Текст книги "Bruno, Chief Of Police"

Автор книги: Martin Walker

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coverage had become his protection.

‘I do have one proposal to make,’ Bruno said. ‘I think it was Napoleon who said

that when you’re under pressure, it’s always better to attack than to sit back

and wait for the worst. I heard of something they’ve started doing in the

tourist centres of Brittany that might help us here. They organise Marchés

Nocturnes – evening markets. It’s quite simple. We invite some of the regular

stall holders to sell their produce in the evening, but products that can be

eaten on the spot – pâté, cheese, olives, bread and salads, fruit and wine. We

set up some tables and benches, provide some simple entertainment like the local

jazz club, and we ask the town restaurants and traiteurs to provide simple hot

foods like pommes frites and saucisses and pizza. There isn’t a lot to do in the

evenings round here and many people – particularly in the camp sites – can’t

afford to eat out at restaurants every night. So this would be a cheap evening

out in the middle of town, as well as a new source of income for local

businesses. And of course the town would charge a small fee to the stallholders.

It might help bring people back to St Denis despite this latest publicity.’

‘I like it,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s just the kind of thing tourists love, and people

will stay on and buy drinks at the bars after they eat. I could advertise it in

all the houses we let.’

‘It may be alright for you, but I make my living by keeping the customers inside

my camp site, spending their money at my bar and in my café,’ grumbled Duhamel.

But Philippe from the hotel was enthusiastic, and they all felt better at the

thought of taking some action to restore the town’s fortunes. The delegation

took their leave in a far better mood than when they had arrived.

‘That could have gone a lot more disagreeably, so thank you for that very useful

idea,’ said the Mayor when he and Bruno were left alone. ‘Are you sure you

should be at work? You looked pretty bad on TV last night with that blood

running down your face. You took some nasty knocks.’

‘You should see the other guys,’ said Bruno lightly, relieved that he seemed to

have got away without a reprimand. ‘And besides, I used to get worse on the

rugby field every week.’

‘Yes,’ the Mayor said drily. ‘Like all the rest of France, I watched you say

that on TV. Very heroic, Bruno, but I also saw you getting beaten up and it

looked very nasty from where I was watching. Half the women of St Denis have

been telling me that you saved them from the mob. Seriously, I thought you were

in for it when that gang attacked you by the steps.’

‘So you saw our delightful Inspector Perrault come to my rescue? Not to mention

that well-aimed kick from Pamela Nelson.’

‘We all did. The Minister of the Interior was most impressed with their martial

skills. I suspect the Inspector will find herself promoted back to a staff job

in his Paris office quite soon with that karate black belt of hers, or whatever

it is she has. An elegant and very dangerous woman – they love that sort of

thing in Paris. That’s why I think we’ll have some help from the Ministry if we

need it with the banks.’

The Mayor smiled at Bruno with the affectionate but slightly superior look of a

schoolmaster realising how much his favourite pupil had yet to learn. ‘I noticed

your dubious look when I told our businessmen that we might be able to apply

some pressure on the banks. Always remember, Bruno, that the people who really

apply political pressure are seldom the politicians themselves. They prefer to

let their staff do it for them and I think I’ll make you a bet that the shapely

Inspector Perrault will soon be in a position to help us if needed.’

‘I’m not sure that she’d take such a job if it were offered. She’s an

independent sort of woman.’

‘Spoken with feeling. Almost as if your advances had been spurned.’

‘No advances have been made, Sir,’ Bruno replied coolly.

‘More fool you, Bruno. Now, I must answer all the phone calls I asked Mireille

to hold during the meeting. Meanwhile, you’d better check on the progress of

those thugs that were arrested. I assume that’s being handled by the Police

Nationale in Périgueux?’

‘It should be, but our local chaps here were the arresting officers so I’ll

check with them first.’

