Paris Weekend by Sergei Kostin

Author:Sergei Kostin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Enigma Books

5.

Bach’s Toccata found me in my usual hunter’s pose, laying in wait for the beast at the open window. The telephone was in the pocket of my jacket, thrown on the bed and, as I went to answer it, I glanced at my Patek Philippe: 12:50 p.m. It couldn’t be the States calling that early. I remembered about Jacques Courtin once again, whom I still hadn’t phoned.

But it was Jessica’s warm and sleepy voice.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, that it’s so early. Oh, it’s already day time for you! I’m still not awake.”

It wasn’t even seven in New York. I got scared.

“What else happened? Something with Bobby?”

“No, no, nothing happened. It’s just that I couldn’t get to sleep for a long time, and now I woke up and I’m feeling uneasy.”

I felt uneasy too. Jessica suffers from depression. In America this is considered a normal, full-fledged disease, like colitis or an ear infection.

“Are you sure nothing happened? What’s Bobby doing, sleeping?”

“At least he hasn’t left his room. He and I talked until late at night.”

“He’s not feeling sick any more?”

“No, he’s not. Now I’ve got it!”

I pictured how Jessica was sitting in bed, with a pillow behind her back—she spends about an hour in this pose every morning, reading manuscripts or making business calls. Wisps of red hair on the light blue pillowcase, a white neck in the opened T-shirt—she has slept in T-shirts since she was a kid—long pianist fingers squeezing the receiver of the wireless telephone, a woman-child’s freckled face with slightly sleep-swollen lips and clear greenish-blue eyes.

“You know, honey, I want to come see you in Paris after all.”

“When?”

“Right now, on the first flight. And I’ll bring Bobby with me. What do you think?”

What do I think? With all I’ve got on my plate—only Libyans, a murdered Steiner and a still living Métèque!

“I would be happy,” I replied, hesitantly, “but I might have finished all my business today.”

Everyone is my witness—this was the honest-to-God truth!

“So? All the better if you wrap it up today. We can spend a few days together in Paris, take Bobby to some museum.”

“Like Disneyland,” I replied testily. Our son didn’t show any particular attraction to the finer things in life.

“You don’t want to? We’d be bothering you?”

Jessica’s voice now sounded hurt. My love, if only you knew!

“No, I would really like for you to come. But I might also be busy all day Sunday.”

This, of course, I completely fabricated. But I had not been prepared at all for such a turn of events!

“On Sunday?”

“I haven’t spoken with Jacques Courtin yet. He has to fly to Guinea tomorrow,” I suddenly remembered that, fortunately. But I had to admit that none of this sounded very convincing.

“We can have lunch with him together. Or do you two have secrets?”

Jacques Courtin organizes safaris in African countries for our agency. This is not the vulgar killing of large animals—I stay away from that on principle. We arrange individual ecological tours. It is the latest trend these days—observing exotic birds through binoculars and recording the sounds of wild nature.

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