Malcolm Bradbury - Doctor Criminale

I thought for a moment. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said, ‘His work’s too important. He’s been a great influence. His ideas will die too.’ ‘He impresses you,’ said Cosima. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I suppose he’s a friend.’ ‘And for a friend you would keep silent,’ said Cosima. ‘If I thought it was important, yes,’ I said. ‘And then, if in twenty years they write the life of Francis Jay, what do you think they say of you?’ asked Cosima, ‘He knew the truth and kept it quiet.’ ‘I’m not important enough,’ I said, ‘Anyway, the world doesn’t have to know everything.’ ‘And you are a journalist?’ asked Cosima. ‘Even journos can be human,’ I said, ‘Some of them, anyway.’ ‘And are you silent also over the others?’ asked Cosima, ‘Gertla, Monza, Codicil?’ I’ll just stick to the book pages,’ I said. ‘And life and crimes have nothing to do with the book pages?’ asked Cosima.

I looked at her. ‘I’m not sure whose side you’re on,’ I said. ‘Oh, poor Francis,’ said Cosima, ‘He has stumbled on things he cannot understand. I think the world is a bit stranger place than you imagined.’ ‘You know, Cosima,’ I said, ‘you could really be very attractive, if you didn’t speak all the time in that sonorous sort of way.’ ‘I do not think I speak all the time in a sonorous sort of a way,’ said Cosima, and I saw with surprise she was blushing a little, ‘Unless you mean because I am German my English is not the best.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant you make everything seem so conspiratorial, all so plotted and planned. You turn the world into a spy story. Whenever I talk to you, everything is conspiracies and scams and treacheries and tricks. I’m not even sure there was a plot.’

‘Of course,’ said Cosima, ‘The world is full of them. Don’t you think our postwar world has been often a spy story? Don’t you know that when the Eastern European files were opened, people everywhere asked that they be shut again, because so many Western careers would be finished? What kind of story do you like it to be?’ ‘I suppose a more philosophical story, a more humane story,’ I said, ‘Closer to the way most things really are.’ ‘And you know how they really are?’ asked Cosima, ‘Then maybe you should not have got so interested in Bazlo Criminale. If you had asked no questions, you would not have found these answers you don’t like.’ ‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘And you would not be here with me in La Rochette,’ she said. ‘That’s true too,’ I said. ‘And I would not have found out so much about you,’ said Cosima Bruckner, ‘I think our stories are not so different after all.’

Just then Armand appeared, bearing a folded paper on a silver tray. ‘Time to pay,’ said Cosima, ‘Europe will get it, Francis.’ I watched Cosima take out some Euro-credit card and put it on the tray. ‘Thank you, Cosima,’ I said, ‘An excellent meal.’ ‘We like you to be satisfied,’ said Cosima, ‘Now, where is your hotel?’ ‘Hotel?’ I asked, ‘I don’t have one yet.’ ‘Didn’t I tell you to book a hotel, when I gave you your instructions?’ asked Cosima, ‘Brussels has a very bad problem of hotels.’ ‘You didn’t, Cosima,’ I said, ‘I’d better call round before it’s too late.’ ‘I think already it is too late,’ said Cosima, glancing at her watch, ‘Brussels is full just now. The European Ministers meet. The NATO generals meet. There is a big fashion show, the Rolling Stones are in town.’ ‘Wonderful,’ I said, ‘An evening out at one of Europe’s great restaurants, then a night on a bench at the railway station.’ ‘Oh no,’ said Cosima, ‘You have been very helpful. Europe is going to find you something.’

We went out to the lobby, where I exchanged my excellent tie for my graceless anorak. ‘My dear Mam’selle Bruckner, you are charmante as usual,’ said someone behind us. There stood the small, bird-eyed man who Cosima had said was Deputy-President of the European Commission. ‘Bonsoir, Monsieur Villeneuve,’ said Cosima. ‘I had no idea you dined in such expensive restaurants,’ said Villeneuve, ‘You know, I can hardly afford them myself ‘I need to make certain investigations, you understand,’ said Cosima. ‘Really?’ asked Villeneuve, ‘And you are tête-à-tête, I see.’ ‘Ah, ja, this is Francis Jay, a journalist from London,’ said Cosima. ‘Enchante, monsieur, Jean-Luc Villeneuve,’ said Villeneuve, ‘You are from Britain? Not, I hope, another piece about the faceless bureaucrats of Brussels. As you see, my dear fellow, Mam’selle Bruckner and I do have quite interesting faces, when you get to know us a little better.’

