly to keep his appearance tidy. His greatcoat, clean and of good quality, has seen better days and has become threadbare at the elbows. France does not seem to pay her police inspectors well. Why would I notice this?’
He suppressed a sigh.
‘It would never do for JA to know that I arranged with the barber to put aside JA’s long queue when he had his hair cut after our return from the station. Do I keep it as a reminder of our youth? Have I become so sentimental that seeing any man who wears his hair long reminds me of JA?’
There was rustling behind him. ‘Say, Stephen, this red is uncommon good and I recommend a glass of it. It should go down well before…’
Stephen turned around. The flame of the candle on the nightstand reflected in Jack’s eyes, turning them to blue and gold. On the bed, Jack lounged in breeches undone at the knees, his shirt pulled free and open to the waist.
This sight made Stephen forget entirely about Madeleine and Javert. He closed his diary with a snap, got up, and took the glass from Jack’s hands, careful to let their fingers brush. He set the glass on the nightstand so that he could run his fingers through Jack’s hair, which was still full and soft to his touch. He bent to kiss Jack’s brow and murmured in his ear, ‘You still have a mind for a game of backgammon?’
*~*~*
The following day was spent away from the town in a quiet exploration of the countryside, returning only when the sun was beginning to set and Jack’s stomach was reminding him of its existence. As they walked across the square in companionable silence, Jack and Stephen noticed a crowd in front of the police station slowly disperse. The station’s door was firmly barred, but one window was still open. They could not help hearing M Madeleine’s firm, ‘Then content yourself with obeying,’ as clearly as Javert’s clipped reply, ‘I am obeying my duty.’ Not wishing to hear the end of what sounded like an argument, they continued on to the old harbour walls, passing through the seedier parts of the town where harlots plied their trade.
At the edge of the silted-up harbour, shielded from view by an old crumbling wall, they watched the sun set on the horizon. Neither was in the mood for banter, and it seemed to Stephen that Jack was glad of his suggestion that they return to their lodgings, when they heard two men in low conversation coming towards them. Jack raised an eyebrow in question. Although he did not understand the French as Stephen did, he certainly recognized the voices of Madeleine and Javert as belonging to those two shadows in the dark.
Stephen trembled from the colder evening breeze and was grateful when Jack moved behind him, slinging an arm around his waist, sharing his body warmth. Jack pulled him against his chest with a sigh, thankfully low enough not to be heard on the other side of the wall. They should not have stood here to witness two men struggle for words, but they were unable to leave without admitting their presence by the noise.
The mayor explained his reasons for having superseded his inspector about the sentence of a woman named Fantine. He spoke calmly and reasonably, but the longer he waited for Javert’s reply, the more he pleaded with him.
Javert’s reply, when it finally came, was full of barely contained frustration. ‘She spit in your face. When that wench insulted you, she also insulted Monsieur le maire, and, through him, the law.’ Javert’s voice shook, betraying his emotions when he added, ‘You ordered me to leave the station.’
The mayor’s anguished, ‘Javert, I beg you,’ spoke of a need of forgiveness. Madeleine must indeed have been desperate to use the intimate address.
But there came nothing but silence in reply. Finally, boots crunched on sand indicating that Javert and Madeleine were walking slowly back to the town. Their shadows appeared in Stephen’s line of vision again, and strangely enough, it was now the mayor taking his station one step to the side and behind the inspector, a reversal of their Sunday noon positions. There: an attempt to touch Javert’s shoulder, maybe to atone for what must be considered a disciplinary action. But Madeleine’s hand fell back to his side without completing the touch.
Javert gripped his heavy cane in both hands behind his back, thus having made certain that the mayor saw his anger, made all the more clear by his rigid stance. Silent and tense, they walked until, with a superficial show of keeping up appearances, they bowed to each other, going in different directions: one to his home, the other to the police station. If Madeleine turned and stopped after taking several hesitant steps to follow the inspector, Javert never knew, because he continued without a backward glance, silent and ready to fulfil his duty.
Jack and Stephen both exhaled at once, relieved at the release of tension. They returned to their inn, where they declined the offer of a meal; their appetites were now quite gone and their former playfulness too was diminished, at least for the moment. They, too, remained silent until they reached their rooms, having taken a bottle of wine and two glasses with them.
They did not linger over the wine, but went to bed, where they could lie safely in each other’s arms. Stephen rested his head on Jack’s chest, listening to his strong heartbeat. He was contemplating flicking his tongue across the nearest nipple when Jack’s soft deep rumble interrupted his musings with a hesitant question. ‘Do you think they will reconcile?’ Stephen knew he was talking about what they had witnessed earlier at the harbour. His friend might not have understood the words, but the emotion and the desperation behind some of them had been clear.
Stephen looked up and traced Jack’s lips with one fingertip. ‘After tonight I doubt they ever had what we have shared all these years, alas.’ He paused then: ‘I meant to ask - did you recognise him, the Police Inspector?’ At Jack’s quizzical look he continued: ‘He is the same Javert who looked after us aboard the Desaix all those years ago. He spoke to me of our dear friend Christy-Pallière with the greatest affection yesterday.’
‘Is he really? What a good fellow he was, but I should never have known him now; he has changed so much. Perhaps the years have not been very kind to him? ‘
Stephen pursed his lips and did not reply, not caring to discuss another man’s life even with Jack, and understanding this Jack kissed Stephen’s brow by way of apology, then sighed. ‘They seemed to get on so well with each other, I felt they might have been as lucky as we have been, but then perhaps I am no great judge of men. I suppose they will likely walk through life as solitary as the stars and planets.’
Stephen hoped to lighten the mood. ‘Have you not told me time and again, that some of them have companion moons? I clearly remember that years ago we stayed up all night because you wanted to show me Jupiter and Ganymede.’
A little smile lit up Jack’s features, acknowledging that memory, but he sounded sad when he replied: ‘I could not bear if ever we were to have an argument that ended our friendship, and we have certainly had our share of set-tos these twenty years and more.’ He sighed. ‘We are truly fortunate to have come through them, for I cannot even contemplate a life without you by my side.’
‘Never fret yourself for them, soul. They must choose their own paths. With the blessing, they may one day find what they are looking for.’ With these words, Stephen raised himself up on his elbows and planted the softest kiss on Jack’s lips.