Free Dark Summer in Bordeaux by Allan Massie

said. ‘Put some more clothes on.’
    ‘That’s funny. Most gentlemen tell me to take them off.’
    ‘You surprise me,’ Lannes said, handing her a dressing-gown that was folded neatly on a chair at the end of the bed. ‘What do you charge your Boche?’
    ‘Who says I charge him anything? None of your business, is it? He’s a nice kid and good looking. I might even be in love with him.’
    ‘Might you now? Bad luck for you if you are. There’s a new term for it, you know. It’s called “horizontal collaboration”.’
    ‘We’re meant to collaborate, aren’t we? That’s what the Marshal says, isn’t it?’
    ‘So it is.’
    ‘Well then . . . ’ ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Yvette. I’ve done nothing illegal. Got a fag?’
    ‘Certainly.’
    He lit one for her and another for himself. She lay back on the bed, letting the dressing-gown fall away to give him a good look at her legs.
    ‘I’m not interested in your Boche,’ he said, ‘though for your own good – and safety – I would advise you to have done with him. The day will come when people will get rough with girls like you. You’ll be a scapegoat for their own shame, but that won’t make it easier for you.’
    ‘Depends, don’t it?’ she said. ‘The Boches are here and look like staying if you ask me. Besides, why shouldn’t a girl have a good time? Like I say, he’s a nice kid.’
    ‘You’re only a kid yourself.’
    ‘I’m of age. I could give you a good time too.’
    She lay back with her arms folded behind her head, a smile spreading and the dressing-gown falling further away.
    ‘Forget it, Yvette. I’m not interested in what you have to offer.’
    ‘Like that, is it? One of those, are you?’
    ‘Don’t be silly, and rude. Doktor Braun. See anything of him?’
    ‘The old gentleman? That’s funny. He was just like you.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘What I say. Just like you, one day when Wolfie – that’s my Boche – left he rapped on my door and tried to warn me off. Just like you, like I say.’
    ‘And then?’
    ‘Then, not just like you, I gave him a blow-job, he really wanted it badly. “So long as you don’t tell Wolfie,” I said. So?’
    ‘So then what?’
    ‘Then, nothing much. We talked a bit. He got in the way of dropping in and we talked and I gave him what he wanted. He was a nice old thing really. I was sorry when he moved out.’
    ‘He didn’t exactly move out,’ Lannes said. ‘You might say he was moved out. In fact he was murdered, hit on the head with a blunt instrument.’
    ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re kidding.’
    ‘I’m afraid not. That’s why I’m here. I’m investigating his murder.’
    ‘Oh no,’ and to his surprise she began to weep, genuine tears and sobs. He thought how strange it was: Adrienne Jauzion dry-eyed and indifferent to the news of her father’s murder and this little tart in floods.
    He let her have her cry out. Then she said, ‘There’s a bottle of wine in the cupboard. Give me a glass. Take one yourself.’
    ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘It’s his wine. He gave me half a dozen bottles. This is the last.’
    ‘What did he talk about?’
    ‘The state of the world. The war. Communism. He went on a lot. Over my head, most of it. He wanted to educate me. That’s what he said, that it wasn’t safe being an innocent in the world today.’
    ‘He was right there.’
    ‘Not so safe for him either, from what you say.’
    ‘Oh I think he was quite an innocent in his way himself. Did he ever seem frightened?’
    ‘Only after the Spaniard came. Then he said he was going to have to disappear. Disappear again, he said. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when he left. But I did think he might have come to say good-bye . . . ’
    ‘He didn’t go when he meant to, of his own accord. Otherwise I daresay he wouldn’t have left without a word to you. Did you see the Spaniard?’
    ‘No, but he frightened him. I know that.’
    ‘You’ve