Philip Kerr - False Nine

‘Can you blame me?’ I said.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Jérôme shook her hand and then mine. ‘Come inside and have something to drink. You’ve come a long way, I expect.’

‘Do you speak Creole?’ I asked Jérôme.

‘Yes. A bit. But when I answer the bell to the door on the beach I always speak French since it’s nearly always French people who are ringing it. Usually they want to know if there’s a toilet nearby. And I have to tell them, otherwise they piss on the wall.’

Inside, the air-conditioned house was very Architectural Digest — all open-plan with upper galleries of bookshelves and other rooms. A bank of white leather armchairs were arranged in front of a matching right-angle sofa, like so many sugar cubes. Lying by the sofa were several days-old copies of Antigua’s newspaper, the Daily Observer , and a copy of Guillem Balague’s excellent biography of Lionel Messi. On the wall was a big plasma television and on the screen was FIFA 15, with the sound turned down; Chelsea against Barcelona. In the middle of the room was a glass table and a couple of PS4 controllers, and everywhere there were vases of flowers and jugs of iced water, almost as if Jérôme had been expecting us. He poured us each a glass of water that was flavoured with elderflower cordial.

‘Nice place,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘I didn’t know it was possible to live as well as this on Guadeloupe.’

‘It belongs to a friend of mine,’ said Jérôme. ‘Gui-Jean-Baptiste Target.’

‘Why does that name ring a bell?’ I said.

‘He’s the centre forward for SM Caen. Used to play for AS Monaco.’

I nodded. ‘I remember. Wasn’t he involved in that match-fixing scandal involving Caen and Nîmes Olympique in November 2014?’

‘He was questioned, I think. But not really involved at all. No charges have been brought, anyway. He lets me borrow this place from time to time.’

‘Is he from Guadeloupe, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s quite a crowd of you,’ I said.

‘Not a crowd, my friend,’ said Jérôme. ‘A team . If only the French would remove their objections to our FIFA incorporation then we could compete in the World Cup. Perhaps not in Russia, but certainly in Qatar. And you know something else? We could win. Especially if we were playing France. In fact I think I could guarantee it.’

‘It’s the same in England. There’s nothing like sticking one to the mother country. Just ask the Scots, or the Irish. I think there’s no one they’d rather beat than England. I should know. I’m part Scots myself.’

Jérôme grinned. ‘Forgive me, but you don’t look much like a Scotsman.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Besides, people in Scotland have been saying that to me all my life. Which is one reason I live in England, I suppose. The English are a lot more tolerant of black people than the Scots. Anyone can look English, I think. But it takes a Scot to look like a Scot. And you know, whatever people say, the French aren’t so bad.’

‘I dunno. Some of them. Maybe.’

‘I saw your apartment in Paris. Met your ex-girlfriend. I’d say you’d enjoyed pretty much all that France has to offer. And then some. From what I’ve read in your file, you were making fifty thousand euros a week at Monaco when you were just sixteen.’

‘How is Bella?’

‘She’s well. Misses you, I think.’

‘I doubt that very much. I wasn’t very nice to her.’

‘Not too late to fix that, I’d have thought. If it was me I’d try to mend my fences with her. I’ve rarely seen a more beautiful girl.’

‘You think so?’

‘You and she made a very handsome couple. She showed me the pictures in Marie Claire and Elle .’

‘We did, didn’t we? But she made her choice. And now I’m alone.’

None of the pictures I’d seen on television or in the magazines did the man’s beauty justice. He was astonishingly handsome with a long nose, a full sensuous mouth and a shaven head. It was a strong, almost Egyptian head in that it reminded me of one of those huge granite carvings of the Pharaoh Rameses II that can be seen in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings. He was tall and wiry, with legs as long as a crane fly’s and when you saw him you realised that his was a perfect footballer’s physique — not small, like a Messi, or as tall as a Crouch — but more felicitously proportioned, and just to see him was to picture him running at speed with the ball, or curling an improbable shot into the back of the net. Equally, it was plain to see why magazines and Italian designers were falling over themselves to sign him up. Paolo Gentile had not exaggerated. Except for the fact that his body was unmarked by tattoos it was easy to imagine this young man as the next David Beckham and getting rich beyond the dreams of anyone’s avarice. But if I had an early criticism it was that he seemed a little sulky; like a spoiled child.

‘Are you alone here now?’ I asked.

‘Yes, there’s just me and the housekeeper — Charlotte — who comes in every day and cooks and cleans for me.’

‘On the strength of the lunch we just ate I’m not sure there’s a great deal of difference between cooking and cleaning on this island.’

‘Where did you eat?’

‘The Yacht Club in Pointe-à-Pitre,’ said Grace. ‘If you go, don’t have the Creole Plate.’

‘We’re staying along the beach,’ I said, ‘at the Auberge de la Vieille Tour. But neither of us is very optimistic that it’s going to be any better.’

Jérôme pulled a face. ‘It’s true. There’s nowhere good in Pointe-à-Pitre.’

‘This is quite a little hideaway you have here, my young friend. Very private. You could live in a place like this for months and no one would find you.’

Jérôme nodded. ‘I certainly believed so.’

‘I must say you don’t seem to be very surprised that we did.’

He smiled. ‘I heard that you were looking for me. I’ve been expecting you all day.’

‘Was it the guy in Le Gosier who told you we were here in Guadeloupe?’ I asked. ‘The one with half the gift shop from PSG and who looks like a length of ebony? Or Queen Creole from the hairdresser’s salon in Pointe-à-Pitre?’

‘Both. I’m happy to say I still have lots of good friends in Guadeloupe.’

‘Oh, I’m sure. And what about relations?’

‘Sadly, I’ve no family on the island now. Not any more.’

‘What about on Antigua?’ I asked. ‘Any family there?’

‘No. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason. Well, now that I’m here, I think it’s best we put our cards on the table.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as the company you’ve been keeping. If I’m going to be travelling with you, I’d like to know if there’s anything important I should know about. You see, I wouldn’t like to aid someone who’s wanted by the police. Especially when I’m in a foreign country. I’m cautious like that. So why don’t you tell me everything?’

‘Does it really matter?’ said Jérôme.

‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

‘Look, Scott, I’ll gladly return to Barcelona whenever you like. Pay whatever fine they impose. You’ve accomplished what you set out to accomplish, haven’t you? So why don’t you just leave it be? Give them a call and tell them to send a jet to the airport at Pointe-à-Pitre and we can be back there in no time.’

‘All right. I’ll put it another way. I’m afraid there are some things I need to know, and know now. For example, and most importantly: why didn’t you get on that plane from Antigua to London and report for training at Joan Gamper in Barcelona, like you were supposed to do?’

He smiled, a little self-consciously. ‘Maybe I didn’t feel like it.’