“I thought you said they were Parisians.”
“They have danced in Paris. She is from Hungary. She speaks languages-German, Spanish, English-but not Swedish, I think. She has had many rich lovers.” She paused. “Are you a business man, Monsieur?”
“No, an engineer.” He realised, with some amusement, that Maria was less stupid than she seemed, and that she knew exactly why Kopeikin had left them. He was being warned, indirectly but unmistakably, that Mademoiselle Josette was very expensive, that communication with her would be difficult, and that he would have a jealous Spaniard to deal with.
She drained her glass again, and stared vaguely in the direction of the bar. “My friend is looking very lonely,” she said. She turned her head and looked directly at him. “Will you give me a hundred piastres, Monsieur?”
“What for?”
“A tip, Monsieur.” She smiled, but in not quite so friendly a fashion as before.
He gave her a hundred piastre note. She folded it up, put it in her bag, and stood up. “Will you excuse me, please? I wish to speak to my friend. I will come back if you wish.” She smiled.
He saw her red satin dress disappear in the crowd gathered round the bar. Kopeikin returned almost immediately.
“Where is the Arab?”
“She’s gone to speak to her best friend. I gave her a hundred piastres.”