Peter May - Extraordinary People

She led him through double doors into a classical French dining room with moulded ceilings, marble fireplace, and gilded mirror. But there France ended, and China began. The furniture was oriental. A long, black-lacquered table with eight chairs. Matching mahogany buffets with bamboo panelled doors, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and dressed with carefully arranged Ming and Qing Dynasty vases and ornaments. Ceramic dragons flanked the cheminée . Vividly coloured Chinese rugs were strewn about the parquet floor, and original Chinese scroll paintings hung from cream-painted walls. Bridges and Buddhas and pink-faced children. Even the Venetian blinds were mahogany-slatted in the Chinese style. A red lantern diffused soft light above the table. The strings of a classical Chinese orchestra scraped and wailed gently somewhere in the background.

‘I thought Chinatown was on the Left Bank,’ Enzo said.

She smiled. ‘I went to school in China. My father was ambassador in Singapore and then Peking. I speak Putonghua and Cantonese.’ She led him through to an adjoining sitting room, and two men and a silver-haired lady of around sixty rose from armchairs. The younger of the men stepped forward with his hand outstretched. He was tall, with thinning brown hair, a little younger than Enzo.

‘Christian Aucoin,’ he said.

‘My husband,’ the Minister of Justice added unnecessarily. And she turned to her guests. ‘Juge Jean-Pierre Lelong and his wife Jacqueline.’

Enzo shook hands with each of them. ‘ Enchanté .’

A young man in a white jacket was hovering by the door. Marie Aucoin signalled to him. ‘A drink for Monsieur Macleod. What will it be, whisky? That’s what the Scots drink, isn’t it?’

‘That’ll be fine.’

‘Any particular marque ?’

‘Glenlivet, if you have it.’ Enzo thought that she almost certainly would not.

But she was unperturbed. ‘Of course.’ She nodded to the waiter and ushered Enzo to a seat. ‘Juge Lelong is one of the foremost juges d’instruction in Paris. You know what a juge d’instruction is, don’t you?’

‘A judge who instructs the police in the investigation of a crime, I believe.’

‘You’re familiar with our legal system, then?’

‘I have lived here for twenty years, Minister.’

‘Of course you have. Left your wife and family in Scotland to set up a concubinage in Cahors with a young lady who died giving birth to your daughter. Sophie, isn’t it?’

The fact that she felt no need for subtlety in conveying that she had done her homework on him left Enzo feeling a little uneasy. ‘Yes.’

‘Tell me.’ She perched on the edge of her seat and leaned confidentially towards him. ‘What makes a man abandon his family and a successful career to come and live in a foreign country and teach biology at a second rate university?’

Enzo looked at the Minister of Justice and decided that he did not like her very much. She was superior and patronising. He said solemnly, ‘It was the sex, Minister.’

He enjoyed the moment of shocked silence which invaded the room like a fifth presence, before Marie Aucoin burst out laughing and clapped her hands in childlike delight. The others took her lead, smiling politely, but were clearly unamused by Enzo’s vulgarity. ‘Bravo, Monsieur Macleod, bravo. I think you and I are going to get on very well together.’

Enzo was pretty sure they weren’t. His drink arrived, and a perfunctory toast was made to good health. They drank and made desultory conversation. Christian Aucoin told him that he was the Director of the Banque Agricoles, which explained how they could afford a Louis Quatorze armoire and an apartment in the Avenue Georges Mandel. Enzo knew from newspaper articles that the Aucoins had no children, and he noticed that they never once made eye contact. Their body language spoke of a relationship fractured beyond repair, but glued together for the sake of appearances. Juge Lelong kept his own counsel, watching Enzo cautiously from beneath furrowed brows while his wife prattled nervously about making preparations for the August evacuation to the summer house in Brittany. The judge dragged his eyes momentarily away from Enzo to his wife and said, ominously, ‘You may very well be on your own this year, Jacqui.’

Finally, they adjourned to the table, where bamboo mats and chopsticks awaited them. Jasmine tea was served in delicate china cups, and a succession of Chinese dishes was brought out from the kitchen by two waiters. The food was excellent, and Enzo didn’t need a second invitation to eat.

The Garde des Sceaux was well-practised in the art of conversation, asking questions, making observations. She elicited from Enzo his passion for music, and disclosed to him her love of potholing. ‘I’m quite often in your part of the world,’ she said. ‘I once rappelled into the gouffre at Padirac.’ The wine flowed freely, and Enzo began to relax a little. Which was when she caught him off guard. ‘I understand your Scottish daughter is working in Paris at the moment.’

He looked up from his plate and felt the colour rising on his cheeks. ‘Yes.’

‘Translation and interpretation. It’s a job with a future in an expanding Europe. An internship, isn’t it?’

‘I believe so.’

The Minister leaned her elbows on the table. ‘I could get her a better position in one of the ministries.’

‘I’m not sure she’d be very happy about that.’

Marie Aucoin seemed taken aback. ‘Whyever not?’

‘She’s not very well disposed towards her father. I suspect she’d reject out of hand an opportunity connected with me in any way.’

The Minister shrugged. ‘Foolish girl, then.’ And she changed the subject abruptly. ‘So what do you think of the new parliament sitting in Edinburgh?’

‘I think anything that brings decision-making closer to the people is a good thing.’

‘Do you really? Some political observers believe that “the people” are not particularly well-qualified, or informed, to make decisions about anything.’

‘Oh, I forgot,’ Enzo said. ‘You French think that the state should be run by an intellectual élite . From what I understand, it wouldn’t be unusual at any given time for the President, the Prime Minister and half the Cabinet to be graduates of ENA. Énarques. Isn’t that what you call yourselves? And, of course, you send out unelected provincial governors to administer the populace. That is what Préfets do, isn’t it?’

She was unfazed. ‘Interesting view, Monsieur Macleod. But by the same calculation, at any given time at least half of those of us in government are not énarques . But, at least all of us are there on merit.’

By now, the meal had run its course, and Enzo had had enough. Emboldened by wine, his patience frayed by fatigue, he crumpled his napkin and dropped it on the table. ‘Minister,’ he said. ‘Why am I here?’

Marie Aucoin’s eye flickered almost imperceptibly in her husband’s direction and he immediately stood up. ‘Jacqueline,’ the banker said. ‘I found those prints I promised you. Why don’t you come through to the study and tell me which of them you’d like? We can join the others for coffee and digestifs in the séjour later.’

‘Of course.’ Madame Lelong rose from the table with a fixed smile.

‘Excuse us,’ Christian Aucoin said.

When they had gone, Enzo found himself facing Marie Aucoin and Juge Lelong across the table, and he suddenly felt very much on his own.

‘We have the DNA results back from the arms you found in Toulouse,’ the Minister said. ‘Confirming that they are, indeed, part of the remains of Jacques Gaillard.’