She stopped feeling sorry for herself and studied her make-up.
‘You look magnificent,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘I would like to take you away and make love to you.’
There was a time when that would have affected her, but she had long since decided that Jean-Paul seldom wanted to make love to anyone, although he did it often enough, heaven knows. But it was a good thing to hear when you have just argued with an ex-husband. She smiled at Jean-Paul and he took her hand in his large tanned one and turned it around like a bronze sculpture on a turntable. Then he released it and grabbed at the controls of the car. He wasn’t as good a driver as Maria was, but she preferred to be his passenger rather than drive herself. She lolled back and pretended that Jean-Paul was the capable tanned he-man that he looked. She watched the pedestrians, and intercepted the envious glances. They were a perfect picture of modern Paris: the flashy automobile, Jean-Paul’s relaxed good looks and expensive clothes, her own well-cared-for appearance – for she was as sexy now as she had ever been. She leaned her head close upon Jean-Paul’s shoulder. She could smell his after-shave perfume and the rich animal smell of the leather seats. Jean-Paul changed gear as they roared across the Place de la Concorde. She felt his arm muscles ripple against her cheek.
‘Did you ask him?’ asked Jean-Paul.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t. He wasn’t in the right mood.’
‘He’s never in the right mood, Maria. And he’s never going to be. Loiseau knows what you want to ask him and he precipitates situations so that you never will ask him.’
‘Loiseau isn’t like that,’ said Maria. She had never thought of that. Loiseau was clever and subtle; perhaps it was true.
‘Look,’ said Jean-Paul, ‘during the last year that house on the Avenue Foch has held exhibitions, orgies, with perversions, blue movies and everything, but has never had any trouble from the police. Even when a girl dies there, there is still little or no trouble. Why? Because it has the protection of the French Government. Why does it have protection? Because the activities at the house are filmed and photographed for official dossiers.’
‘I’m not sure you’re right. Datt implies that, but I’m not sure.’
‘Well I am sure,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘I’ll bet you that those films and photos are in the possession of the Ministry of the Interior, Loiseau probably sees every one of them. They probably have a private showing once a week. Loiseau probably saw that film of you and me within twenty-four hours of its being taken.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Maria. A flash of
fear rose inside her, radiating panic like a two-kilowatt electric fire. Jean-Paul’s large cool hand gripped her shoulder. She wished he would grip her harder. She wanted him to hurt her so that her sins would be expiated and erased by the pain. She thought of Loiseau seeing the film in the company of other policemen. Please God it hadn’t happened. Please please God. She thought she had agonized over every aspect of her foolishness, but this was a new and most terrible one.
‘But why would they keep the films?’ Maria asked, although she knew the answer.
‘Datt selects the people who use that house. Datt is a psychiatrist, a genius …’
‘… an evil genius.’
‘Perhaps an evil genius,’ said Jean-Paul objectively. ‘Perhaps an evil genius, but by gathering a select circle of people – people of great influence, of prestige and diplomatic power – Datt can compile remarkable assessments and predictions about their behaviour in everything they do. Many major shifts of French Government policy have been decided by Datt’s insights and analysis of sexual behaviour.’
‘It’s vile,’ said Maria.
‘It’s the world in our time.’
‘It’s France in our time,’ Maria corrected. ‘Foul man.’
‘He’s not foul,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘He is not responsible for what those people do. He doesn’t even encourage them. As far as Datt is concerned his guests could behave with impeccable decorum; he would be just as happy to record and analyse their attitudes.’
‘Voyeur.’
‘He’s not even a voyeur. That’s the odd thing. That’s what makes him of such great importance to the Ministry. And that’s why your ex-husband could do nothing to retrieve that film even if he wished to.’
‘And what about you?’ asked Maria casually.
‘Be reasonable,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘It’s true I do little jobs for Datt but I am not his confidant. I’ve no idea of what happens to the film …’
‘They burn them sometimes,’ Maria remembered. ‘And often they are taken away by the people concerned.’
‘You have never heard of duplicate prints?’
Maria’s hopes sank. ‘Why didn’t you ask for that piece of film of us?’
‘Because you said let them keep it. Let them show it every Friday night, you said.’
‘I was drunk,’ said Maria. ‘It was a joke.’
‘It’s a joke for which we are both paying dearly.’
Maria snorted. ‘You love the idea of people seeing the film. It’s just the image you love to project. The great lover …’ She bit her tongue. She had almost added that the film was his sole documentary proof of heterosexuality, but she closed her eyes. ‘Loiseau could get the film back,’ she said. She was sure, sure, sure that Loiseau hadn’t seen that piece of film, but the memory of the fear remained.
‘Loiseau could get it,’ she said desperately, wanting Jean-Paul to agree on this one, very small point.
‘But he won’t,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘He won’t because I’m involved and your ex-husband hates me with a deep and illogical loathing. The trouble is that I can understand why he does. I’m no good for you, Maria. You would probably have managed the whole thing excellently except that Loiseau is jealous of your relationship with me. Perhaps we should cease to see each other for a few months.’
‘I’m sure we should.’
‘But I couldn’t bear it, Maria.’
‘Why the hell not? We don’t love each other. I am only a suitable companion and you have so many other women you’d never even notice my absence.’ She despised herself even before she’d completed the sentence. Jean-Paul detected her motive immediately, of course, and responded.
‘My darling little Maria.’ He touched her leg lightly and sexlessly. ‘You are different from the others. The others are just stupid little tarts that amuse me as decorations. They are not women. You are the only real woman I know. You are the woman I love, Maria.’
‘Monsieur Datt himself,’ said Maria, ‘he could get the film.’ Jean-Paul pulled into the side of the road and double parked.
‘We’ve played this game long enough, Maria,’ he said.
‘What game?’ asked Maria. Behind them a taxi-driver swore bitterly as he realized
