r way of greeting Talley was to throw her hands up in despair and chastise him。
〃She's accusing me of staying away two months and then not calling before I e in；〃 he translated for me。
He leaned over the bar and kissed her on both cheeks to make amends。 Regardless of how crowded the café was； she managed to fit us into a choice corner table because Talley had that effect on people。 He was used to getting what he wanted。 He picked out a Santenay red burgundy since he remembered I'd told him how much I liked burgundies； although I didn't recall when I'd said that or if I really had。 By now I wasn't sure what he already knew and what he'd gotten directly from me。
〃Let's see；〃 he said； scanning the menu。 〃I highly remend the Alsacienne specialities。 But to start？ The salade de gruyére…shaved gruyere that looks like pasta on lettuce and tomato。 It's filling； though。〃
〃Maybe that's all I'll get； then；〃 I said； with no appetite。
He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small cigar and clipper。
〃Helps me cut buck on cigarettes；〃 he explained。 〃Would you like one？〃
〃Everybody in France smokes too much。 It's time I quit again；〃 I said。
〃They're very good。〃 He snipped off the tip。 〃Dipped in sugar。 This one's vanilla； but I also have cinnamon and sambuca。〃 He fired a match。 〃But I like the vanilla the best。〃 He puffed。 〃You really should taste this。〃
He offered it to me。
〃No； thank you；〃 …I said。
〃I order them from a wholesaler in Miami；〃 he went on； flourishing his cigar and throwing his head back to blow out smoke。 〃Cojimars。 Not to be confused with Cohibas； which are wonderful； but illegal if they're Cuban versus those made in the Dominican Republic。 Illegal in the U。S。； at any rate。 And I know that because I'm ATF。 Yes； ma'am； I know my alcohol； tobacco and firearms。〃
He had already finished his first glass of wine。
〃The three R's。 Running； Running and Running。 Ever heard that？ They teach it in the school of hard knocks〃
He refilled'his glass and topped off mine。
〃If I came back to the States； would you see me again？ For the sake of argument； what would happen if I transferred 。 。 。 let's say； back to Washington？〃
〃I didn't mean to do this to you；〃 I said。
Tears touched his eyes and he quickly looked away。
〃I never meant to。 It's my fault；〃 I softly said。
〃Fault？〃 he said。 〃Fault？ I didn't realize there…was fault involved； as in something to be blamed。 As in a mistake。〃
He leaned into the table and smiled smugly； as if he were a detective who'd just tripped me with a trick question。
〃Fault。 Hmmm；〃 he pondered； blowing smoke。
〃Jay； you're so young；〃 I said。 〃Someday you'll understand…〃
〃I 'can't help my age。〃 He interrupted me in a voice that caused glances。
〃And you live in France； for God's sake。〃
〃There are worse places to live。〃
〃You can dance around words all you want； Jay；〃 I said。 〃But reality always has its way with people。〃
〃You're sorry； aren't you？〃 He leaned back。 〃I know so much about you； and then I go and do something as stupid as that。〃
〃I never said it was stupid。〃
〃It's because you aren't ready。〃
I was getting upset； too。
〃You can't possibly know if I'm ready or not ready；〃 I told him as the waiter appeared to take our' order and then discreetly moved on。 〃You spend far too much time in my mind and maybe not enough in your own。〃
〃Okay。 Don't worry。 I won't ever try to anticipate your feelings or thoughts again。〃
〃Ah。 Petulance；〃 I replied。 〃At last you're acting your age：'
His eyes flashed。 I sipped my wine。 He'd already finished another glass。
〃I deserve respect； too；〃 he said。 〃I'm not a child。 What was this afternoon； Kay？ Social work？ Charity？ Sex education？ Foster care？〃
〃Maybe we shouldn't talk about this here；〃 I suggested。
〃Or maybe you just used me；〃 he event on。
〃I'm too old for you。 Please lower your voice。〃
〃Old is my mother； my aunt。 The deaf widow who lives next door to me is old〃
I realized I had no idea where Talley lived。 I didn't even have his home telephone number。
〃Old is the way you act when you're overbearing and condescending 'and a chicken；〃 he said； raising his glass to me。
〃A chicken？ I've been called a lot of things； but never a chicken：'
〃You're an emotional chicken。〃 He drank as if trying to put out a fire。 〃That's why you were with him。 He was safe。 I don't care how much you say youloved him。 He was safe。；》
〃Don't talk about something you know nothing about；〃 I warned him as I began to tremble。
