Black Diamond

stood another small grouping of buildings, presumably where the staff lived.
    “They spent a lot of money on this place,” said Bruno, thinking about the likely size of the dinner bill.
    “Fabiola doesn’t want to be treated by the baron, so she’s asked us all to pay our own way,” Pamela said, as if reading his mind. “And don’t worry about me. Thanks to Fabiola I’ve got a tenant through the winter for once, so I’m feeling unusually prosperous.”
    She was suddenly backlit by the flare of headlights, and Bruno recognized the baron’s DS as it turned and parked. Hisfriend emerged and moved swiftly to the passenger door to hold it open for Fabiola, who was renting one of Pamela’s vacation cottages.
    “Fabiola came straight from work,” Pamela said. “Otherwise I’d have brought her. But I’ll take her back with me.” She looked at Bruno, her eyes twinkling affectionately. “And you too, if you’re good.”
    “You’ll get a reputation,” he replied, watching her as she swept her hair back from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear in a way he knew well. Usually she wore no makeup but for this evening she had applied a dark red lipstick and mascara and done something artful that made her eyes look larger. She was wearing a long black raincoat that flared from her hips, a white silk scarf and high heels that gave her the same height as Bruno.
    “You ruined my reputation months ago,” she said, taking his arm as the others joined them.
    The restaurant was more than half full, rare in Périgord for a weekday evening in winter, with an unusual mix of customers. Some were well dressed in suits and ties and cocktail dresses while others were in dowdy casual clothes that probably counted as Green chic. Among them Bruno recognized a couple of people who sold organic foods at the St. Denis market and his friend Alphonse the councillor, who patted his stomach and gave Bruno a thumbs-up of approval for the food.
    At the table beside Alphonse, Bruno noticed Didier, the manager of the truffle market in Ste. Alvère, dining in silence with a plump woman who wore a discontented air. There was a long table at the rear for a dozen that was filled this evening by a festive family group. A large balloon that read JOYEUSE ANNIVERSAIRE floated above a woman with white hair whowas beaming at the well-dressed children beside her as they attacked two large pizzas.
    “Welcome to L’Auberge des Verts,” said Guillaume Pons, signaling a young waiter to take their coats. Pons was wearing crisply pressed slacks and a starched white dress shirt, open at the neck. Its sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing what Bruno thought might be a Rolex. Pons’s good looks were marred by two black eyes and two thin strips of white tape across the bridge of his nose. His voice was thick and nasal, as if Axelle’s butting had given him a heavy cold.
    “All my rescuers here at once,” Pons said, smiling gingerly, and pointed across the room to where Albert, the chief
pompier
, was dining with his wife. Albert raised a hand in salute.
    “I’m afraid I ruined your clothes with my bloody nose,” he said to Pamela. “I had to throw my favorite shirt away, and I suspect you had to do the same with your shirt. I insist on buying you a new outfit. Good Samaritans shouldn’t have to pay for their kindness.”
    “Not at all,” said Pamela. “It was an old skirt, anyway. I soaked it in cold water. It’s fine.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Pons turned to Fabiola. “There must be a bill for your medical treatment.”
    “Forget it. The damage doesn’t look too bad,” said Fabiola, in her brisk, professional way. She was wearing one of the dark trouser suits she always wore at work. It set off her trim figure. “Your bruises will go down in a few days, and the nose should heal by itself. Come and see me again in a week, and I’ll check your sinuses. You can pay me for that.”
    Suddenly the door to the kitchen opened and the face of a small and very serious Asian girl peeked out. Pons turned andsaid something loud and firmly in what Bruno assumed was Chinese, and a tall Chinese man in a chef’s hat appeared behind the girl and pulled her back.
    “Excuse me. One of the nieces of Minxin, my chef,” Pons explained. “You know how curious kids are.”
    “In the meantime, Monsieur Pons, I’m getting hungry,” said the baron.
    “Of course. But I do want to apologize for the way things got so out of hand