Black Diamond by Martin Walker Read Free Book Online

nearly ten years, but with lots of trips to the mainland. I was in Shanghai for nearly a year, Beijing for a few months. And I spent time in Singapore and Bangkok. I loved Asia. Still do, but suddenly I started to feel a little homesick. Believe it or not, I hoped for a reconciliation with my father.”
    “But you weren’t prepared to compromise on the sawmill,” said the baron, “despite the family tie.”
    “No. But I offered to help pay for a new chimney scrubber.”
    “The latest problem was less the pollution than the location,” said Bruno. “It was too close to that housing block.”
    “It would have meant demolishing one building,” said Pons, with a bitter laugh. “Just a small storage shed, and donating about a hundred square meters to the commune. Then the sawmill would’ve been outside the excluded area. I offered to pay for the land and for a replacement storage building, but my father saw it as a matter of principle. Or perhaps he saw it as good business—he’s getting a generous grant to build the new sawmill over in St. Félix and a tax write-off for the old place. Anyway, he made it pretty clear that he wanted neither my help nor my company. But that’s enough about my dysfunctional family. Thanks again, especially to you, Monsieur le Chef de Police. I’d heard all about you from our mutual friend Alphonse, and I think it was mainly thanks to you that it didn’t turn out worse than it was.”
    “If violence breaks out, even one brief incident, it means I’ve failed,” said Bruno, feeling uncomfortable. “I can’t count that as one of my better days.”
    “Let’s try this Chinese wine,” Pamela said into the sudden silence.
    Bill poured. “Tell me what you think.”
    Bruno sipped and made polite noises, but it wasn’t to his taste at all. The baron put his cup down after a sip and muttered about having to drive and beware of the gendarmes. Fabiola, who made a point of putting honesty first, said it was not her idea of a digestif.
    “It’s interesting, different from what I expected,” said Pamela. “What did you do in Asia? Did you get a job or teach French or start a business or what?”
    “All of those,” he said, with a charming smile that even hisbruises could not dilute. “At different times, of course. I was a cognac salesman in Shanghai, ran a wineshop in Vientiane, taught French in Bangkok and even worked as a croupier in a Macao casino. But my primary business was to have a small share in what became a very successful restaurant in Macao and then Hong Kong. That’s where I met my chef, Minxin Hu. He’s become a good friend. Let me introduce him.” He rose. “Anyone want coffee?”
    “I have to work tomorrow, so I don’t want to be too late,” said Fabiola. “Let’s say hello to your Chinese partner as we get our coats.”
    Bill headed for the kitchen and quickly reappeared with the tall and solemn-looking Chinese man. The clothes were impeccable, gleaming white and freshly pressed, as if he had just put them on. Bruno, who had seen Chinese cooks drenched in sweat after working close to their steaming woks, was surprised. “Thank you for a memorable meal,” said Bruno, rising to shake Minxin’s hand. The man gave a tight-lipped smile and a short bow.
    “
Merci, merci
—my French very bad,” the chef said, and shook hands all around as Bruno asked Pons once more for the bill.
    “You are my guests tonight,” he said airily.
    “No, it’s kind of you, but we can’t accept that,” Bruno said firmly. “Policemen can’t accept free meals. We’d like to pay.”
    Bill studied Bruno for a moment, his bruised face impassive. Then he nodded and turned aside to the small reception table and scribbled out a bill. It said simply “4 fusion menus at 20 euros, 1 bottle wine 20 euros. Total 100 euros.”
    “By the way, Minxin’s nieces need to be registered for school,” said Bruno, handing over two fifty-euro notes. He turned to help Pamela on with her coat.