“Oh, don’t bother. I really don’t think I ought to stay long.”
“You must stop thinking about your journey. Drink some more brandy and you will feel better.” He got to his feet. “I shall dance now and find a nice girl for you.”
Graham felt guilty. He should, he knew, be displaying more enthusiasm. Kopeikin was, after all, being extraordinarily kind. It could be no pleasure for him to try to entertain a train-weary Englishman who would have preferred to be in bed. He drank some more brandy determinedly. More people were arriving. He saw Serge greet them warmly and then, when their backs were turned, issue a furtive instruction to the waiter who was to serve them: a drab little reminder that Le Jockey Cabaret was in business neither for his own pleasure nor for theirs. He turned his head to watch Kopeikin dancing.
The girl was thin and dark and had large teeth. Her red satin evening dress drooped on her as if it had been made for a bigger woman. She smiled a great deal. Kopeikin held her slightly away from him and talked all the time they were dancing. To Graham, he seemed, despite the grossness of his body, to be the only man on the floor who was completely self-possessed. He was the ex-brothel-proprietor dealing with something he understood perfectly. When the music stopped he brought the girl over to their table.
“This is Maria,” he said. “She is an Arab. You would not think it to look at her, would you?”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“She speaks a little French.”
“Enchanté, Mademoiselle.”
“Monsieur.” Her voice was unexpectedly harsh, but her smile was pleasant. She was obviously good natured.
“Poor child!” Kopeikin’s tone was that of a governess who hoped that her charge would not disgrace her before visitors. “She has only just recovered from a sore throat. But she is a very nice girl and has good manners. Assieds-toi, Maria.”