LACKING VIRTUES (64 page)

He tried to make his own coffee but discovered he did not know how to operate the coffee maker. He started to eat the cold cuts left over from the night before, but found he had little taste for them. Suddenly he had a premonition that his partners had abandoned him.

Furious, he stormed into the library. It was as cold and dark as the kitchen. He turned on the lights. There was an old dueling pistol on the desk which he recognized as his own. In a corner of the ornate frame of his father’s portrait was a neatly folded note. He grabbed it and unfolded it. He recognized Delors’ handwriting as he read:

Dear Georges,

Claussen has apparently taken off with the money. Our police and military units have been unsuccessful in stopping Warner and LeConte. We have no knowledge as to the whereabouts of your daughter, but we remain shocked and disappointed that you did not foresee and act upon the security threat she posed for this operation.

We discussed the possibility of including you in our plans for relocation. We decided, based on your fatal error, that your judgment in hiding might be no better than it was in freedom.

A final word, Georges. Members of the governing coalition have been tipped off about the relationship between
Nouvelle France
, the Haussmann Group and the SDECE. This was not our doing. An investigation has been scheduled. It will begin with your arrest today at noon.

We ask you, in penance for the blunder which has cost us all so dearly, to do the right thing. Destroy this communication and take the only honorable way out for yourself. Otherwise, Georges, you will live out your life as an embarrassment to your country.

A deep chill gripped Michelet as he tossed the note aside. The furnace came on, catching the note in an updraft from the heating register near his feet.

Michelet stared at the register for a moment. He did not feel the heat. He would never feel the heat. That register was an icy crevasse through which his private words had traveled to the wine cellar and out into the world.

  He was not going to be the next De Gaulle. He would not even be allowed to retire from politics and live out his life in peace. Delors and Haussmann, his betrayers, had mocked him by calling suicide the only
honorable
way out. It was the
only
way out.

He picked up the dueling pistol and sat in the overstuffed armchair beneath his father’s portrait. His fury was spent, his frustration gone. His political dreams had evaporated, and he had no others. Devoid of emotion, he cocked the hammer.

He sat there for a long time, pointing the gun at his heart, then at his temple, then putting the barrel in his mouth. He could not bring himself to pull the trigger until hours later, when he saw the government cars arriving outside his gate.

***

Claire brought another bowl of cheese crackers out to the glassed-in patio. Steven had always hated those things, but for some reason he couldn’t stop eating them.

Warner stuck his head through the sliding glass door. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he announced.

Steven counted the days he had known Frank Warner. Friday to Wednesday, less than a week. He wondered what it would be like to know him for a year. Intense, he thought. Not really unpleasant, just intense.

Claire said, “Nicole, how’s your ankle?”

Nicole smiled. “Oh, just fine. The doctor you sent me to was a magician. Look at this tiny cast. In France they would have put me in something the size of a coal bucket.”

Steven leaned over to the stool on which she had propped her ankle, kissed her shin and signed the cast “Baron Richelieu.”

“He was a cardinal, Steven,” Nicole said, laughing. “Don’t Americans know anything?”

“We have a few lacking virtues.” He held up his right arm and touched the bandage. “I wish you could see this. Frank’s doctor friend at the base must have been drunk when he stitched me.”

Claire laughed. “Well, you shouldn’t go around getting yourself cut up.”

Warner strode in, wearing a sweater. The side of his face was still swollen, the bruises still black and blue.

He bent down and kissed Claire and Nicole.

“I have news,” he said. “Most of it good, some bad.”

Nicole smiled at him. Steven could see that she liked him a lot. “What is it, Frank?”

“Airbus is letting carriers who placed orders with them during the crisis cancel if they wish.”

“That’s very civil of them,” Claire said.

“They’re decent people. It’s an ethical company. I would not have expected less. And the boxes from Berlin are here. There was no problem with customs.”

“That’s very good news,” Steven said. “Very good.”

“Indeed it is. And there’s something else you’ll be happy to learn. You are no longer charged with Sophie’s murder or Nicole’s kidnaping. I know you don’t want to miss Sophie’s funeral. It’s being held Friday afternoon in Paris. I have the address written down upstairs.”

Steven shook his head. The idea of Paris without Sophie was unimaginable.

“Nicole,” Warner went on, “there is another service Friday. Your father is being buried after a private ceremony at your home in Fontainebleau. I’m told only the servants, your aunt, uncle and cousins, and a justice of the peace will be present. They want you to come.”

“Then I shall be there,” Nicole said. “Thank you for telling me this so gently, Frank.”

Steven said, “By the way, where are you getting your reams of good information?”

