l’Europe
.”
Anne Marie pushed open the glass door and entered the office. The air was chill. She closed her umbrella and wiped the dampness from her face as she looked around.
“Can I help you?”
“I am looking for Madame Théodore.”
The woman stood up. “I am Madame Théodore.”
Average height, navy blue slacks, a blouse, a red and white scarf slipped through a gold ring at the neck. She set a half consumed cigarette in the ashtray and moved round the desk. She smiled. “You seem surprised.” Long hands and varnished nails.
Anne Marie returned the smile. “I wasn’t expecting a white woman. And you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
“Because I’m no longer married, Madame …”
The two women shook hands. “Madame Laveaud. I should like to talk to you.”
“About sending a parcel to Miami or Tokyo? Or perhaps you want something to be in Paris by tomorrow morning. Because if you do, you’ve come to the right place and to the right person, but at the wrong time.” Madame Théodore glanced at her watch. “You’ve just missed the last Paris flight. Mid-morning Monday is the best I cannow do.” She nodded to the low chair in front of the desk. “Please be seated.”
Anne Marie sat down and set her elbows on the edge of the table. Madame Théodore sat down opposite her, returning the cigarette from the ashtray to her mouth.
“No parcel, I’m afraid.”
“A letter?” The grey eyes twinkled. “A flat rate up to two US pounds.”
“I’m an investigating judge.”
“How exciting.”
“Mainly routine, and it can be depressing.”
“Change jobs.”
“It’s not always depressing.”
A cough followed by a gesture of the right hand. “Join me in the wonderful world of private enterprise.”
“Not as easy as it sounds, Madame Théodore, when you live by yourself and you’ve got two young children to bring up. There are certain advantages to being a civil servant.” Anne Marie sneezed.
“Bless you.”
“Wet feet from walking in puddles.” She added, “And I’ve ruined my best Italian shoes from South America.”
“Use a car and you won’t get your feet wet.”
“I don’t enjoy driving in town.”
“Then it won’t be you I give a job to. Being a courier means driving back and forth between here and the airport—and spending most of the time in traffic jams. I’ve gotten to the stage where I have to smoke if I can’t get a decent intake of petrol fumes.”
There were filing cabinets, a fax machine, a photocopying machine and on the wall, a large, framed map of the world. The office was on the ground floor. Venetian blinds of coarse brown linen protected the office from the glance of passersby along the arcade outside. The carpet was synthetic, green and badly stained by the passage of feet.
Anne Marie’s umbrella had left trails of water.
“Madame Théodore, I haven’t come here to ask you for a job.”
“I guessed that.”
Anne Marie sneezed again.
Madame Théodore exhaled smoke through her nostrils. “You’re not going to arrest me?” The eyes flickered.
“Not for the time being.”
“How can I help you,
madame le juge
?”
“With information.”
“What sort of information?”
“Monsieur Dugain. He killed himself by jumping from the top of a building and I want to know why.”
“Dugain?” Madame Théodore looked away. “I only know what I’ve read in the papers.”
Anne Marie sneezed again. “You weren’t his mistress, Madame Théodore?”
17
Vitamin
Blood had gone to her face and neck. Madame Théodore stubbed her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, stood up and went to the door. She turned the key, then pulled the blinds, cutting out the grey light of the wet afternoon. She switched on the neon, which flickered hesitantly before filling the room with its impersonal whiteness.
“You are very direct.” She took another cigarette and lit it. She did not sit down. “Dugain’s mistress?” She shook her hair. She wore it in
.”
Anne Marie pushed open the glass door and entered the office. The air was chill. She closed her umbrella and wiped the dampness from her face as she looked around.
“Can I help you?”
“I am looking for Madame Théodore.”
The woman stood up. “I am Madame Théodore.”
Average height, navy blue slacks, a blouse, a red and white scarf slipped through a gold ring at the neck. She set a half consumed cigarette in the ashtray and moved round the desk. She smiled. “You seem surprised.” Long hands and varnished nails.
Anne Marie returned the smile. “I wasn’t expecting a white woman. And you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
“Because I’m no longer married, Madame …”
The two women shook hands. “Madame Laveaud. I should like to talk to you.”
“About sending a parcel to Miami or Tokyo? Or perhaps you want something to be in Paris by tomorrow morning. Because if you do, you’ve come to the right place and to the right person, but at the wrong time.” Madame Théodore glanced at her watch. “You’ve just missed the last Paris flight. Mid-morning Monday is the best I cannow do.” She nodded to the low chair in front of the desk. “Please be seated.”
Anne Marie sat down and set her elbows on the edge of the table. Madame Théodore sat down opposite her, returning the cigarette from the ashtray to her mouth.
“No parcel, I’m afraid.”
“A letter?” The grey eyes twinkled. “A flat rate up to two US pounds.”
“I’m an investigating judge.”
“How exciting.”
“Mainly routine, and it can be depressing.”
“Change jobs.”
“It’s not always depressing.”
A cough followed by a gesture of the right hand. “Join me in the wonderful world of private enterprise.”
“Not as easy as it sounds, Madame Théodore, when you live by yourself and you’ve got two young children to bring up. There are certain advantages to being a civil servant.” Anne Marie sneezed.
“Bless you.”
“Wet feet from walking in puddles.” She added, “And I’ve ruined my best Italian shoes from South America.”
“Use a car and you won’t get your feet wet.”
“I don’t enjoy driving in town.”
“Then it won’t be you I give a job to. Being a courier means driving back and forth between here and the airport—and spending most of the time in traffic jams. I’ve gotten to the stage where I have to smoke if I can’t get a decent intake of petrol fumes.”
There were filing cabinets, a fax machine, a photocopying machine and on the wall, a large, framed map of the world. The office was on the ground floor. Venetian blinds of coarse brown linen protected the office from the glance of passersby along the arcade outside. The carpet was synthetic, green and badly stained by the passage of feet.
Anne Marie’s umbrella had left trails of water.
“Madame Théodore, I haven’t come here to ask you for a job.”
“I guessed that.”
Anne Marie sneezed again.
Madame Théodore exhaled smoke through her nostrils. “You’re not going to arrest me?” The eyes flickered.
“Not for the time being.”
“How can I help you,
madame le juge
?”
“With information.”
“What sort of information?”
“Monsieur Dugain. He killed himself by jumping from the top of a building and I want to know why.”
“Dugain?” Madame Théodore looked away. “I only know what I’ve read in the papers.”
Anne Marie sneezed again. “You weren’t his mistress, Madame Théodore?”
17
Vitamin
Blood had gone to her face and neck. Madame Théodore stubbed her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, stood up and went to the door. She turned the key, then pulled the blinds, cutting out the grey light of the wet afternoon. She switched on the neon, which flickered hesitantly before filling the room with its impersonal whiteness.
“You are very direct.” She took another cigarette and lit it. She did not sit down. “Dugain’s mistress?” She shook her hair. She wore it in
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