〃Because you're afraid。 You've been afraid ever since your father died； ever since you felt different from everyone because you are different from everyone and that's the price people like us pay。 We're special。 We're alone and we rarely think it's because we're special。 We just think there's something wrong with us。〃
I placed my napkin on top of the table and pushed back my chair。
〃That's the problem with you intelligence…gathering assholes；〃 I said in a low； calm voice。 〃You appropriate the secrets； the treasures and tragedies and ecstasies of someone as if they are your own。 At least I have a life。 At least I don't live voyeuristically through people I don't know。 At least I'm not some kind of spy。〃
〃I'm not a spy；〃 he said。 〃It was my job to find out as much as I could about you。〃
〃And you did your job extraordinarily well；〃 I said； stung。 〃Especially this afternoon。〃
〃Please don't leave；〃 he quietly said as he reached across the table for my hand。
I pulled away from him。 I walked out of the restaurant as other diners stared。 Someone laughed and made a ment I didn't need to translate to understand。 It was obvious that the handsome young man and his older lady friend were having a lover's spat。 Or maybe he was her gigolo。
It was almost nine…thirty and I walked with determination toward the hotel while everyone else in the city； it seemed； continued to venture out。 A woman police officer wearing white gloves whistled traffic through as I waited with a great crowd to cross the Boulevard des Capucines。 The air was bright with voices and cold light from the moon。 The aromas of crepes and beignets and chestnuts roasting in small grills made me heartsick and dizzy。
I hurried like a fugitive evading apprehension； and yet I lingered at street corners because I wanted to be caught。 Talley did not e after me。 When I reached my hotel； breathless and upset； I couldn't bear the thought of seeing Marino or returning to my room。
I got a taxi because I had one more thing to do。 I would do it alone and at night because I felt reckless and desperate。
〃Yes？〃 the driver said； turning around to look at me。 〃Madame？〃
I felt pieces of me had been rearranged and I didn't know where to put them because I couldn't remember where they'd been before。
〃Do you speak English？〃 I asked。
〃Yes。〃
〃Do you know much about the city？ Could you tell me about what I'm seeing？〃
〃Seeing？ You mean now？〃
〃Seeing as we drive；〃 I said。
〃Am I tour guide？〃 He thought I was very funny。 〃No； but I live here。 Where would you like to go？〃
〃Do you know where the morgue is？ On the Seine near the Gare de Lyon？〃
〃You want to go there？〃 He turned around again and frowned at me as he waited to insert himself in traffic。
〃I will want to go there。 But first I want to go to the Ile Saint…Louis；〃 I said； scanning； looking 。for Talley as hope got dark like the street。
〃What？〃 My driver laughed as if I were the premier crazy。 〃You want to go to the morgue and he Saint…Louis？ What connection is that？ Someone rich die？〃
I was getting annoyed with him。
〃Please；〃 I said。 〃Let's go。〃
〃Okay； sure。 If that's what you want。〃
Tires over cobblestone sounded like kettle drums； and lamplight flashing off the Seine looked like schools of silver fish。 I rubbed fog off my window and opened it enough so I could see better as we crossed the Pont Louis…Philippe and entered the island。 I instantly recognized the seventeenth…century homes that once had been the private hotels of the noblesse。 I had been here before with Benton。
We had walked these narrow cobblestone streets and browsed the historic plaques on some of the walls that told who once had lived here。 We had stopped in outdoor cafés； and across the way bought ice cream at Berthillon。 I told my driver to circle the island。
It was solid with gorgeous homes of limestone pitted by the years； and balconies were black wrought iron。 Windows were lit up； and through them were glimpses of exposed beams； bookcases and fine paintings； but I saw no one。 It was as if the elitist people who lived here were invisible to the rest of us。
〃Have you ever heard of the Chandonne family？〃 I asked my driver。
〃But of course；〃 he said。 〃Would you like to see where they live？〃
〃Please；〃 I said with great misgivings。
He drove …to the Quai d'Orléans； past the residence where Pompidou died on the second floor； the blinds still drawn； and onto the Quai de Béthune toward the eastern tip of the island。 I dug in my satchel and got out a bottle of Advil。
The taxi stopp