that a little clearer. I can’t just say to my readers: It stinks.’
‘Well, tell them that Salazar’s paternalism is nothing but an unspeakable dictatorship, and that the Americans ought to get rid of him in a hurry,’ Henri said rapidly. ‘Unfortunately, it won’t happen tomorrow; he’s going to sell them air bases in the Azores.’
Marie-Ange frowned, and Henri added, ‘If that upsets you, don’t use it. I’m going to break it soon in L’Espoir, anyhow.’
‘Of course I’ll use it!’ Marie-Ange said emphatically. She studied Henri seriously. ‘What inner motives made you take that trip?’
‘Listen, you don’t have to ask idiotic questions to be a success as a newspaperwoman. And I repeat again that that’s enough. Be a nice girl and leave quietly.’
‘I’d have liked a few anecdotes.’
‘I don’t have any.’
Marie-Ange minced out. Henri felt a sense of disappointment; Marie-Ange hadn’t asked the right questions, and he had said none of the things he had had to say. But after all, just what did he have to say? ‘I’d like my readers to know who I am, but the trouble is I’m not quite sure myself.’ At any rate, in a few days he would get back to his book and he would try to define himself systematically.
He began going through his correspondence again, and he was staggered by the number of telegrams and clippings there were to be read, the letters to answer, the people to see! Luc had warned him; he had his work cut out for him. The following days he spent shut away in his office; he went home to Paula’s only to sleep. He had just barely enough time to prepare his article and the printers grabbed it from him page by page. But after his too-long holiday, he was happy to get back to this excess of activity.
Without enthusiasm, he recognized Scriassine’s voice on the telephone. ‘Listen here, you quitter, you’ve been back four days now, and nobody’s seen you. Come over to the Isba right away. Rue Balzac.’
‘I’m sorry but I’ve got work to do.’
‘Stop feeling sorry and come over. We’re all waiting to drink a champagne toast to you.’
‘Who’s we?’ Henri asked cheerfully.
‘I, among others,’ said Dubreuilh’s voice. ‘And Anne, and Julien. I’ve got a thousand things to tell you. What in hell are you doing over there anyhow? Can’t you crawl out of your hole for an hour or two?’
‘I was planning to come over to see you tomorrow,’ Henri said.
‘Well, come over to the Isba now.’
‘All right! All right! I’m on my way.’
Henri hung up the telephone and smiled; he was really looking forward to seeing Dubreuilh again. He picked up the telephone and called Paula. ‘It’s me. The Dubreuilhs and Scriassine are waiting for us at the Isba … Yes, the Isba … I don’t know any more about it than you. I’ll come and pick you up in the car.’
A half hour later they went down a stairway flanked on either side by magnificently dressed Cossacks. Paula was wearing a new evening dress and he realized that green did not, as a matter of fact, become her.
‘What a peculiar place!’ she murmured.
‘With Scriassine, you can expect just about anything.’
Outside, the night had been so empty, so quiet, that the Isba’s lush luxury was disturbing; it made one think of a perverse antechamber to a torture dungeon. The quilted walls were blood-red, the folds of the draperies dripped blood, and the gypsy musicians’ shirts were made of crimson satin.
‘There you are! Did you slip by them?’ Anne asked.
‘They look safe and sound to me,’ Julien said.
‘We were just attacked by a mob of reporters,’ Dubreuilh explained.
‘Armed with cameras,’ Anne added.
‘Dubreuilh was wonderful,’ Julien exclaimed, stammering with enthusiasm. ‘He said … Well, I forget exactly what he said, but anyhow it was damned well put. A couple of questions more, and he’d have sailed right into them.’
They were all speaking at once, except for Scriassine, who was smiling and wearing a slightly superior look.
‘I really did think Robert was going to start swinging,’ Anne said.
‘He said: “We’re not a bunch of trained monkeys,”’ Julien quoted, beaming broadly.
‘I’ve always considered my face my own personal property,’ Dubreuilh remarked with dignity.
‘The trouble is,’ Anne said, ‘that for people like you nudity begins with the face. Just showing your nose and eyes is exhibitionism.’
‘They don’t take pictures of exhibitionists,’ Dubreuilh replied.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Julien.
‘Drink up,’ Henri said, handing Paula a glass of vodka. ‘Drink up; we’re way behind.’ He emptied his glass, and asked, ‘But how did they know you were here?’
‘Yes,’ Julien said, looking at the others in surprise. ‘How did they know?’
‘I imagine the maître d’hôtel telephoned,’ Scriassine said.
‘But he doesn’t know us,’ Anne said.
‘He knows me,’ Scriassine said. He bit his lower lip, looking like a woman caught in the act. ‘I wanted him to give you the kind of attention you deserve, so I told him who you were.’
‘Well, it looks as if you succeeded,’ Henri said. Scriassine’s childish vanity never failed to astonish him.
Dubreuilh burst out laughing. ‘So it was he who betrayed us! Now I’ve heard everything!’ He turned abruptly towards Henri. ‘Well, what about that trip? Instead of playing, it would seem as if you spent your entire time attending conferences and conducting investigations.’
‘Oh, I managed to get in a lot of sightseeing, too,’ Henri said.
‘Your articles make one want to do one’s sightseeing somewhere else. It’s a sad country!’
‘It was sad, but it was beautiful too,’ Henri said cheerfully. ‘It’s primarily sad for the Portuguese.’
‘I don’t know whether you do it on purpose,’ Dubreuilh said, ‘but when you say that the sea is blue, blue somehow becomes a sinister colour.’
‘And at times it was. But not always,’ Henri smiled. ‘You know how it is when you write.’
‘Yes,’ said Julien, ‘you have to lie to avoid telling the truth.’
‘Anyhow, I’m happy to be back,’ Henri said.
‘But you didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to see your friends again.’
‘You’re wrong; I was,’ Henri replied. ‘Every morning I’ve been telling myself that I’d drop over to see you. And then, all of a sudden it was after midnight.’
‘Well, keep a sharper eye on your watch tomorrow,’ Dubreuilh said grumpily. ‘There’s a pack of things I have to bring you up to date on.’ He smiled. ‘I think we’re getting off to a good start.’
‘You’re beginning to recruit? Has Samazelle decided to go along?’ Henri asked.
‘He doesn’t agree on all points, but I’m sure we’ll be able to compromise,’ Dubreuilh answered.
‘No serious talk tonight!’ Scriassine said, motioning to the monocled maître d’hôtel. ‘Two bottles of Mumm’s, brut.’
‘Is that absolutely necessary?’ Henri asked.