Topaz - Leon Uris [113]
Greetings were exchanged. They assembled and knotted at the bottom of the stairs as a special customs officer passed their luggage through and a control man fixed their passports.
“President La Croix will receive you in two hours,” Jacques said.
“Good. I need the time to brief the Ambassador.”
“Then we’ll meet at the Élyéee Palace at ten.”
The cars sped off toward Paris.
“What happy tidings do you bring?” Jacques asked.
“The Americans have full proof of Soviet offensive missiles in Cuba. They’re going to announce a blockade.”
“Oh, my Lord. Are they asking NATO involvement?”
“No, not yet.”
“La Croix has a phobia about being dragged into some mess that isn’t our business.”
“Well, the Americans might have the same to say about the last two world wars ... and being dragged in at Suez.”
“André, as my oldest and dearest friend, don’t go off on a tangent before La Croix. He’s worse than ever on the matter.”
“I never go off on pro-American tangents ... unless it’s in the interest of France.”
A new dazzling white Paris burst before them. André mentioned that Paris was getting to look like Algiers and Casablanca. President La Croix had a mania for cleaning the centuries of dirt and grime from the buildings of Paris. The Parisians did not share this desire for whiteness but nonetheless found themselves sand-blasting and steaming under the threat of heavy fines. As usual, the President had his way.
They crossed to the Left Bank, stopping at André’s apartment at 176 Rue de Rennes, where the ancient hydraulic elevator hoisted them with nauseating slowness.
The chauffeur set down André’s bags and was ordered to wait downstairs.
There was an envelope in clear view.
PAPA!
Jacques Granville told me you were coming! He says it will be impossible to have any time alone for the first several days. There’s a school holiday so I’m remaining in Montrichard with Mother. Call me the instant you have a free moment and I’ll come right up to Paris.
François is coming back early next week. I’m dying for you to meet him. Papa, I’m so glad you’re here. We have so much to talk over.
I love you, I love you.
MICHELE
“Have you met this young man?”
“François Picard? Yes, Michele dragged him over for old Uncle Jacques’ approval.”
“Did he get it?”
“Bright enough. Works for Télévision Nationale, and I believe he does some sort of column in one of the weeklies, but ... well, no family position to speak of, no money.”
“Well, anything is better than Tucker Brown.”
“Who?”
“Michele’s last idiot.”
André lifted his suitcase on the bed and un-snapped it. He was suddenly dead tired and filled with a feeling of void.
“What’s the matter, André?”
“I was hoping somehow ... nothing.”
“Nicole?”
“Yes.”
“She was in Paris awhile, then just disappeared to Montrichard, for some reason.”
2
THE CARS BEARING THE Americans and Granville and Devereaux reached the Élysée Palace at almost the same instant. Imposing Republican guards in uniforms of the Napoleonic era opened the great iron-grille gates and they were passed in. They drove on to the stone courtyard of the edifice of splendor, a final extravagance of Louis XV, purchased as a home for his mistress, Madame de Pompadour.
The President’s ushers, wearing the chain of office, took them quickly past rooms filled with Louis XV objects, over the Aubusson rugs and Gobelin tapestries that rose clear to the thirty-foot ceilings.
The party was assembling in the outer office. André looked across the room to Colonel Gabriel Brune. A tall, thin man with gray eyes. André had always believed until now that the eyes veiled a dull bureaucrat. He walked to Brune and they shook hands coldly.
“How was the trip, Devereaux?”
“Fine.”
After a long wordless stare, André turned and shook hands with a number of his friends. President La Croix’s personal Chief of Staff came out and noted all were present, including a representative from the Sûreté whom André had sent for, then entered the inner office