The House of Dreams (24 page)

“I'm sorry,” she said, her gaze darting over his dressing gown, unsure where to look. “It's the Sûreté.” She walked him over to the window overlooking the driveway. Outside, two police cars and a
panier
à
salade
wagon were pulling up.

“Damn,” he said, and dabbed at the cut on his jaw, thinking,
This can't be good
. He grabbed his address book and threw it into the fire. “Listen, Lena—go down with Mary Jayne.”

“What will we say?” She fingered the brooch at the throat of her blouse.

“Nothing, say nothing at all. I'm going to get dressed. I'm sure it's just routine inquiries.”

“These Sunday parties have drawn too much attention to us,” Mary Jayne said. “We need them to keep a lower profile.”

You're a fine one to talk,
he thought,
hanging out with that punk.

“Stall them,” he said, striding across the room. “Is everyone else up?”

“They're having breakfast.”

“Good,” he said, grabbing his suit trousers. “Make sure everyone looks as relaxed and normal as possible.”

“Normal?” Mary Jayne laughed. “In this joint?”

*   *   *

By the time Varian raced down to the hall, Mary Jayne had opened the door to the police, and the inhabitants of the Villa Air-Bel were drifting into the hall. A burly policeman barred the front door. Varian caught the look of curiosity on André's face turn to alarm and then carefully disguised calm.

“Good morning, Detective.” Varian strode toward him, his chin high and shoulders thrust back. “How may we help you?”

“Monsieur Fry? I have a warrant to search the premises.”

“What's the meaning of this? We protest and reserve all rights.”

The detective calmly began to pick his nose.

“Formidable,”
André murmured from the corner of the hall.

“We can make this easy, or hard, Monsieur Fry,” the policeman said, inspecting his index finger as he stepped closer. “We have a warrant.” Potent, stale cognac breath emanated from him like sea fog. He reached into his pocket and waved the papers in front of Varian with the same fingers that had recently been up his nose. Varian saw a carbon copy of the chief of police's warrant to automatically search any premises suspected of Communist activity.

“As I said, we protest and reserve all rights,” Varian said slowly and clearly. “We have nothing to hide. Do you work with Detective Dubois? He's well aware of our humanitarian work at the ARC. In fact—”

“Detective Dubois will not be serving on the Marseille force much longer.”

“Since when?”

He shrugged. “He leaves soon. Dubois is being posted to Rabat.”

Poor devil,
Varian thought.
No doubt someone blew the whistle on him.

“Now, is everyone here, including the servants?”

Varian glanced around and saw Rose, Madame Nouguet, and the young Spanish nanny, Maria, huddled by the kitchen door. The Bretons and Jacqueline's sister stood together in the corner. “Yes, we're all here.”
All except Danny and the others from the ARC,
he thought.
Let's hope they stay out of the way.

“We intend to search the house from top to bottom,” the detective said.

“In that case, perhaps you would like some coffee? Madame Nouguet, would you mind?” He watched as the relieved servants raced to the kitchen. “May I ask why you are searching the house?”

“We have had reports of suspicious goings-on.”

“Such as?”

He checked his papers. “I believe young Mademoiselle Breton has been telling her classmates about how sad her parents were at the death of their friend
vieux
Trotsky.”

Jacqueline held tight to André's arm. “Inspector, she is just a child, she doesn't understand.”

“Still, it is suspicious. We cannot be too careful. Why, only yesterday we received a call about a young woman carrying a heavy suitcase to the house.”

“That was me.” Jacqueline's sister stepped forward defiantly. “I am visiting. The suitcase contained clothes for Jacqueline and the child, that is all. I'll show you.”

“We'll see.” The detective signaled to one of the policemen. “Go with her. Make a thorough search of the room, and the suitcase.” He looked at each person in turn. “Now, all firearms must be surrendered.…”

Varian joined Mary Jayne by the green-tiled stove as the detective droned on. “Do you have anything incriminating on you?” he said under his breath once the police weren't looking. “I have to get up to my room. I left a fake passport on the dresser.”

