Nice, 1937: An Affair, a Murder and a Suicide

The dust flew about the attic as Helena rummaged through her mother’s old things. The concept of her mother had always intrigued her since her father refused to speak of her and she had very few memories from that time. As she rummaged a box of photos clattered to the floor and the black and white pictures scattered all over the dusty carpet. She bent to pick them up, but as she did so one photo caught her eye; it depicted her mother kissing a strange man and, in the back, there was a gorgeous panorama of a city stretching along a sunny beach. The man’s hair was short and light in colour and Helena knew why her mother had been swept off her feet by him. As she turned it around, she noticed that there was something scribbled there in what she presumed must have been her mother’s handwriting. It read: “Nice, 1937”.

“Nice? Why would my mother be in Nice of all places?” she thought out loud, confusion visible in her face as her parents had already been married at the time the photograph was taken. Clarity dawned on her, and she knew her mother had not been happy in the marriage to her father. She looked about the scattered photographs for more clues as to this mysterious stranger but found none. Nice, 1937 was all she had to go on.

They said curiosity killed the cat, but, true or not, Helena booked the next flight to Nice, determined to find the man her mother had had an affair with. Her bags were packed within minutes of booking and the next day she was sitting in the plane, black hair flowing in sculpted waves down to her shoulders. When the plane landed hot sunshine beat down on her face, warming her eyes which were tired from the long flight. The Promenade des Anglaise was crowded with elegant ladies and gentlemen, dressed in their finest clothes. It was in fact rather difficult to navigate through the throng and it did not take long before she bumped head-first into a tall young man with deep green eyes, long blond hair and a golden tan who looked at her as if he had seen a ghost.

“Nice, 1937.” He spoke with a soft French accent in little more than a whisper.

“You look almost exactly like…” Helena continued as she realized his striking similarity to the man in the photo, only difference was that he had long hair.

“Was your mother’s name Diana Wood, mademoiselle?” he asked so suddenly it took her off guard.

“Yes, it was. Mine is Helena Wood.” She responded, curiosity evident in her voice.

“Enchanté, mademoiselle Wood. My name is Mathéo Lefeuvre and I have been searching for your mother for quite some time. Did she come with you?” he asked hopefully, but not before kissing her hand which was rather flirtatious.

“No, I’m afraid she did not. She died 1940 when she could not make it to the bunker before the bombs fell. Why were you searching for her?” a sadness wrapped her mind in a dense fog, the dew of which trickled from her eyes. Mathéo’s eyes widened in shock at the news.

“I think if I am to answer that question we must sit down for a while.” He said and led her to a small beach-side boulangerie. He smiled a warm and charming smile at her, and she could not help but smile back despite her melancholy.

“Now you really must tell me why you were searching for my mother. I assume your father has the same picture she did with ‘Nice, 1937’ scribbled on the back.” Helena leant forwards and propped her elbows on the table.

“Indeed, I found that picture of him shortly after his death. He was murdered at the very place where this picture was taken and even though there was an investigation, they never caught that sac à merde. Eventually they gave up, all except me. That picture and your mother were all I had to go on, but now that I find she is dead I do not know what to do. Your mother was my one hope at discovering the truth.” He spoke in frustration, which seemed, however, to dissolve when Helena reached out over the small table and took his hand in hers.

“I may not be my mother, but I will do my best to help you discover what really happened.” She stated firmly and a warm smile spread across his features as he kissed her hand again, with a little more vigour than the last time.

“You are too kind, mademoiselle. I am honoured that you are willing to help me.” He bowed his head just a little and Helena could not help but blush at the compliment.

“Please, call me Helena.” She said and leaned back in her chair a little with a light-hearted smile on her lips.

“Of course, Helena, and I believe Mathéo would be a lot more appropriate as well.” He held out his hand for her to shake, which she did.

“Now, first, did your father keep any journals? I know it may already have been investigated, but nevertheless the police may have overlooked something.”

“I know he wrote in journals after my mother died during my birth, but the detectives never found them. I doubt we would ever be able to find them now.” He doubted but her eyes began to sparkle with wild excitement.

