An Officer and a Spy

new rank.
    ‘Well,’ he says, standing back and looking at me, ‘Colonel!’
    ‘It does take some getting used to, I agree.’
    ‘How long are you in town?’
    ‘Only a couple of hours. I’ll get the evening train back to Paris.’
    ‘This calls for a drink.’ He opens a drawer in his desk and takes out a bottle of cognac and a pair of tumblers. He fills them to the brim. We toast the army. He fills them again and we toast my promotion. But I sense that somewhere, deep beneath the congratulations, the narrowest of gaps has opened between us. Not that anyone walking in would have guessed it. Curé pours a third round. We unbutton our tunics and loll back in our chairs, smoking, our feet on his desk. We talk of old comrades and old times. We laugh. A brief silence falls and then he says, ‘So what exactly is it you’re doing in Paris these days?’
    I hesitate; I am not supposed to mention it.
    ‘I have Sandherr’s job, running secret intelligence.’
    ‘Do you, by God?’ He frowns at his empty glass; this time he doesn’t suggest another toast. ‘So you’re up here snooping?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    A flicker of his former mirth returns. ‘Not into me, I hope!’
    ‘Not this time.’ I smile and put down my glass. ‘There’s a major with the Seven-Four called Esterhazy.’
    Curé turns to me. His expression is unreadable. ‘There is indeed.’
    ‘What is he like?’
    ‘What has he done?’
    ‘I can’t tell you.’
    Curé nods slowly. ‘I thought you’d say that.’ He pulls himself to his feet and starts buttoning his tunic. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need to clear my head.’
    Outside the wind is bracing, edged sharp by the sea. We stroll around the perimeter of the parade ground. After a while Curé says, ‘I understand you can’t tell me what this is about, but if I could give you a piece of advice, you want to be careful how you approach Esterhazy. He’s dangerous.’
    ‘What, you mean physically dangerous?’
    ‘In every way. How much do you know about him?’
    ‘Nothing. You’re the first person I’ve come to.’
    ‘Just bear in mind he’s well connected. His father was a general. He calls himself “Count Esterhazy”, but I think that’s merely an affectation. Be that as it may, his wife is the daughter of the marquis de Nettancourt, so he knows a lot of people.’
    ‘How old is he?’
    ‘Oh, he must be nearly fifty, I should think.’
    ‘Fifty?’ I glance around the barracks. It’s the end of the afternoon. Soldiers, pasty-faced and with grey shaven heads, are leaning out of their dormitory windows, like prison inmates.
    Curé follows my gaze. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘Why, if he’s fifty and the son-in-law of a marquis, is he stuck in a dump like this? Certainly it’s the first thing I’d want to know.’
    ‘Well then, since you bring it up, why is he?’
    ‘Because he has no money.’
    ‘Even with all these connections?’
    ‘He gambles it away. Not just at the table, either. On the racetrack and the stock market.’
    ‘Surely his wife must have some capital?’
    ‘Ah, but she’s got wise to him. I heard him complain that she’s even put the country house in her name, to protect herself from his creditors. She won’t let him have a sou.’
    ‘He also has an apartment in Paris.’
    ‘You may be sure that’s hers as well.’
    We walk on in silence. I’m remembering Schwartzkoppen’s letter. That was all about money. Your conditions too harsh for me . . . ‘Tell me,’ I say, ‘what kind of an officer is he?’
    ‘The worst.’
    ‘He neglects his duties?’
    ‘Entirely. The colonel’s stopped giving him anything to do.’
    ‘So he’s never here?’
    ‘On the contrary, he’s always here.’
    ‘Doing what?’
    ‘Getting in the way! He likes to hang around and ask a lot of damn fool questions about things that have nothing to do with him.’
    ‘Questions about what?’
    ‘Everything.’
    ‘Gunnery, for example?’
    ‘Definitely.’
    ‘What does he ask about gunnery?’
    ‘What doesn’t he ask! He’s been on at least three artillery exercises, to my certain knowledge. The last one the colonel absolutely refused to assign him to, so he ended up paying for the trip himself.’
    ‘I thought you said he didn’t have any money?’
    ‘True, that’s a point.’ Curé halts in his tracks. ‘Now I think about it, I happen to know he also paid a corporal in his battalion to copy the firing