There's Something About St. Tropez (57 page)

The two children were the stars of the show. Everyone in the hotel knew what had happened. Broad smiles were thrown their way and the other children had crowded round wanting to know all about how they'd captured the robbers.

Fresh bottles of champagne were called for. A chilled gazpacho had just been served when Mac heard Bertrand's name being called. He turned to look.

The big blond woman standing at Bertrand's table radiated anger and disapproval.

He saw Bertrand scramble to his feet, fumbling with his glasses, hitching up his shorts, spilling his Coca-Cola.

“Just look at you, boy,” he heard the woman say, angrily. “How dare you go round looking like that, after all the time and money I've spent on you and your education? Get up at once and go pack your things. We'll be leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Billy,” Mac said, “Bertrand's mother is here.”

The yellow dog lumbered to his feet and stood next to Bertrand. Pirate sat, ears perked, alert for trouble, and Tesoro gave her police siren wail.

Laureen jumped down from her chair and went and stood next to her friend. This mother was nothing at all like Cruella De Vil. She was all puffy: puffy eyes, puffy chest and puffy mouth. Laureen didn't see how a skinny rake like Bertrand could ever belong to her. She held tight on to his hand.

Billy was already at their table, followed by Mac. “You planning on taking this boy away, ma'am?” Billy asked, looking tall, wide and very Texan in his ten-gallon hat.

“What's it to you?” The woman eyed him dismissively. “I heard about the danger my son was in and I've come here to protect him, make sure he's all right.”

“A bit late for that, ma'am, isn't it?” Billy moved a step closer. “I wonder if it was because you heard about the reward. The five hundred thousand euros?”

“Of course I heard about it.” Her voice was very high up, cold, snappy, dismissive. “I read the newspaper, don't I? And I intend to make sure that money is properly invested. I'm having the documents drawn up this very minute. We'll see the
notaire
tomorrow to sign them.”

“And no doubt sign over Bertrand's reward to you,” Mac said. He had her number, though it didn't take much, she was so transparent.

“Taking advantage of an eleven-year-old boy,” Billy added. “I think there are enough people round here who care about your son, and are willing to see that does not happen.”

“In fact,
ma'am
,” Mac added, with irony in the way he said the word
ma'am
, as though he couldn't stand even to give her the title, “Monsieur Reynaud, who gave the reward has already made sure the money is in trust in Bertrand's name. He will personally administer that trust and take care of your son's interests.”

They could have sworn he saw the woman's blood boil. Her face purpled unbecomingly next to her bleached platinum hair.

At the other tables, people had stopped eating and were listening intently. They all knew Bertrand's story. They had gossiped about him being dumped by his mother, about the unpaid hotel bill, commented on his shabby appearance, his old-fashioned glasses and the uncut hair. Now Bertrand had become their local hero and there wasn't one of them who would see him done down by this uncaring woman who called herself a mother.

Madame Olivier, or whatever her new Italian married name was, turned a venomous look on Bertrand. “You ungrateful child,” she hissed, smacking her fist so hard on the table plates rattled. Yellow Dog snarled and showed his teeth. “I'll work this out tomorrow. Meanwhile, get your things. We're leaving.”

“I assume you plan on paying the bill before you leave,” Billy said. “It must be quite a fair sum by now.”

“Bertrand's trust can pay for it.” She faced Billy defiantly. “And who the hell are you anyway, taking so much interest in my son.”

“I am not your son.” Bertrand spoke.

There was total silence in the dining room and at the tables in the courtyard. Waiters had stopped serving, the chef and kitchen workers hovered at the open kitchen door and Renée stood guard at the entrance.

“I . . . I am . . . n-n-n-n-n-n-nobody's-s s-son.” Bertrand almost choked on his stammer.

Laureen squeezed his hand hard. “Bertrand is my friend,” she said defiantly.

The woman gave her a contemptuous up and down look. “Another god-damn little freak,” she said.

Billy stepped forward, towering angrily over her. Mac held him back. “You can't win this one in the short term,” he warned. Then he said, “Ma'am, you left your son here alone for almost two months, with no contact from you. In fact you abandoned him, as everyone in this room will attest, in court if necessary. You told your son there was no place for him in your new family. You left the hotel bill unpaid, and mounting up, and you are only back here now to lay claim to your son's hard-earned reward. Let me tell you, Bertrand is a hero, but you have no praise for him. He's clever and you disparage him. He is a boy any man would be proud to claim as his son, and you belittle him.”

“And you can bet my Texan boots he's never going back to you,” Billy snarled.

Furious, Madame Olivier swung round, only to be faced by a roomful of diners, the men on their feet, faces glowering. She swung back again, stared at her son, lifted her hand as though to strike him. Pirate's and the Yellow Dog's hackles rose. She caught Billy's furious eye.

“I'll be back for you tomorrow, Bertrand,” she said. “Have your things packed and be ready to leave by nine
A.M.
”

The men did not move as she pushed past them, but their eyes followed her all the way to the door.

Renée put out a hand to stop her. She handed her a sheaf of papers. “
Madame
. Here is your bill. The hotel would like final settlement right away.” She winked surreptitiously at Billy, who had already paid it, though Madame Olivier did not know that.