“You should be more careful.” She glanced at the young policeman nearby. “Fine. I'll distract him. See if you can persuade them to let you up.”

“Excuse me…” Varian strode over to the detective. “I need the lavatory.”

The man looked at him in irritation, then signaled to one of the policemen. “Go with him.”

Varian thought quickly as they walked upstairs. “Have you been on the force long?” he said.

“A couple of years.”

“How do you find it?” They walked on up to the next floor.

“Pas mal.”
The boy shrugged.

“Here we are.” Varian closed the bathroom door and waited, his head leaning against the door as he caught his breath. He pulled the chain and ran the taps, wetting his hands before he opened the door. “Thank you,” he said to the policeman. He brushed his nose with his index finger. “I could do with a fresh handkerchief, would you mind? I'll just pop into my room and fetch it,” Varian said, hoping he wouldn't follow him in.

“Fine.” The boy slumped against the wall and crossed his ankle over his leg.

Varian grabbed the passport and looked around him frantically, darting backward and forward.
Oh God, oh God,
he thought. There was no time to lever up a floorboard or loosen the mirror, his preferred hiding place in his old room at the Hotel Splendide. He threw the passport up on top of the wardrobe and caught his breath. Calmly, he pulled open the top drawer of the dresser and slipped out a neatly folded handkerchief. As he walked out of the bedroom, he blew his nose. “Thank you.”

They arrived back downstairs just as André was placing his service revolver on the table in front of the policemen. A couple of typewriters and guns were there already. “Good,” the detective said, checking the Breton family's papers. “Did you find anything else up there?”

“There are a lot of books, and papers,” a young policeman said. “I don't know what most of them are, but we found this.” A portrait of Marshal Pétain as a Gallic cock dangled from his hand.

“Ce sacré
crétin de Pétain?”
the detective roared. “You are calling Pétain an idiot? This is revolutionary propaganda!”

“Non, monsieur,”
André said calmly. “You misread.
P-u-t-a-i-n,
” he spelled out. “Whore.”

Varian hid a smile. He saw Mary Jayne signaling to him, and he wandered over, pretending to warm his hands on the stove. “Did you get it?” she said.

“Let's hope they don't look too close.”

“Good. Listen, cover me, will you?” She opened the door of the stove, and as she tossed on a fresh log, Varian saw her slip in a ball of paper from her pocket.

“Will this take long?” he asked the policeman walking toward them. He blocked his view of Mary Jayne.

“That depends,” the man said. Varian glanced at Mary Jayne and saw her face fall. He followed the track of her gaze and saw Raymond being marched at gunpoint across the terrace by another policeman.

“That's all we need. What's he doing here?” Varian hissed to her. “I thought he was in jail?”

“He was. I helped get him out,” she whispered.

“Chéri!”
Mary Jayne cried, throwing her arms around Raymond before the policeman could stop her.
“Mon amour, mon amour!”
He kissed her, and Varian saw him slip an envelope into her pocket.

“Come on,” the policeman said, dragging him away toward the detective. “I found him hanging around outside.”

Varian watched as Mary Jayne stuck her hands in her pockets and walked over to Jacqueline. He saw her speak quickly to her and nod her head toward the young blond policeman by the terrace window. Jacqueline raised her chin and sauntered over, swinging her hips seductively.

“Do you have a light?” she said, leaning against the window frame.

“Of course, madame.” He fumbled in his pocket. Jacqueline inhaled and licked her lips.

“Thank you. What a gorgeous lighter. Did you buy it here?” She ran her red fingernail down the engraved metal.

Behind the man's back, Varian saw Mary Jayne lift the edge of a Chagall painting of a flying cow they had hung on the wall. She slipped the envelope behind it and walked away.

“Bon,”
the detective said after several hours. “All the rooms have been checked.…” His voice trailed off as two more policemen walked in from the terrace, Danny between them. All three were panting.

“He tried to make a run for it,” one of the policemen said. Danny's face was bright with anger.

“Ah, another joins the party.
Bien.
We go.”

