“Packing.”
“So long! But you are here now. I thought that perhaps we could drive together and leave our luggage in the consigne at the station. It will save a taxi.”
“I’m afraid I shall keep you waiting. I have some things to declare. Besides, I must go to the Consulate first. I think that we had better keep to our arrangement to meet at the train.”
She sighed. “You are so difficult. Very well, we will meet at the train. But do not be late.”
“I won’t.”
“And be careful of the little salop with the perfume.”
“The police will take care of him.”
They had reached the passport control at the entrance to the Customs shed and José, who had walked on ahead, was waiting as if the seconds were costing him money. She pressed Graham’s hand hurriedly. “Alors, chéri! A tout à l’heure.”
Graham got his passport and slowly followed them through to the Customs shed. There was only one Customs officer. As Graham approached he disposed of Josette and José, and turned to the Beronelli’s mountainous bundles. To his relief, Graham had to wait. While he was waiting he opened his case and transferred some papers that he needed to his pocket; but several more minutes passed before he was able to show his transit visa, have his suit-case chalked and give it to a porter. By the time he had made his way through the group of mourning relatives which had surrounded the Beronellis, Josette and José had gone.
Then he saw Moeller and Banat.