Black Diamond - Martin Walker [100]
“Where are the presents, and when do you want to give them out?” Bruno asked Mathilde.
“I think Monsieur Pons wants to hand out the presents,” she said crisply. “That’s what he said, and he added very firmly that since he’d paid for them, he was the one to do it.”
“Ah,” said Bruno. “Well, just so long as he doesn’t dress up as Père Nöel to do it. The kids would get awfully confused if they saw two of us.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I’d better go and find out what he’s planning.”
Bill had gotten the CD player to work. Pamela stood close beside him. Bruno could discern the gentle tones of “Silent Night” being drowned by the low roar of children’s voices. Ah well, time for some more Ho, ho, hos, and perhaps a sandwich or two. He headed over to the tables, ruffling the hair on little heads along the way and lifting toddlers for a Christmas kiss until one of them became alarmed and started to bawl. He quickly handed the infant back to a clucking mother and moved on.
“I think these two want a kiss from Père Nöel,” said Florence, pushing her children toward him, their cheeks round with food and their mouths smeared with chocolate.
“Happy Christmas, Dora,” he said, swinging her up. “And you, Daniel,” he said, scooping up the boy with the other arm. He received a smacking kiss from each, and then their mother leaned forward and kissed him on each cheek.
“Merry Christmas to you, Père Nöel, and thanks for everything. You’ve got a bit of chocolate on your beard.” Florence pulled a tiny handkerchief from her sleeve, popped a corner into her mouth to wet it and began to scrub his cheek. He felt himself blushing, convinced that Pamela was watching.
“Ho, ho, ho. Thank you, Florence. I’d better get some food before it all goes.”
He had time to devour a ham-and-cheese sandwich, a madeleine and a galette, and was washing them down with a glass of orange juice when the mayor approached with an urgent look on his face and holding out a mobile phone.
“It’s Nicco from Ste. Alvère,” he said. “There’s been a tragedy and they want you over there.”
Bruno took the phone, but couldn’t hear. He turned away toward the door to the kitchens, fumbling to unhook his beard from his ear as he tried to make out what Nicco was saying.
“It’s Bruno, it’s Bruno,” called out one of the older children as his beard swung down to one side of his face and Nicco’s voice said, “It’s Didier—he’s dead. He shot himself.”
Then the kitchen door swung open and another Father Christmas emerged, flanked by two elves dressed in green and carrying large sacks. Bruno had just begun to register this when Pamela appeared before him, her face tight with anger.
“I’m not going to make a fuss here, but I think you’re a bastard.”
He stared at her in bafflement, and one of the elves brushed against his arm with a sack of presents, knocking the mobile phone from his hand. He bent down to grope for the phone on the floor. People were turning to look at the appearance of the second Father Christmas as Pons strode majestically to the center of the hall.
“I suppose you didn’t know Dominique was doing her Christmas shopping in Bordeaux and saw you and your Isabelle together in your hotel last night,” Pamela snapped as his hand found the phone. “She just told me. Well, good luck with your policewoman. But that’s it for me.”
He had the phone, rose and in one fluid movement took Pamela firmly by the arm and frog-marched her out bodily through the kitchen door before letting her go in front of three very startled old ladies.
“Listen to me,” he said urgently. “I’ve just been told somebody has killed himself, and I have to get to Ste. Alvère.