The Patriarch: A Bruno, Chief of Police Novel by Martin Walker Read Free Book Online Page B

and pick up his dog. This was supposed to be his Saturday off duty, but Gilbert’s death and the accident with the deer had taken him well into the afternoon. If he ever charged St. Denis for all the off-duty time he spent working, he’d be earning almost as much as the late Colonel Gilbert. At least he was alive and well to enjoy a fine day with the bracing nip of autumn in the air and the trees flooding the valley with color. It would be a perfect afternoon for a ride.
    He called Pamela to see if she’d like to join him. He knew that she would have already taken the horses out for their morning exercise—she did so whenever Bruno failed to turn up by seven-thirty—but there was no reply. When he reached her house, he saw her car had gone. In the stables, his horse, Hector, tossed his head eagerly and pawed at the ground until Bruno’s dog, Balzac, trotted forward to greet the great horse with whom he often slept, tucked up in a nest of warm hay in a corner of Hector’s stall. The elderly mare, Victoria, ignored Bruno and the young basset hound, keeping her attention on the hay in her manger, as if to demonstrate that she’d had quite enough exercise already.
    Balzac at his horse’s heels, Bruno trotted up the lane on Hector and then slowed to a walk as they went up the slope to the ridge, musing once again on his relationship with Pamela and whether it had a future. She had returned a few days earlier from another trip to Scotland for the sale of her late mother’s house. Bruno and Pamela had shared several rides but had not slept together for some weeks now, unusual even for their off-again, on-again affair. A woman who carefully guarded her privacy, Pamela always seemed delighted to see him, but somehow matters had been arranged so that when she invited him to dinner, they were never alone. She would bid him an affectionate good-night with the other guests.
    Perhaps that was as it should be, Bruno reflected, a gentle way to end their affair that ensured they could remain friends and riding partners. Not for the first time, he chided himself for breaking his usual rule of never getting romantically involved with a woman who lived in the commune of St. Denis. It meant their relationship was constantly observed by the other townsfolk, particularly by the mothers of unmarried daughters, who were always keen to discern whether Bruno as the town’s most eligible bachelor was becoming available once again.
    It also meant that ending the affair was unusually delicate. Bruno knew he had no gift for such maneuvers, unsure how to relate to a woman who had suddenly become a kind of stranger after he had shared her bed. Courtesy required that he make it clear that he still found her desirable, even when they both knew their intimacy was over. Indeed, it was graven deep into the bones of any true Frenchman that every woman from sixteen into old age had still to be treated as possessing sensual charm and allure.
    Bruno knew that he was a romantic at heart, incapable of involving himself with a woman if he was not at least a little in love, sufficient to sweeten the precious time after lovemaking and to make him eager to spend time with her outside the bedroom. He’d long known there was no future for them; he wanted children, she didn’t. But he felt a deep affection for Pamela, and so he told himself that he should let Pamela decide the future course of their affair and accept what seemed to be her preference for winding it down with sufficient kindness and affection to preserve their friendship. He had to let Pamela believe that she was the one ending the affair. It would be his role to convey sadness along with a resigned acceptance, the impression of a man bearing up despite a broken heart.
    As his horse topped the rise and he could see down into the valley, he felt a rush of satisfaction that he had reached a decision that he had too long delayed. He bent forward to pat Hector’s neck, marveling at how much more