‘Of course, Mr Villeneuve,’ I said. ‘Monsieur Villeneuve,’ said Villeneuve, ‘I am afraid, you know, that you in Britain have never understood the great dream that is Europe. Yes, we must be bureaucrats, we live in a bureaucratic age, but we can be idealists too, I hope.’ ‘I hope so too,’ I said. ‘Look round here, and what do you see?’ said Villeneuve, ‘ Luxe et volupté . When I come here and see such things, I always ask myself, how can there be such luxe et volupté , unless there is also rêve et desir ? I am European, but also French, you know.’ ‘I know,’ I said. ‘And we French are just a little bit philosophe ,’ said Villeneuve, ‘We are the land of Pascal and Montaigne and Descartes and Rousseau, after all.’ ‘And Foucault and Derrida,’ I said. ‘Those also,’ said Villeneuve unenthusiastically, ‘And we believe in thought and dreams, rêve et desir , ideals and purpose. N’est-ce pas, Mam’selle Bruckner?’ ‘Oui, Monsieur Villeneuve,’ said Cosima.

‘Bon,’ said Villeneuve, ‘And now, Mam’selle Bruckner, may I take just a moment of your excellent time? Tomorrow morn­ing, would you kindly visit my office? I have been reading your papers on this certain fraud matter, you know? Evidently you have conducted investigations with your customary astuteness.’ Thank you,’ said Cosima. ‘There are just one or two small problems,’ said Villeneuve, ‘These matters are serious, but we must not allow anything to threaten our relations with our good Eastern European friends, who cry out so loudly to join us one day soon.’ ‘I understand, Monsieur Villeneuve,’ said Cosima Bruckner. ‘Well, I must keep the Romanian President waiting no longer,’ said Villeneuve, ‘Enchanté, Monsieur Jay. Ten o’clock tomorrow, Mam’selle Bruckner.’

We walked out into the floodlit Grand’ Place; Cosima waved for a taxi. ‘And what do you think to my boss?’ she asked. ‘Quite an idealist,’ I said. ‘If you think Caligula was an idealist, Machiavelli an idealist,’ said Cosima, This man wants the whole world in his hands. When he talks of the Great Super-Europe, you can know there is something in it for him.’ ‘You mean a role in history?’ I asked. ‘Or perhaps a roll in the bank,’ said Cosima. A taxi came over; we got in the back, and Cosima said something to the driver. Then she said: ‘So you didn’t see who was with him at his table?’ The Romanian President?’ I asked. ‘Maybe,’ said Cosima, ‘But also someone else you know a little better. Professor Monza.’ The Prince of Announcements?’ I asked, surprised, ‘What was he doing there?’ ‘Evidently he knows my boss,’ said Cosima, as we drove out of the brightly lit Grand’ Place, ‘I tell you, Villeneuve is not what he seems.’ ‘You’re not saying the Deputy-President of the European Community is a part of it, surely,’ I said. ‘A part of what?’ asked Cosima Bruckner.

This perhaps explains why, twenty minutes later, as I ascended an elevator to the top of some expensive apartment block, evidently on one of Brussels’s better residential districts, I was in a somewhat confused state of mind. I was bewildered by what Cosima had told me: how much of it was true? All of it? Some of it? None of it? Exposure to the ambitions of Super-Europe seemed to have given her an extraordinary taste for scandal. The events of the entire evening had moved far too fast’for me. I was in the state I think scientists call redundancy: an excess of messages and signals, a superfluity of mixed information. It didn’t help that I’d drunk quite a litreage of the best champagne, finest Sauvignon and most pungent Armagnac modern European viticulture could offer, that my own small unit of Ildiko’s possible billions had come close to being uncovered, that even the Berlaymont seemed a part of it now.