“I WAS WITH THAT FRIEND of yours yesterday.”
“Friend of mine?”
“Whatever he is; I’d rather not know. The Italian mason, that fellow Perugia.”
“I thought he was a carpenter.”
“Does it make a difference?”
“It depends on what you want him for,” replies Valérie, and Valfierno thinks that it must be hard to be twenty or twenty-one and all alone competing in a world full of crooks, and that it’s not surprising that she always presents this stupid and improbable façade of certainty, but it still irks him that she does. That she stops short of understanding that at that age you can’t begin to know everything. As if she didn’t realize that she didn’t have to pretend to know everything, he thinks, and he smiles to himself.
“What? Now what?” Valérie demands.
“Nothing. I was just thinking that it’s sometimes much easier to see other people’s faults than one’s own.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care. You were telling me you saw Vincenzo.”
“Vincenzo?”
“Perugia.”
“Oh. So you call him Vincenzo.”
It’s hard to say if this is a question or a statement; probably neither. Valfierno decides on a momentary truce. Lifting his champagne glass, he waits for Valérie to join him in a toast. He looks into her eyes and smiles. She responds with a textbook indifference. Around them the hubbub of the brasserie is slowly dying down. It’s after midnight, a time when he is less likely to encounter someone he knows, when Valfierno will dare to go out with her to a place like this.
“I saw him last night.”
“You already told me.”
“I know. Do you really think he can be trusted?”
“As much as you can trust any man.”
“How far is that?”
“Only a little bit more than a woman,” replies Valérie, and she opens her vermilioned lips to stick her tongue out at him, showing her teeth at the same time. Valfierno looks away, or begins to, but then makes himself focus on those teeth. They’re the price, he tells himself—seeing them, knowing that they’re there, can help me.
“I asked him what he could do, and he told me that if the money was good he could do anything.”
“Don’t take too much notice when he says ‘anything.’ He should have said ‘anything I can think of,’ which is much less.”
“That’s what I thought. He doesn’t give the impression that he’s any kind of genius.”
“I suppose you want him to teach you Ancient Greek?”
“Seriously, Valérie. I’m worried that he may be too stupid, even for this.”
“Even for what?”
“For what I want him to do.”
“Which is…?”
Valfierno reaches over and grasps her hand—the one with the costume jewelry resting on the tablecloth—but lets her question hang in the air. He feels the way her fingers contract out of either nervousness or disgust.
“You know what I remember, Marqués?”
“I’d rather not think.”
“I remember the time I asked you what the strangest thing you’d ever faked was. Do you remember what you said?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t say anything. You acted all proper. And I thought you were even faking that. But now you can’t do that. I’m the one who told you Perugia worked in the Louvre. I’m the one who came up with the idea that we could get up to something with him. Don’t think now that you’re going to give me the shove!”
“I would never trick you, Valérie, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
“My love, you know I could find out so easily…”
Not only does he know, but he guesses that she has already found out. That she is pretending to ask him these questions but already has all the answers from Perugia. He would like to know what kind of relationship she has with the Italian.
He is calmer now. He’s decided that it doesn’t bother him if Valérie thinks she is using him; he doesn’t care. As long as she behaves and he can use her, he doesn’t care. As long as I can let off steam with her, he thinks, and the phrase sticks: let off steam. But there are moments when he’s not convinced. He should stop seeing her, forget her once and for all, just forget. And above all not get her mixed up in this. That will be difficult.
“It’s better for you not to know anything, Valérie.”
“Better why? For who?”
“Better for you. And for me.”
“So you’re going to keep me out?”
“Out of what?”
“Marqués Eduardo de Valfierno, or whoever you are, I’m young, and it’s useful for me that people like you think I’m not smart, but I am. And I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to treat me as if I wasn’t.”
There’s something in her tone that annoys Valfierno. He wipes his mouth with the white napkin, coughs, and lifts his head. And says what he hadn’t planned to:
“In that case let’s be clear. From now on we’re going to stop seeing each other. It’s not working, neither for you nor for me, and it’s not helping us, either. You’re to stay out of this business. Leave it to me. Of course, I recognize your contribution and I’ll make a pledge to you: if everything goes well you will get from me an extraordinary gift, more than you ever dreamed.”
“Valfierno, you can’t keep me out of this. You can’t leave me, either, Valfierno, that’s stupid!”
Valfierno looks at her with something close to tenderness. He asks himself if it’s true that he’s just left her.
“It’s for your own good,” he tells her, but he worries. Valérie is a child; she has nothing to lose and she doesn’t know the way things work. She could make trouble.
“You don’t know who you’re playing with,” she says and bares those teeth.