time to get to the tennis club at four oclock and change for his minimes class
of five-year-olds.
By now the kids could hold a racquet, and were starting to put together the
handeye coordination that allowed most of them to hit the balls most of the
time. He lined them up at the far end of the court, and with the big wire basket
of balls beside him at the net, he tossed a gentle bounce to each of the kids,
who ran forward in turn to try and hit the ball back towards him. If they were
lucky enough to send the ball his way, he would tap it back gently with his
racquet and the child was entitled to another hit. Two was usually all they
could manage, but in every class there would be one or two who were naturals,
who struck the ball surely, and these were the ones he kept his eye on. But for
the young mothers, who stood watching in the shade of the plane trees, each
child was a future champion, to be cheered on before hitting the ball and
applauded after it. He was used to it, and to their complaints that he was
throwing the ball at their little angel too hard or too high, or too low or too
out of reach. When they became too strident he would suggest it was time for
them to start preparing the milk and cookies that ended each session of the
minimes.
Young Freddie Duhamel, whose father ran the camp site, got the ball back to him
four times and was looking like a natural, and so was Rafiq, one of Ahmeds
sons. The other was a natural rugby player. And Amélie, the daughter of Pascal
the insurance broker, was even able to play a backhand shot. Her father must
have been teaching her. The kids went round ten times. They all counted
carefully, and knew that after three rounds there would be no more balls in the
wire basket and they could scamper around the court to pick them all up and
replace them. Sometimes he thought that was one of the parts they most enjoyed.
The other favourite moment came at the end of the ninth round when, by
tradition, he would declare the session over and they would all shout that Bruno
couldnt count and they had the tenth round to go. Then he could count off each
of his fingers and admit that they were right, and give them each another round.
The final part of the class was what he called the game, knowing the kids were
desperate to play against one another. There were three open courts, so he
stationed four children at one end of each court, each child in its own little
square and responsible for balls that landed in his or her territory. By this
time, he had sent the mothers into the clubhouse to prepare the snack, or they
would have become impossible in their partisanship. He started the game at each
court by hitting a ball high into the air, and the game began when it bounced.
He had just hit the ball to launch the game in the second court when he noticed
that one of the mothers was still watching, but when he turned to look he saw
that it was Christine. He started the game in the third court and then strolled
across to the fence to say bonjour.
That was a wonderful dinner last night, he began, wondering what had brought
her here. She looked dressed for a walk, in strong shoes, loose slacks and a
polo shirt.
That was Pamelas cooking, not me, she said. This is very strange after
seeing you fight the way you did in the square, and now here you are like every
kids favourite uncle. You French police have a remarkable range of skills. I
didnt know that tennis lessons were part of your duties as a country
policeman.
It isnt exactly a duty, more a tradition, and I enjoy it. It also means I get
to know every kid in the town long before they start getting to be teenagers and
ripe for trouble, so that counts as crime prevention. And while we talk of
crime, that thesis you found for me was very useful indeed. It was exactly what
I needed to track down the missing photo.
Good, Im pleased. Look, I didnt mean to interrupt. I didnt know you would be
here, and I think your children need you.
He had already turned, alerted by the sound of infant howls from the second
court where a ball had bounced on the centre line and two children each claimed
it. He sorted that out, and then saw a similar tussle looming on the third court
so he went and stood silently by the net to make sure they stayed calm. From the
corner of his eye he saw Christine still hovering on the far side of the fence.
He looked at his watch and held up a finger; one moment.
At five p.m. he blew his whistle and the children collected the balls and ran
into the clubhouse for their snack.
Sorry, he said to Christine. I have to go and join them soon.
Thats fine. I was just passing by and saw the courts and thought Id take a
look. I didnt know youd be here, but since you are, is there anything specific
youd like me to look up in Bordeaux? Im going there for a couple of days on
Thursday, to that Centre Jean Moulin I told you about, you remember? Resistance
research.
He nodded. Let me think about it and get back to you tomorrow. I dont really
know what Im looking for. More information on Hamid, I suppose, and which group
he was with before he joined the Army down near Toulon in 1944. If I get the
rest of the names of his team, maybe we could see if any of them crop up. And
then theres this Giulio Villanova.
I think I know what to look for. I read the thesis. Youd better go to your
children. Youre very good with them; youd make quite a father. She blew him a
kiss and sauntered off slowly towards the road that led to the cave, now and
then bending to pick a wild flower. He watched her for a moment, enjoying the
swing of her hips. She turned and saw him, and waved. Twice she had used the
phrase your children and Bruno did not think it was accidental from a woman
with no children herself. He waved back and went into the clubhouse to be
greeted by the usual bedlam of a score of five-year-olds and as many mothers.
The latter eyed him gleefully, giggling like a pack of schoolgirls as they
rolled their eyes and asked about his new lady friend.
CHAPTER
22
In the low light of the hotel lobby, Isabelle looked striking and almost
mannish. Her hair, evidently still wet from her shower, was slicked back from
her brow, and she was dressed entirely in black. Flat black shoes, black slacks
and blouse and a black leather jacket slung over one shoulder, all set off by a
bold crimson suede belt at her waist.
You look lovely, he said, kissing her cheeks. She had on the merest hint of
eye make-up, lipstick to match her sash, and no perfume but the fresh scent of
her shampoo. He led her to his van, which he had cleaned out specially, at least
the front seat. As he showed her in, Gigi looked up from sniffing at the large
cool box that was strapped on top of the spare wheel. He put his head over the
front seat and licked Isabelles ear. Bruno set off over the bridge.
This isnt the way to your place, she said. Where are you taking me?
Its a surprise picnic, he said. A place you probably do not know, but you
should. And its a pretty drive. He had thought carefully about this dinner and
toyed with the idea of taking her home, but decided on balance against it. They
had been together frequently enough and clearly liked one another so there was
going to be sexual tension in their evening anyway. It would be all the more
loaded if they were on his territory, his bedroom just a few steps away.