Bruno had barely got back to his own office and opened his mail when the Mayor

bustled in, muttering, ‘That fool woman … one of the phone calls that Mireille

sat on was from the Café des Sports. I told her to interrupt me for anything

urgent. Your Capitaine Duroc came along this morning and arrested Karim for

assault. Can you find out what’s going on?’

‘Assault? It was self-defence.’ But then he had a mental image of Karim,

probably the biggest man in the entire square, picking up the litter bin and

hurling it at the knot of Front National men with their flags. He winced. It had

seemed a good idea at the time, but Bruno knew that he himself would have

trouble even lifting the thing, let alone lifting it over his head and throwing

it. And if that crucial moment of the brawl had been caught by the TV cameras,

Karim could be in trouble.

‘Do you remember seeing Karim throw the litter bin?’ he asked the Mayor.

‘Yes, it was the act that turned the tide; that and your Inspector Perrault. It

was a considerable feat of strength. One of the generals said it was

magnificent. Oh dear, I think I understand. That could be seen as assault with a

weapon. Well, I think the Minister and the generals and I could stand as

witnesses that Karim did the right thing.’

‘Yes, but there’s another witness – the TV cameras. And those Front National

types have access to clever lawyers and they would relish filing a complaint

against an Arab, which is how they see Karim. Even if the police decide not to

file charges, the victims could do so.’

‘Putain!’ exploded the Mayor, and slammed a fist into the palm of his other

hand. He never normally swore and Bruno could not remember the last time he’d

seen his friend lose his temper. The Mayor paced back and forth before Bruno’s

desk, then stopped and fixed him with an angry eye. ‘How do we fix this?’

‘Well, I’ll see what I can do with the police in Périgueux. But if there’s a

Juge-magistrat being assigned to lay charges against the Front National thugs,

he’d also be the one to decide about charges against Karim, and that’s way above

my head. If that’s the case, you’ll probably have to see what influence you can

bring to bear. It’ll be a local Juge-magistrat, so you might be able to get the

Prefect to have a quiet word. A lot will depend on the statements taken by the

police, so some depositions by you and the Minister and the generals would be

very useful.’

The Mayor took a pad and pen from Bruno’s desk and began to scribble some notes.

‘The first thing is to find out exactly on what grounds the gendarmes arrested

him, and whether charges have been filed by the Front,’ Bruno said. ‘I’ll do

that.’

‘Is it possible that these swine are trying to set up a deal?’ the Mayor asked,

looking up from his notes. ‘You know the sort of thing – if we drop the charges

against them, they’ll drop the charges against Karim. They’re politicians, so

they can hardly like the idea of forty of their militants getting charged with

riotous assembly; and certainly not after members of their security squad are

being charged with drug trafficking.’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never been involved in that kind of legal

deal-making. I’ll go and see what I can find out at the Gendarmerie,’ he said,

grabbing his cap and heading for the stairs.

‘And I’d better go and see if there’s anything we can do for Rashida at the

café, and we’d better call Momu. He may not know about this yet,’ said the

Mayor.

‘I’m worried that this could be really serious for Karim,’ Bruno said from the

top of the stairs.‘If he’s convicted of violent assault he’s likely to lose his

tobacco licence, and that means the end of his café and probably bankruptcy. If

those bastards insist on a deal where we have to drop all charges against them,

we may not have a lot of choice but to agree.’

CHAPTER

18

A long stroll along the Rue de Paris, the main shopping street of St Denis,

always calmed Bruno by forcing him to adapt to the slow and timeless ways of his

town no matter what the urgency of his mission. But today, they slowed him down

even more because everybody wanted to talk about the riot. He had to shake the

hands of all the old men filling out their horse-racing bets at the Café de la

Renaissance, though he refused their offers of a petit blanc. The women standing

in line at the butcher’s shop all wanted to kiss him and tell him they were

proud of him. More women wanted to do the same at the patisserie, and Monique

insisted on giving him one of his favourite tartes au citron as a token of her

renewed esteem. He walked on, munching happily, shaking hands at the barber’s

shop and again at Fabien’s Rendez-vous des Chasseurs where Bruno bought his

shotgun cartridges.

