“Fair enough. Jacques-Louis Bertholdier.”
Mattilon arched his brows in mock astonishment,less in mockery than in astonishment. “The emperorhas all his clothes,” said the Frenchman, laughingquietly. “Regardless of who claims otherwise. Youstart at the top of the line, as they say in New York.No conflict, mon ami; he’s not in our league asyou also say.”
“Why not?”
“He moves with saints and warriors. Warriorswho would be saints, and saints who would bewarriors. Who has time for such facades?’
“You mean he’s not taken seriously?”
“Oh, no, he is. Very seriously, by those who havethe time and the inclination to move abstractmountains. He is a pillar Joel, grounded in heroicmarble and himself immovable. He is the De Gaullewho never followed the original, and some say it isa pity.”
“What do you say?”
Mattilon frowned, then cocked his head in aGallic shrug. “I’m not sure. God knows the countryneeded someone, and perhaps Bertholdier couldhave stepped in and steered a far better course thanthe one we embarked upon, but the times were notright. The Elysee had become an imperial court, andthe people were tired of royal edicts, imperialsermons. Well, we don’t have those any longer;they’ve been supplanted by the dull, grey banalitiesof the workers’ credo. Perhaps it is a pity, althoughhe could skill do it, I imagine. He began his climb upOlympus when he was very young.”
“Wasn’t he part of the OAS? Salan’s rebels inAlgeria? They were discredited, called a nationaldisgrace.”
“That is a judgment even the intellectuals mustreluctantly admit could be subject to revision. Theway all of North Africa and the Middle East hasgone, a French Algeria could be a trump cardtoday.” Mattilon paused and brought his hand to hischin, his frown returning. “Why on earth wouldTalbot, Brooks and Simon walk away fromBertholdier? He may be a monarchist at heart, butGod knows he’s honor personified. He’s regal,perhaps even pompous, but a very acceptable clientfor all of that.’
“We’ve heard things,” said Converse quietly,shrugging now himself, as if to lessen the credibilityof hearsay evidence.
“Mon Dieu, not his women?” exclaimed Mattilon,laughing. “Come now, when will you grow up?”
“Not women.”
“What then?”
"Let’s say some of his associates, his acquaintances.’,
“I hope you make the distinction, Joel. A manlike Bertholdier can choose his associates certainly,but not his acquaintances. He walks into a room andeveryone wants to be his friend most claim he is afriend.”
" That’s what we want to find out. I want tobring up some names, see whether they areassociates or unremembered acquaintances.”
“Bien. Now you’re making sense. I can help, Iwill help We shall have lunch at L’Etalon Blanctomorrow and the next day. It is the middle of theweek and Bertholdier will no doubt choose one orthe other to dine there. If not, there’s always theday after.”
“I thought you couldn’t in the door?”
“Not by myself, no. But I know someone whocan, and he will be most obliging, I can assure you.”
“Why?”
“He wishes to talk with me whenever andwherever he can. He’s a dreadful bore and,unfortunately, speaks very little English numbersmainly, and words like “In and out,’ or ”Over andout,’ and “Dodger-Roger’ or ”Roger-Dodger’ and“runway six’ or ”Lift off five’ and all manner ofincomprehensible phrases.”
“A pilot?”
“He flew the first Mirages, brilliantly, I mightadd, and never lets anyone forget it. I shall have tobe the interpreter between you, which at leasteliminates my having to initiate conversation. Doyou know anything about the Mirage?”
“A jet’s a jet,” said Joel. “Pull and sweep out,what else is there?”
“Yes, he’s used that one, too. Pull and sweepsomething. I thought he was cleaning a kitchen.”
“Why does he always want to talk with you? Igather he’s a member of the club.”
“Very much so. We’re representing him in afutile case against an aircraft manufacturer. He hadhis own private jet and lost his left foot in one ofyour crash landings “
" Not mine, pal.”
“The door was jammed. He couldn’tground"ject where he wished to, when the plane’sspeed was sufficiently reduced for him to avoid afinal collision.”
“He didn’t slap the right buttons.”
“He says he did.”
“There are at least two backups, including aninstant manual, even on your equipment.”
