Opium (25 page)

“Please call me Noelle. When you say ma'am, I feel like I am a hundred years old.”

He felt a moment's alarm. He had heard of her, of course, from Gates, from everyone. “Noelle Crocé? You're Rocco Bonaventure's daughter?'

“I am sorry, this offends you?'

“Of course not. It's just that ... I've heard of you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” she said, her voice torchy. “So - what are you doing here, Monsieur Dale?' She lowered her voice theatrically. “Are you representing the spooks?'

“Gerry Gates brought me along as his guest.”

“I do not know him. What does he do? Wait, let me guess. He advises on the agriculture also.”

“Yeah. He's an expert on hard rice.”

“Excuse me?'

“It's a new American invention.” He could smell her perfume, roses and
mousse de bain
, was uncomfortably aware of how close she was standing. As a married woman she could only mean trouble, but as Noelle Crocé she could be disastrous. “How's the car? Did you get your stocking back?'

“You would like to keep it?' She smiled, watching him from under lidded eyes. She's flirting with me, he realised with mounting panic.

“Your stocking?'

“Perhaps you will like him as a souvenir?'

“I don't think it would be appropriate.”

There was a soft pulse at her throat. Her lips glistened with champagne. “It is good the engine she does not blow up. Maybe you will undress me completely for this.”

It was as if there was an iron band around his chest. He reminded himself again that she was another man's wife and Rocco Bonaventure's daughter. He had to defuse this somehow. “I don't know where you'd get a drive belt for a Packard in this part of the world,” he heard himself say.

She bit her lip. “What sort of ... what is it ... drive belt? ... do you use on your jeep?'

“I've never had to replace one yet.”

“Well, then you must be careful, Monsieur Dale. You know how it is. Sometimes there is just never a girl around when you need one.”

He sipped his champagne and spilled some down his shirt.

She looked over his shoulder and her eyes widened.
“Merde alors
. My husband! He does not like it if I talk to anyone under eighty. I must be boring again.
Au revoir
,
Monsieur Dale
.”

“Ma'am ... Noelle.”

As she walked away she turned around and gave him a frank and brilliant smile.

She moved away through the crowd towards one of the most startling men Dale had ever seen. He had a bronzed face with sharp Gallic features, and long jet hair that hung over his collar. He had a black eye patch over one eye. It made him look both sinister and dissolute, a brigand in a white silk shirt. The other eye was staring straight through him. Dale shuddered and turned away.

***

“Who was that?' Baptiste said.

“He stopped to help me the other day when the car broke down.”

“You never told me about that.”

“I thought I had. Yes, you remember. You told me I didn't know what a drive belt was.”

“He's an American? '

Noelle shrugged. “Yes. A friend of Monsieur Gates.” She held up her empty glass. “Will you get me another champagne, chèrie?'

“You've had enough already.”

“There is nothing worse than a reformed drunk, is there, Baptiste? I'll get it myself.”

She drifted away through the crowd.

Chapter 45

T
HERE was a group of Air America pilots sitting at the bar. One of them had found a mimeographed sheet of English and Lao phrases and they were making up a conversation between themselves, for the benefit of the taxi girls. They knew nothing about the tonal subtleties of the language, so the results were appalling. Both the pilots and the hostesses found the dialogue hysterical, but for very different reasons,

“S
a bai dii
,” one of the Americans drawled. “S
a bai dii baw
?'

Greetings. How are you?

“K
hawy sa bai dii. Jao seu nyang
?' his partner replied.

“I'm fine, what's your name?'

“K
hawy seu Chuck. Kao paak phaa-saalao dai baw. Khawy bao dai.”

“I'm Chuck. Can you speak Lao? I can't.”

Rocco was in a sour mood, a glass and bottle of
pastis
on the table in front of him. A taxi girl sat on his lap, whispering hackneyed endearments in his ear, which he ignored. She picked up his hand and placed it on her crotch, but he snatched it back again, irritated.

When he saw Baptiste‚ he pushed her onto the floor. She got up and flounced away.

Baptiste sat down. He poured himself a glass of
pastis
and lit one of his Gitanes. “What's up?' he said.

“Heard the news?'

Baptiste shook his head.

“The communists. They have massacred an entire
Meo
village in Sam Neua province.”

Baptiste was shocked, in spite of himself. Not that he gave a damn about the
Meo
. But until now the war had been a quaint affair and as predictable like the monsoon. The Pathet Lao held the Plain of Jars during the dry season, the royalists took it back again in the wet. There was almost a sense of theatre about it.

In battle Laotians traditionally aimed high, and expected their enemy to do the same. The government forces would send a message to the Pathet Lao that it was about to attack a certain village, and the communists would retreat. A few days later the communists would send a message that they were ready to counter-attack, and the Lao army would fall back. Occasionally a few soldiers would be killed, but this was largely through accidents or over-exuberance.

This was a sinister turn. If this was a sign of the Pathet Lao's renewed commitment, it could become a real war.

“We should make plans for future,” Baptiste said.”