Fabien wanted his opinion on a new lure he was inventing to tempt the fish in

that fiendish corner of the river where only the most perfectly cast fly could

evade the trees and boulders. Jean-Pierre was tinkering with a bike in front of

his shop and raised an oily hand in salute. Not to be outdone, Bachelot darted

from his shoe shop, nails still gripped between his lips and carrying a small

hammer, to shake Bruno’s hand warmly. Pascal came out from the Maison de la

Presse to make sure Bruno had seen the newspapers and to assure him that at

least three small boys had bought scrapbooks to record the sudden fame of their

local policeman, and he was joined by the ladies in the flower shop and Colette

from the dry cleaner’s. By the time he’d reached the open ground in front of the

Gendarmerie and greeted the two rugby forwards who were making a success of

their Bar des Amateurs with its new snack lunches, sadly refusing their offer of

a beer, he felt restored by the familiar rhythm of the town and its people.

Francine was at the desk in the Gendarmerie, and she had been stationed in St

Denis long enough to understand Karim’s importance to the town as its star rugby

player, which had to be the reason for Bruno’s visit. After he kissed her cheeks

in greeting, she jerked a thumb towards the closed door of Duroc’s office and

rolled her eyes to signal her own view of Karim’s arrest. She beckoned him

closer and spoke very quietly.

‘He’s in there with Karim and a juge-magistrat from Périgueux who just turned up

this morning with a couple of videotapes,’ she whispered. ‘He’s the one behind

this arrest, Bruno. Duroc is just obeying orders.’

‘Did you recognise the guy from Périgueux?’

She shook her head. ‘He’s a new one on me, but a very fancy dresser. And he came

in a car with a driver, parked over there by the vet’s office. He made the

driver carry in the video machine.’

‘Merde,’ muttered Bruno. It must be Tavernier, already armed with the TV film of

Karim’s part in the brawl. He thanked Francine and strolled out to the trees

that shaded the old house that was the office for Dougal’s Delightful Dordogne.

There he pulled out his mobile and called the Mayor to warn him that Tavernier

was now the problem.

‘I’m with Rashida at the café and she’s in hysterics,’ the Mayor said. Bruno

could hear Rashida in the background. ‘I called Momu’s house to get Karim’s

mother over here,’ he went on, ‘but she then rang Momu at school and he’s

heading for the Gendarmerie. You’d better make sure he does nothing foolish,

Bruno, and I’ll have to tackle Tavernier. The moment you have Momu calmed down,

get hold of Tavernier and say that I want to see him urgently, as an old friend

of his father.’

‘Do you have a plan?’ Bruno asked.

‘Not yet, but I’ll think of something. Is there a lawyer in there with Karim?’

‘Not yet. Can you call Brosseil? He’s on the board of the rugby club.’

‘Brosseil is just a notary. Karim will need a real lawyer.’

‘We can get a real lawyer later. We just want Brosseil to go in there, tell

Karim to say absolutely nothing, and insist that anything he has said so far is

struck from the record since he was denied legal representation.’

‘That’s not French law, Bruno.’

‘It doesn’t matter. It buys us time and it will certainly shut Karim up. And it

is European law, and Tavernier won’t want to run foul of that – Brosseil has to

keep on saying so. Do you have the deposition yet from the Minister or those two

generals on what they saw in the square?’

‘From the generals, yes. They faxed it. Nothing yet from the Minister.’

‘Tavernier won’t know that, Sir. If he thought that his prosecution of Karim

called into question the deposition of his Minister, not to mention two senior

figures in the Defence Ministry, he might have second thoughts.’

‘Good thinking, Bruno. We’ll try it. But first you had better stop Momu.’

