And then he’d seen the girl.
She was coming towards his table, and, for some reason or other which might almost have been a premonition, the nagging pain in his guts had started up. Just like it always did at the start of an assignment, started and continued until the action began.
“Esmonde…"
Debonnair was looking at him curiously; he didn’t hear her speaking his name. She said, “Esmonde, what’s the matter?”
He looked at her briefly, then away again, towards the girl. He said, “Nothing. Wait a moment, Deb.”
He could have sworn he’d never seen the girl in his life — and yet there was something familiar about her. She was young and fresh-looking, with dark hair curling seductively round tiny, shell-pink ears, and she had large dark eyes, eyes which just now were obviously frightened and, as it seemed to Shaw, frightened of the two sordid men who were escorting her out. It struck Shaw that she was a little the worse for drink, and he found that out of character with the girl’s whole appearance; he guessed that this was probably her first experience of anything stronger than a glass of claret and that those two men had got her tight with just one purpose in their minds… her pleading look as she passed his table was directed straight into his eyes; and it went from there right into his heart. She wasn’t the sort for the sexy, prelude-to-seduction atmosphere of Fouquier’s, for the dim, overheated room filled with the thump-thump of erotic music from the scruffy three-man band sinuously snaking their hips and shoulders in one corner.
His knee pressed against Debonnair’s under the table, and he raised an eyebrow, jerking his head backward towards the girl, who had now gone on towards the velvet-curtained door, swaying just a little and held possessively, lasciviously, too closely around her slim young body by one of her escorts.
Debonnair said, “All right. I’ve seen.” She frowned a little and shook her head warningly, shook it so that the rose lighting was reflected in a moving mass of red-gold that rushed like fire through her fair hair and pointed up the tawny gold of her skin… the very look of her in that moment sent the blood pounding in Shaw’s body. She went on, “Darling, it’s probably her own fault, you know. Don’t go getting any of your chivalrous ideas. Damsels in that particular sort of distress aren’t all that uncommon in these parts, and she didn’t have to come here.” Her fingers broke the last of a bread roll, and she added with a low, gurgling chuckle: “It’s her daddy’s job anyhow.”
“But,” Shaw pointed out, “her daddy’s not here, so far as I can see.”
“Uh-huh… she’s English. That could be why, I suppose.”
“Oh? How d’you tell she’s English?”
Debonnair curled her lip in mock scorn. “My God, for a man in your job…” Then she smiled sweetly, patted her body. “Clothes, darling. She’s darned good to look at, but she hasn’t quite got Frenchiness. And there’s a general air of… well, dew-of-the-morning. Did you get that scent?”
He nodded. “Yes. Why? It was — nice and fresh.”
“That’s what I mean, dope! Not the sort of scent the girls who use this joint a lot care to dab on. Too much like Great-aunt Matilda’s withdrawing-room — if you see what I mean.”
“Yes,” he said, “I do.” He ran a hand through his brown hair, rumpling it, crushed out a cigarette in a jade ashtray. He frowned. His lined, tanned face hardened suddenly. “Somebody’s got to do something, Deb—”
“Well, maybe.” The anxious look deepened. “Still no reason why it has to be you who risks a stiletto in the back. You know these boys as well as I do, darling. And your boss told me to see you didn’t get into any mischief… he’s not going to like either of us very much if you get badly bent when you’re supposed to be on leave. I wasn’t in the Foreign Office for nothing, you know. I learned a thing or two before I left. Listening out, and getting into real trouble — they’re two very different things, my pet. You’re supposed to be inconspicuous. Besides, you’re precious to me too, as well as the Outfit.” Her hand slid under the table and found his. She looked into his eyes, tawny and compelling. “Remember? If you’re not careful, I’ll go completely mad and marry you. Then I’ll have a right to nag!”
Suddenly he grinned. “You’re jealous. She’s a damn good-looker.”
She gave a little gurgle of laughter. “My dear Esmonde, you’re as transparent as an indecent nightie! You aren’t after her for her looks — I don’t ever need to be jealous. That’s what frightens me… you nice, kind men get into more real trouble than the other sort ever thought of.” She squeezed his hand, looked demurely resigned, then smiled into his eyes again. She said, “I wouldn’t love you so much if you weren’t such a dope. And I suppose I’d really like to see those two smarmy boys have the skids put under them. Only — be careful, that’s all.”
Shaw leaned across and kissed the tip of her nose lightly. Then he got up, grinned down at her, slipped some thousand-franc notes on to a plate. He said, “Settle up, Deb, there’s a good girl. Give me five minutes. Then meet me at the car.”
He went outside.
He saw the girl about fifty yards down the street, with the men. There seemed to be a bit of a struggle going on, and they were trying to force her along, probably towards a car farther down the parked line. A cat strolled by, its tail arched. A man’s urgent, pleading voice floated from a lighted window, and then a girl’s high-pitched protests which subsided into a throaty chuckle. An old woman walked slowly up the other side of the street, bent over a stick, minding her own business. In Paris no one bothered very much about this kind of thing… Shaw’s long chin thrust forward and he ran ahead, caught up with the group.
He asked the girl, “What’s the trouble? These men bothering you?”
She gave a little choking cry and turned to him appealingly. She said, “Oh, yes… yes, they are. Please, can you make them go away?”
Shaw thought: Debonnair’s right, she’s English, maybe a student on holiday and just seeing the sights. Silly little fool. He went into action then. He didn’t rush in, just put a hand on the shoulder of one of the men and spoke calmly and quietly. He said, “Look here. Be sensible. You heard what the lady said. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll just disappear.”
The man stood there and tried to bluster it out. Shaw moved in then. He got a tight grip on the lapels of the Frenchman’s jacket, lifted him close, then gave a heave and let go. The man shot backwards into the roadway, picked himself up, and ran. Shaw turned just in time to see the second man coming for him, and as the tall, slender body came up he bent suddenly, took him by the legs. The man shot over Shaw’s doubled body and landed on his face with a crash.
Shaw looked down at him, said briefly: “Your pal’s gone. You’d better do the same unless you want me to call a gendarme.”