wall.
“It must be worth a fortune.”
“A small one, I suppose. But you are worth it. I wanted to give you something special.”
“I don't know what to say,” Noelle murmured.
“You don't have to say anything. You know I love you, don't you? Sometimes I suppose you think I am just a blustering old bully, but I only ever want the best for you.”
She put a hand against his cheek. “You know I love you too. Despite everything.”
He had seen the caveat on its way. Despite everything? Did she still blame him then, for the business with that upstart pilot? “We had better go back out and rejoin our guests,” he said.
But the day was ruined for him. Despite everything. Perhaps he should have had Ky put Crocé against a wall and shoot him.
Chapter 11
J EAN-MARIE Pepin thought he knew why Noelle had asked to meet him at the Settha Palace on New Year's Eve, and he was pretty damned sure it had nothing to do with him. He wished he was wrong because Rocco Bonaventure's daughter was achingly beautiful. In the five minutes they had been sitting down to dinner he had made love to her in his mind a score of times. They talked about the weather, and about local politics, and he reminded himself again of his own advice to Baptiste; this girl is bad news.
Sitting this close to her, he didn't wonder that his friend had told him to go to hell. He would have done the same.
He tried to concentrate on the menu:
Settha Palace:
New Year's Eve, 1960
*
Cold consommé‚ with port
*
rabbit roasted with prunes
asparagus vinaigrette
goose with truffles
endive salad
*
Camembert
custard in liqueur
coffee
The dining room had the weary atmosphere of a civil service canteen when all the supervisors were away on holiday. There was a scattering of foreign journalists already in the sleepy stages of drink, a few diplomats with their bored wives and unhappy children. The waiters moved around the room with the dreamy expressions of postal clerks.
One of them approached the table. He took their menus with a deferential smile. “So sorry,” he said in French. “Cannot get.”
“Cannot get?' Jean-Marie echoed. “What? None of it?'
The waiter shook his head and kept a determined smile.
“Not even the soup?
“Very sorry.”'
“What do you have?' Noelle asked.
“Chicken,” the waiter said.
“Then I guess I'll have the chicken,” Noelle said.
The waiter turned to Jean-Marie, who stared back at him in astonishment. “Chicken,” he said finally.
Still, there was always the wine. Jean-Marie raised his glass. “Happy New Year,” he said.
Noelle touched his glass with hers in toast.
“How are things with you, Jean-Marie?'
He shrugged his shoulders. “I get by.” He got by flying for Christian Francisci, one of her father's competitors. It was not as rewarding as owning your own plane, but he could still make up to fifteen hundred dollars a month, perhaps more when the government and the Pathet Lao were shooting at each other.
"Do you still blame me for what happened?'
Jean-Marie shook his head. Her lips were wet from the wine. How long could a man stay angry with you? he thought. “Baptiste knew the risks. We all know the risks.”
“But it was because of me that you lost your aeroplane.”
“Because of your father. Also because of Baptiste. I warned him to stay away from you.”
“I see.”
“Does your father know you're here with me tonight?'
She shook her head. “He had to go to Phong Savan. He said it was urgent.”
Of course. Kong Le's Army had taken Route 7, against all expectations, and moved towards the Plain of Jars. Bonaventure would be scrambling to get all his opium stocks out of Phong Savan before the rebels got there.
“Why did you want to see me? It's about Baptiste, isn't it?'
She nodded.
He felt a stab of jealousy. “Have you heard from him?'
“He writes me letters,” Noelle said. “He is going through hell.”
“I have a friend
“It must be worth a fortune.”
“A small one, I suppose. But you are worth it. I wanted to give you something special.”
“I don't know what to say,” Noelle murmured.
“You don't have to say anything. You know I love you, don't you? Sometimes I suppose you think I am just a blustering old bully, but I only ever want the best for you.”
She put a hand against his cheek. “You know I love you too. Despite everything.”
He had seen the caveat on its way. Despite everything? Did she still blame him then, for the business with that upstart pilot? “We had better go back out and rejoin our guests,” he said.
But the day was ruined for him. Despite everything. Perhaps he should have had Ky put Crocé against a wall and shoot him.
Chapter 11
J EAN-MARIE Pepin thought he knew why Noelle had asked to meet him at the Settha Palace on New Year's Eve, and he was pretty damned sure it had nothing to do with him. He wished he was wrong because Rocco Bonaventure's daughter was achingly beautiful. In the five minutes they had been sitting down to dinner he had made love to her in his mind a score of times. They talked about the weather, and about local politics, and he reminded himself again of his own advice to Baptiste; this girl is bad news.
Sitting this close to her, he didn't wonder that his friend had told him to go to hell. He would have done the same.
He tried to concentrate on the menu:
Settha Palace:
New Year's Eve, 1960
*
Cold consommé‚ with port
*
rabbit roasted with prunes
asparagus vinaigrette
goose with truffles
endive salad
*
Camembert
custard in liqueur
coffee
The dining room had the weary atmosphere of a civil service canteen when all the supervisors were away on holiday. There was a scattering of foreign journalists already in the sleepy stages of drink, a few diplomats with their bored wives and unhappy children. The waiters moved around the room with the dreamy expressions of postal clerks.
One of them approached the table. He took their menus with a deferential smile. “So sorry,” he said in French. “Cannot get.”
“Cannot get?' Jean-Marie echoed. “What? None of it?'
The waiter shook his head and kept a determined smile.
“Not even the soup?
“Very sorry.”'
“What do you have?' Noelle asked.
“Chicken,” the waiter said.
“Then I guess I'll have the chicken,” Noelle said.
The waiter turned to Jean-Marie, who stared back at him in astonishment. “Chicken,” he said finally.
Still, there was always the wine. Jean-Marie raised his glass. “Happy New Year,” he said.
Noelle touched his glass with hers in toast.
“How are things with you, Jean-Marie?'
He shrugged his shoulders. “I get by.” He got by flying for Christian Francisci, one of her father's competitors. It was not as rewarding as owning your own plane, but he could still make up to fifteen hundred dollars a month, perhaps more when the government and the Pathet Lao were shooting at each other.
"Do you still blame me for what happened?'
Jean-Marie shook his head. Her lips were wet from the wine. How long could a man stay angry with you? he thought. “Baptiste knew the risks. We all know the risks.”
“But it was because of me that you lost your aeroplane.”
“Because of your father. Also because of Baptiste. I warned him to stay away from you.”
“I see.”
“Does your father know you're here with me tonight?'
She shook her head. “He had to go to Phong Savan. He said it was urgent.”
Of course. Kong Le's Army had taken Route 7, against all expectations, and moved towards the Plain of Jars. Bonaventure would be scrambling to get all his opium stocks out of Phong Savan before the rebels got there.
“Why did you want to see me? It's about Baptiste, isn't it?'
She nodded.
He felt a stab of jealousy. “Have you heard from him?'
“He writes me letters,” Noelle said. “He is going through hell.”
“I have a friend
Similar Books
