'Yes. Don't expect me to pander to your desire for fashionable amusements.'
'And what does it have to do with you?'
'You invited me, I believe.'
'Mr Cort,' said the wife of the banker who had talked to me earlier, taking me by the arm and leading me away, 'would you do me the great honour of accompanying me home? My husband has decided to abandon me and go back to his office. So I am quite alone and in need of an escort.'
'I would be honoured,' I said. Relieved was the more appropriate word, I think; I did not want to witness a fight between Stone and Elizabeth. Well, I did, of course; it was fascinating, but I realised it would be safer to be out of range. Neither, I suspected, would give way easily, and both could be unpleasant when their authority was questioned. They were behaving in a way which was unseemly, embarrassing, and Elizabeth was neither of these. Stone had penetrated to a part of her which was never, ever on public view and forced it into the open. He had exposed her, and therefore weakened her. He would not be easily forgiven. I left them as swiftly as possible – not that either was minded to notice – facing each other and, in the most polite way possible, preparing for a battle to the death.
'I thought I would extricate you,' Madame Kollwitz said after we had got into her carriage and lumbered off along the Seine. 'I am in fact quite capable of finding my own way home. I have done so on many occasions. But you were staring in a way which was quite impolite, you know.'
'I suppose I was,' I said. 'I think that will be the end of it, though.'
She sighed pityingly.
'What have I said now?'
'Do you think a woman like that would ever fight with someone she cared nothing for?'
'But he's . . . well, he's a lot older than she is. Besides, she's not – well, not the type to . . .'
'We shall see. Who knows? She may have met her match this time. Mr Stone does not behave like a lapdog when he is around her. Unlike M. Rouvier, for example. I almost think it is her duty to skin him alive, although I never thought he would be quite so foolish.'
'What do you mean? The Finance Minister?'
'Of course.'
'Isn't he married?'
She laughed again. 'Of course he's married. What I mean is that he is not rich. And rumour has it he gives her fifty thousand a month.'
'What?'
'Are you really this naïve?'
'I think I must be,' I said – very convincingly, I believe, for the pitying, scornful look came back to her face. 'I'm sure none of it can be true.'
'Well,' she said, patting me on the hand, 'that's very sweet of you.'
'But if it was, I mean, where does he get it from? Rouvier, that is.'
She shrugged. 'I've no idea. Where
'Is there anything you don't know?'
'I know nothing about you, young man. But then, maybe you're not very interesting. Perhaps there is nothing to know.'
'I don't think there is.'
'Everyone in Paris has a secret, and thinks it is theirs alone. Even my husband thinks I believe him when he says he is going back to the office for an hour.' She said it lightly, but turned her head to look out of the window as she spoke.
'Stick to journalism, Mr Cort, where you never have to understand anything. Or you will find that Paris is a cruel and pitiless place. And tell that to our mysterious Countess as well. Her novelty is wearing off, and many people will take too much pleasure in seeing her fall.'
I left her at the door to her apartment block, her words echoing in my ears. It was late and I had work to do the next morning. I wanted a good night's sleep.
I took a gun with me when I went to visit Simon in Belleville. I have mentioned that I did not like them; I still do not. But at that stage I could not call on anyone to assist me in such matters, and Simon was (I recalled) a very big man. I was much more nimble and, I thought, probably more skilled, but if I do have to fight, I prefer the outcome to be beyond all doubt. On such occasions there is little virtue in only just winning.
The meeting, in fact, was quite simple; Simon was totally unskilled in subterfuge. All he had done was rent the room under an assumed name: that was the extent of his precautions. It was a simple matter to wait until I was sure he was at home, then go up the stairs and walk in. It was a dingy boarding house, unlit and run-down, which let out rooms to day labourers and itinerants with few questions asked. A place of hopelessness and despair, cold and depressing. Because of the time of day, it was all but deserted; only the concierge was there on the ground floor, and Simon's room was at the very top of the building, well out of earshot. I would not be disturbed.
'Good morning, Simon. I trust you are well. The Countess has been worrying about you. You really shouldn't have run off like that, you know. Not without giving her proper notice.'