The woman glanced at the amounts, then threw Renée an outraged look. “This is way too much, and anyhow I already said Bertrand would pay this from his new trust.”

“I'm afraid Monsieur Reynaud would not allow that.” Renée was firm. “We shall expect full payment tomorrow,
madame
, or we will put it in the hands of the authorities.”

Madame Olivier hesitated, not quite certain what that meant. Nor in fact was Renée, but it sounded intimidating.

Madame Olivier flung back her long blond hair and flounced in her high heels to the door where the bellboys stood guard. The yellow dog followed her and stood at the top of the steps watching as she stalked down them. Satisfied that she was gone, he padded back to Bertrand.

“Listen, kid,” Billy said to Bertrand. “I heard you say that's not your mother. What did you mean by that?”

“She's my mother's sister,” Bertrand said, finally able to speak again. “When my father died, and then my real mother, she took over. She got all my father's money. She told me to call her ‘Mother.' ”

Billy threw a paternal arm around Bertrand's shoulders. “Well then, son, we'll have to see what we can do about that. We'll go speak to Monsieur Reynaud in the morning, see what he can do to help us.”

The other diners turned their attention back to their dinners.

“Better wave your magic wand again, Little Laureen,” Billy said with a big grin. “And let's see if it can make your wishes come true.”

The dogs were scratching again. “Fleas,” he added, resignedly. “All the dogs must have 'em by now.”

 

85.

 

 

Laureen and Bertrand met at the beach at midnight, then walked to his lair. Yellow Dog walked with them, head down, silent. Bertrand wore his cape and the binoculars, and Laureen her tutu, a beach towel and flip-flops. There had been no need to try to avoid the guards, because they had gone. Even Lev was no longer on official duty, and soon he would be gone too. Everyone was sleeping.

The lizards came out to check them, cautious this time because of the dog, who only sniffed warily and settled down to watch. They sat in silence.

“Bertrand?” Laureen said, after a while.

“
Oui?
”

“I'm sorry.” She wanted to say more: how she had hated the way that woman had spoken to Bertrand; how she wished Yellow Dog had attacked her; how glad she was the woman was not his real mother. But there was no need. “Sorry” was enough.

“Thank you.” Bertrand understood.

Silence fell again. The sea swished under the rocks at the foot of the slope, crickets murmured in the background, and with a whir of fast wings a night bird swooped momentarily overhead.

“I like your father,” Bertrand said finally.

“And I know he likes you.” Laureen glanced sideways at him, sitting bolt upright against his rock. He looked different in the new glasses, more grown-up somehow. All at once she didn't want Bertrand to grow up. She wanted everything to stay the same; she and Bertrand, friends, with their nocturnal meetings and their Scientific Experiments on human relations. Or relatives, or
whatever. Soon, though, she would be leaving St. Tropez and her tiny room at the Hôtel des Rêves. She would leave this wonderful place and perhaps never come back. She reached for his hand. She couldn't bear that thought.

“Bertrand?” she said.

“
Oui?
”

“Texas is really nice you know.”

He turned his head to look at her. Dark light glinted from his new glasses. “I know.”

She said surprised, “But
how
do you know?”

“I've seen it on TV many times.”

“Oh. Yeah. Cowboys. Texas is famous, I guess.” He had moved his hand away and she touched it again, this time only with one finger. Then she lay back, arms spread, staring up at the sky. No moon, just a couple of fluffy clouds skidding slowly across the surface. She wondered if the sky ever really had a surface that you could touch. She wondered if her mother was there, behind the clouds, watching over her.

“Will your father really help me?” Bertrand asked after a long silent time.

“Of course. He said he would, didn't he? And Daddy always tells the truth. And the Wizard of Reynaud will help you too. I'm sure of it.”

Bertrand wished he was so sure. All he was certain of was that tomorrow at nine his “mother” would come to get him. He shuddered at the thought, wondering how he could have wished for her return, all those long weeks after she'd disappeared, and before Little Laureen had come into his life.

“You can share my mother,” Laureen said suddenly.

He stared at her, astonished. He didn't like to mention it, but her mother was dead.

Laureen had her hand on the heart necklace. “Don't worry, Bertrand,” she said. “Everything will be all right.”

Next to them, Yellow Dog snored gently. The lizards slid back into the rock crevices. The air smelled of the seaside and grass and rocks still warm from the sun.

Quite suddenly, Bertrand knew it would be all right.

 

86.

 

 

A few days later, life had calmed down again and Sunny had finally achieved her vacation dream of lying on a soft sandy beach in her best new bikini, the apple green one that tied in cheeky little bows low on the hip and under her breasts, though right now she was topless. Which made Mac nervous.

“You've seen me naked before,” she said, lying back, enjoying the guilty pleasure of the sun on her body. Even though she was smothered in sun-screen old habits died hard.

“That's different,” Mac said, eyeing the other couples lazing on the beach. Most of the women, like Sunny, were unself-consciously topless, strolling into the water, taking their children for a walk at the edge of the waves, drying off with blue-striped towels. To Mac, they didn't look quite real, more like women in a Bonnard painting, getting out of the bathtub. Only this was the sea and they were far more beautiful.

“See, it's okay,” Sunny said. “It's just us being one with nature.”