Dead Horsemeat Read Free Page B

persistent rumble of the drums.
    Annick has joined Jubelin and his Italian buddies. Ballestrino touches Renta’s arm, and exchanges a look with him. Silent dialogue. Renta bows ceremoniously to Annick:
    ‘May I ask you to dance?’
    He’s about thirty-five, average height, slicked-back dark hair, dark eyes, and an elegance that is just a little overstated. A close-fitting grey alpaca suit, light grey silk shirt, and a wide, brightly coloured tie. Annick finds there is something slightly vulgar about him. Amused, she takes his arm and they make their way towards the back rooms.
    The minute they leave, Mori steers Ballestrino, Galliano and Jubelin over to a slightly isolated corner of the buffet. They attack the cold meats and talk business. A few remarks about the recent AGM. And Pama’s future growth prospects. Quick review. They soon come back to Japan. This Maréchaux mansion deal, the first contact with the Pacific region. But they must consolidate in Europe before embarking on strategic interventions in the Far East. Mori agrees.
    ‘By the way,’ says Ballestrino, ‘my friend Galliano told me about a nice little opportunity in Munich.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘A.A. Bayern, a medium-sized insurance company, solid family business, well established in the region. Has business relations with certain East German circles, useful just at the moment with things starting to stir behind the Iron Curtain.’
    ‘Even in East Germany?’
    ‘Much more than they’re saying here. Right now, A.A.’s shares are fairly high, but they could plummet in the coming months, if we so wish. And pave the way for a takeover bid that will be both easy and very profitable.’ Ambivalent smile. ‘It’s not a business proposition, it’s a favour.’
    ‘Why don’t you keep it for yourself, Mori?’
    ‘My group concentrates on industry. Where insurance is concerned, my stake in Pama is enough for me.’
    Taking out his diary, Jubelin turns to Galliano:
    ‘Shall we have a meeting before you leave for Munich?’
    They move back towards the windows. Jubelin greets an official from the Ministry of Finance, who pumps his hand warmly. Congratulations. A huge float trundles past carrying a 30-metre steam engine, surrounded by the deafening Drums of the Bronx going wild, to the indifference of the crowd.
    Annick dances with Renta. Lots of Latino and West Coast beats. He dances well, and flirts a little, as etiquette requires. His tie is Yves Saint Laurent.Actually more of a bore than a hoodlum. A pirouette and a smile. Annick escapes, dives into the toilet, a quick snort, and returns, ravishing, to the windows and the spectacle below.
    She bumps into Deluc, cigarette dangling from his mouth, one of those horrid smelly Indian cigarettes he got into the habit of smoking when he was in Beirut, deep in an argument with an opposition deputy about the soaring share prices and rising Paris property values. The deputy ceremoniously kisses Annick’s hand and starts explaining what’s happening at Pama to her. He’s clearly had one too many. Deluc takes advantage to make himself scarce, the bastard.
    Jubelin, Nicolas and Ballestrino are sitting in front of one of the TV screens watching Jessye Norman launch into the ‘Marseillaise’ at Place de la Concorde. Nicolas turns to Ballestrino.
    ‘I’ve heard you own a stud farm outside Milan.’
    He sounds delighted. ‘I do. I’ve raised a few flat racing champions. Two of my colts ran at Longchamp last Sunday.’
    Jubelin adds:
    ‘What a coincidence. I’m a great horse lover. I have several in training.’
    ‘Who with?’
    ‘Meirens, at Chantilly.’
    ‘I know him. If you’re ever in Milan, I’d be delighted to show you around my stables.’
    Having rid herself, not without difficulty, of the inebriated deputy, Annick spots Nicolas and Jubelin in a heated conversation in a corner, slightly away from the others. She makes her way over to them, and they abruptly stop talking. Jubelin, on edge,