That depended on whether Momu came by car, in which case he would have to come

past the infants’ school and the post office, or on foot or by bicycle through

the pedestrian precinct, which would bring him along the Rue de Paris. Bruno

could not be in both places at once. He poked his head in around the door and

told Francine to block Momu at all costs and to ring him as soon as Momu

appeared. Then he stationed himself at the end of the Rue de Paris just in time

to catch Momu pedalling furiously towards him.

‘Hold it, Momu,’ he said with his hand up. ‘Let me and the Mayor take care of

this.’

But Momu ignored him. ‘Out of my way, Bruno,’ he shouted angrily, steering round

him and thrusting out a powerful arm to push him away. Bruno hung on to his arm

and the bike began to topple. Momu was stuck, his feet on the ground, his bike

between his legs and his arm still in Bruno’s firm grip.

‘Get off, Bruno,’ he roared. ‘We’ll fix you. The rugby boys are on their way,

along with half the school. We can’t have them rounding people up like this.

It’s a damn rafle and we’ve had enough.’

Rafle was the term the Algerians had used for the mass round-ups staged by the

French police during the Algerian war, and before that to refer to the Gestapo

raids against French civilians in the war. A rafle stood for brutality and a

police state.

‘It’s not a rafle, Momu,’ Bruno said urgently.

‘The Nazis kill my father and leave him like a piece of butchered meat and now

you take my son into your dungeons. Out of my way, Bruno! I’ve had it with you

and your French justice.’

‘It’s not a rafle, Momu,’ Bruno repeated, trying to catch the man’s eyes with

his own. He let go of Momu’s arm and gripped his handlebars instead. ‘It’s Karim

answering some questions and the Mayor and I are on your side, like the whole of

the town. We have a lawyer coming and we’re going to do this right. If you go

charging in there you’ll make things worse for Karim and do yourself no good.

Believe me, Momu.’

‘Believe you?’ Momu scoffed. ‘In that uniform? It was French police who killed

hundreds of us in those rafles back during the war. Police like you rounded up

Algerians and bound them hand and foot and threw them in the River Seine. Never

again, Bruno. Never again. Now out of my way.’

A crowd was gathering, led by Gilbert and René from the Bar des Amateurs.

‘Have you heard?’ Momu cried. ‘The gendarmes arrested Karim. He’s in there. I

have to get to him.’

‘What’s this, Bruno?’ asked Gilbert suspiciously. ‘Is this right?’

‘Calm down, everybody,’ Bruno said. ‘It’s true. The gendarmes came and picked

him up and there’s a magistrate now questioning him about the brawl in the

square with those Front National types. The Mayor and I are trying to get things

fixed. We have a lawyer coming and we’re standing by Karim, just as we expect

you all to do. We can’t have people charging into the Gendarmerie – it will just

make things worse.’

‘What’s Karim supposed to have done?’ René wanted to know.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ exploded Momu. ‘He’s done nothing. He was defending himself

against those Nazi bastards, defending you.’

‘We don’t know yet,’ said Bruno, keeping firm hold of Momu’s handlebars. At

least Momu wasn’t trying to knock him down or storm past him. ‘It looks as if

they are considering a charge of assault. You remember when Karim threw that

litter bin.’

‘Bruno, Bruno,’ shouted a new voice, and Brosseil the Notaire came bustling up,

tightening the knot of his tie. ‘The Mayor just rang me, said I’d find you

here.’

‘We want you to go in and insist on seeing Karim as his legal representative,

and tell him to say nothing and sign nothing. No statements. And then you say

you demand anything he has said should be struck from the record because it was

said while Karim was denied a lawyer. Then you tell them you will be filing a

formal complaint in the European Court of Justice for denial of legal

representation, and suing Capitaine Duroc personally.’

‘Can I do that?’ Brosseil asked. He was usually a self-important and rather

pompous man but he suddenly looked deflated.

‘It’s European law, and it holds good in France. They might try to deny it, but

just bluster and shout and threaten, and above all stop Karim from saying

anything and we’ll get a criminal lawyer here as soon as we can. Just refuse to

take no for an answer. And remember, the whole town is counting on you. And so

is Karim.’

