The Spy Quartet. Len Deighton

on it. Maria was more methodical, she began to sort through the clothes, folding them and putting trousers and jackets on the hangers. I picked up the phone and dialled the number Loiseau had given me.

      ‘Un sourire est différent d’un rire,’ I said. France is one place where the romance of espionage will never be lost, I thought. Loiseau said ‘Hello.’

      ‘Have you turned my place over, Loiseau?’ I said.

      ‘Are you finding the natives hostile?’ Loiseau asked.

      ‘Just answer the question,’ I said.

      ‘Why don’t you answer mine?’ said Loiseau.

      ‘It’s my jeton,’ I said. ‘If you want answers you buy your own call.’

      ‘If my boys had done it you wouldn’t have noticed.’

      ‘Don’t get blasé. Loiseau. The last time your boys did it – five weeks back – I did notice. Tell ’em if they must smoke, to open the windows; that cheap pipe tobacco makes the canary’s eyes water.’

      ‘But they are very tidy,’ said Loiseau. ‘They wouldn’t make a mess. If it’s a mess you are complaining of.’

      ‘I’m not complaining about anything,’ I said. ‘I’m just trying to get a straight answer to a simple question.’

      ‘It’s too much to ask of a policeman,’ said Loiseau. ‘But if there is anything damaged I’d send the bill to Datt.’

      ‘If anything gets damaged it’s likely to be Datt,’ I said.

      ‘You shouldn’t have said that to me,’ said Loiseau. ‘It was indiscreet, but bonne chance anyway.’

      ‘Thanks,’ I said and hung up.

      ‘So it wasn’t Loiseau?’ said Maria, who had been listening.

      ‘What makes you think that?’ I asked.

      She shrugged. ‘The mess here. The police would have been careful. Besides, if Loiseau admitted that the police have searched your home other times why should he deny that they did it this time?’

      ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ I said. ‘Perhaps Loiseau did it to set me at Datt’s throat.’

      ‘So you were deliberately indiscreet to let him think he’d succeeded?’

      ‘Perhaps.’ I looked into the torn seat of the armchair. The horse-hair stuffing had been ripped out and the case of documents that the courier had given me had disappeared. ‘Gone,’ said Maria.

      ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you did translate my confession correctly after all.’

      ‘It was an obvious place to look. In any case I was not the only person to know your “secret”: this evening you told Byrd that you kept your money there.’

      ‘That’s true, but was there time for anyone to act on that?’

      ‘It was two hours ago,’ said Maria. ‘He could have phoned. There was plenty of time.’

      We began to sort out the mess. Fifteen minutes passed, then the phone rang. It was Jean-Paul.

      ‘I’m glad to catch you at home,’ he said. ‘Are you alone?’

      I held a finger up to my lips to caution Maria. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m alone. What is it?’

      ‘There’s something I wanted to tell you without Byrd hearing.’

      ‘Go ahead.’

      ‘Firstly. I have good connections in the underworld and the police. I am certain that you can expect a burglary within a day or so. Anything you treasure should be put into a bank vault for the time being.’

      ‘You’re too late,’ I said. ‘They were here.’

      ‘What a fool I am. I should have told you earlier this evening. It might have been in time.’

      ‘No matter,’ I said. ‘There was nothing here of value except the typewriter.’ I decided to solidify the freelance-writer image a little. ‘That’s the only essential thing. What else did you want to tell me?’

      ‘Well that policeman, Loiseau, is a friend of Byrd.’

      ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Byrd was in the war with Loiseau’s brother.’

      ‘Right,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘Now Inspector Loiseau was asking Byrd about you earlier today. Byrd told Inspector Loiseau that …’

      ‘Well, come on.’

      ‘He told him you are a spy. A spy for the West Germans.’

      ‘Well that’s good family entertainment. Can I get invisible ink and cameras at a trade discount?’

      ‘You don’t know how serious such a remark can be in France today. Loiseau is forced to take notice of such a remark no matter how ridiculous it may seem. And it’s impossible for you to prove that it’s not true.’

      ‘Well thanks for telling me,’ I said. ‘What do you suggest I do about it?’

      ‘There is nothing you can do for the moment,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘But I shall try to find out anything else Byrd says of you, and remember that I have very influential friends among the police. Don’t trust Maria whatever you do.’

      Maria’s ear went even closer to the receiver. ‘Why’s that?’ I asked. Jean-Paul chuckled maliciously. ‘She’s Loiseau’s ex-wife, that’s why. She too is on the payroll of the Sûreté.’

      ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘See you in court.’

      Jean-Paul laughed at that remark – or perhaps he was still laughing at the one before.

      12

      Maria applied her make-up with unhurried precision. She was by no means a cosmetics addict but this morning she was having lunch with Chief Inspector Loiseau. When you had lunch with an ex-husband you made quite sure that he realized what he had lost. The pale-gold English wool suit that she had bought in London. He’d always thought her a muddle-headed fool so she’d be as slick and businesslike as possible. And the new plain-front shoes; no jewellery. She finished the eyeliner and the mascara and began to apply the eye-shadow. Not too much; she had been wearing much too much the other evening at the art gallery. You have a perfect genius, she told herself severely, for getting yourself involved in situations where you are a minor factor instead of a major factor. She smudged the eye-shadow, cursed softly, removed it and began again. Will the Englishman appreciate the risk you are taking? Why not tell M. Datt the truth of what the Englishman said? The Englishman is interested only in his work, as Loiseau was interested only in his work. Loiseau’s love-making was efficient, just as his working day was. How can a woman compete with a man’s work? Work is abstract and intangible, hypnotic and lustful; a woman is no match for it. She remembered the nights she had tried to fight Loiseau’s work, to win him away from the police and its interminable paperwork and its relentless demands upon their time together. She remembered the last bitter argument about it. Loiseau had kissed her passionately in a way he had never done before and they had made love and she had clung to him, crying silently in the sudden release of tension, for at that moment she knew that they would separate and divorce, and she had been right.

      Loiseau still owned a part of her, that’s why she had to keep seeing him. At first they had been arranging details of the legal separation, custody of the boy, then agreements about the house. Then Loiseau had asked her to do small tasks for the police department. She knew that he could not face the idea of losing her completely. They had become dispassionate and sincere, for she no longer feared losing him; they were like brother and sister now, and yet … she sighed. Perhaps it all could have been different; Loiseau still had an insolent confidence that made her pleased, almost proud, to be with him. He was a man, and that said everything there was to