“We’ve been made aware of that. It’s not themoney, you understand; he’s enormously wealthy.It’s his pride. To lose
brings into question his current or if you will, lat-ter-day skills.”
“They’ll be a lot more in question undercross-examination. I assume you’ve told him that.”
“Very gently. It’s what we’re leading up to.”
“But in the meantime every conference is a heftyfee.”
“We’re also saving him from himself. If we did itswiftly or too crudely, he’d simply dismiss us and bedriven to someone far less principled. Who elsewould take such a case? The government owns theplant now, and God knows it won’t pay.”
“Good point. What’ll you tell him about me?About the club?”
Mattilon smiled. “That as a former pilot and anattorney you can bring an expertise to his suit thatmight be helpful. As to L’Etalon Blanc, I shallsuggest it, tell him you’d be impressed. I shalldescribe you as something of an Attila the Hun ofthe skies. How does that appeal to you?”
“With very little impact.”
“Can you carry it off?” asked the Frenchman. Thequestion was sincere. “It would be one way to meetBertholdier. My client and he are not simplyacquaintances, they are friends.”
“I’ll carry it off.”
“Your having been a prisoner of war will be mosthelpful. If you see Bertholdier enter, and express adesire to meet him, such requests are not lightlyrefused former POW’s.”
“I wouldn’t press that too hard,” said Converse.
“Why not?”
“A little digging could turn up a rock that doesn’tbelong in the soil.”
“Oh?” Mattilon’s brows arched again, neither inmockery nor in astonishment, simply surprise.“"Digging,’ as you use it, implies something morethan a spontaneous meeting with odd namesspontaneously thrown about.”
“Does it?” Joel revolved his glass, annoyed withhimself, knowing that any argument would onlyenlarge the lapse. “Sorry, it was an instinctivereaction. You know how I feel about that topic.”
“Yes, I do, and I forgot. How careless of me. Iapologise.”
“Actually, I’d just as soon not use my own name.Do you mind?”
“You’re the missionary, not I. What shall we callyou?” The Frenchman was now looking hard atConverse.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Mattilon squinted. “How about the name of youremployer, Simon? If you meet Bertholdier, it mightappeal to him. Lieuc de Saint-Simon was the purestchronicler of the monarchy…. Henry Simon. Theremust be ten thousand lawyers named Henry Simonin the States.”
“Simon it is.”
“You’ve told me everything, my friend?” askedRene, his eyes noncommittal. “Everything you careto.”
“Yes, I have,” said Joel, his own eyes ablue-white walk “Let’s have another drink.”
“I think not. It’s late and my current wife hasmalaise if her dinner is cold. She’s an excellentcook, incidentally.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
“Yes, I am.” Mattilon finished his drink, placedthe glass on the table and spoke casually. “So wasValerie. I shall never forget that fantastic canard "I’orange she fixed for us three or four years ago inNew York. Do you ever hear from her?”
“Hear and see,” answered Converse. “I had lunchwith her in Boston last month. I gave her thealimony check and she picked up the tab. By theway, her paintings are beginning to sell.”
“She did.”
“Unnecessarily…. I always liked Val. If you seeher again, please give her my affectionate best.”
“I wit.
Mattilon rose from the upholstered chair, hiseyes no longer noncommittal. “Forgive me, Ithought so often you were such a matched pair, Ibelieve is the expression. The passions dwindle, ofcourse, but not the de suite, if you know what Imean.”
“I think I do, and speaking for both of us, Ithank you_for the misplaced concretion.”"
"ye ne comprends pas. “
“Forget it, it’s antiquated doesn’t meananything. I’ll give her your affectionate best.”
“Merci. I’ll phone you in the morning.”
L’Etalon Blanc was a pacifist’s nightmare. Theclub’s heavy dark wood walls were covered withphotographs and
prints, interspersed with framed citations andglistening medals red ribbons and gold and silverdisks cushioned on black velvet. The prints were avisual record of heroic carnage going back twocenturies, while the evolution in warfare was shownin photographs as the horses and caissons and sabersbecame motorcycles, tanks, planes and guns, but thescenes were not all that different because the themewas constant. Victorious men in uniform weredepicted in moments of glory, whatever sufferingthere might have been was strangely absent. Thesemen did not lose no missing limbs or shatteredfaces here; these were the privileged warriors. Joelfelt a profound fear as he studied the martial array.These were not ordinary men; they were hard andstrong and the word "capability’ was written acrosstheir faces. What had Beale said on Mykonos? Whathad been the judgment of the Red Fox of Inchon, aman who knew whereof he spoke?
