"The Forest Secret" - Chapter 14

Both women woke with apprehension. What they discovered today might make or break the story. That they required more information on Aramis Caron was true, and though the journals could likely provide enough information for an passable story, it was the personal insights they could get from the fascinating woman in the painting that could fill it with humanity.  That option was now gone.

Stephanie and Charley had scones and tea in the restaurant of the hotel while they waited to speak with Denis.  When they called him on the hour at 9 a.m., he was immediately on the phone.

“So, today is somewhat ominous, yes?” he began.

“I think we all feel that way,” Charley replied.

“Well, if it’s any help, the Sorbonne team has picked up a number of interesting pieces regarding Caron. Around the time he was with Mary Weatherby he composed a number of entries in his journal regarding her - entries full of flourish and hope.  He would write of their visits to Nice or Versailles and mostly of how he adored her.  Caron’s description of a particular kiss they shared at a small restaurant on the Seine is full of feeling and a sense of the erotic.”

“That will help as we try to fill out the story, Denis,” Charley replied gratefully.

“I think so, too. But only a few months after meeting her, it becomes quite clear that something dramatic came between them.”

“Dramatic?”

“Yes, it took the team a bit longer to discover that her father - William Weatherby - was against them being a couple in the first place.  Both he and his wife Elizabeth wanted both of their daughters to marry at the affluent level they were used to, and it seemed to the parents that Aramis was beneath their station.  He writes it out in great detail in the journal and it was clearly a moment of great tragedy for him.  The father sent Mary back to English society with her mother and sister in order to find a suitable husband.  It was the 1960s and women were rebelling against that kind of thing.  But not Mary, as it seems she deeply loved and respected her parents.  The connection with Caron was severed and there is no indication that they kept in touch by phone or writing.  But they had agreed to get married prior to this, so the separation must have been painful.”

Charley had placed him on speakerphone so Stephanie could hear.  “Thank you, Denis.  Anything about Notre Dame?  Did they spend time there or have something special happen there - something that would have caused him to go there on his final night?”

“Not directly, no. But they did have a secret?”

Both women held their breath, waiting for what would come next.

“They apparently discovered something valuable in their time together and he mentions Notre Dame when writing about this.  But he doesn’t explain further.  There is something about this, though obscure, that seems highly intriguing.”

After they signed off, they charged the breakfast to their room and proceeded to grab a cab to the Weatherby estate, ruminating on what the secret could be.

It was a delight to move around outside.  As bad as the weather had been yesterday, on this day it felt like the perfect English spring day, the kind you read about in books or see in movies.  There were wet patches, but sometime close to morning the rains had stopped and the airing out of everything began.  Every clothes line had something on it and the spring blooms were vibrant.

The cab dropped them off at the end of a driveway, protected by a ramshackle gate.  It was supported on both sides by old brick pillars that had clearly seen better days.  The gate itself had an iron frame with wood slats attached to it and didn’t hang properly.  On the pillar that fastened the gate was an electric speaker with a singular button.

They walked to the gate and pushed the button, doubting that it even worked.  Yet a faint buzz was emitted and they waited for the reply. Nothing happened.  They repeated the procedure, but still, nothing.

Deliberating on whether to just go through the gate, they heard the sound of man’s whistle coming around the path’s bend.  A fifty-ish, graying man approached them, with something of a hobble in his walk. He appeared amiable, but was covered with dirt on his hands and grass stains on his weathered khaki pants.

“Yes, how can I help you ladies?” he inquired in a mellow tone.

“I’m Charley Heron and this is Stephanie Bains.  We are here from the New York Timesorganization doing some research on the time the Weatherby family stayed in Paris in the 1960s.  Is there anyone on the estate we could speak to about it?”

The man’s eyes were kind, but drifted back and forth between the two visitors, as if wondering what to say next.  “Well, I’m afraid I can be of no help, since I first started working here 15 years ago.” He said nothing more, only continued to staring at them.

“Is there someone else here we could speak to?  We heard there was a property worker, a women to help with the household duties and an elderly women that were assisting in running the place.”

“That would be old Mrs. Sandhurst, I suppose,” he replied.

Again, the two women felt disappointment creeping into their spirits.  “Well, could we speak to her?” asked Stephane.

“I don’t know.  I doubt it.  She doesn’t like visitors.”

“Could you ask?”

“Of course,” he said, and then left the woman there as he walked back up the driveway.  It was comical in its own way.

“Well, I’m glad we’re not in a rush,” said Charley through a giggle.

Stephanie gazed out over the pasture, then said, “It seems like we might be coming to a dead end finally.  That’s too bad.”

“I know,” replied her friend.  “I was eager to see what was so special about Aramis and Mary.”

A few moments later they heard the same whistle as the man approached the gate.

“She says no.  She wondered why anyone would be interested in something from so long ago.  She thanks you for visiting and hopes you have a good day.”  He smiled, touched his straw hat, and turned to the direction from which he came.

“Just one thing,” Charley said.  “Could you tell her that we would like to know more about Aramis Caron?”

“Who?”

“Aramis Caron.” Charley left it at that and waited to see how he would respond.

Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay.  Please just wait here.”  The routine was repeated all over again, as he sauntered around the bend.

“What made you do that?” asked Stephanie.

“Desperation, simple desperation,” Charley said with a shrug.  “We have nothing else; it as worth a try.”

“But her last name is Sandhurst.”

“I know, but she must be a family member somehow - at least that’s what Denis implied.”

Fine minutes later the man neared the gate once more - no whistling this time.  He walked right up to them, reached through the gate, and undid the latch.  “She says to please follow me to the house.”