Stone's Fall

She laughed, more easily now. 'No, of course not. I've told you – he was a simple man in his tastes. He had his own compartment, of course. There is no particular pleasure in sharing with total strangers unless you have to. Ostentation would have been detrimental to his business; often on these trips he liked to travel as quietly as possible so as not to be noticed.'

Maybe she had really loved him; she smiled as memories flitted past, the very idea of her husband brought her pleasure, and the thought of his death caused her grief. I had anticipated a marriage of convenience and companionship at most. A rich man seeks a beautiful young woman in the same way that such people might desire a racehorse, or an expensive painting. Is that not true? And the beautiful young woman desires security and luxury. But they expect no gratification, and little affection; these (so I understood) they must find elsewhere. Perhaps this had been different.

'The thing about John, you see, is that he was quite simple in his affections as well. He thought of himself as a sophisticated man of the world, and in business matters no doubt he was. But he was not a man for gallantry, had no idea how to seduce, or flatter or be anything other than he was. I found his uncomplicated nature beguiling.'

She looked at me, and smiled. 'I can see I am surprising you,' she said. 'You think I would want an elegant man of sophistication. Handsome, athletic, worldly.'

'I suppose.'

'You know nothing, I'm afraid, Mr Braddock. Nothing of me, nothing of women at all.' She said it gently, as a matter of fact, but I still blushed hotly.

'Someone said that both of you met their match in the other.'

She laughed. 'Who on earth said that?'

'Mr Xanthos. Do you know him?'

She nodded. 'Not well. But we have met often.'

'So is his opinion true?'

'I would hardly claim to be John's match. What else did he tell you?'

'Oh, that you were once one of the most influential women in France, or something like that.'

Here she let out a burst of laughter, and almost choked on her tea. Her eyes sparkled with merriment as she put down her cup carefully and looked at me. 'Good heavens,' she said after a while. 'What an extraordinary idea. How on earth did he come up with that?'

'He said you ran a salon, or something.'

'And that made me the most influential woman in France?'

'Apparently.'

'Well, no,' she said, still smiling broadly. I think it was the first time I had seen her laugh, genuinely and without restraint. It transformed her. 'No, I'm afraid not. A young girl from Hungary would stand no chance whatsoever of establishing herself like that in Paris. Not if she was respectable.'

'Pardon?'

'Some of the most famous salonnières are – or were, I do not know what it is like now – courtesans. Very expensive ones, but still . . . I hope you do not think . . .'

'No, no. Of course not. I mean . . .' I was red in the face, blushing deeply; I could even feel the roots of my hair burning with embarrassment. She looked at me, enjoying my confusion, but then kindly looked away across the square until I recovered myself. I could see her mouth still twitching, though.

'Is Mr Bartoli being helpful?' she asked, to change the subject.

'Mr Bartoli does not approve of me. He has indicated he will give me as little assistance as possible.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Let me deal with that,' was her only reply and I realised Mr Bartoli was not going to be happy about it.

'I asked about your husband's concerns.'

'I do not know what they were. Just that he had been quite busy in the months before his death; I reproached him for it, and said that he really should be working less hard at his age, not more. But he said that this was the way of business, and if something important came up, you could not postpone it simply because you were getting old. Besides, he always maintained that working kept him young, and I think there was something in that. His mind was absolutely undiminished, and he was in no way frail.'

'And this something important . . . ?'

'Tell me, Mr Braddock, why do you ask so many questions about my husband's death?'

'I think you know perfectly well,' I said. 'Those papers disappeared when he died. I have two ways forward. Either to look for the child, or to look for the papers which will do the work for me. As I am naturally lazy, I think I should exhaust the latter option first of all. Besides, I don't even know when this boy – or girl – was born, or even in what country. Clearly if it was last year that requires one approach. If it was ten or twenty years ago, then it is different. Do you really have no idea at all . . . ?'

'No,' she said softly and a little sadly. 'None whatsoever. I really do not.'

CHAPTER 14