. . . I know what they can do when we ask them todo it Yet how much more could they do if they askedit of themselves? wondered Joel. Without theimpediments of vacillating civilian authorities?
"Luboque has just arrived,” said Mattilon quietly,coming up behind Converse. “I heard his voice in thelobby. Remember, you don’t have to overdo it I’lltranslate what I think is appropriate, anyway butnod profoundly when he makes one of his angryremarks. Also laugh when he tells jokes; they’redreadful, but he likes it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
"I’II give you an incentive. Bertholdier has areservation for lunch. At his usual place, tableeleven, by the window.”
“Where are we?” asked Joel, seeing theFrenchman’s pressed lips expressing minor triumph.
“Table twelve. Now.”
“If I ever need a lawyer, I’ll call you.”
“We’re terribly expensive. Come now, as they sayin all those wonderful films of yours, "You’re on,Monsieur Simon.’ Play the role of Attila but don’toverplay it.”
“You know, Rene, for someone who speaksEnglish as well as you do, you gravitate to the tritestphrases.”
“The English language and American phraseshave very little in common, Joel, trite or otherwise.”
“Smart ass.”
“Need I say more? . . . Ahh, Monsieur Luboque,Serge, mon amil”
Mattilon’s third eye had spotted the entrance ofSerge Luboque; he turned around as the thumpingbecame louder on the floor. Luboque was a short,slender man; his physique made one think of thosejet pilots of the early period when compactness wasa requirement. He was also very close to being acaricature of himself. His short, waxed moustachewas affixed to a miniaturised face that was pinchedin an expression of vaguely hostile dismissal directedat both no one and everyone. Whatever he hadbeen before, Laboque was now a poseur who knewonly how to posture. With all that was brilliant andexciting buried in the past, he had only the memo-ries, the rest was anger.
“Et relief l "expert f udiefaire den Tom pannieraerJennes, -he said, looking at Converse andextending his hand.
" Serge is delighted to meet you and is sure youcan help us,” explained Mattilon.
"4I’II do what I can,” said Converse. “Andapologize for my not speaking French.”
The lawyer obviously did so, and Luboqueshrugged, speaking rapidly, incomprehensibly; theword anglais repeated several times.
“He, too, apologizes for not speaking English,”said Mattilon, glancing at Joel, mischievousness inhis look, as he added, “If he’s Iying, MonsieurSimon, we may both be placed against thesedecorated walls and shot.”
“No way,” said Converse, smiling. “Ourexecutioners might dent the medals and blow up thepictures. Everybody knows you’re lousy shots.”
“Qutest-ce que vous cites?”
“Monsieur Simon tient a was mmercier pour ledejeuner, ” said Mattilon, turning to his client. n enest. tresf error il estime que l’o,"icier fran,cais eat l’unties meilleurs du monde. “
“What did you say?”
“I explained,” said the lawyer, turning again,“that you were honored to be here, as you believethe French military especially the officer corps tobe the finest on earth.”
“Not only lousy shots but rotten pilots,” saidJoel, smiling and nodding.
“Est-il oral que was aver participe " nombKusesmissions en Asie d u Sud?” asked Lubeque, his eyesfixed on Joel.
“I beg your pardon?”
"He wants it confirmed that you are really anAttila of the skies, that you flew many missions.”
“Quite a few,” answered Joel.
“Beaucoup,” said Mattilon.
Luboque again spoke rapidly, even moreincomprehensibly, as he snapped his fingers for asteward.
“What now?”
“He’d rather tell you about his exploits in theinterests of the case, of course.”
“Of course,” said Converse, his smile now fixed.“Lousy shots, rotten pilots and insufferable egos.”
“Ah, but our food, our women, our incomparableunderstanding of life.”
“There’s a very explicit word in French one ofthe few I learned from my ex-wife but I don’t thinkI should use it.” Joel’s smile was now cemented tohis lips.
