And what do you want in return?’
‘Just a small payment.’
‘How much is small?’
The door of the bar swung open and a group of wealthy young people swept in, older than her of course, laughing and teasing each other as they clamoured for champagne. High spirits, she thought, longing to be one of them.
The man whispered something in her ear.
She raised her brows. ‘I don’t have that kind of money.’
‘I’m sure you can find a way.’
‘In that case,’ she said, turning to watch the newcomers and quickly deliberating before twisting back to the man, ‘I will see you and your proof the evening after next.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow.’
The next afternoon, while her mother was taking a nap on the chaise longue in the drawing room, Rosalie crept into her parents’ bedroom, where heavily draped velvet curtains shut out the light. This was risky and she’d have preferred to wait until a time when her mother might be out enjoying her weekly luncheon with her cronies.
Would the man really go to the police? What information could he possibly have? Rosalie had lain awake all night going over it in her head. Now she withdrew the small key to the old jewellery box her mother kept on a shelf in her wardrobe. Her father had intended to install a safe in the apartment, but luckily for Rosalie, that hadn’t happened yet. She unlocked the box, lifted the mother-of-pearl lid, and then pulled open the lowest of the satin-lined drawers where the very smallest pieces of jewellery were kept in velvet drawstring bags. Without her mother ever noticing, she’d been trying on these family heirlooms for years. Now she withdrew a pair oftiny glittering earrings, their absence least likely be noticed. She replaced them in their velvet bag and, hearing a sound from the drawing room, crept out and ran soundlessly to her own room.
That night she danced as she’d never danced before. More overtly sensually, and more dangerously. In the crowded, smoky room, the mirrors glittered with reflected light and, ramping her performance up, she swayed her pelvis, feeling like an enchantress. Then she turned her back and rotated her feather-clad bottom to jubilant yells from the audience. She kicked up her legs and twisted her body, the eroticism charging the already excited audience with an even headier thrill.
When it was over and the clamour had died down, she met with Pierre again. This time Irène did not stick around, perhaps knowing it was going to be a private exchange.
‘You got what I wanted?’ he asked when they were both settled in an alcove with drinks before them.
Discreetly, she showed him the earrings.
He whistled. ‘Nice. But I said cash.’
‘That wasn’t possible. These are diamonds and worth far more.’
He pulled a disgruntled face. ‘More traceable too.’
She smiled, beginning to enjoy the exchange. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a way. So, what have you got for me?’
He drew in his breath and then leant forward conspiratorially. ‘It’s complicated. The bottom line is that your father is using another name, not his own.’
‘And?’ she frowned. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘To defraud the government.’
Now she laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s clear you know nothing about my father.’
He inclined his head and gave her an insincere smile. ‘There was an article in which he was quoted and in which his photograph appeared.’
‘InLe Temps.I saw it. He was talking about the success of French reconstruction since the war. It’s the department he works for.’
‘And you were proud of him?’
She sniffed. ‘I don’t have that kind of relationship with my father, not that it’s any business of yours.’
‘So, you wouldn’t be interested in knowing he has set up a little construction company of his own?’
‘I’d be extremely bored by that.’
He tilted his head. ‘A company that does not really exist, into which considerable sums of governmental money have poured for work that has never been done.’
