you… I’m trying to think whether I know of any little things which… Iñez – what’s the other one called? Rings no bell. Did she perhaps come with a word from Monsieur Philippe? We’re caterers you know, when there’s a big banquet one can’t be always toochoosy about extra waitresses. Helps out now and again with the decorations. He has this little shop on the quays. Do give my regards to the Baron.”
A nice Renaissance house, a dark little shop you’d never notice. Grilles on the windows and behind them pieces of jewellery cunningly lit. It hadn’t been easy to find.
Indeed he wondered why he’d been given this much. Bénédicte the table-turner. Tells fortunes, you know. Maybe she’d seen in the Tarot that Monsieur Philippe was about to meet a Dark Lady.
Habit, and training; study and outside too. Quite a lot of effort had gone into this already. No name to the shop, but a nice logo of a double L intertwined. In Versailles that stands for the Sun King. In a formal square for Lucien Lelong, formerly a well known couture house, made very good perfume. This is in between; classy rather. An air of money being made, discreetly so. The police had been no real help; Xavier merely saying, ‘Someone we’d like to know more about’. Well, always willing to oblige a friend. He looked at the door, which was metal-sheathed and heavy; swung well-balanced but would lock itself with a distance-touch. Inside was dark after the street but lit up a lot of dark blue velvet when the door went tingaling. And a little man smiling affably came in from the back which was strongly lit behind the velvet curtain and gave a glimpse of a jeweller’s workshop. And both summed the other up in a quick practised glance. One big man smooth and blank (and looking slow) in a nice Lanvin suit, very nice Sulka tie. One small man with an apron over a baggy cardigan but carried the neck poked forward as though the collar hurt at the back; a long sloping cropped head and the scalp at the forehead seemed too large for the skull, wrinkling and contracting. A pity William never reads a book because Ray Valdez would have given his yelp of laughter. Gagool!
“Now how may I help you?” Affable’s not the word. Carneying.
“Sorry to interrupt,” in a Bertie Wooster voice, “but I’m looking for Iñez”. And knew instantly that he had the right address because in that instant Gagool looked out of the humble eyes.
“Who’s that? Sorry,” with a wave of humble hands, here we have jewellery.
“If I say so myself, extremely fine. Not the Place Vendôme, you’ll say – my colleagues. I don’t pay their rents, you don’t pay their prices. Now I can see, you’re a man women will find attractive. Shall I make some suggestions?” The hands are striking; small, thin, white; flexible.
William did his broad open smile. “Iñez,” he said, friendly. The eyes didn’t react a second time.
“My dear sir, we aren’t understanding each other. I speak six languages.”
“One will do. Iñez.”
“We seem to be at cross-purposes.”
“No.” And the change was sudden, complete, satisfying.
“Mess with me, friend, you’ll go where the woodbine twineth.” The fast white hand scuttled across the dark blue velvet, quick as a fleeing spider. It reappeared as suddenly, holding a pistol. “I’d recommend that you leave. At once, quietly, for good.” William maintained the fixed idiot grin.
“Put it away. Dangerous toy.” The man did something with his foot and the lock of the door gave a soft snap. With his other hand he reached below the counter, came up with a telephone.
“I think we’ll have some police.”
“Are you sure you wish to draw attention to yourself?” The eyes studied him for a long ten seconds. They protruded a little, hard and opaque, seeming polished. Perhaps beady was the word.
“I wish to know something simple,” said William. “Who attacked a friend of mine. And who paid for it. Could have been you.
A nice Renaissance house, a dark little shop you’d never notice. Grilles on the windows and behind them pieces of jewellery cunningly lit. It hadn’t been easy to find.
Indeed he wondered why he’d been given this much. Bénédicte the table-turner. Tells fortunes, you know. Maybe she’d seen in the Tarot that Monsieur Philippe was about to meet a Dark Lady.
Habit, and training; study and outside too. Quite a lot of effort had gone into this already. No name to the shop, but a nice logo of a double L intertwined. In Versailles that stands for the Sun King. In a formal square for Lucien Lelong, formerly a well known couture house, made very good perfume. This is in between; classy rather. An air of money being made, discreetly so. The police had been no real help; Xavier merely saying, ‘Someone we’d like to know more about’. Well, always willing to oblige a friend. He looked at the door, which was metal-sheathed and heavy; swung well-balanced but would lock itself with a distance-touch. Inside was dark after the street but lit up a lot of dark blue velvet when the door went tingaling. And a little man smiling affably came in from the back which was strongly lit behind the velvet curtain and gave a glimpse of a jeweller’s workshop. And both summed the other up in a quick practised glance. One big man smooth and blank (and looking slow) in a nice Lanvin suit, very nice Sulka tie. One small man with an apron over a baggy cardigan but carried the neck poked forward as though the collar hurt at the back; a long sloping cropped head and the scalp at the forehead seemed too large for the skull, wrinkling and contracting. A pity William never reads a book because Ray Valdez would have given his yelp of laughter. Gagool!
“Now how may I help you?” Affable’s not the word. Carneying.
“Sorry to interrupt,” in a Bertie Wooster voice, “but I’m looking for Iñez”. And knew instantly that he had the right address because in that instant Gagool looked out of the humble eyes.
“Who’s that? Sorry,” with a wave of humble hands, here we have jewellery.
“If I say so myself, extremely fine. Not the Place Vendôme, you’ll say – my colleagues. I don’t pay their rents, you don’t pay their prices. Now I can see, you’re a man women will find attractive. Shall I make some suggestions?” The hands are striking; small, thin, white; flexible.
William did his broad open smile. “Iñez,” he said, friendly. The eyes didn’t react a second time.
“My dear sir, we aren’t understanding each other. I speak six languages.”
“One will do. Iñez.”
“We seem to be at cross-purposes.”
“No.” And the change was sudden, complete, satisfying.
“Mess with me, friend, you’ll go where the woodbine twineth.” The fast white hand scuttled across the dark blue velvet, quick as a fleeing spider. It reappeared as suddenly, holding a pistol. “I’d recommend that you leave. At once, quietly, for good.” William maintained the fixed idiot grin.
“Put it away. Dangerous toy.” The man did something with his foot and the lock of the door gave a soft snap. With his other hand he reached below the counter, came up with a telephone.
“I think we’ll have some police.”
“Are you sure you wish to draw attention to yourself?” The eyes studied him for a long ten seconds. They protruded a little, hard and opaque, seeming polished. Perhaps beady was the word.
“I wish to know something simple,” said William. “Who attacked a friend of mine. And who paid for it. Could have been you.
Similar Books
