The Body in the Vestibule

a beret before they left, even though they were not so universally worn anymore. He'd look wonderful wearing it with his vestments.

Solange d'Ambert came over to Faith. She was wearing white linen Bermuda shorts and a gauzy chocolate brown blouse that complimented the tan she still had from le ski. She smelled of Hermes and smoke.

“You must think we are terrible. No one is looking at the paintings, but a vernissage is really a social event and to show support for Valentina. She has been incredible to make such a success of this place.'

“This is exactly like a New York opening,' Faith assured her. 'Everyone comes back later to look at the paintings instead of the people. I certainly want to come back to see these again, especially the ones in this room.'

“Ah, Truphemus. You have very good taste, I think. He is one of our best and most famous painters. He paints us just as we are.”

The painting Faith was standing in front of was the interior of a cafe, one lone patron seated at a table by the window, gazing out to vague suggestions of the street and buildings beyond. Looking at the painting was like looking through layers of netting; the colors were muted and outlines blurred, but the powerful image of loneliness was not obscured.

Valentina Joliet joined them and linked her arm through Faith's. 'My favorite painting in the show and, as you see, already sold. Let me show you his others. He is not here tonight, but if you like, you can meet him another time, here or at his studio.”

Faith allowed herself to be steered and listened to Valentina's subtle sales pitch, which flowed effortlessly and sounded unrehearsed despite, Faith was sure, its constant repetition. All the while, Valentina's dark eyes darted about the room, canvassing the crowd, and seemed to take in even those behind her.

When they entered the next room, Faith noticed some other people who also seemed to be interested in the paintings. They were studying the works of art with care and making only an occasional comment to one another. They were teenagers and tres serieux. Christophe d'Ambert was one, and he broke away from his friends to come over to greet them.

“Bonsoir, Madame Fairsheeld, it is an excellent show, no?' He leaned forward and swept his lips over both sides of her face, then repeated the gesture with Valentina. 'You are to be congratulated, Madame Joliet. May I introduce my friends?'

“Of course. I'm glad you could come,' Valentina replied as two girls and a boy approached at a wave from Christophe. Like Christophe, the other boy, Benoit something, was wearing a Chevignon jacket, neatly pressed American jeans, and a crisp shirt. One girl wore a short black dress with white polka dots and bright red tights. She had a black fedora adorned with all sorts of pins—advertising logos, characters from popular bandes dessinees, comic strips, which in France are considered an art form. The other girl had shiny straight blond hair, cut shorter than the boys', and wore a man's dinner jacket from the thirties over a lacy white bustier. She completed the outfit with a short ballerina skirt, black pipe-stem pants and gold leather tennis shoes. They were wonderful to look at, these adoles-centes—all of them so beautiful—and Faith was drawn to them immediately. She also registered the fact that like Christophe, their peres, and meres, too, these days, must be bringing home beaucoup the bacon, one of Tom's favorite Franglais phrases. All those shopping trips to .the branche, or as the teenagers say in Verlan—a kind of reverse language like the old pig latin—chebran stores with names in English: Graffiti, Casual, Imperial Classic. The two girls, Dominique and Berthille, nodded gravely at being introduced, then the whole group drifted back to the pictures— the sole reason they were here, unlike their elders.

Valentina lowered her voice as they passed behind Christophe and the others. 'I was like that at their age, too. Adults were so shallow and only my friends and I could understand the meaning of life and art.”

As they passed though the door, they almost collided with someone. Madame Joliet gave a small cry of delight or surprise.

“Mon ami, I am so happy you could come. This is my wonderful new neighbor from America who is here for a month, is it not? Madame Fairsheeld, Michel Ravier. He is the one I mentioned last night, the inspecteur divisionnaire of our police judiciaire—I think in English you say chief inspector of crimes.”

Inspector Ravier was of medium height for a Frenchman but would have been termed somewhat short in the States. He had dark, slightly thinning hair, the rather distinctive nose of many of his forefathers, and a dazzling smile. Oddly enough, everything combined to produce one of the sexiest-looking men Faith had seen in a long time. Sadly, he did not kiss her hand, this custom being apparently passe, and she had to be content with a decorous handshake.

“Your name is familiar to me, Madame Fairsheeld.' He seemed amused.

Faith blushed. The room was terribly warm. She tried to think of a witty reply, or any reply at all. Valentina beat her to it and her laugh was loud enough to arrest the con- versations of those closest to them. 'Bien sur! You must have heard about the corpse she found in our poubelle—a corpse that walks!”

Faith's fondness for Valentina began to ebb slightly.

“Oh, cherie, it is wrong to tease you. We have all had the unpleasant experience of coming upon the clochards engaged in all manner of dirty activities in our hall.' Faith was a bit mollified.

Georges Joliet interrupted them. 'Valentina,' he said excitedly, 'someone wants to buy the Fusaro. You are needed.'

“Excuse me,' Valentina said, and followed her husband into the other room, her bright yellow silk dress cutting a swath through the gallery.

“Georges is like a child about all this. When his wife sells a painting, it is like found money to him, and there is no question he is living in a way he never dreamed because of it. Valentina is a very good businesswoman. Now'— Inspector Ravier cupped Faith's elbow in the palm of his hand and gently moved her away from the others to a secluded corner by the door to Valentina's storeroom— 'tell me about this body in the vestibule.”

Faith was tingling. There was the possibility that someone—and someone official—would actually give some credence to her story. Then there was that delicious closeness. The French, the French.

“I know it sounds as if I imagined the whole thing—”

He cut her off. 'Please, no apologies. I would like to hear what happened last night just as you experienced it.”

Faith obeyed. 'I was having trouble sleeping and the trash smeJJed bad. We had had a dinner party where I served bouillabaisse. I realized it was this smell that was keeping me awake, so I decided to take it down to the dustbins, which, you understand, I would never ordinarily do at such an hour.' She hoped he would relay this tidbit back to the guys at the station, or whatever it was called in France, and dispel the notion of a nation of anal retentives. Lunacy was bad enough.

“But of course, la bouillabaisse. The remains are plus fort,' he murmured close to her ear.

“When I opened the top, there he was—the clochard.' Faith instinctively made a face of disgust and unconsciously took a step closer to the inspector.

“He appeared dead, but I felt I had to check in case the poor man could possibly be resuscitated.' She made the face again, moved closer, then stepped back as she realized what she was doing. At this rate, by the tune her grisly tale was over, she'd be in his lap. She knew she was blushing again. It had to be her condition, she reflected. Ordinarily, Faith's blush came in a compact.

“I went around to the side of the container and found his hand. There was definitely no pulse. He was absolutely still. You can tell when someone is dead.'

“Yes, this is a good way to describe it—the stillness of death. You have seen many corpses then?' He looked into her eyes. His were very brown, with little flecks of gold. She took a deep breath.

“Not so very many.' She didn't think it was the moment to reveal her previous involvements with several mortal remains.