“Yes, to help, to persuade the man not to.”
“But I scarcely know him.”
“He has a great respect for you.”
“For me? What nonsense.” I looked at him sharply. “What do you mean,
Philibert?”
His pale blue eyes turned from mine to the Sunday pageant of the Champs
Elysées.
“He wants a place in the Government. He would be greatly influenced by
political considerations, a prospect of success. Your friend Ludovic
could do something there.”
“You mean that you want me to ask Ludovic to ask the Premier to give
your brother-in-law a place in the Cabinet on condition he doesn’t
bring divorce proceedings?”
“It needn’t be a big place, you know. An under-secretaryship would do.”
The car drew up, came to a stop. “You’d better talk to Blaise about it
before you decide to leave Claire in the lurch.”
But you showed a curious reluctance to discuss the question and
referred me to Clémentine. I found her in the disused stables behind
her house where she had fitted up a studio. She was in a linen overall,
her arms smeared with clay, a patch of it on the tip of her tilted
nose, her hair screwed untidily on top of her ugly attractive head.
She pointed out a clean spot on a packing case and after lighting a
cigarette I sat down there.
“I’ve come about Claire.”
“I know.” Her face twinkled. She gave a laugh and taking up a handful
of wet clay slapped it on the side of the gargoylish head that she was
modelling.
“Why won’t Blaise talk to me about it?”
“He doesn’t like their using you in the matter. He has delicacies of
feeling.”
“I don’t quite see. He adores his sister.”
“Of course.”
“And is very unhappy about her, as they all are.”
“Naturally.”