The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

Périgueux. In Paris, after other people’s love lives it’s the main topic of conversation. I presume you lean to the right like most
flics
.’
    Bruno raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think I lean in any direction, and I suspect the old traditions of lifelong loyalty to a single party are fading pretty fast. Take you, for example; I’d say you were progressive on social matters like abortion and gay rights, but conservative on law and order and maybe on defence.’
    ‘That sounds like you as well,’ she said, smiling.
    ‘I don’t pay that much attention to national politics. Locally, I vote for the man or woman I like.’ Bruno recalled his last trip to the voting booth for the municipal election. He’d voted for the Mayor, who was centre-right, and for the kindly retired schoolteacher who’d chaired the local Socialist party for two decades. He’d also cast his ballot for Alphonse, an old hippy who was a passionate Green, and for Montsouris, the only Communist on the council. In the last national election, he’d voted one way for the presidency and in the elections for the
Assemblée Nationale
he’d voted for the other side.
    ‘But you’re anti-European,’ she insisted. ‘You’re a French nationalist, a real
cocorico
. And I’ve heard you moan about those bureaucrats in Brussels often enough.’
    ‘Absolutely not,’ he declared. ‘I love France but I’m a passionate pro-European. It’s just this particular form of Brussels-based Europe that irritates the hell out of me.’
    Bruno relished the way that other Europeans like Pamelafrom Britain and his German friend Horst, the archaeologist, could live and work in France or anywhere in Europe they chose. He liked the principle of a single currency and travel without passports. But he was angry that Brussels spent a fortune on agriculture while farming around St Denis was being squeezed to death.
    ‘So who are you going to vote for?’ she asked. ‘The devil we know or the devil we don’t?’
    ‘I don’t know yet. None of them really impresses me but maybe it’s time for a change. That’s the best thing about democracy, the feeling that you can throw the rascals out.’
    He signalled for the bill, but the waiter pointed to Isabelle and shrugged. She’d paid when he went to wash his hands.
    ‘Don’t worry, you’re on expenses,’ she said.
    ‘Thank you,’ he said, studying her and wondering whether to say what was in his mind. He decided to go ahead. ‘For a while, I thought you’d invited me to dinner to say a formal Adieu.’
    She looked at him in silence, almost sternly, took a deep breath as if about to say something important and then stopped herself. She picked up her bag from the floor beside her, rose and turned to take his arm. She flashed him a brilliant smile, gave the skin of his forearm a gentle nip and said: ‘I thought I already did.’
    ‘Several times,’ he replied. ‘That’s the problem. I never know if you mean it.’
    *
    The kitchen and living-room lights were still on and Valentoux’s car was parked in the drive when Bruno got home. He must have heard the Land Rover, because as Bruno emergedhe was standing in the doorway, a bottle in his hand, to welcome Bruno home.
    ‘This is for you, to say thanks,’ he said, handing Bruno a bottle of Lagavulin and leading the way back into the living room where two glasses were waiting alongside a jug of water. ‘Annette tells me it’s your favourite scotch and I’m celebrating. I’ll be moving into her place in Sarlat tomorrow, if that suits you.’
    Bruno thanked him, put the new bottle into his drinks cupboard and brought out the bottle of Lagavulin he’d already opened. He poured out two glasses and splashed a little water into each one. He noted with approval that there were no ice cubes.
    ‘Annette told me how you drink it, no ice, just a touch of water.’
    ‘Dougal, a Scottish friend, showed me how the Scots drink it,’ Bruno replied. ‘I’m glad you’re settled and I’ve also got some reassuring news. It looks like you’re in the clear and that it was Murcoing who killed your friend.’
    ‘I’m not surprised. I’ve found out a bit more about him from one of the actors I’ve known for years, someone who’s based in Bordeaux. He sounds like an unpleasant young man, rather mercenary, who makes a habit of living off older men. Apparently he speaks good English.’
    Bruno was about to say that Fullerton would fit that pattern, but thought better