Memories were flooding into Graham’s mind: of the Arab girl, Maria, saying, “She has many lovers”; of Kopeikin saying, “José? He does well for himself”; of Josette herself saying of José that he was jealous of her only when she neglected business for pleasure; of innumerable little phrases and attitudes. “Well?” he said coldly.
José shrugged. “If you are amusing yourself, we cannot earn our two thousand francs a week by dancing. So, you see, we must get it from somewhere else.” In the semi-darkness, Graham could see a small smile twist the black line of José’s mouth. “Two thousand francs a week. It is reasonable, eh?”
It was the voice of the philosopher of the apes in velvet. “Mon cher caïd” was justifying his existence. Graham nodded. “Quite reasonable.”
“Then we can settle it now, eh?” José went on briskly. “You are experienced, eh? You know that it is the custom.” He grinned and then quoted: “ ‘Chéri, avant que je t’aime t’oublieras pas mon petit cadeau.’ ”
“I see. And who do I pay? You or Josette?”
“You can pay it to Josette if you like, but that would not be very chic, eh? I will see you once a week.” He leaned forward and patted Graham’s knee. “It is serious, eh? You will be a good boy? If you were, for example, to begin now.…”
Graham stood up. He was surprised at his own calmness. “I think,” he said, “that I should like to give the money to Josette herself.”
“You don’t trust me, eh?”
“Of course I trust you. Will you find Josette?”
José hesitated, then, with a shrug, got up and went out into the corridor. A moment later he returned with Josette. She was smiling a little nervously.