Martin Walker - Black Diamond

“No need,” said Bruno, smiling at her. “Pons fooled all of us. I didn’t even know he was running a child brothel. And I agreed with a lot of what he said that night at the public meeting.”

“Have you any idea how funny you look in those filthy shorts?” she asked him.

“I don’t think he cares,” said Fabiola, and Bruno tried to work out which of the two meanings of the phrase Fabiola had meant. One of them was wrong. He still cared for Pamela. But he also knew that as soon as he could he’d be heading for Bordeaux to visit Isabelle.

“Could you fetch Gigi for me from your car, please?” he asked the mayor. His room was so crowded that a dog wouldn’t make much difference. The mayor squeezed his way out.

“Do you want to come with me to Pons’s place?” Bruno asked J-J and the brigadier.

“I can’t,” said the brigadier. “The helicopter is taking me to Marseilles, where we’ll have the truce meeting. Vien sends you his regards, and Bao Le says he’ll let you know if they learn anything about the girl. The Vinhs will be home in St. Denis tomorrow and back in the market next week.”

“I’ll gladly come with you,” said J-J. “But I don’t think there’s much hurry.”

Then came the sound of running paws and Gigi darted into the room and made a flying leap to join Bruno on his bed.

“For God’s sake,” said Fabiola, with an exasperated laugh. “This is supposed to be a hospital.”

She and Pamela sat down beside Bruno on the bed and joined him in stroking Gigi’s long velvet ears.

“I’ll be off,” said the brigadier. “My offer still stands, Bruno. I want you on my team. Think about it.”

Raising his face to escape Gigi’s tongue, Bruno looked around the room at his friends, the mayor and the baron and J-J, Pamela and Fabiola. Through the window behind them the wintry sun gilded the old stone of the mairie and glinted from the bronze eagle atop the war memorial.

“I don’t think I could leave this,” Bruno said. “Besides, I’ve got the rugby club New Year’s dance to arrange, and Stephane expects me at the farm to help kill the pig next month. I’ve still got to sort out the contracts for the town fireworks on le quatorze juillet, and then there are the children who are expecting me to carry on teaching them to play tennis. On top of that, I came across this recipe I want to try, called truffes cendrillon, little pies with foie gras topped with truffle and baked in cinders. I was thinking of inviting you all to a Christmas dinner at my place with Florence and her children to welcome them to St. Denis.”

“Dear Bruno,” said Pamela, lifting her hand from Bruno’s dog to cup his cheek and kiss him softly on the lips. “Don’t ever change.”

“Change?” said Bruno, returning the kiss. “I don’t think St. Denis would let me.”