Topaz - Leon Uris [97]
One day André was walking past the ultraposh Balneario Hotel.
“You there,” a voice called.
He looked up to a balcony, where a heavy-set, middle-aged man stood wearing a magnificent velour smoking jacket.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Are you one of the internees?” he asked, speaking perfect French.
“Yes.”
“By any chance do you or any of your comrades play bridge?”
“Yes, I play.”
“We’re short a hand. Would you mind sitting in?”
“Why not?”
André felt awkward and shabby in the splendor of the Balneario as he found his way to the man’s suite. The stranger introduced himself as Victor Thibaud, a Frenchman whose business interests had been centered in Spain for a decade. André reckoned from the size of the suite and the stones in Monsieur Thibaud’s rings that his business was considerable.
Madame Thibaud, he explained, was at the mud baths a good deal of the time and he was constantly looking for a bridge partner.
A snobbish-appearing but quite lovely girl, perhaps twenty, came into the parlor wearing riding habit.
“My daughter, Nicole.”
She nodded curtly. “I’ll be at the Valdez Ranch, Papa. They are running new bulls. I hear some are magnificent.”
As André’s eyes followed her, Monsieur Thibaud curtly announced his daughter was engaged to a member of an important Spanish banking family.
“Well now, young man. What kind of a game do you play?”
“Fair,” André said, “just fair.”
“We’ll be a team. Try not to lose me too much money.”
That night at El Torito Cafe, hangout of the French prisoners, André spoke excitedly to Jacques.
“It’s a cinch,” he said, “an absolute cinch. My father taught me to play bridge before I could walk. We were district champions five years running. These Spanish idiots here, Thibaud included, don’t know a damn thing about the game.”
“I don’t know,” Jacques said. “My game is really not very good.”
“I’ll teach you everything you need to know, plus a few signals during the bidding.”
“My God, André, these people are filthy rich. They play for a peseta a point. We can’t afford that.”
“Hell, we’ll be playing with their money after the first rubber. We need the money, they don’t. God, I’d like a decent meal. Just to eat meat once more before I die. Come on, let’s take up a collection from the boys so we can have a stake.”
“It’s madness, but you’re the boss.”
The two charming Frenchman then proceeded to fleece the wealthy guests of the Balneario out of enough money for food, half-decent wine, and some clothing for twenty-five comrades at their pension.
Jacques Granville had the additional pleasure of servicing a number of ladies, from chambermaids to some of the wives of the guests.
But, despite Jacques’ urging, André didn’t seem interested in this diversion. He played with one eye on the door, waiting for the haughty Nicole to make an appearance. At first they exchanged a few clipped words, then a softening started in her.
Did she like him or was she merely bored with her parents’ holiday? After all, the hotel was filled with older people. It was not much of a place for a young girl, and there was a romantic air about the ragged Frenchman from the other side of town.
Whatever her reasons, if André showed up early for the bridge game, she would be there. Perhaps they would walk through the garden for a bit. Nicole was a master of flirtation and teasing, and played it to the hilt.
Jacques whistled as he divided the day’s winnings on the table. André sat glumly on the edge of his cot.
“What a piece of ass I had tonight! That bastard of a husband came back an hour earlier than he was expected. I almost got caught. Look, I ripped my damn pants on the rosebushes outside her window.”
“You’re lucky her room wasn’t on the third floor. One of these days you’ll get killed. You know how jealous Spanish husbands are.”
“Bah! Can I draw a few pesetas out of this without going to the committee? I need a new pair of pants. There’s no place left to patch these.”
“Sure, for pants. But you’ve got to stop buying so damn many presents