“That’s right, I forgot,” said Mattilon. “She and Iwould converse in notre belle lanque; it used toirritate you so Don’t use it. Remember yourincentive.”
“Qu’est-ce que was cites encore? Notre bellelanqueP” Luboque spoke as a steward stood by hisside.
“Notre ami, Monsieur Simon, suit an sours "I’ecole Berlitz et pourra ainsi s’entretenir directementaver vous. “
“Bien!”
“WhatP”
“I told him you would learn the Berlitz French soyou could dine with him whenever you flew intoParis. You’re to ring him up. Nod, smart ass.”
Converse nodded.
And so it went. Point, noncounterpoint, nonsequitur. Serge Luboque held forth during drinks inthe warriors” playroom, Mattilon translating andadvising Joel as to the expression to wear on his faceas well as suggesting an appropriate reply.
Fmally Luboque stridently described the crashthat had cost him his left foot and the obviousequipment failures for which he should becompensated. Converse looked properly pained andindignant, and offered to write a legal opinion forthe court based on his expertise as a pilot of jetaircraft. Mattilon translated; Luboque beamed andrattled off a barrage of gargled vowels that Joel tookfor thanks.
“He’s forever in your debt,” said Rene.
“Not if I write that opinion,” replied Converse.“He locked himself in the cockpit and threw awaythe key.”
"Write it,” countered Mattilon, smiling. “You’vejust paid for my time. We’ll use it as a wedge toopen the door of retreat. Also, he’ll never ask youto dinner when you’re in Paris.”
“When’s lunch? I’m running out of expressions.”
They marched in hesitant lockstep into thedining room, matching Luboque’s gait as hethumped along on the hard, ornate parquet floor.The ridiculous three-sided conversation continued aswine was proffered a bottle was sent back byLuboque and Converse’s eyes kept straying to thedining room’s entrance.
The moment came: Bertholdier arrived. Hestood in the open archway, his head turned slightlyt
o his left as another man in a light-browngabardine topcoat spoke without expression. Thegeneral nodded his head and the subordinate re-treated. Then the great man walked into the roomquietly but imperially. Heads turned and the manacknowledged the homage as a dauphin who willsoon be king accepts the attentions of the ministersof a failing monarch. The effect was extraordinary,for there were no kingdoms, no monarchies, nolands to be divided through conquest to the knightsof Crecy or anybody else, but this man of no royallineage was tacitly being recognized goddamn it,thought Joel as an emperor in his own right.
Jacques-Louis Bertholdier was of mediumheight, between five nine and five eleven, certainlyno more, but his bearing the sheer straight shaft ofhis posture, the breadth of his shoulders and thelength of his strong slender neck made him appearmuch taller, much more imposing than anothermight. He was among his own, and here, indeed, hewas above the others, elevated by their ownconsensus.
“Say something reverential,” said Mattilon, asBertholdier approached, heading for the table nextto theirs. “Glance up at him and look tastefullyawed. I’ll do the rest.”
Converse did as he was told, utteringBertholdier’s full name under his breath, but loudenough to be heard. He followed this quietexclamation by leaning toward Mattilon and saying,“He’s a man I’ve always wanted to meet.”
There followed a brief exchange in Frenchbetween Rene and his client, whereupon Luboquenodded, his expres
sion that of an arrogant man willing to dispense afavor to a new friend.
Bertholdier reached his chair, the maitre d’ andthe dining room captain hovering on either side. Thepavane took place less than four feet away.
“Mon general,” said Luboque, rising.
“Serge,” replied Bertholdier, stepping forward,hand extended a superior officer aware of a worthysubordinate’s disability. “Comment pa van”
“Bien, Jacques. Et was?”
“Les temps vent bier etranges, mon amt.”
The greetings were brief, and the direction of theconversabon was changed quickly by Luboque, whogestured at Converse as he continued speaking.InsUnchvely Joel got to his feet, posture straight, hiseyes level, unblinking, staring at Bertholdier, his lookas piercing as the general’s professional but withoutawe. He had been right in an unexpected way. Theshared Southeast Asian experience had validity forJacques-Louis Bertholdier. And why not? He, too,had his memories. Mathlon was introduced aknost asan afterthought, and the soldier gave a brief nod ashe crossed behind Rene to shake hands with Joel.
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 10
