by Pirate Irwin
Lafarge nodded his assent and paid some attention to the show being performed on the stage, which was mildly diverting with two women entwined in each other’s arms singing a popular love song of the time.
“Darling, how are you? So wonderful to see you here,” boomed a husky voice somewhere to the left of Lafarge’s chair.
He looked up to see von Dirlinger being kissed passionately on the lips by not the cloakroom girl but someone rather more important, Suzy Solidor herself.
She was indeed striking looking. Her blonde hair was slicked across her forehead, not much in the way of breasts, but she had a pair of, what looked like in the darkness to Lafarge, hypnotic brown eyes, a prominent nose and full lips, highlighted by bright lipstick, some of which Lafarge could feel had been left on his cheek when she kissed him.
She sat with them, chatting amiably about nothing but making Lafarge feel that he had her undivided attention. He could feel that he was being appraised, whether it was as to what use he could be to her or just simply interest on her part he could not work out.
“We don’t get too many criminal police in here, Gaston,” said Solidor, trying to maintain the conversation and provoke Lafarge into talking about his work.
“Do you mean police who investigate criminals or police that are criminals,” joked Lafarge, which Solidor politely laughed at, though even he admitted it was pretty weak and sadly the latter part of the statement was factually correct about most of his colleagues these days.
“No, we get more Germans, like Karl. More so now that his divine mistress has gone upstairs, and also lots of our compatriots who have interests in Germany find it useful to stop by,” she said with pride in her voice.
“Why we even attract the post Opera crowd, including this evening by royal appointment Paris’s favourite Ukrainian, and indeed there aren’t too many of those welcome in Germany or here nowadays, the great ballet dancer himself Serge Lifar,” she added pointing in the direction of a large round table situated at the right hand corner of the room.
Lafarge followed her elegant hand round and clocked Lifar immediately. His sharp but oddly attractive features stood out amongst the group at his table which was largely filled by Wehrmacht officers and their floosies and where Karl had drifted off to, leaving him and the hostess to chat.
Lafarge resumed his conversation with Solidor, who he found mildly interesting, though he detected clearly her sense of self–importance was of the equal of Guitry.
Name dropping was her main source of conversation, most of the names meant something to Lafarge, but he was starting to get a sore neck from shaking it when she asked whether he knew this or that general or baron, before thankfully another presence at the table distracted her.
“Ah Mathilde. I am delighted you have come! I have missed you so terribly since the awful murder of Marguerite,” cooed Solidor, who rose and embraced the new arrival warmly on the lips.
Lafarge glanced up just to make sure that he hadn’t misheard and sure enough to his huge surprise standing there was Mathilde, the enigmatic maid of Marguerite’s. She glanced down to see who Solidor had been talking to and recoiled in shock, before pulling herself together and smiling thinly.
“We’ve met,” she said coolly to Solidor when she started to introduce them.
Mathilde, who looked stunning and had dressed in a black silk dress, with slits up the sides, revealing her slender legs topped by rounded thighs which were revealed by the suspenders she was sporting, whispered something into Solidor’s ear. Solidor nodded and then offered her the chair left vacant by von Dirlinger.
“Champagne will make a difference from the vodka I usually drink with the Inspector,” commented Mathilde dryly, eying Lafarge in what he could only describe as a predatory manner surprising him given the coolness of her initial greeting.
Solidor laughed lightly and the three of them consumed the champagne with great gusto, leading to another quickly replacing it, Solidor tut tutting when Lafarge offered to pay for it.
“This, Gaston, is on the house. Let’s say this is for Marguerite, a wake for her, after all, this is where she met both Karl and Mathilde,” said Solidor airily.
Lafarge’s interest level moved up a couple of gears at this revelation. Not even the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed could dull the impact of this information. He could see Mathilde was not pleased by this indiscretion on Solidor’s part, but it was too late to retract it.
“Really, that is interesting. I wasn’t aware this is how Marguerite and Mathilde met or indeed that Karl had met her here either. You really are a go to person for connections, aren’t you Susy?” said Lafarge teasingly.
Solidor smiled and her ego suitably boosted she reacted just how Lafarge had wished her to.
“Oh yes, Karl came to me and asked whether I could arrange for Marguerite to be introduced to him as he was a great fan of her acting. I told him not to be a little boy hiding behind such a thin excuse as that and told him I would arrange it,” she said proudly.
“It seems you are a woman of your word. It certainly worked out well for everyone, especially Marguerite,” said Lafarge dryly.
Solidor gave him a quizzical look and then laughed.
“Gaston you possess a very sharp wit. No wonder Karl likes you. Yes everyone did really well out of my networking skills, even Marguerite poor soul,” she said wistfully.
“I’m done talking about this rather maudlin episode. You are off duty Gaston after all. No talking shop in my place unless you book an appointment and I’ve got a pretty full schedule in the next few weeks.
Lafarge acknowledged the rebuke, poured them another glass of champagne and took a look at Mathilde, who he found even more attractive than he had done when they were sipping vodka in Marguerite’s kitchen.