“The Embassy in Paris has decided to be helpful, for a change. I spoke with a fawning little shit named William Fairchild.”

“This can’t make up for what he did.”

“No, it can’t. When I get a chance, I’ll be speaking my mind on the subject to the president.”

Steven said, “I’d like to write your script. Listen, Nicole, while we’re over there, why don’t we buy that poor bastard, Bonier, a new crop duster?”

“That would be very nice.”

“Well, Frank? Are you good for a large advance on the Claussen papers?”

“No, but I’ll see if I can find some discretionary funds in the safety board’s budget. The government will pay for this one. I’ll see to it.”

“Great.”

“What’s the bad news, honey?” Claire asked.

Warner sighed and took a sip of his scotch. “The bad news is that the blockheads on Capitol Hill still don’t want to accept what happened.”

“How is that possible?” Nicole said. “The proof is so clear.”

“This is Washington,” Claire explained. “If it’s obvious, it requires endless debate.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Warner said. “There are powerful interests that have a stake in the money-making and hero-producing aspects of another war with Iraq. We’re on hold but not out of the woods. I’m still searching for a way to put an end to this dangerous nonsense. And now, let’s bring this meeting to a close. I’ve made us dinner reservations at a place I think you’ll like.”

“American?” Nicole said.

Warner winked at her. “American. Can you handle it?”

“Sure, Frank. You two have made an adventuress of me.”

***

Steven drove in the rain to Fontainebleau, still profoundly moved by Sophie’s funeral. He wasn’t her only admirer. It seemed as though half of the important people in the world had been there.

He took the back roads, stopping at the rural crossing where he had driven up on the tracks. A freight thundered past at 100 m.p.h. He really was lucky, he thought. He was alive and he had Nicole. He was also going to write a book that would pay tribute to Sophie’s final coup as a journalist. The only question was when he would get it started.

Henri came out in the circular driveway with an umbrella to meet him. He had expected the ghosts of the conspirators to meet him here, too, but the first memory that came to him was of making love to Nicole in the wine cellar amid the fabulous array of cases and bottles.

This was a good sign. He had vowed never to live in France, not even part time, but he felt himself relenting. “And where are the cousins?” he asked the old man, enunciating clearly.

“Gone home,” Henri said. “They didn’t want to stick around. Come. Nicole is waiting for you inside.”

She was dressed in a long skirt and sweater when she came down the stairs. She was so beautiful all he wanted to do was stand and look at her.

It was hard to believe he had seen her for the first time in July, down on the coast in a fancy restaurant with her father. It seemed like they had known each other forever.

Let them say what they would, he thought, about a guy being able to settle down and find happiness with any number of women. That was a crock. He didn’t know much, but he knew that for sure.

“Hello, Steven” she said. “Come on in the kitchen. Henri and Isabelle are anxious to return to the cottage after that depressing ceremony, but I’ve got a little something to give them first. You must act as my witness.”

“Are you all right?” Steven said. “I mean, did you get upset at the funeral or anything?”

“Upset? About not having a father? Steven, I have never had a father. I cried my heart out for years because I did not have a father. I didn’t lose anything I hadn’t already lost. To answer your question, yes, of course I got upset. It was a funeral.”

He kissed her. “So did I. Sophie was my best friend.”

“I wish I had known her better, Steven. She saved our lives.”

“And got the two of us together.”

“Yes. Come, now, or I’ll start crying again.”

Nicole had covered the butcher block table in the kitchen with a lace cloth and put out four champagne glasses. The dim red coals in the wood-burning stove gave off a dry and fragrant heat.

Henri and Isabelle approached the table, smiling at Steven as if to say they were sorry for Henri’s excesses with his flashlight. Nicole came last, carrying a rare bottle of Moët she’d taken from the refrigerator. She handed it to Steven. He assumed he was supposed to open and pour, so he did.

“Don’t drink,” Nicole said. “I wish to propose a toast first. As you know, the will of my father has been opened and I am heiress to this land. I don’t know exactly where I’m going to be – Paris, Grenoble or the States. I do know I won’t be here. Isabelle, for as long as you live, I wish you to have this property. We’ll have the best lawyers draw up the papers. You can do whatever you wish with it – except sell it. When you pass on, it reverts to me.”

Isabelle had tears in her eyes. “Thank you, dear. That is a lovely gift.”

“What about Henri?” Steven said.

Nicole smiled a charming smile. “There’s one exclusion to Isabelle’s lease. It’s the wine cellar. That belongs to Henri. He
cannot
sell it but he can drink as much of it as he wants. Fair?”