Pierre stared at the lovely face smiling at him. After spending the last few hours wondering what she would look like he was astonished to find she was just as he had imagined she would be. Blonde, blue eyed and beautiful.
So", she said " What has happened?"
Pierre didn't know what to say to her direct enquiry so he repeated the line of words he had committed to memory ." Keep your coat buttoned; it's cold tonight."
Her eyes widened for a moment before she turned away, and Pierre realized she was in tears. He reached out and caught her fingers in his and they curled into his palm like a child's seeking comfort.

Her cheeks had paled but she held herself together, taking another sip from her glass.
"We must keep ourselves ready for such- - - events," she said with a quaver in her voice ,"but it is always such a - -shock .Especially with one such as he".

A tear trickled down her cheek as she spoke, and Pierre was glad that she was faced away from the room to spare her any embarrassment.

His chivalrous instincts were well and truly aroused by now as he held out an immaculate white, monogrammed handkerchief from his own pocket.
She took it with a murmur of thanks and dabbed at her eyes.

"Now I am a mess . Non?" she asked, attempting a watery smile.
"Non!" he insisted, his hand still entwined with hers.
He stopped himself from launching into voluble French compliments, wondering where the impulse had come from.

Instead he returned to the final words Alphonse had spoken.
"Alphonse's last thoughts were of you. He was very concerned for your safety. He was most concerned that you are in danger and he pleaded with me to seek you out. To warn you ---"
"Me?" she exclaimed, "It isn't I who needs protection Mon ami, but you!"

Pierre was confused. He felt as though someone had pulled the rug from beneath his feet and he was spinning in a helpless tumble towards the floor.

The main reason he had avoided becoming involved with Alphonse and his odd bunch of cronies was this kind of situation. It was complete anathema to his quiet, orderly mind.

"I am in danger?," he repeated "How can that be? From whom? Why?"
Inge removed her fingers from Pierre's grasp and sat back in her chair.
Her self- control had returned and she was once more in command of herself.
She studied him for a moment before she went on.

"I think, " she said "we should leave here and go to the house down the Rue de la Roi."
Pierre's heart sank. A bordello? A Maison de la femmes ? Surely not!
Inge smiled mischievously at his expression of concern.
"Come Pierre, I have been there many times before. It is not quite as you think. You will meet many friends you didn't know you had.
They all wish to meet you. Let's not disappoint them."
Pierre helped Inge into her coat and then donned his own. With a nod to the Maitre de they left the Boulevard Cafe and went out into the night.

They didn't speak as they walked across the cobbled surface and down the Rue de la Roi towards a large house with roses growing profusely along the path to the front door.
They went down the passage past several beautifully appointed boudoirs.
From some came the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses, while from one came the sweet sound of a mandolin and a woman singing a love song.

They emerged into a large, open room with windows open to the evening air.
They found somewhere to sit as their coats were removed and swept away to the cloakroom.
Other people were present, sitting at small tables or standing in small groups.
They ordered drinks as Inge went on with her conversation.
"Alphonse never told you just what his interest in your poetry translations was, did he?" Pierre shook his head,

"Alphonse was the head of a secret division of cryptographers hidden deep in the ranks of the UN.
He took the position right from the end of University days and was by far the most talented and skillful of all the men who had headed this branch for years."

Pierre smiled, recalling the weeks he had spent as a youth teaching Alphonse the intricacies of the English language.
Inge had stopped speaking and Pierre turned to her.

"When did Alphonse begin to use my -that is- the poetry books for his work.?"
" It was some years ago. He was about to transcribe a message from the Kremlin when he noticed a similarity in the placement of words in a little book of translated Laotian poetry he had received from you that very day.'

Pierre recalled the small volume she spoke of.
It had been his first foray into translating ancient poetry from the old language into the new speech of the modern day. He had called it " Laotian Shadows" and was amazed when it sold out within hours with every store clamoring for more.
A subsequent edition had the same effect, so he started work on another publication slightly larger than the first .

He made it of Cambodian poetry intermingled with a few folk tales, illustrated with the original sketches nearly 800 years old.
It too was a smash hit, with the Cambodian Embassy inviting Pierre to a delightful soiree at the Art Gallery.
Alphonse had been there too, as noisy as ever, but he had at least
acknowledged Pierre's skill as an interpreter and translator.

The lovely woman Alphonse had escorted was of oriental ethnicity and she had shyly asked Pierre to autograph her copy of "Echoes of Cambodia".
He had done so and returned the slim volume to the gracefully bowing woman with an embarrassed smile and a hurried excuse to extricate himself.

Inge's quiet voice broke in on Pierre's reverie as she said,
"If you had been discovered as the author of the codes Alphonse used so successfully for so long, your life would have been in danger."
Pierre felt a chill run down his spine as the import of her words struck him like a wave of icy water.
Minutes ago that he was imagining it was someone else, a woman, whose life was threatened.
It had been his life all along.
All of Alphonse's erratic behaviour fell into clear perspective as Pierre saw, for the first time his friend's unceasing efforts to keep him safe from the death he ultimately suffered.
It might have been Pierre St Cloud who died in an out of the way corner, not Alphonse Louis Lombard!

"If they had found you they would have kidnapped you first, possibly to attempt to turn you to their way of thinking.
It wouldn't have been pleasant and probably not the worst thing you would suffer.
It would end in only one way. With a bullet between the eyes."
He felt his stomach churn at the idea of suddenly being "liquidated" and sat very still as his head slowly stopped spinning.


to be continued