Black Diamond

why.”
    This time she responded quickly, as if her decision on whether to trust him had already been made.
    “The prices recorded at the end-of-day auctions seem unreasonably low to me, week after week. I don’t think that happens by accident.”
    “You suspect the bidding process is being rigged?”
    “Yes. But I’m aware my judgment might be flawed by personal prejudice.” She looked at him knowingly.
    Bruno paused, then the realization dawned. Having met Didier, and seen something of the way he chose to treat Florence, Bruno felt pretty sure he knew what lay behind her prejudice. There was no subtle way to confirm his guess. She might even appreciate the frankness of an open question.
    “Please look at me, madame,” he said. When her eyes raised reluctantly to his own, he waited for a long heartbeat before he spoke. “Are you being sexually harassed at work?”
    “No more than usual, and not anymore,” she replied, so brisk it was almost businesslike, but her eyes were suddenly blazing. “I can deal with it. He’s a pig, but he’s also a coward.”

5
    The Tuesday morning market of St. Denis, which in summer stretched the length of the rue de Paris from the place de la Mairie to the parade ground in front of the gendarmerie, shrank in the autumn after the tourists departed. In the quiet months of November, January and February the stalls barely filled the town square. But it always expanded again for the month before Christmas, which meant eager competition for the favored spots among the pillars in the covered market beneath the
mairie
. The rule was always that the first arrivals chose their sites, but the definition of what constituted an arrival was sometimes in dispute.
    Usually, it required the placing of a couple of trestles to establish a presence, and Bernard the basket maker had his trestles firmly in place and stood grimly between them, his arms folded. Margot, the housekeeper at the home for retired priests in St. Belvédère, stood equally grimly, her arms also folded, her wide hips defending her small table with its beeswax candles and jars of honey that stood in front of Bernard’s trestles. Fat Jeanne, whose shape became more spherical with each passing year, was supposed to umpire suchconfrontations as she collected the five euros per meter of frontage that the
mairie
charged each stallholder. But Margot, who refused to pay any more than two euros on the grounds that her table measured only eighteen inches a side, tested even Fat Jeanne’s inexhaustible cheeriness.
    “I won’t move,” Margot declared. “I was here first.”
    “My trestle was already here when you arrived,” countered Bernard.
    “Only one of them, and one trestle doesn’t count,” she snapped, brushing aside Fat Jeanne’s offer of an alternative spot beside Fauquet’s café.
    “Margot,” said Bruno, attempting his most winning smile. “Just the woman I wanted to see. The mayor needs some help, and I told him we could count on you. It’s for the children.”
    Bruno needed both hands to hold up the big placard that he had collected from the Info-Boutique. THE MAYOR’S FUND , it read, with a picture of Father Christmas and some smiling infants. TO MAKE A REAL CHRISTMAS FOR THE CHILDREN OF THE UNEMPLOYED .
    Bruno leaned the placard casually against Bernard’s trestle, kissed Margot on each of her cold cheeks and handed her the collection plate. “Can you take care of the collection here under the pillars?” he asked. “And you know everyone in the market, Margot. Who do you think I should ask to take care of the collection outside?”
    “Now there’s a question,” said Margot, preening. “Your friend Stéphane’s a reliable type, at least when he’s not drinking. Or perhaps Aurélie, she’ll have time on her hands, since nobody wants to buy her scrawny ducks.” She cast her eyes over the rest of the market, wondering who might be worthy to share with her the honor of the mayor’s special task.
    “Give me a hand with that other trestle, Bernard,” Brunosaid to the basket maker. Catching on, Bernard quickly assembled his stall, and Bruno placed Margot’s small table alongside it and then put the placard atop both of the stalls.
    “So you stand here, Margot, right beside your table with the honey so everyone can see the placard and can see that you’re in charge of the collecting,” Bruno said. “I think you’re right about Aurélie for the other collection box. Why don’t you go and