A Matter of Honour (40 page)

Adam made his way to the door, feeling
almost exhilarated. He turned the handle and pulled. The door came open an inch
– nothing happened – two inches – still
nothing
. He
stared through the crack but all he could see was a dark corridor. As he pulled
the door wide open the hinges sounded to Adam like racing tyres screeching.
Once he was certain that no one was going to return, he ventured into the
corridor.

Standing against the wall he stared up and
down the thin windowless passage, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark.
He could make out a light shining through a pebbled pane in a door at the far
end of the corridor, and began to take short steps towards it. He continued on,
as if he were a blind man, creeping slowly forward until he saw another beam of
light coming from under a door to his right about ten yards away from the one
he needed to reach. He edged cautiously on and was only a pace away from the
first door when it opened abruptly and out stepped a small man in a white tunic
and blue kitchen overalls. Adam froze against the wall as the kitchen hand
removed a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches from his pocket and headed
away in the opposite direction. When the man reached the glazed door he opened
it and walked out. Adam watched the silhouette outlined against the pebbled wii
dow
, a match being struck, a cigarette being lit, the
first puff of smoke; he even heard a sigh.

Adam crept past what he now assumed was a
kitchen and on towards the outer door. He turned the knob slowly, waiting for
the silhouette to move. The outer door also possessed hinges which no one had
bothered to oil for months. The smoker turned round and smiled as Adam’s left
hand landed firmly in his stomach. As the smoker bent over, Adam’s right fist
came up to the man’s chin with all the force he could muster. The smoker sank
in a heap on the ground, and Adam stood over him thankful that he didn’t move.

He dragged the limp body across the grass,
dumped it behind a bush and remained kneeling by it while he tried to work out
his bearings. Adam could just make out a high wall ahead of him with a
gravelled courtyard in front of it. Trite wall threw out a long shadow from the
moon across the tiny stones. About twenty yards... Summoning up every ounce of
energy, he ran to the wall and then clung to it like a limpet, remaining
motionless in its shadow. Slowly and silently he moved round the wall, yard by
yard, until he reached the front of what he now felt sure was the Russian
Embassy. The great green wooden gates at the front entrance were open, and
every few seconds limousines swept past him. Adam looked back up towards the
front door of the Embassy and at the top of the steps he saw a massive man,
medals stretching across his formal dress jacket, shaking hands with each of
his departing guests. Adam assumed he was the Ambassador.

One or two of the guests were leaving by
foot. There were two armed gendarmes on the gate who stood rigidly to attention
and saluted as each car or guest passed by.

Adam waited until a vast BMW, the West
German flag fluttering on its bonnet, slowed as it passed through the gates.
Using the car to shield him, Adam walked out into the centre of the drive,
then, following closely behind, walked straight between the guards towards the
road.

“Bonsoir,”
he said lightly to the
guards as the car moved forward: he was only a yard from the road. “Walk,” he
told himself, “don’t run.
Walk, walk until you are out of
their sight.”
They saluted deferentially. “Don’t look back.” Another car
followed him out, but he kept his eyes firmly to the front.

“Tu
cherches une femme?”
a
voice repeated from the shadows of a recessed doorway. Adam had ended up in a
badly lit one-way street. Several men of indeterminate age seemed to be walking
aimlessly up and down the kerbside. He eyed them with suspicion as he moved on
through the darkness.

“Wha –?” said Adam, stepping sharply into
the road, his senses heightened by the unexpected sound.

“From Britain, eh?
Do you search for a girl?” The voice held
an unmistakable French accent.

“You speak English,” said Adam, still unable
to see the woman clearly.

“You have to know a lot of languages in my
profession,
cheri
,
or you’d starve.”

Adam tried to think coherently.
“How much for the night?”

“Eh
bien,
but it’s not yet
midnight,” said the girl. “So I would have to charge two hundred francs.”

Although he had no money Adam hoped the girl
might at least lead him to safety.

“Two hundred is fine.”

“D’accord,”
said the girl, at last
stepping out of the shadows. Adam was surprised by how attractive she turned
out to be. “Take my arm and if you pass a gendarme say only,
‘Ma femme.”

Adam stumbled forward.

“Ah, I think you drink too much,
cheri
.
Never mind, you can lean on me, yes.”

“No, I’m just tired,” said Adam, trying hard
to keep up with her pace.

“You have been to party at Embassy,
n’est-ce pas?”

Adam was startled.

“Don’t be surprised,
cheri
. I
find most of my regulars from the Embassies. They can’t risk
to be
involved in casual affairs,
tu comprends?”

“I believe you,” said Adam.

“My apartment is just round the corner,” she
assured him. Adam was confident he could get that far but he took a deep breath
when they arrived at a block of flats and first saw the steps. He just managed
to reach the front door.

“I live on the top of the house,
cheri.
Very nice view,” she said
matter-of-factly, “but I’m afraid – how you say – no lift.”

Adam said nothing, but leaned against the
outside wail, breathing deeply.

“You
are
fatigue’,”
she said. By the time they had reached the second floor she
almost had to drag Adam up the last few steps.

“I don’t see you getting it up tonight,
cheri
”
she said, opening her front door and
turning on the light. “Still, it’s your party.” She strode in, turning on other
lights as she went.

Adam staggered across the floor towards the
only chair in sight and collapsed into it. The girl had by this time
disappeared into another room and he had to make a supreme effort not to fall
asleep before she returned.

