Air and Fire by Rupert Thomson Page A

consideration, as if some dreadful blunder had been committed. All eyes turned slowly, inevitably, to Théo. This was the awkward moment to which he had alluded. He was not shaken, however, or cowed. He had been present when Monsieur Eiffel defended his tower in front of a hostile committee of the city council, and defended it on both structural and aesthetic grounds. This was not even a matter of aesthetics; this was simply a practical objection.
    â€˜I’m sure that your superiors in Paris would not have bought the church in the first place,’ he replied, ‘if they thought it inadequate for their needs.’ Then, in case it seemed that he had merely put the accountant in his place, he turned to specifics. ‘There will be insulation between the walls,’ he explained, ‘in the roof, too, if we can find a suitable material. Pumice has, I believe, been suggested.’ He turned to Monsieur Castagnet, who nodded. ‘There will also be a great many windows, as you can see. Draughts will be conducted throughout the building.’
    â€˜My dear Monsieur Valence,’ and Pineau’s lip curled in a sardonic smile, ‘during the summer months, there are no draughts.’
    â€˜And in time, of course,’ Théo continued, ‘there will be fans. I hasten to remind you that we are living in a modern age. We need no longer be at the mercy of an unfavourable climate.’
    â€˜In time,’ Pineau muttered. He would not be placated.
    â€˜Perhaps, gentlemen,’ Monsieur de Romblay ventured, ‘we are meant to suffer for our religion.’
    Even Théo had laughed at that.
    â€˜The Director is not without a certain wit,’ Suzanne observed.
    Théo murmured his agreement. ‘In any case,’ he added, ‘they will not have to suffer just yet. In fact, it will be a good two months before they have to start suffering.’
    â€˜Two months it may be,’ Suzanne said, ‘but I’ll wager that Madame de Romblay has already reserved her pew.’
    â€˜I must say, I do not care for that woman.’ Théo was frowning. ‘There is something vulgar about her. Though the dinner was exceptional, of course.’
    Suzanne smiled to herself as she recalled how Madame de Romblay had flirted with Théo, and how Théo had signally failed to respond. Théo did not understand flattery; he never took it personally or believed it, not for a moment. To him it was one facet of the art of conversation; it was purely an exercise in the social graces, pleasant enough, but essentially meaningless. When Madame de Romblay suggested that some of Eiffel’s genius might have rubbed off on him, he immediately, and without self-consciousness or hesitation, launched into a discussion of the word and then departed for the wider pastures of semantics, leaving the poor woman far behind with a glazed expression on her face.
    Suzanne’s smile widened. There was something vulgar about her, he had said, as if it was something that he could not quite pin down – a hidden quality, some elusive trait. She remembered how Madame de Romblay had turned from Théo to Montoya, leaning into him, her tin eyes glittering through narrowed lids. She had been wearing a dress that made no secret of her breasts, and all the men, at some time in the evening, had let their eyes rest for a moment on those brazen slopes. Where for some they might have been emblems of seduction, for Théo they were merely vulgar. For the young Captain they appeared to present a positive threat. He seemed flustered, if not smothered, by her interest. As for the rest of the company it was rather as if she were lavishing attention upon a favourite hound. They displayed no signs of unease or embarrassment; the atmosphere was one of complicity. In fact, the manner in which her behaviour was tolerated suggested that this was an established routine, that the French thought of Montoya, and perhaps all