“Go where?” Varian said. “You assured us this would not take long. We are a busy, and legitimate, relief organization—”

“We have a few more questions, Monsieur Fry, and I would like you, out of the goodness in your heart, you understand, to accompany me to the station.”

“We are not under arrest?”

“Bien sûr.”
The detective opened his palms. “We have nothing against you. You will be back in an hour, you have my word. The servants and the mothers with young children may remain here. We are not animals, Monsieur Fry.”

Jacqueline turned to André, flung her arms around his neck. Aube nestled between their legs, glaring at the policemen. Varian caught Jacqueline's whispered words:
“Courage, mon cher, courage.…”
She turned her furious gaze on the policemen, the tiger's teeth around her neck jangling.

Varian squatted down and rubbed Clovis's ears. “Do we need to bring anything?” he said to the detective.

“No, no. It will not take long, I assure you.”

As Varian followed André out of the house, he heard him laugh and say, “Not long?” as he slipped a book from the hall table into his pocket.

“Stay, Dago,” Mary Jayne said, beckoning to Rose to hold the dogs back. “Keep them on their leashes until we've gone.” She buried her face in the warm, springy fur on his head. “Now, you be good for Rose and Madame Nouguet, you hear?” She glanced up to see Raymond struggling as the police pushed him into the back of the wagon. “If anyone comes for the kids, you give them hell,” she whispered, and kissed Dagobert's nose.

“Come on,” Varian said, offering her his arm. “Let's show these damn fools how to do it.”

“Varian, I'm afraid,” she whispered. He looked down at her, saw the terror in her eyes. Compassion loosened the tight coil of anger in him, like sunlight unfurling new leaves.

“Don't worry, my dear. They can't touch us.” He put a protective arm around her and glared at the detective as he swept out of Air-Bel with Mary Jayne at his side. “Come on, chin up,” he whispered.

“I can't,” she said, her voice shaking. “Varian, what if—”

“You can, and you will, Mary Jayne. We're Americans.” He helped her into the back of the wagon. André, Danny, and Raymond already sat in the shadows on the narrow bench opposite, straight backed and pale faced.
We are safe as Americans, but what of the others?
The thought of his friends in Vernet, or some other camp ringed with barbed wire, sickened him. Varian felt his guts weaken with fear.

*   *   *

“How long have we been here?” Mary Jayne whispered, glancing around the packed police station.

“Hours. I don't know.” Varian checked his watch. “Jeez, it's six o'clock. They can't keep us much longer, surely?” The room was crammed with people waiting to be interviewed. “Why are they taking so long with André?”

“Don't you know, my dear? He has a list of convictions as long as your arm.”

Varian paled. “You're kidding me.”

“Back in the day, he was quite the bad boy. Jacqueline tells me there are at least twenty-five counts on his charge sheet.”

“Christ! Why did no one tell me?” They sat squeezed together on hard wooden benches, the fug of hot bodies and wet-dog smell of tweedy winter clothes hanging in the air. “Hey, kid!” he called, signaling to a boy selling newspapers on the street. He wriggled his wallet free from his pocket and peeled off a few notes. “Go to the restaurant next door and bring us a bottle of wine and some sandwiches, okay? You can keep the change.” The boy ran off. “Are you okay? What do you think this is all about?” he asked André as he joined them.

He shrugged and pulled the book out of his pocket. “Who knows? They want to round everyone up in a raid, they can do, with no reason.”

“I wish I'd had the presence of mind to bring a book,” Varian said.

André turned the pages and sighed. “But of all the books in the château to pick from, I end up bringing one I wrote.”

“Ah, good!” Varian said, spotting the boy weaving his way through the crowd with their food. Mary Jayne handed out paper cups and tore the sandwiches into pieces until there was enough for the group. Varian sighed with relief and chewed his cheese baguette with his eyes closed. “Damn, that's good. We haven't had a thing since breakfast.”

At nine o'clock, a door opened and a file of policemen strode into the packed room. “Make ready,” one of them shouted. The noise grew, a hubbub of cries.