‘I’m fine, thanks. You want to drive me to my place? Only our every move is now being closely monitored.’ He was referring to the curtain twitching in the café’s end window. Give it a couple of minutes and the entire village would know he’d got a lady visitor who beat everyone at Babyfoot.
He directed her down the lane and led her inside, where he put the kettle on and excused himself while he bagged up his dirty clothes. Jacqueline watched for a moment, then picked up his shoes and began to clean off the mud.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ he protested, but she shooed him away.
‘I used to clean my father’s boots when he came in from fishing. I became quite expert. Besides, if you leave these too long, you’ll ruin them.’ She studied the inside label. ‘They’re English. Expensive.’
‘It’s a weakness I have.’
‘Well, I’m pleased you have at least one.’ Then her eyes became serious. ‘Was the shooting to do with Delombre?’
‘Yes. He got away.’ He guessed that might not be accurate, but they wouldn’t know for sure until later this morning when they dragged the lake.
‘You weren’t hurt, though.’ It was a statement, a reassurance, and said with relief.
‘No. I ducked.’
She frowned slightly. ‘Please don’t joke.’ She put his shoes down and began to stuff them with newspaper.
‘Sorry. It’s a coping mechanism.’
‘Yes, I know.’ She brushed her hands, then looked up as a skittering noise sounded across the ceiling. ‘You’ve got fruit rats! I love them — they’re so cute, with their little Zorro masks.’
‘I didn’t know they wore masks.’ He tried to recall the things Claude had said about them. Razor-sharp teeth was one. Not masks, though. Another species, maybe.
‘The little ones do. Aunt Celestine has them, too. You won’t try to get rid of them, will you?’
‘I’m not sure I could, now,’ he replied. ‘In fact I’m thinking of adding them to the rent book. Would you like some cake?’
‘I’d love some.’
He cut two slices and put them on plates. They sat and ate in silence, and Jacqueline expressed her approval by having a second slice.
‘My neighbour,’ he explained. ‘She doesn’t think I eat enough.’
‘Lucky you. It must be nice being surrounded by people who think so highly of you.’ She dusted crumbs off her fingers. ‘Would it be dreadfully bad for your reputation,’ she added carefully, ‘if I stayed here today? Only I have a lot of thinking to do. This place feels so peaceful.’
Rocco felt the last of the cake go dry in his mouth, and his heart began pounding faster again. Actually, he decided, it hadn’t slowed much in the first place. ‘We’d have to keep one foot on the floor and drink lots of tea.’
She smiled and blushed. ‘Of course.’
He explained about having to report to Massin, and the likelihood that Interior Ministry people would descend on Amiens in droves, in the wake of the kidnapping and shooting. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll only stay a few hours. Then I have to go back to the city.’
He asked, ‘Does your aunt know you came?’
‘Of course. I told you, she’s the family black sheep. She approves.’
‘And you’re taking after her?’
She looked down. ‘No. Not really. My father thinks I’m a lot like her, especially doing the job I’m doing. Was doing.’
‘“Was”? Is that what the thinking is about?’
‘Yes. I resigned. I decided that all the skulking around and being secretive wasn’t really me, nor was being expected to make late-night visits to a senior officer’s apartment. So I rang my supervisor yesterday evening. He told me there’s a big reorganisation going on, so I shouldn’t make any rash decisions, but I said it wouldn’t make any difference.’ She bit her lip. ‘Levignier has disappeared. Did you know that?’
‘No. I didn’t. When?’
‘Sometime yesterday. My supervisor told me that a security guard saw him being picked up outside the office by two men in a car. He didn’t come back. What do you think that could be about?’
Justice, Rocco thought instinctively. A clear-up operation to make sure none of what had happened over the past few days ever got out. Levignier was probably discovering the hard way that even being near the top of ISD was no guarantee of protection against failure. It had so many ramifications, failure, especially allied to official circles; one of them being its cast-offs getting scooped up like rubbish in a dustpan.
‘I’m sorry I was so touchy at my aunt’s,’ she said after a while, and another cup of tea. ‘About the questions, I mean. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘It’s what I do,’ he explained. ‘Ask questions. But I’ll try to keep them appropriate to the occasion in future.’ He realised immediately how that sounded, but suddenly didn’t mind. It was an unusual concept, the future.
She was smiling, a delicate crease forming in the middle of each cheek. She said, ‘I might keep you to that.’
About the Author
Adrian Magson began writing short fiction and features for women’s magazines, contributing over the years to publications in the UK, US, Scandinavia, Japan and Australia. As well as writing comedy material and stories for BBC radio, he also turned to writing crime thrillers, and was shortlisted for the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Award. Since then he has gone on to have several crime thrillers published and is a regular contributor to Writing Magazine.
www.adrianmagson.com