Topaz - Leon Uris [82]
She came into his arms and was held by him. “May I cry a little?” she said.
“Michele,” he whispered, “Michele ... Michele ... Michele ...”
12
JUSTINE DE VORE WAS OFFERED a seat opposite Colonel Jasmin. Inspector Marcel Steinberger studied her from the sunken leather couch across the room. She had slim ankles and shapely legs, one of them adorned with a tiny gold chain. In her early thirties, Justine de Vore cut the picture of a chic Frenchwoman. She crossed her legs enticingly to see if she had the attention of Colonel Jasmin and Inspector Steinberger. She had.
“Mademoiselle de Vore, please meet Inspector Steinberger, Department of Internal Protection, Sûreté.”
The two nodded to one another.
“We have some questions concerning security matters in your department and solicit your open cooperation,” Jasmin said. “I mean, of course, if you have no objections to answering our questions ...”
“Certainly not,” she answered in the sure voice of a professional woman showing no shred of hesitation.
Marcel Steinberger bounced from his seat, scratched his head and paced. “Mademoiselle de Vore,” he said, “you have worked as the personal secretary of Henri Jarré for how long?”
“Over three years,” she answered.
He took the file on her from Jasmin’s desk, scanned it, and, prompted by the record, began questioning her. Justine de Vore was established as a woman with special qualifications to serve under a top executive. She was from an excellent family of upper-middle-class civil servants in Paris, and had had good schooling, including the Sorbonne. She was independent, well salaried, and her record revealed nothing of an unusual nature.
Inspector Steinberger stopped his pacing suddenly. “Do you like Henri Jarré?” he asked abruptly.
Her unbroken string of answers halted. “What kind of a question is that?”
“Do you like him,” Steinberger repeated, “as a person, as a human being, as someone to work for? Do you find him pleasant, friendly or difficult? Do you like his personal habits?”
She hedged, resorting to professional loyalty. “Monsieur Jarré is my superior. My position is such that I would prefer not to answer such a question.”
“Hmmm,” Steinberger grunted, “hmmm.”
Colonel Jasmin lit his usual fat cigar ever so slowly, sending a billow of smoke over the desk that drifted to the tall ceiling of the château room. “Mademoiselle de Vore,” he said deliberately, “at the beginning I stated it would be desirable if you volunteered the information we seek. If at any point in this questioning you are inclined not to answer, or if for any reason you toy with the idea of giving us an incorrect answer, then I had better advise you of your legal rights and we’ll do all of this another way. Am I clear?”
“You are quite clear,” she whispered.
“Well, what do you intend to do, mademoiselle?”
“I will cooperate, of course,” she said. “I only hoped that it would not be unpleasant or put me in an uncomfortable position, but I’ll cooperate.”
“Do you like Henri Jarré?” Steinberger repeated.
“I despise him,” she said.
“Would you explain?”
“He is a man filled with hatred and bitterness. He knows no pleasantries. His wife ...”
“Yes?”
“He has a very unhappy marriage, he is a very sour individual.”
Marcel Steinberger brought a chair up opposite her, sat on it backward, leaning his chin on the back. “You went away with Jarré on a number of occasions.”
“On NATO business.”
“Always?”
She looked for sympathy to Colonel Jasmin, who offered her none. “No,” she confessed, “not always.”
“On how many occasions did you go off with him when it was not NATO business?”
“A half-dozen, more or less. I’m not certain.”
“To Cannes?”
“Yes.”
“Normandy?”
“Yes.”
“London?”
“That was for a NATO meeting.”
“And all this time you despised him.”
“Yes, I despise him.”
“Why did you go away with him?”
“I live my life as I see it. Monsieur Jarré made it quite clear from the beginning