Dear Diary
I never thought I'd see him again, hoped I never would even hear his name again.
When Veronique turned up unannounced that morning I was very surprised; her story of coming to Australia because Pierre always wanted to paint in the light here was, believable to a point, Pierre is dead, killed after being pushed under the wheels of a train, his killer never found – but only up to a point and when she disappeared, when the hotel she said she was staying at told me they had never heard of her ...
Veronique and her husband were always very kind to me in those far off days just after the war, but when Rene started abusing me, keeping me as a possession only leaving would save me. I don't even know how she found me – I didn't exactly leave a forwarding address.
It all seemed horribly familiar, and when Bert and Cec's digger comrades were mown down something began to work its way under my skin. Veronique, diggers, France, all were a link.
She didn't say she had remarried but according to the ship she travelled on she was travelling with her husband. Cec and Bert and Thommo were on the station at Monparnasse when Sarcelle was killed and it seemed that they saw the murderer though they didn't know it at the time, and it was only when we went over the events of that fateful night that we realised what was going on.
Finding out it was Rene that killed Pierre that he had married Veronique and was out to get the painting he dropped running from the station – my heart lurched. And finally finding Veronique in the hotel she said she was staying in, beaten and tied to a chair I knew that he was after me as well, and would likely want to kill the last two witnesses – Cec and Bert.
With Jack, and the cooperation of Rene's go between (a shady bookie) we set up a trap to catch him in Anatole's cafe. The bookie would be there to seal the deal, Hugh and other coppers would be in plain clothes and Jack and me would be dining. I couldn't, I couldn't stop looking around, I couldn't eat so in the end Jack swapped seats with me so I would have my back to the door. Jack had to distract me, just as Rene was entering the room, he kissed me, quite suddenly he kissed me, and while it was a distraction it was perfect – I would liked to have been able to savour the moment but I didn't have to see Rene to know he was there, the temperature had dropped, there was palpable tension, I felt cold and sick. Bert, dear Bert, so angry over the murder of his comrades, lunged at Rene and belted him, there was a fracas, Rene got a gun, Jack's I think, and held it against my jaw, I knew he would have no hesitation in pulling the trigger and I was scared, I didn't want to die, I have so much more to do, find Janey, watch Jane grow, guide Dot ...
I managed to pull free and hold the gun against his chest, it would have been so easy just to pull the trigger but – I am not him, I am not a cold blooded killer and I was safe, Jack was there, his presence was all I needed and his soft voice telling me not to ... Rene turned and ran – straight into Veronique who was holding a knife, I have no idea why she had a knife, maybe she was going to use it on Rene, all I know is she had one. It went right into where his heart should be – but Rene didn't have a heart, he never had a heart – he was a cold, controlling swine – but he was not going to control me, not again, not ever.
Rene is gone, Jack will find a way not to have Veronique convicted of murder, and he brought back my painting. I do want it, a memory of happier times, of a friend cruelly taken before his time. He blushed when I unwrapped it in front of him, the Inspector blushed at the sight of a little bare flesh – but I think it was only because it was my bare flesh, perhaps one day he'll see the real thing ...