Folly Du Jour

‘Poor, dear George! You must do what you can, Joe!’

‘Of course. I visit every day. I’m happy to report the bruises are healing. He enquired after you when I saw him this morning. Wanted to know that you are well and happy.’

‘Ah? You will reassure him then?’

‘Can I do that? Tell me – what should I report of little Alice in Wonderland? Business good, is it?’

For a moment she was taken aback. ‘My businesses always do well. You know that, Joe. Until some heavy-footed man comes along and stamps them into the mud.’

He decided to go for the frontal attack. ‘So – how do you get on with the management of the Sphinx? Your competitors can’t have been too enchanted when you came along and set up here in their rabbit patch. Have you come to some amicable agreement? Equable share of the lettuces? They have a Paris bank underpi

He saw the moment when she made up her mind. Alice hadn’t changed. She was behaving as she had done years ago. Why not? It had deceived him then. Wide-eyed, she was about to plunge into a confession to a sin she knew would revolt him, a sin in his eyes so reprehensible it would distract him from and blind him to the deeper evil she must keep hidden at all cost.

‘Very well. I see you’ve worked it out. I run a brothel. The very best!’ She made the a

‘I understand. Expensive whores. Is that what you’re dealing in these days? But, of course, you learned a good deal from Edgar Troop, Brothel-Master Extraordinaire, branches in Delhi and Simla.’

‘These girls aren’t whores! They are hetairai – intelligent and attractive companions!’ Pink with anger, she put out her cigarette, creasing her eyes against the sudden flare of sparks and smoke. Calculating whether she was wasting her time in self-justification. ‘You are not in England, Commander. Are you aware of the expression maison de tolérance?’

‘I have it on my information list, just above magasin de fesses and abattoir,’ he said brutally. ‘Knocking shop and slaughterhouse, to translate politely.’

‘Tolerance!’ she replied angrily. ‘These establishments are exactly that – tolerated – not hounded out of existence by hypocrites like you. As long as the ladies succumb to their weekly health check – the doctor visits – we break no rules. So, if you’ve come to threaten me, I’m not impressed. If the Law can’t close down those abattoirs in the rue de Lappe, they’re hardly likely to turn their attention on me. Not with the list of habitués I have . . . députés, industrialists, royalty, diplomats . . . senior police officers,’ she finished triumphantly. ‘You will be seen leaving. You may be sure of that! I may even send your superior a photograph to show how his pet investigator adds to his expenses.’

Her lip curled as she played with an amusing thought. ‘Though, in the manly English way, he’d probably summon you to his office to compare notes.’

‘Probably,’ Joe agreed, the further to a

‘My girls are top drawer! Your sister was probably at school with some of them . . .’ she added defiantly. ‘Some of them I found in the music hall line-ups, some had just run away to Paris for excitement, some are escaping violent men in their lives . . . Not many openings for unsupported girls in these post-war days, you know. Men have flooded back and elbowed women out of the jobs they’d found in fields, factories and offices –’

‘Spare me the social treatise, Alice!’ Joe growled. ‘You look ridiculous on that soap-box, champagne glass in hand, a hundred quid’s worth of ruby over your left ear and twenty girls on their backs down the corridor, working for you.’

If she attacked him now, as he was hoping, he could have the handcuffs on her without a second thought. He’d find it easier than requesting politely that she extend her hands.

‘Very well,’ she said, ignoring his jibe, and added angrily to a

He nodded, looking at her with stony face. ‘Why don’t you let me do that?’ He went to the sideboard and refilled his glass, taking the opportunity of positioning himself between her and the door.

‘And is she well and happy, the little miss who was encouraged to enter the wild animal cage with Somerton the evening before last? The bait you hobbled for the tiger? Did you warn her about the character of the man she was to entertain?’

Alice laughed. ‘Watch out, Commander! Your soft centre’s oozing out of that hard crust! Something you have in common with Sir George. Makes me very fond of the pair of you! My girl wasn’t in the slightest danger. I was on hand.’

‘Because you knew it was never intended that she should finish the evening with him. At a given signal the two of you do

‘How the hell?’

‘A wardrobe of four midnight-coloured cloaks – I’m guessing that your girls, or a small picked unit of them, are actively involved in the other branch of your operation here. A sort of alluring Flying Squad? An undercover ops unit? You were always a showman, Alice. You enjoy playing games. And reading novels. Inspired by The Three Musketeers, were you? Well – listen! – this is where it all gets terribly serious.’

He put down his glass on a low table and stood ready to knock her to the floor if she tried to get past him or move towards the bell. To his surprise, she retreated away from the door and went to stand, a hand on the mantelpiece, at the other end of the room. He followed her, careful to position himself ready to block her exit.

‘I’ve got handcuffs in my pocket. Real, steel ones, not forgiving flesh and blood ones. They’ll be round your wrists and I’ll be pulling you with me down the stairs and out into the street before you can say knife. And I’ll hand you straight over to the lads of the Brigade Criminelle who are waiting below. You can sample the accommodation at HQ for yourself. Not sure which of the murders you’ll confess to but eventually you will confess. I don’t imagine even your partner’s influence spreads as far as the i

‘I’m not sure what you expect me to say. How can I respond to these maunderings? Partner? Who is this partner you rave on about?’

‘The head of the assassination bureau. The undertaker of delicate commissions. Murder with a flourish. That partner. Or should I say – boss? Two compatible services under one roof. The White Rabbit, the jazz club, and its escape hole up here into Wonderland – your part of the organization, I would expect – and then there’s the other. The Red Queen, I suppose we could call it. Wasn’t she the one who rushed around calling “Off with his head”? Or didn’t your perusal of the text take you that far? She was quite insane, you know, and incapable of discriminating. I