A Matter of Honor

“Bonsoir,” he said lightly to the guards as the car moved forward; he was only a yard from the road. “Walk,” he told himself, “don’t run. Walk, walk until you are out of their sight.” They saluted deferentially. “Don’t look back.” Another car followed him out, but he kept his eyes firmly to the front.

“Tu cherches une femme?” a voice repeated from the shadows of a recessed doorway. Adam had ended up in a badly lit one-way street. Several men of indeterminate age seemed to be walking aimlessly up and down the curbside. He eyed them with suspicion as he moved on through the darkness.

“Wha—?” said Adam, stepping sharply into the road, his senses heightened by the unexpected sound.

“From Britain, eh? Do you search for a girt?” The voice held an unmistakable French accent.

“You speak English,” said Adam, still unable to see the woman clearly.

“You have to know a lot of languages in my profession, chéri, or you’d starve.”

Adam tried to think coherently. “How much for the night?”

“Eh bien, but it’s not yet midnight,” said the girl. “So I would have to charge two hundred francs.”

Although he had no money, Adam hoped the girl might at least lead him to safety.

“Two hundred is fine.”

“D’accord,” said the girl, at last stepping out of the shadows. Adam was surprised by how attractive she turned out to be. “Take my arm and if you pass a gendarme say only, ‘Ma femme.’”

Adam stumbled forward.

“Ah, I think you drink too much, chéri. Never mind, you can lean on me, yes.”

“No, I’m just tired,” said Adam, trying hard to keep up with her pace.

“You have been to party at embassy, n’est-ce pas?”

Adam was startled.

“Don’t be surprised, chéri. I find most of my regulars from the embassies. They can’t risk to be involved in casual affairs, tu comprends?”

“I believe you,” said Adam.

“My apartment is just round the corner,” she assured him. Adam was confident he could get that far, but he took a deep breath when they arrived at a block of flats and first saw the steps. He just managed to reach the front door.

“I live on the top of the house, chéri. Very nice view,” she said matter-of-factly, “but I’m afraid no—how do you say—lift.”

Adam said nothing, but leaned against the outside wall, breathing deeply.

“You are Fatigué,” she said. By the time they had reached the second floor she almost had to drag Adam up the last few steps.

“I don’t see you getting it up tonight, chéri,” she said, opening her front door and turning on the light. “Still, it’s your party.” She strode in, turning on other lights as she went.

Adam staggered across the floor toward the only chair in sight and collapsed into it. The girl had by this time disappeared into another room, and he had to make a supreme effort not to fall asleep before she returned.

As she stood in the light of the doorway, Adam was able to see her properly for the first time. Her blonde hair was short and curly, and she wore a red blouse and a knee-length skin-tight black skirt. A wide white plastic belt emphasized her small waist. She wore black mesh stockings, and what he could see of her legs would have normally aroused him had he been in any other condition.

She walked over to Adam with a slight swing of the hips and knelt down in front of him. Her eyes were a surprisingly luminous green.

“Would you please to give me the two hundred now?” she asked, without harshness. She ran her hand along his thigh.

“I don’t have any money,” said Adam quite simply.

“What?” she said, sounding angry for the first time. Placing her hand in his inside pocket she removed a wallet and asked, “Then what’s this? I don’t play the games,” she said, handing the thick wallet over to Adam. He opened the flap to find it was jammed full of French francs and a few English pounds. Adam concluded that the colonel was obviously paid in cash for his services.

Adam extracted two one-hundred-franc notes and dutifully handed them over. “That’s better,” she said, and disappeared into the other room.