Brosseil, whose main work was to draw up wills and notarise sales of property,

squared his shoulders like a soldier and marched off to the Gendarmerie.

‘You have to trust me, Momu. I have to go in there now and try to help sort

things out and I can’t have an angry mob shouting outside or forcing their way

in.’ He let go of Momu’s handlebars and gave him his own mobile. ‘Call the

Mayor. It’s on speed dial so just hit number one and then press the green button

and you’ll reach him. The Mayor and I are following the strategy we’ve planned.

Talk with him, and stay here and help calm people down. René, Gilbert – I rely

on you to keep things under control here.’ With that, Bruno followed Brosseil.

The door to Duroc’s office was wide open and the shouts of angry men mingled

with the soundtrack of the riot from the video playing on the TV. Duroc was

standing beside his desk roaring at Brosseil to get out but the little Notaire

was standing his ground and roaring back with dire threats about the European

Court. Tavernier was sitting calmly behind Duroc’s desk, watching the

confrontation with an air of amusement. Karim sat, hunched and baffled, before

the desk. Bruno sized up the situation, then moved to the TV and switched it

off. Brosseil and Duroc stopped shouting in surprise.

‘Gentlemen, if you please,’ he said. ‘I have an urgent message for the

Juge-magistrat. A confidential matter.’ He turned to Duroc, shook him warmly by

the hand and began steering him out of the door. ‘Mon Capitaine, dear colleague,

if you would be so kind, the courtesy of your office, just a brief moment, so

grateful …’ Bruno kept murmuring smooth platitudes while his other hand grabbed

Brosseil’s coat and tugged him along until he had them both in the hallway. He

extricated himself, told Karim to join his lawyer in the hall and closed the

door. He leaned his back against it and scrutinised Tavernier, whose face wore a

sardonic expression.

‘We meet again, Monsieur le Chef de Police,’ Tavernier said mockingly. ‘Such a

pleasure. You bring a message for me?’

‘An old friend and classmate of your father, Senator Mangin, requests the

pleasure of your company,’ said Bruno.

‘Ah yes, the Mayor of St Denis, making up for the disappointments of his

political career in Paris by running the affairs of this turbulent little town.

My father tells amusing stories of his old classmate. Apparently he was out of

his depth even then. Please convey my sincere respects to the Mayor, but I am

for the moment detained on judicial business. I shall be happy to call on him

after my business here is concluded, probably towards the end of the day.’

‘I think the Mayor’s business is rather more urgent, Monsieur le

Juge-magistrat,’ Bruno said.

‘Sadly, you must remind your Mayor that the law waits for no man. Please send

the others back in when you leave, but you can take that ridiculous little

Notaire away with you.’

‘You are right about the law,’ Bruno said. ‘That’s why we wasted no time in

getting the depositions from our illustrious guests who happened to witness that

act of aggression by outside agitators. Depositions from both generals, and the

Minister. I think the Mayor wishes to discuss them with you before any further

judicial decisions are made.’

‘Very clever,’ said Tavernier after a long silence. ‘And I am sure the

depositions are very flattering about the role of our hulking Arab, and of the

town’s Chef de Police.’

‘I wouldn’t know, Monsieur. I haven’t seen them. I only know the Mayor wishes to

discuss them with you, in the interest of furnishing all possible assistance to

the judicial authorities.’

‘In rather the same way that somebody sent that silly little Notaire in here

spouting about the European Court of Justice. Was that your doing?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Monsieur. I do know that no responsible

policeman would stand in the way of allowing someone the benefit of legal advice

if they’re being questioned. I’m sure you and Capitaine Duroc would agree.’

‘A country policeman who follows the judgments of the European Court of

Justice,’ Tavernier sneered. ‘How very impressive.’