“The Americans will not allow the communists to take over in Laos.”

“The Americans will fight as long as it suits them, and as long as it doesn't cost them too much. Indochina is a piece on a chessboard.”

“Don't let Dale and his friends hear you say that. They think they're fighting for freedom.”

Baptiste smiled. Bonaventure was becoming more irascible every day. Old age and the tropics, they never went well together.

The American pilots had reached new heights of hysteria with their improvised Lao conversation. The taxi girls controlled their giggles long enough to help them in their intonation.

“T
hao dai?
' one of the pilots said.

“How much?'

“Laa-khaa jet phan kip,”
his buddy said, batting his eyelids and raising his voice an octave.

“The price is 7000 kip.”

“Nii nyai maen baw. Phaa -saa lao oen an-naii waa nyang?'

“This is big, isn't it? What do you call this in Lao?'

His buddy shook his head.
“Khawy kin muu baw dai'

“I can't eat pork.”

One of the pilots started laughing so hard he fell off his chair.

Idiots.

Bonaventure turned to Baptiste. “How are things at home?'

“Better.”

“You don't seem sure.”

“It's just the kid. You know.” It was a lie. Nothing had improved. Noelle's moods veered between long, brooding silences and flashes of quick and venomous temper.

“You must think I'm blind,” Bonaventure said.

Baptiste stared sulkily into his glass.

“What are you going to do?'

“I don't know.”

“You must try harder. Stay home more. Look after her properly.”

“She knew what I was like when she married me.”

Bonaventure leaned forward, placed a hand on the younger man's arm. “Listen, I like you. And you have done well in the business. You have a talent for this, you know? But you must learn tactics. It is okay to be so passionate, so spontaneous, when you are young. When you are older it becomes a weakness.”

Baptiste jerked his arm away and blew a long stream of smoke towards the ceiling. He did not like being lectured by anyone.

“Noelle is my daughter,” Bonaventure went on, his voice sterner. “I'm getting old and Indochina is going to shit. Perhaps I'll retire.”

“What are you telling me?'

“I'm telling you I'm losing patience. If you can't work things out between the two of you, then I shall.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me. She's my only daughter. Don't forget that.”

“We'll work it out.”

“I hope so.”

Baptiste felt a jolt of fear. Without the Bonaventure family, what would happen to him? He would be left with hardly any money of his own, Bonaventure had made sure of that. All the assets were still in his name. If he and Noelle were divorced before the old buzzard died, he would have nothing. And with only one eye he would not get a licence to fly for any other airline

“T
awng kaan pha set toh,”
the pilot with the high voice was saying.

“I need a towel.”

“Tawng kaan maw,”
his partner groaned.

“I need a doctor.”

Baptiste slammed his glass on the table. The Americans and their puerile jokes were getting on his nerves.

“Go home,” Bonaventure told him. “Go home and be with your wife.”

***

Baptiste left the bar. Two taxi girls were standing talking to the
siclo
drivers. They cat-called to him as he came out. For once he ignored them. He felt as if he had stones in his chest.

***

Noelle lay under the mosquito netting, listening to the cicadas. Tonight it was hot, too hot to sleep, and she tossed restlessly from side to side. There was a cold ache in the pit of her stomach, loneliness and regret.

She found herself thinking about the American. She was embarrassed at the way she had thrown herself at him at her father's party. She had drunk too much champagne.

If she simply hated him everything would be simpler. But sometimes when they were together, she still found herself falling under his spell. His looks and his charm could mesmerise her, make her forget about the poison in him.

And he was the father of her child; Lucien was the bond that tied them together. He was her husband for life, that was what the Holy Church had told her.

But there were other times she just wished him dead. Burying the past was easier than living with it. But these days every time she relented and made love with him, she felt as if she had traded with the devil. Did you stay with such a man or leave him; both seemed wrong.

There was another way, a choice dark and rich with sin. It would satisfy her own need as well as her craving for revenge and for justice. If you can't be good, Noelle, then be as bad as you want.

She dressed quickly. The servants were all in bed. She went downstairs and fetched Chao. “I have to go out. You will sleep in Lucien's room and be there in case he wakes. I will be back soon.”

Chao looked scared but she nodded and did as she was told.

Noelle went out into the night.

Chapter 46

D
ALE had been drinking with Gerry Gates and an attaché from the Embassy at the Hotel Constellation. When he got back, the Bungalow was in darkness. He felt tired, more tired tonight than he had ever felt in all his years overseas. There had been too many nights coming home alone to empty rented houses or sparse hotel rooms.

It was only his burning sense of destiny that kept him going. No one had said that it would be easy to be on the side of the angels. In any crusade there were sacrifices that had to be made.

He lit a small paraffin lantern and carried it into the bedroom. As he put it down on the bedside table he saw a silhouette in the rattan chair by the window.

He threw himself onto the floor and reached inside his jacket for his revolver with his right hand. He lay face down in a firing position, both hands holding the weapon in front of him. His thumb clicked off the safety.