"The Forest Secret" - Chapter 11

Bernard Durand opted to turn a collaboration meeting into a working dinner, ordering in various delicacies from one of the city’s better known dining establishments.  The sun was getting later in setting each day, but nevertheless began its darkening descent as everyone gathered in the old editor’s office.  Everyone was present - Peter Fortane, Elaine Bouchard, Denis, and Pierre Lambeau, with his normal scowl.

The early part of the dinner was spent talking about the distinctions between American and French journalism - how the former was always fixated on issues of morality and the latter frequently mocked it.   For Charley, almost all of it was some kind of revelation.

“Okay,” Durand said finally, “let’s put on the table what we have so far.  Key to it all are the journals, but then there is the portrait, the history of Aramis at the cathedral, those of the guide program that worked with him, and the fire itself.  But then there are those key things that we do not yet have - why he went into the flames, what happened to him and the woman in the portrait, did he ever marry or have children, and perhaps most importantly, is this a story we are still dedicated to unfold?”

Charley looked surprised at the editor’s last statement.  Surely nobody’s losing interest in this? she thought to herself.

As though he read her mind, Durand added, “No story ever remains in a vacuum for a journalist or for a newspaper.  Many other stories are breaking as we speak - the unpopularity of the French government, the continuation of the riots, the souring mood towards the Brits and Brexit. These stories are now ramping up and have an arc to them, but the cathedral story is slowly moving to the periphery.  And it’s likely that the public has forgotten all about Caron simply because they don’t have the information we have picked up.”

He paused for a moment, understanding that he was likely frustrating his American colleague. “Look,” he said finally, “these are questions every editor must ask because the news is why we exist.  So, I ask you, is the Caron story, in light of what we have learned, more important than all these other developments?  How do you feel?”

The silence that ensued made Charley uncomfortable, until Elaine Bouchard spoke up.  “I believe the answer is both.”

“Explain that,” the editor urged.

“We are news people and normally would have gone after anything that was new, to the detriment of everything else.  But Charley here is from a magazine - different timeframe, longer pieces, the ability to build out a narrative.  What we have are two different aspects of our trade, with one seeking to rescue a bit of humanity out of the other.”

It couldn’t have been said better and everyone knew it.  “So, what I’m urging is that we look at Caron’s story as one that is developing, not dying.  We all have a hunch that something remarkable is lurking in this man’s story somewhere and that is all we have.  People don’t rush into a fire for nothing.  He was there for a reason, and if that reason was great enough for him to give his own life for it, then that is a story worth telling and pursuing.”

Charley could have rounded that table and given Bouchard a grateful hug.  She was somewhat surprised  to feel the beginnings of tears in the corners of her eyes and realized that the others had noticed.  She stayed still, willing the emotion into the background.

When she finally looked up, it was to see Durand smiling at her.  “Well  Charley, if the isn’t a vote of confidence, I don’t know what is.  We have all been around long enough to remember those times when our writing was a craft, a pursuit of the intangible.  That has all changed now, especially here in Paris, where the story is what matters, not the telling of it.  The directive given to us by the head office in New York gives us permission to pursue journalism at it’s meant to be, and for an editor, that’s a godsend.  But you all understand why I had to ask, correct?”

There was silent affirmation and a collective desire to get back tot the subject at hand.

“So, here’s what I’m wanting to do in the next couple of days,” Denis began.  “I would like to bring on a couple of contract student researchers from the Sorbonne that we’ve worked with on other stories and get them digging through the 87 journals we have.  Because Caron wrote in cursive, it will be almost impossible to scan the pages and convert them to PDFs so that we can do diligent searches on the computer. It will have to be done the old-fashioned way and that will require intensive labour over the next while.”

Durand was quick to provide his endorsement of the idea.  “Okay, that makes sense - although I’d like to urge them to focus on two key moments in time.  The first is the 1960s and what we learn about  this Mary Weatherby.  And the second is perhaps the final few days before his death.  Was something building in him the led him to want to conduct his search of the cathedral even before the blaze?”

That, too, made sense. The editor turned to Denis.  “Just one more question: do you need to spend more time with the painter’s foundation getting more information?”

“I don’t think so,” the researcher replied.  “They regarded Baudin’s work on Weatherby as a unique moment, with nothing really extra to add.”

“Fair enough.  So, Charley you and Stephanie will be heading to Canterbury to see what you can discover.  Perhaps the trail has turned cold after all these years or Weatherby has died and left nothing helpful for us behind.  You should know within the first day or two.”

He caught Charley smiling and gave her a look intimating that she should explain.  “I was just thinking that we are getting two students for the Sorbonne - the university he attended - to dig into his past and all those journals, and the two of us to dig into his romantic life.  No doubt, he would be most uncomfortable if he were still alive.”  They all smiled, expect for Lambeau, naturally, who was casually checking his cellphone messages.

“Then let’s bring him alive, with a story everyone will wish to read with a passion,” Durand said, a tinge of enthusiasm in his tone.  “Now off you go, you two, to develop your own Canterbury tales.”