‘And the European Court of Human Rights,’ Bruno said. ‘It is the duty of a

policeman to pay attention to the laws he is sworn to uphold.’

‘The law is even-handed, Monsieur le Chef de Police. The outside agitators

involved in the riot are facing prosecution, and so are the local townspeople

who reacted with undue force. And we are still seeking to establish who was

responsible for starting the violence.’

‘Then, Monsieur, I am sure you will want to waste no time in consulting the

depositions of such eminent witnesses as the generals and the Minister, as the

Mayor invites you to do.’

A long silence ensued as Tavernier kept his eyes fixed on Bruno’s, and Bruno

could only guess at the calculations of personal and political ambition that

were taking place behind the young man’s calm features. He kept his own face

similarly immobile.

‘You may inform the Mayor that I shall wait upon him in his office within thirty

minutes,’ Tavernier said finally, and turned his gaze away.

‘The Mayor and I will both stand surety for the young man you were questioning

before this regrettable interruption,’ Bruno said. ‘We guarantee that he will be

available to you at any time for further questioning, along with a suitable

legal representative.’

‘Very well,’ said Tavernier. ‘You may take your violent Arab along for the

moment. I think we have all the evidence we need.’ He waved a languid hand at

the video.

‘He’s as French as you or me, but I’ll remember you said that.’ Bruno turned on

his heel and walked out. He collected Karim and Brosseil on the way, and Duroc

started to protest. Bruno simply looked at him and pointed back to the closed

door of Duroc’s office and said, ‘Check with the boy wonder in there.’

And then they were down the steps and into the open air, and a cheer came up

from the crowd that had gathered at the corner of the Rue de Paris as Momu

trotted forward joyfully to embrace Karim. Half the town seemed to be present,

including the two old enemies from the Resistance, Bachelot and Jean-Pierre,

both of them beaming. Bruno thanked Brosseil, who was jaunty with pride at his

own part in the proceedings and too excited even to think about whether he might

send someone a bill for his services. This surprised Bruno, who wondered how

long Brosseil’s forgetfulness would last. He slapped Karim on the back, and Momu

came up apologetically to shake his hand.

‘Was that true what you said about the rafles, throwing people in the River

Seine?’ Bruno asked.

‘Yes, in 1961, October. Over two hundred of us. It’s history. You can look it

up. They even made a TV programme about it.’

Bruno shook his head, not in disbelief but with weary sadness at the endless

march of human folly.

‘I’m very sorry,’ he said.

‘It was the war,’ said Momu. ‘And at times like this I get worried that it isn’t

over.’ He looked across to where Karim was being led into the Bar des Amateurs

for a celebratory beer. ‘I’d better make sure he just has the one and gets back

to comfort Rashida. Thanks for bringing him out. And I’m sorry I pushed you,

Bruno. I was very worked up.’

‘I understand. It’s a hard time for you with your father and now this. But you

know the whole town is with you.’

‘I know,’ Momu nodded. ‘I taught half of them how to count. They are decent

people. Thanks again.’

‘Give my respects to Rashida,’ Bruno said, and walked off alone up the Rue de

Paris to brief the Mayor.

CHAPTER

19

Bruno dressed for dinner. He had pondered what to wear while feeding his

chickens, and he thought a pair of chinos and casual shirt, with a jacket, would

be suitable. A tie would be too much. He also took a bottle of his unlabelled

Lalande de Pomerol from the cellar and put it on the seat of his car beside the

bunch of flowers he had bought, so that he would not forget. He showered, shaved

and dressed, fed Gigi and then drove off, wondering what the mad Englishwoman

and her friend were going to feed him. He had heard much of English cooking,

none of it reassuring, although Pamela was clearly a civilised woman with the

excellent taste to live in Périgord. But still, he was nervous, and not only for

his stomach. The invitation had come by hand-delivered note to his office, and

was addressed ‘To our Defender’. The tongues of the women in the Mairie had not

stopped wagging since.