As she stood in the light of the doorway
Adam was able to see her properly for the first time. Her blonde hair was short
and curly and she wore a red blouse and a knee-length skin-tight black skirt. A
wide white plastic belt emphasised her small waist. She wore black mesh stockings
and what he could see of her legs would have normally aroused him had he been
in any other condition.

She walked over to Adam with a slight swing
of the hips, and knelt down in front of him. Her eyes were a surprisingly
luminous green.

“Would you please give me the two hundred
now?” she asked, without harshness. She ran her hand along his thigh.

“I don’t have any money,” said Adam quite
simply.

“What?” she said, sounding angry for the
first
time.
Placing her hand in his inside pocket she
removed a wallet and asked, “Then what’s this? I don’t play the games,” handing
the thick wallet over to Adam. He opened the flap to find it was jammed full of
French francs and a few English notes. Adam concluded that the colonel was
obviously paid in cash for his services.

Adam extracted two one-hundred francs and
dutifully handed them over.

“That’s better,” she said, and disappeared
into the other room.

Adam checked quickly through the wallet to
discover a driving licence and a couple of credit cards in the colonel’s real
name of Albert Tomkins. He quickly looked around: a double bed that was wedged
up against the far wall took up most of the floor space. Apart from the chair
he was settled in, the only other pieces of furniture were a dressing table and
a tiny stool with a red velvet cushion on it. A stained blue carpet covered
most of the wooden floor.

To his left was a small fireplace with logs
stacked neatly in one corner. All Adam wished to do was fall asleep but with
what strength was left in his body, he pushed himself up, wobbled over to the
fireplace and hid the wallet between the logs. He lurched back towards the
chair and fell into it as the door reopened.

Again the girl stood in the light of the
doorway but this time she wore only a pink negligee, which even in his present
state Adam could see right through whenever she made the slightest movement.
She walked slowly across the room and once more knelt down beside him.

“How you like it,
man
cher
?
Straight or
the French way?”

“I need to rest,” said Adam.

“For two hundred francs you sleep in any ‘otel,”
she said in disbelief.

“I only want to be allowed to rest a few
minutes,” he assured her.

“L’Anglais,”
she said, and began to try
to lift Adam out of the chair and towards the bed. He stumbled and fell,
landing half on and half off the corner of the mattress. She undressed him as
deftly as any nurse could have done before lifting his legs up on to the bed.
Adam made no effort to help or hinder her. She hesitated for a moment when she
saw the shoulder wound, bewildered as to what kind of accident could have
caused such a gash. She rolled him over to the far side and pulled back the top
sheet and blanket. Then she walked round to the other side of the bed and
rolled him back again. Finally she pushed him flat on his back and covered him
with the sheet and blankets.

“I could still give you French if you like,”
she said. But Adam was already asleep.

When Adam eventually awoke the sun was
already shining through the small window of the bedroom. He blinked as he took
in his surroundings and tried to recall what had happened the night before.
Then it all came back to him and suddenly he felt sick again at the memory. He
sat on the edge of the bed but the moment he tried to stand he felt giddy and
weak, and fell back down. At least he had escaped. He looked around the room
but the girl was nowhere to be seen or heard. Then he remembered the wallet.

He sat bolt upright, gathering himself for a
few moments before standing up again and trying to walk. Although he was still
unsteady it was better than he had expected. It’s only the recovery that
counts, not the speed, he thought ironically. When he reached the fireplace he
fell on his knees and searched among the logs, but the colonel’s wallet was no
longer there. As quickly as he could he went to the jacket hanging over the
back of the chair. He checked in the inside pocket: a pen, a half-toothless
comb, a passport, a driving licence, some other papers, but no wallet. He
searched the outside pockets: a bunch of keys, a penknife, a few assorted
coins, English and French, but that was all that was left. With a string of
oaths he collapsed on to the floor. He sat there for some time and didn’t move
until he heard a key in the lock.

The front door of the flat swung open and
the girl sauntered in carrying a shopping basket. She was dressed in a pretty
floral skirt and white blouse that would have been suitable for any churchgoer
on a Sunday morning. The basket was crammed with food.

“Woken up, ‘ave we,
cheri
?
Est-ce-que tu prends
le petit dejeuner?”

Adam looked a little taken aback.

She returned his stare. “Even working girls
need their breakfast,
n’est-ce pas?
Sometimes
is the only meal I manage all day.”

“Where’s my wallet?” asked Adam coldly.

“On the table,” said the girl, pointing.

Adam glanced across the room, to see that
she had left the wallet in the most obvious place.

“It not necessary of you to ‘ide it,” she
reprimanded him. “Because I’m a whore don’t think I’m a thief.” With this she
strode off into the kitchen, leaving the door open.

Adam suddenly knew how big Tom Thumb felt.

“Coffee and croissants?” she shouted.

“Fantastic,” said Adam. He paused. “I’m
sorry. I was stupid.”

“Not to think about it,” she said,
“Ça n’est rien”

“I still don’t know your name,” said Adam.

“My working name is Brigitte, but as you ‘
ave not use
my services last night or this morning you can
call me by my real name -Jeanne.”

“Can I have a bath, Jeanne?”

“The door in the corner, but don’t take too
long, unless you like croissants cold.” Adam made his way to the bathroom and
found Jeanne had provided for everything a man might need: a razor, shaving
cream, soap, flannel, clean towels – and a gross box of Durex.

After a warm bath and a shave – delights
Adam had nearly forgotten – he felt almost back to normal again, if still
somewhat fragile. He tucked a pink towel around his waist before joining Jeanne
in the kitchen. The table was already laid and she was removing a warm
croissant from the oven.