He wondered if she was Solidor’s lover or just close friend. If the latter, he wished to make himself one of those as well and not just to have her to use the euphemism he thought was so delightful ‘helping with enquiries’.
No, Lafarge was determined to make their relationship a more intimate one. Isabella would never find out and once hostilities were over, he could once again resume his role as husband and father.
However, he needed Solidor to remove herself, Karl appeared to be ensconced in conversation with a woman at Lifar’s table, and then he could have Mathilde all to himself.
As good fortune would have it, the two women who had been entwined on stage had come to the end of their session and it was time for Solidor to re–impose herself on her clientele.
“Do excuse me, I have my professional duties to perform. It’s been a pleasure Gaston and please, feel free to call here anytime you wish.
“I hope that it will only entail private pleasure and it won’t be for professional reasons,” she smiled warmly at Lafarge and gave him a kiss on the cheek before embracing Mathilde in an intimate fashion that left little room for doubt in the policeman’s mind what their relationship was.
There followed a rather embarrassed and long silence, Lafarge tried to ease it by grinning at Mathilde, who turned her head away. Undeterred and indeed spurred on by the extra challenge posed by Mathilde’s evident sexual preference Lafarge then moved to the chair beside hers. One good sign was that she didn’t get up to leave, though, she steadfastly refused to look at him.
“So Mathilde, do you and Suzy go back a long way?” Lafarge asked.
Mathilde turned towards him at last, and he saw there were tears in her eyes, whether it was the smoke or she was genuinely upset he couldn’t tell, for his eyes were close to watering and he felt like going outside to get some fresh air.
“I thought you were off duty, Chief Inspector,” she said coldly while accepting one of his cigarettes, which he lit whilst taking a closer look to see whether she was upset or just irritated by the smoke.
He laughed and told her yes, he was off duty and she could relax.
I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so offhand, but I didn’t expect to se
e you here and I certainly didn’t wish you to be privy to my private life,” she said trying to wipe away the tears. “It’s not exactly very decorous or indeed behaviour deemed acceptable in the present circumstances.”
Lafarge shrugged and proffered his kerchief in his top pocket so she could address her make–up and dry her tears. She thanked him and, for the first time that night, smiled, which once again, like when they first met, did wonders for her looks and only encouraged Lafarge more to make his move.
“It’s just that our kind have to live such a secret life, just as many others have to, and Suzy and I are only accepted for the moment because she curries favour with the Nazis. Vichy certainly wouldn’t countenance allowing such decadence as they would put it to go on,” she said sadly.
“Suzy is my first love, that is my first lesbian experience, and I cannot change the way I feel about her even if the risks are so grave. She provoked such passionate feelings in me, physically and emotionally, and I am incapable of thinking about anyone else.
“It’s funny, you know, had my husband not been killed on the retreat to Dunkirk, I would never have unearthed this other side of myself. War can indeed be a liberating experience,” she said dryly.
Lafarge smiled appreciatively at her openness, groaning inwardly that there was little chance of getting to know her intimately, but gave himself one more chance of whisking her away for at least one night of passionate frolicking.
Solidor herself had strode on to the stage, dressed in an outrageous low cut gold dress, her hair now slicked back over her head, and was launching into her first number.
Whatever one could say about the size of her ego she was, Lafarge admitted, a commanding presence and everyone, even Lifar’s table, had stopped their conversation and were rapt by her.
Lafarge observed that a male couple had arrived and been welcomed with a shriek of delight from the stage by Solidor. He could understand why as it was the celebrated poet and artist Jean Cocteau, for whom she had posed and was a muse of his, and his lover the actor Jean Marais.
Lafarge was suitably impressed. Not by Marais, who he considered a ham actor of the worst type, but by Cocteau, who he admired enormously and who trod the fine line between open collaboration and passive resistance expertly so much so that no–one could tell where his sympathies lay.
The excitement having died down once they took their seats, Lafarge thought it might be an inappropriate moment to suggest an alternative night’s entertainment to Solidor’s lover. Then he thought, hell, Mathilde said war was a liberator so why shouldn’t he try his own form of it?
“Yes, I guess war can indeed be a liberating experience, mine came only a few months ago but it does leave you with the feeling that having been given a second chance one should make full use of it,” said Lafarge in his most philosophical tone.
Mathilde turned her face towards him, having been solely focused on her lover on stage, and smiled at him. At the same moment, the rather formal head waiter approached their table and handed Mathilde a note.
She opened it and turned her eyes back to the stage where Lafarge noticed she got a kiss blown at her followed by a wink from Solidor, who was just preparing to sing the second song of her repertoire. Mathilde read the note and turned her attention back to Lafarge, her face emotionless.
“Chief Inspector, or rather Gaston, what would you say to escorting me home? Suzy says that we can’t be together tonight as she has business to attend to after the club closes. She suggests that you are the ideal companion to ensure that I return home safely,” she said evenly.
Lafarge couldn’t believe his luck; here was his target being delivered into his lap by her unsuspecting lover. Things were certainly looking up for him, he thought as he bid farewell to von Dirlinger, who tore himself away from Lifar’s table to bid them good night, slapping the Frenchman on the back, and then having helped Mathilde on with her splendid sable coat, stepped out into the coldish air of early morning Paris.
