It was a recorded message, which suited her because she didn’t feel much like talking. She scribbled down a few details as the metallic voice droned on then, finally, she replaced the receiver, glancing down at what she had written.
She would catch the 9.30 flight to Paris in the morning.
Paris
The restaurant in the Place de Wagram was crowded, more so than usual because many had sought shelter inside from the rain which was pelting down. Waiters threaded their way through the maze of tables balancing trays and plates precariously on their arms. A wine glass was dropped and shattered loudly on the wooden floor. Lasalle spun round in his seat, startled by the sound. He saw a waiter picking up the pieces of broken glass while a customer complained loudly.
‘Did you hear me?’
The voice brought Lasalle back to his senses.
‘What did you say?’ he asked, blankly, turning back to face Joubert who was chewing hungrily on a piece of meat.
‘I said, I don’t like the idea of her working with us,’ Joubert repeated.
‘Come now, Alain, when these experiments first began it was agreed that there would be co-operation between the two Institutes. I don’t understand your objections.’
‘The experiments carried out in England have not been as successful as ours,’
Joubert complained.
‘How do you know that?’ Lasalle asked, sipping at his wine.
His companion paused for a moment, swallowing the piece of food he’d been chewing.
‘Because we’d have heard more,’ he said, quickly.
Lasalle looked up and saw a familiar figure making her way back towards the table. He tapped Joubert’s arm and motioned for him to be quiet but the other Frenchman merely muttered something under his breath.
Kelly sat down and smiled across the table at Lasalle. Joubert did not look up from his meal. She picked up her knife and fork and set about her salad once more.
She had arrived in Paris over three hours earlier and, after booking into a hotel, she had taken a taxi to the Metapsychic Centre. Once there she had introduced herself to the Director and asked if she could see Lasalle. The two investigators had been friends for some time and he was happy to allow her to work with him.
The reaction of Joubert could not have been more different. Upon hearing that Kelly was to assist them in their experiments he had barely been able to restrain his anger, managing only by a monumental effort of will to disguise his open dislike of her presence.
She had explained, briefly, what had happened with Maurice Grant and why she had been forced to come to France. Joubert had been unimpressed and, when she had asked to look at the notes which the two men had compiled, he had been openly hostile, guarding the files jealously. She wondered why he should have taken such a dislike to her.
‘If you’d let me know you were coming,’ said Lasalle, ‘I could have made up the bed in my spare room. It would have saved you paying for a hotel.’
‘I’m fine where I am thankyou,’ Kelly assured him, smiling.
“When were you thinking of going back?’ Joubert asked without looking up.
‘Not for a while yet,’ Kelly told him.
‘What exactly do you think you can learn here?’ Joubert continued, still not paying her the courtesy of a glance.
‘It’s not so much a case of learning,’ Kelly began. ‘I …’
He cut her short, his dark eyes finally pinning her in a malevolent stare.
‘Then what do you want here?’ he hissed.
Kelly met his stare, her own anger now boiling up. Who the hell did Joubert think he was anyway? she thought.
‘I told you why I came here,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t carry on working at the
Institute in England, not while the enquiry was being conducted. I thought I might be of some help to you.’
‘Don’t you think we’re capable then?’ he said, challengingly.
‘Are you this rude to everyone or have / been singled out for that honour?’
she said, angrily.
Joubert stopped eating and looked at her warily.
‘Can’t we all just finish our food in peace?’ said Lasalle, looking at his two companions.
Joubert put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
‘I’ve finished anyway,’ he said. ‘It’s about time I went back to the Centre.
There’s a lot to do this afternoon.’ He balled up his napkin and dropped it on to the table, getting to his feet. He looked down at Lasalle. ‘I trust I’ll see you later?’
Lasalle nodded.
‘And no doubt you too, Miss Hunt,’ Joubert added, scornfully. With that he pushed past some people who were waiting for a table and headed for the door.
Lasalle watched him go.
‘I must.apologise for my colleague,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble between the two of you,’ said Kelly. t ‘Joubert is a good man but, sometimes, he lets our work get to him.’
‘I noticed,’ Kelly told him, spearing a piece of tomato with her fork.
‘Speaking of work, have you made much progress?’
‘There is so much to discover,’ said Lasalle. ‘The unconscious mind is a vast area.’ He took a sip of his wine. ‘We did have some success three or four days ago. A subject named Decard. Whilst in a trance he was able to see the future.’
‘Precognition?’ she said, excitedly.
‘But only while hypnotised. When he was brought out of the trance he could remember nothing of what he had seen.’ The Frenchman paused. ‘It was all rather unfortunate. He foretold the death of his own daughter.’
Kelly sat bolt upright, as if she had just been nudged with a cattle prod.
‘I wasn’t told about this,’ she said.
Lasalle frowned.
‘Joubert was supposed to have relayed the information to you.’
‘I heard nothing,’ Kelly assured him.
The Frenchman looked puzzled and a heavy silence descended momentarily.
Kelly wondered if she should mention the murder of Maurice Grant’s family but she decided against it, content to let the thoughts and ideas tumble over inside her head.
‘What I said about you staying with me,’ Lasalle said. ‘I hope you weren’t offended by it.’
Kelly smiled.
‘Of course not,’ she said.
‘I didn’t mean anything by it but, since Madelaine died, the house has seemed … bigger than it used to.’ He smiled humourlessly.
‘I understand,’ Kelly told him. ‘How are you managing on your own?’
‘I get by,’ he’ said, reaching inside his jacket for the bottle of tranquilizers. ‘With a little help.’ He held one of the capsules before him, swallowing it with some water.
Kelly studied his face, noticing how much he had changed since the last time she had seen him. His dark hair was streaked with patches of grey, particularly around his
temples. Deep lines cut swathes across his forehead and around his eyes and his cheeks appeared bloodless. He had lost weight too she suspected. But, for all that his eyes retained a glint of passion and energy which seemed to have deserted the rest of his body.
‘Probably if we had had children then it wouldn’t have been so bad,’ he said.
‘As it is, there is no one else left for me.’ He gazed at his wine glass for a moment longer then seemed to