“Oh, this should be good.” She remarked quickly before getting up, paying and pulling him with her. “Do you still live in your father’s flat?”

“Yes, he bought it when he and my mother first got married and the appartements are so expensive, c’est terrible! So, I went on living there with my uncle who took care of, moi. And Helena, s’il te plaît, let us just take my car.” He said pointing to an elegant vehicle at the side of the road. She smiled gratefully and thought it adorable how the odd bit of French slipped into his English.

They drove for a while along the many winding roads and Helena could not help but feel excited at the prospect of trying to solve a murder, gruesome though it was. They arrived in front of a two-story house and Mathéo lead her inside.

“What kind of man was your father, Mathéo?” she asked as her keen eyes scanned the room looking for anything suspicious, though she did not expect to find anything.

“He always worked hard and was in his office most of the time with little time for me. However, the time he spent with me became more precious that way and he was always very loving. I didn’t know he was having an affair until I found that photograph in one of his drawers, so I suppose he had several secrets as well.” Mathéo told her, watching her with intense curiosity.

“Where is your father’s office? Perhaps there was something there that you missed?” she asked and he took her hand, leading her towards a door near the back of the house. The room was small and coated in bookshelves with a small desk by the window. The view was breath-taking in the mid-day sun.

She scanned the bookshelves one by one, though not checking the books themselves. Eventually she gave up searching behind the rows upon rows of old and new books. Mathéo then decided to help her as an idea popped into his head.

“What if he hid his journals or letters in these books. I never noticed how some of them are about things he was never interested in. He never even touched some of them.” He spoke and pulled out one of the newer books. He opened it carefully as Helena peered over his shoulder in excitement. The space in between the pages had been cut out and right there lay a journal, old and a little tattered, but the year on it was 1934 and not 37 or 38, so they continued pulling out the newer, less tasteful books and within each they discovered a diary and after a few more they found the leather-bound notebook they were looking for with golden letters on it reading 1938.

“It would seem the photograph isn’t the only thing we have to go on now.” Helena squealed in excitement and put her arms around Mathéo’s neck from behind in a slightly awkward hug. He paged through the few entries that had been made in it until he found the last one.

“I made a grave mistake and I fear I shall not live much longer. All I can hope is that I see her one last time before he finds me. I will never forget the day I met her and I will never regret it.” Mathéo translated the French into English for her. “The threats have been increasing and he will find me and kill me like he told me. I do not know who he is, but I have no doubt that I shall find out tonight. Goodbye for I most likely shall not write again.”

“So, he was killed while waiting for her to show up, but she must have been detained and the killer got there first.” Helena concluded and it felt as though there was a lump in her throat.

“Well, we know it couldn’t have been your father, since your mother provided him with an alibi. She would not have done that if he was the murderer of her lover. It couldn’t have been your mother either since she was clearly in love with him, unless he was having affairs with other women while she was gone, which I severely doubt.” He spoke seriously and then looked outside. It was already pitch-black. “Come. It is late and you must be très fatiguée. I shall accompany you to your hotel and pick you up in the morning.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you very much, Mathéo.” She smiled and they walked out to where his car stood. No sooner had they come onto the main road, they noticed they were being followed by an ominous black car in which sat a shadowy figure. Mathéo sped up and so did their pursuer.

“Looks like someone doesn’t want either of us finding out what happened.” He said and raced off down the winding road and behind them Helena could have sworn she heard a gunshot that just missed the tire of the car. They were both terrified out of their wits since neither of them had expected to be shot at or been in a car chase before.

“What do we do?” Helena asked, panicked.

“Try to get him off our tail, ma chérie!” he said and somehow managed to pull off a cheeky grin despite the gunshots in the background.

“How are you capable of flirting at a time like this?” she asked incredulously.

“I start flirting when I panic, it comes naturally, especially with a girl like you.” He said and turned a sharp corner, but it did nothing to stop their pursuer.