CHAPTER TEN
Lafarge awoke beside Mathilde alright but to his huge disappointment, even in his now sober state, fully–clothed.
Her tone had been firm enough to dissuade him from pushing the issue too hard but the offer of at least curling up beside her given his fatigue and being fairly drunk was too good to turn down. He raised himself on one elbow and searched for his watch.
He found it lying on the parquet floor, beside his shoes and socks, and glanced at it. It had just gone seven, which meant he had barely slept.
He groaned, feeling his head weighing down on him, and went searching in the tiny apartment – it was just a little bigger than the traditional maid’s room, with a small kitchenette and a tiny bathroom – for, he hoped, some bottled water.
Tap water was out of the question as it was untreated and likely to give you stomach problems, if not worse afflictions, should one risk drinking it.
Lafarge reflected for a moment and then thought of course, I can go down to Marguerite’s apartment and pilfer some from there.
There was bound to be some. He slipped on his shoes, left Mathilde’s door ajar and took the flight of stairs down to the flat. He had keys to it but there was no need to unlock the door for someone had already done that.
He took off his shoes and stepped inside quietly just in case the person who had entered the flat had not left yet. He stood there, holding his breath for a minute, trying to discern whether there was another presence in the apartment, but didn’t hear a sound.
Hesitantly, he crept along the wall of the hallway towards the kitchen, having looked into the drawing room and seen nobody, although there were signs that someone had been there and searched for something.
Halfway down the passage, he did hear something, somebody noisily rifling through drawers in what he thought was the spare room.
That was immediately to his left and then he cursed himself, for he had left his gun and his identification papers in his jacket up in Mathilde’s apartment.
Terrific, he thought to himself, what the hell am I going to do if this intruder has a weapon? It was too late to withdraw for the person might leave while he went back upstairs so he had no option but to bluff it out.
First light was only just coming up, so to a certain extent he was aided by it being fairly dark and if he pointed something towards the intruder, it might be enough to convince them to surrender meekly.
It was a big if, but Lafarge thought one worth pursuing. Thus as nimbly as he could, he swung round into the doorway and said in as authoritative a manner as he could summon up: “Stop that immediately, police!”
His words did have an impact for the person who had his back to him, as the chest of drawers was against the opposite wall to the door, froze and slowly rose from his kneeling position. That’s good, thought Lafarge I can dupe him even more.
“Right, turn round very slowly. I’m armed,” he said trying to sound as confident as possible, though his heart was pulsating.
The man did as he asked and to Lafarge’s astonishment he recognised him for he had worked with him once upon a time.
It was Pierre Bonny, weasel face and wiry body, and a totally unpleasant piece of work who had been thrown off the force and even done time for corruption.
Ordinarily, he would have been looking at some more unwanted holidays in prison for breaking in. However, the only problem was he now worked with Lafont, or Henri ‘The Boss’ as he liked to style himself, in the much-feared French Gestapo and operated from their elegant headquarters in Rue Lauriston in the exclusive 16th arrondissement, the same area of Paris where Bousquet lived.
Quite apart from that was the unpleasant fact Bonny was his sister’s lover, something which had distanced brother and sister from each other despite having been close in their childhood.
However, that was not Lafarge’s major pre–occupation right at this moment, for he had no idea how he would handle this.
He didn’t even know if he had the authority to throw Bonny out, given that
he and his odious gang of thugs, for they were little more than a gang of crooks who extorted money from rich Jews and businesses, were protected by the Germans.
Lafarge, nevertheless, because he despised the man and Lafont, despite the latter’s outward charm and bonhomie, was going to chance it.
“What the hell are you doing Bonny?” he said firmly.
Bonny stared at Lafarge, saw he had no gun, and gave him a withering look.
Lafarge moved towards him, not caring whether Bonny drew on him or not, for he loathed the man and wanted to have an excuse to punch him.
Bonny, never one of the bravest on the force, tried to back away, while searching in his overcoat pocket for something.
Lafarge rushed him before he could find the item, probably a sap, and knocked him against the chest of drawers. That knocked the wind out of Bonny, who Lafarge then released and allowed to slide down the piece of furniture. Bonny was wheezing and coughing and flashed a look of hatred at his former colleague, who just smiled patronizingly back at him.
“You son of a bitch, Lafarge!” snarled Bonny, who removed his glasses to reposition them back on his nose which bore all the signs of a heavy drinker, red blotches covering it.
“You are not dealing with a run of the mill criminal here. I have protection and they don’t take kindly to their boys being beaten up by anyone, not even one of Paris’ finest,” sneered Bonny.
“Ah yes of course, your German buddies. Dear me. I will be in trouble, although I have to say they may want to know why you were pilfering a murdered woman’s apartment.
“Even they may find that a little low,” said Lafarge, although he was far from sure that would be the case, the Gestapo not being known for their sensitivity in any case involving human misery.
Bonny smiled one of his weasel–like smiles, and it was certainly not in new found affection for Lafarge.