It had been a tiresome day, with half the newspapers and TV stations in France

wanting to interview ‘the lone cop of St Denis’, as France-Soir had called him.

He turned them all down, except for his favourite, Radio Périgord, who seemed

disappointed when he said that a lone cop would have been knocked silly and it

was the presence of Inspector Isabelle Perrault that had made the difference.

Isabelle had then called him to complain that Paris-Match wanted to photograph

her in her karate fighting suit and the damn female media expert at Police HQ

was insisting she submit. But she accepted his invitation to dinner the

following evening, only – she said – because she wanted to get a good look at

his black eye and bruises.

It was still fully light outside as Bruno parked at Pamela’s, yet there were

lights blazing throughout the house, an old oil lamp glowing softly on the table

in the courtyard, and some gentle jazz music playing. An English voice called

out, ‘He’s here,’ and Pamela appeared, looking formal in a long dress and her

hair piled high. She was carrying a tray with a bottle of what looked like Veuve

Clicquot and three glasses.

‘Our hero,’ she said, putting the tray down on the table and kissing him soundly

on both cheeks.

‘After seeing what you did to that young skinhead I’m not sure I ought to get

any closer,’ he said, smiling as she took his flowers and wine, laid them on the

table, and then took both his hands in hers.

‘That’s one of the best black eyes I’ve ever seen, Bruno,’ she said. ‘And

stitches! I didn’t know you’d have stitches, but I’m not surprised after seeing

that club he hit you with.’ She turned as Christine appeared. ‘Just look at

Bruno’s stitches.’

Christine came up, kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him tightly, bathing him

in her perfume. ‘Thank you, Bruno. Truly, thank you for coming to our rescue.’

He thought of replying that there were other women there to be defended, or that

he would have made a poor job of it but for Isabelle’s presence, or that the

whole damned event was probably his own fault. But none of it seemed quite right

so he remained silent and beamed at them both.

‘We heard you on the radio this afternoon,’ Christine said. ‘And we bought all

the newspapers.’

‘I’m just sorry you got caught up in it, and sorry too that St Denis now has

this dreadful reputation for fighting and racial troubles,’ he said. ‘Some of

the tourist businesses have had cancellations, so I hope it won’t hurt your

rentals this summer, Pamela. I was told there was something in the English

newspapers.’

‘And on the

BBC

,’ said Christine.

‘I should be fine,’ Pamela said, handing him the champagne to open. ‘I don’t use

St Denis in the address of this place, only the postal code. I just give the

name of the house, then the name of the little hamlet of St Thomas et

Brillamont, and then Vallée de la Vézčre. It sounds so much more French to the

English ear.’

‘I didn’t know the house had a name,’ he said, gently tapping the hollow at the

base of the bottle to prevent the foam from overflowing.

‘It didn’t before I christened it Les Peupliers, the poplars.’

‘I think you would call that le marketing,’ laughed Christine as he began

pouring the wine. She too was wearing a long dark skirt and blouse, but her hair

had been freshly curled. They had dressed up for him and he began to regret not

wearing a tie.

‘So perhaps you’d tell me what this English dinner you’ve kindly invited me to

will be?’

‘It’s a surprise,’ said Pamela.

‘A surprise for me as well,’ said Christine. ‘I don’t know what Pamela has

cooked, but she does cook very well. My contribution was to spend the day on the

computer on your behalf, researching into your Arab football team.’

‘I tried the sports editor of le Marseillais today,’ said Bruno. ‘He was very

helpful when he realised I was the same St Denis cop whose picture was in his

newspaper, but there was nothing in their files. He said he would ask some of

the retired journalists if they knew of anything in the old archives. He even

looked through the back issues of those months in 1940, but he said they didn’t

seem to cover amateur leagues.’

‘Well, I have something,’ Christine said. ‘I decided to check the thesis data

base. You know there are all these new graduate studies in areas like sports and

immigration history? Well, they all have to write theses, and I found two that