Dark Summer in Bordeaux Read Free Page B

wheezed as she spoke and her big bosom palpitated as if the effort of moving from her armchair to the door had been almost too much for her. There was a whiff of port wine on her breath when she smiled and ushered Lannes in to an over-furnished drawing-room where a white cockatoo in a cage squawked to see him. She put a cloth over the cage saying, ‘Naughty boy, be quiet or I shan’t hear what the nice policeman has to say.’ Then she sank into a high-backed chair which she filled, picked up her glass of wine and took a little sip.
    ‘It’s years since I have had dealings with the police,’ she said. ‘Quite like old times, this is. Take a seat, superintendent.’
    She gestured with a hand which had a large ruby ring embedded in the fat of her finger, and a grey cat leapt off the chair she had indicated, arched its back and jumped on to her lap where it lay purring while she scratched it behind its ear.
    ‘I know nothing about that,’ Lannes said, ‘and I can’t suppose any dealings with the police you may have had are of any relevance. It’s really some information I’m looking for, and I hope you may be able to help me.’
    ‘Soft soap,’ she said, ‘but go ahead. It’s a treat to have a visitor, even a policeman. Smoke if you wish. My doctor forbids me cigarettes but I do love the smell.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Lannes said. ‘Do you remember a Professor Labiche who used to live here?’
    To his surprise, she laughed.
    ‘Give me another glass of wine and give yourself one. Poor Aristide! In trouble with you lot, and him such a careful man . . . ’
    ‘You knew him well then?’
    ‘Seeing as we were lovers, or I was his mistress as he would have put it, I can’t deny knowing him. You wouldn’t think to look at me now that I was a beauty once, would you, but there you are, there’s a photograph of the pair of us on that little table, and you can see I was a looker in those days. Well, that was nearer fifty than forty years ago. What’s the old fellow done?’
    ‘You sound as if you are still fond of him.’
    ‘And why shouldn’t I be? He’s an old silly and he became an awful bore. Nevertheless . . . ’
    Lannes crossed the room and picked up the photograph which was in an Art Nouveau silver frame. More than forty years ago, as she said, but there was a resemblance to the dead man. As to the woman, yes, she was right, she had been beautiful in a blonde, buxom, chorus-girl way.
    ‘It was politics,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t be doing with his silly Communism. I was a businesswoman myself, you see. Yes, as you’ll discover if you look in your files, it wasn’t what most think of as a respectable business – I kept a house and I’m not ashamed to admit it. It embarrassed Aristide no end, he was very correct, even as a young man. Tell me why you’re interested in him and I’ll tell you our story.’
    She laughed again and as she did so Lannes became aware of her charm and of how attractive she must have been when that photograph was taken.
    ‘I’ve had lots of lovers, but there was always something about him,’ she said, and emptied her glass.
    Lannes hesitated. The smoke from his cigarette hovered in the still air of the room where it was probable no window had been opened for days. He had always hated this moment when you had to announce a death.
    ‘I see,’ she said. ‘So that’s why you’re here. I didn’t even know he was back in Bordeaux. How did you find me?’
    Lannes said, ‘It’s the only address we have for him.’
    ‘There’s a time I would have wept,’ she said. ‘Now . . . ?’
    She reached out for the bottle of port, and again offered it to Lannes, who declined because it was a drink he had never cared for.
    ‘What was he a professor of?’ he said.
    ‘History, which has never interested me. The Commune was his subject, I believe.’ She sighed and her bosom heaved. ‘He was a shy and timid lover,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that’s what attracted me, and held me for