us at war if they get their way. Bellicistes we call them, warmongers. Back in 1936, when we had the so-called Popular Front, a communist front, they wanted to arm the Republicans fighting in Spain. Well, we put all the pressure we could on the government, and France remained neutral, but the government still sent four hundred aeroplanes to the Spaniards, secretly. There were investigations in the senate, and the numbers kept changing, but law meant nothing to them and the country saw that.’
Stahl wondered how to answer this, and said, ‘Well, our newspapers …’
Just then a very appealing woman appeared at LaMotte’s side. She wore a tight cloche hat with chestnut hair swept across her forehead, her eyes were heavily made up and looked enormous, and she wore a tied rope of pearls above a low neckline. Looking at Stahl she said, ‘Oh Philippe, are you going to keep our guest all to yourself? I trust you’re not talking politics .’ She grinned wickedly at Stahl.
‘Me?’ LaMotte said. ‘Politics? How could you think such a thing?’ He laughed and said, ‘Kiki de Saint-Ange, may I present Monsieur Fredric Stahl.’
She dropped a cool hand into Stahl’s and said, ‘ Formidable , to think someone like you would turn up here .’
LaMotte said, ‘It was a wonderful surprise to meet you in person, Monsieur Stahl, and I hope to see you again sometime, if your schedule permits.’
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ Stahl said.
‘What a courteous fellow you are,’ Kiki said. ‘Philippe can be amusing, but you’ve landed among the most boring, stuffy old mummies in France. These are the aristos who got away in 1789!’
‘Oh? Well, you’re here.’
‘I am standing in for my parents, Monsieur Stahl, so I have to be here, but not for long.’
‘Won’t you be missed?’
‘Not me. And I’m going to a much livelier party than this.’
‘That sounds exciting,’ Stahl said.
‘Why not see for yourself? Not a soul will know who you are, they don’t go to American movies.’
This hit home, for it summoned his former life in the city, but he didn’t think he could just disappear.
She moved closer to him, her voice lowered. ‘So we shall conspire, you and I. When I can’t stand it any more I’ll let you know, then you can do as you like. Where I’m going it’s a very different crowd.’
Stahl hesitated. ‘The Baroness von Reschke would think …’
Kiki flicked her fingers from her lips, the kiss floated in the air. From the corner of his eye, Stahl spotted the baroness, cutting her way through the crowd like a determined shark. ‘Here she comes now,’ Kiki said. ‘Cinderella’s stepmother. Perhaps I’ll see you later.’
She slipped away, to be replaced by the baroness. ‘My dear Monsieur Stahl, there’s someone here you absolutely must meet …’
It was eight-twenty when he escaped. Kiki de Saint-Ange, now wearing an embroidered evening jacket, was lighting a cigarette by the doors, made eye contact with Stahl, and left. Stahl followed her. Outside he found a classic autumn drizzle, and as he caught up to Kiki she said, ‘Now, a taxi.’
‘No need for that,’ Stahl said and led Kiki to the Panhard. Jimmy Louis leapt from the car and opened the back door, Kiki got in, and Jimmy closed the door and led Stahl around to the other side. ‘We’re going up to Boulogne-Billancourt, the quai on this side of the river,’ Kiki said. Jimmy took the rue de Grenelle, heading west, but not for long. Suddenly the Panhard jerked to a stop and Jimmy said, ‘ Merde ,’ under his breath, as though to himself, then added one or two elaborations in deep argot that Stahl couldn’t understand.
Stahl leaned forward. ‘What’s wrong ? Is it the car?’
‘No, sir, not the car.’ Clearly much worse than that, whatever it was. They had stopped by the Mairie, the mayor’s office of the Seventh Arrondissement, where a group of people stood in front of the doors, with more arriving.
‘Excuse me for a
Stahl wondered how to answer this, and said, ‘Well, our newspapers …’
Just then a very appealing woman appeared at LaMotte’s side. She wore a tight cloche hat with chestnut hair swept across her forehead, her eyes were heavily made up and looked enormous, and she wore a tied rope of pearls above a low neckline. Looking at Stahl she said, ‘Oh Philippe, are you going to keep our guest all to yourself? I trust you’re not talking politics .’ She grinned wickedly at Stahl.
‘Me?’ LaMotte said. ‘Politics? How could you think such a thing?’ He laughed and said, ‘Kiki de Saint-Ange, may I present Monsieur Fredric Stahl.’
She dropped a cool hand into Stahl’s and said, ‘ Formidable , to think someone like you would turn up here .’
LaMotte said, ‘It was a wonderful surprise to meet you in person, Monsieur Stahl, and I hope to see you again sometime, if your schedule permits.’
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ Stahl said.
‘What a courteous fellow you are,’ Kiki said. ‘Philippe can be amusing, but you’ve landed among the most boring, stuffy old mummies in France. These are the aristos who got away in 1789!’
‘Oh? Well, you’re here.’
‘I am standing in for my parents, Monsieur Stahl, so I have to be here, but not for long.’
‘Won’t you be missed?’
‘Not me. And I’m going to a much livelier party than this.’
‘That sounds exciting,’ Stahl said.
‘Why not see for yourself? Not a soul will know who you are, they don’t go to American movies.’
This hit home, for it summoned his former life in the city, but he didn’t think he could just disappear.
She moved closer to him, her voice lowered. ‘So we shall conspire, you and I. When I can’t stand it any more I’ll let you know, then you can do as you like. Where I’m going it’s a very different crowd.’
Stahl hesitated. ‘The Baroness von Reschke would think …’
Kiki flicked her fingers from her lips, the kiss floated in the air. From the corner of his eye, Stahl spotted the baroness, cutting her way through the crowd like a determined shark. ‘Here she comes now,’ Kiki said. ‘Cinderella’s stepmother. Perhaps I’ll see you later.’
She slipped away, to be replaced by the baroness. ‘My dear Monsieur Stahl, there’s someone here you absolutely must meet …’
It was eight-twenty when he escaped. Kiki de Saint-Ange, now wearing an embroidered evening jacket, was lighting a cigarette by the doors, made eye contact with Stahl, and left. Stahl followed her. Outside he found a classic autumn drizzle, and as he caught up to Kiki she said, ‘Now, a taxi.’
‘No need for that,’ Stahl said and led Kiki to the Panhard. Jimmy Louis leapt from the car and opened the back door, Kiki got in, and Jimmy closed the door and led Stahl around to the other side. ‘We’re going up to Boulogne-Billancourt, the quai on this side of the river,’ Kiki said. Jimmy took the rue de Grenelle, heading west, but not for long. Suddenly the Panhard jerked to a stop and Jimmy said, ‘ Merde ,’ under his breath, as though to himself, then added one or two elaborations in deep argot that Stahl couldn’t understand.
Stahl leaned forward. ‘What’s wrong ? Is it the car?’
‘No, sir, not the car.’ Clearly much worse than that, whatever it was. They had stopped by the Mairie, the mayor’s office of the Seventh Arrondissement, where a group of people stood in front of the doors, with more arriving.
‘Excuse me for a
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