Free Mrs. John Doe by Tom Savage Page A

black, but
brun
.
Un Arabe, peut-être?
I have, how you say, gived him the slap.”
    “The slip,” she whispered. “You gave him the slip.”
    “Yes, I gave him the slip, but I don’t know how long for I do this. I lose him back on the
Quai de Tuileries,
but he may search for us. For
you,
mademoiselle.” Now he softened his voice, and the expression on his weathered face was one of concern. “Is there people here in Paris who look for you? Is there the husband, or the man who is not your husband? It is not the business of Jacques, but perhaps I can be of service if I am told—”
    Nora raised a hand to silence him. This was too much; she had to think. She had to absorb this new information and fit it into the scenario. A dark-skinned man was trailing her, and she thought of the man in the plane and the park yesterday. How on earth could he possibly—
    She shut her eyes and took in a long, deep breath. Calm down, she commanded herself. First things first. It was nearly one o’clock, and she needed food. Her last full meal had been lunch at home two days ago, before the phone call. Oddly, this sudden infusion of fear caused her to realize just how hungry she was.
    “Jacques, I must leave Paris now,” she said in as steady a voice as she could manage, “and I don’t want anyone to know about it. Can you get me to the train to Besançon?”
    He peered at her across the seat. “So, you
are
in the trouble…”
    “Yes, I am, but I can’t discuss it now. I must go to the Franche-Comté. How do I do that?”
    He thought a moment. “Tay-zhay-vay.”
    “I don’t understand,” she said.
    “Tay-zhay-vay—this is the train that leaves from Gare de Lyon to Dijon and Besançon.”
    “Oh.” She suppressed a smile. TGV, France’s supersonic train system. “Gare de Lyon is not far from here, south of Place de la Bastille, where we just were—is that right?”
    “Yes, but no. You do not go in the tay-zhay-vay. I take you there.”
    “What, drive me to the Jura mountains? I couldn’t ask you to do that. You must have other things to—”
    “I take you there,” he repeated. “I have no other things. You have already paid for me for the whole of the day, and that is what you shall get. This is my final foot down!”
    Despite her misgivings, Nora couldn’t help but smile at the man’s dedication to his job. And it would certainly make things easier for her. She nodded, accepting his offer, and decided to add a generous bonus for him when this day was over.
    “Thank you, Jacques,” she said.
    “
De rien,
mademoiselle. It is, how you say, no bigness.”
    Nora laughed. “No
biggie
.”
    He nodded. “
Oui,
no biggie. Now, mademoiselle, if people look for you, they will look in the trains and the
avions,
yes? You wish to disappear? Jacques will help you disappear. I take you to the village in the Jura where you wish to go. It is four hours with some minutes, five hours in the tops. No biggie! But they have seen this car, so this car is not good. We go otherwise. Come, it is time for the
déjeuner
.”
    Yes, she thought, it is. She said no more, merely followed him meekly when he got out of the car and opened the door for her. He led her only a few yards, toward the end of the alley, and in through a small doorway. They were in a hot, aromatic restaurant kitchen where an older woman and a young man were busy preparing dishes. The woman smiled at them.
    “Jacques!” she cried, delighted. She ran over from the stove to greet him. There followed a conversation in French, from which Nora gathered that Jacques and the woman, Felicia, were old friends; he ate there all the time with his wife, Marianne; he lived just down the street; he must attend to some business; and would Felicia serve his client, Mlle. Hugs, an excellent lunch while she waited for him?
Mais oui!
Jacques slipped back through the side door into the alley, and the woman named Felicia proudly led the rich American
touriste
out into the tiny dining