“Straight to the hotel! We’re not going to lose him any time soon so we may as well go there.” She said, ignoring his last comment, brushing it off as panic. They soon found themselves back on the Promenade des Anglaise, still being chased by the man, but no longer being shot at. He parked right in front of the hotel, and they ran towards the doors as a final gunshot rang out and missed them by a few feet. Once they were inside, they sighed in relief.

“Listen, Mathéo, I don’t think it would be safe for you to go back home tonight. Why don’t you stay here with me?” she asked him, just a little nervous that he would misinterpret it as flirting.

“Oui, I believe you are right.” He said and she detected a slight tremor in his voice, showing his cool façade was not all it seemed to be. She checked in for them and they headed to the room she had booked. Helena was only a little relieved to see two beds inside the room, but once the door closed, she felt a pair of lips softly make contact with hers and her eyes closed. There was nothing forced about the kiss and if she had wanted to, she could have pulled away with very little effort. Mathéo was even more surprised than her when she deepened the kiss.

“I apologize. After tonight I realized, I didn’t want to leave this world without having kissed you just once.” He said as they broke apart.

“No, you don’t have to apologize, even though it was very sudden. I’m glad you did.” He smiled warmly at her flustered tone and expression.

“Well, ehm, we should get to bed, n’est-ce pas?” Mathéo said awkwardly, heading to the bathroom and leaving her to get changed.

The next day they left the hotel early, not stopping for breakfast. The car that had followed them still stood outside yet they saw no driver and assumed he had fallen asleep waiting for them.

“Can you take me to the place where your father was murdered?” Helena asked, her forehead crinkling in concentration.

“Of course, but I don’t see the point? What would we find there more than a decade later?” he asked her in visible confusion.

“The killer will follow us and if we can catch him off guard we can distract him while the police come to arrest him.” She explained with a broad grin.

“This is incredibly dangerous, you know! And when did you even have the time to call the police?” he exclaimed as his foot hit the gas. They raced off and, in the distance, they saw a man getting in the other car.

“First off, yes it is, second, I called early this morning and informed them about the situation. They’ll be following us and presumably the killer as well.” She responded smugly.

“Alright then let’s go straight to the old ruins of the chateau near the quartier du port.” He said and raced off, the rays of the morning sun making his long, billowing hair shine like gold. They slowed as they reached the hill and began to climb up the winding roads, but no sooner had they left the car and set eyes on the place where an affair had started and a murder had happened, that they got company.

“Nice, 1937. I guess not only that bastard regretted that day.” A tall man with a British accent spoke, his hair short and black with streaks of grey.

“Dad?” Helena shouted in shock. “You killed his father? Why? I mean, I know he was having an affair with mum, but murder? I never thought that little of you, but I suppose I was wrong.”

“Have you ever loved someone with all your heart only to find out they no longer had feelings for you after starting a family with you? Having a child? You don’t know what it’s like to want someone all to yourself for all eternity! Only I never got eternity. From the moment she found out I killed her lover Louis, she hated me, but because we were married and had a child she gave me an alibi. She said that I stayed in the hotel room with her the night when she was supposed to meet him. After that she became numb and barely talked; it was horrible to watch her suffer like that, and I felt more and more guilty every day. I had a life on my hands! The night she died she could have made it to the bunker, but she just stayed in the living room and told me to leave and take you with me and never to tell you what actually happened. So, I have two lives on my hands and because I was desperate nearly three. I never wanted you to know what I did, but now you do. And I’m sorry.” He finished his story, and everything clicked into place for Helena as salty tears ran down her cheeks.

“I will never forgive you for this! What you did disgusts me!” Helena shrieked in rage at her father.

“I can’t forgive myself either.” Her father spoke quietly as he held the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Helena let out a terrified scream as blood splattered the ground and buried her face in Mathéo’s shoulder who stood dumbstruck at the sight, but nevertheless put his arms around her. The police arrived shortly after and took care of the corpse. As police officers and a bunch of on-lookers bustled about Helena stayed still in Mathéo’s arms.

“It’s all going to be fine, mon Coeur.” He whispered softly in her ear, and they looked out over the view that her mother and his father had seen back in 1937. Despite the situation she leaned towards his lips and planted a kiss on them, which he deepened gently, brought together by what they had been through.