‘Have you talked to him?’
‘Today. He met the organizer of the trip yesterday, declared his interest, found out the price, and established his cover story.’
‘They believed him.’
‘No suspicions expressed, apparently. Of course, they could be faking that to lure him into a trap. We don’t know and he doesn’t either.’ Tamara raised her glass and said: ‘All we can do is wish him luck.’
Tab said seriously: ‘May his God protect him.’
A waiter brought menus and they studied them in silence for a couple of minutes. The hotel served standard international cuisine with a few African additions. Tamara chose a tagine, a stew with dried fruits, cooked slowly in an earthenware pot with a cone-shaped lid. Tab ordered veal kidneys in mustard sauce, a favourite French dish.
Tab said: ‘Would you like some wine?’
‘No, thanks.’ Tamara liked alcohol in small quantities. Much as she enjoyed wine and spirits, she hated being tipsy. The loss of judgement unnerved her. Did that make her a control freak? Probably. ‘But you go ahead.’
‘No. For a Frenchman I drink very little.’
She wanted to get to know him better. ‘Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know,’ she said.
‘Okay.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a good question. Er . . .’ He thought for a long moment. ‘I was born into a family of strong women.’
‘Interesting! Go on.’
‘Years ago my grandmother opened a convenience store in a suburb of Paris called Clichy-sous-Bois. She still runs it. The suburb is a rough neighbourhood now, but she refuses to move. Amazingly, she has never been robbed.’
‘A tough woman.’
‘Small and wiry, with hard hands. With the money she made from the store she sent my father to college. Now he’s on the main board of Total, the French oil company, and drives a Mercedes, or rather his chauffeur does.’
‘Great achievement.’
‘My other grandmother became the marquise de Travers when she married my grandfather, a penniless aristocrat who owned a champagne house. It’s difficult to lose money making champagne but he managed it. His wife, my grandmother, took the business in hand and turned it around. His daughter, my mother, expanded into luggage and jewellery. That’s the company my mother runs, with an iron fist.’
‘The Travers company?’
‘Yes.’
Tamara knew the brand but could not afford any of its products.
There was more she wanted to know, but their food came, and for a while they talked little while they ate.
‘How are the kidneys?’ Tamara said.
‘Good.’
‘I’ve never eaten kidneys.’
‘Would you like a taste?’
‘Please.’ She passed him her fork. He speared a morsel and passed the fork back. The flavour was strong. She said: ‘Woo-hoo! Lots of mustard.’
‘That’s how I like it. How’s the tagine?’
‘Good. Would you like some?’
‘Please.’ He passed her his fork and she loaded it and gave it back. ‘Not bad,’ he said.
Tasting each other’s food was intimate, she thought. It was the kind of thing you might do on a date. But this was a meeting between colleagues. At least, that was how she saw it. How did Tab see it?
Afterwards Tamara had fresh figs for dessert and Tab had cheese.
The coffee came in tiny cups and Tamara took only a sip. They made coffee too strong here. She hankered after a big mug of weak American coffee.
She returned to the interesting topic of Tab’s family. She knew that his heritage was Algerian, and she said: ‘Did your grandmother come from Algeria?’
‘No. She was born in Thierville-sur-Meuse, where there is a major military base. You see, my great-grandfather fought in the Second World War, in the famous Third Algerian Infantry Division; in fact, he won a medal, the Croix de Guerre. He was still in the army when my grandmother was born. But it’s time I learned something about you.’
‘I can’t compete with your fascinating ancestry,’ Tamara said. ‘I was born into a Jewish family in Chicago. My father’s a history professor, and he drives a Toyota, not a Mercedes. My mother is a high-school principal.’ She pictured the two of them, Dad in a tweed suit and a wool tie, Mom writing reports with her glasses on the end of her nose. ‘I’m not religious, but they go to a liberal synagogue. My brother, Simon, lives in Rome.’
He smiled. ‘That’s it?’