La Pute

9

"Mort aux vaches?" A sharp voice asked.

Florence realized that she had fallen asleep on the bench and forgotten all about the arrival of the secretary. But how could that happen? She scratched her head. It was not like her to forget things like that.

"I've traveled a long way. Is this how you show hospitality here in Marseille?" The same voice snarled, finally catching Florence's attention. It was a woman, one with a sleek updo and a dark blue dress. Florence nodded and handed her the letter that she had managed to crumple after falling asleep on it. The woman was not happy and furrowed her brows, but opened the envelope regardless. She didn't read the letter, in fact, she didn't take one look at it and instead pulled out a key that Florence had not noticed before.

Florence eyed the white yacht that now towered over the small merchant boat. The woman from before was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief. If such a rogue appeared in front of the demanding secretary, there would surely be a trouble. "You. Come with us", Pérez ordered. Behind her was a one-man detail that Florence didn't consider too intimidating. By the looks of it Pérez was more bothersome than whoever she had hired as a guard.

Florence nodded. There was nothing else for her to do, so she might as well let the woman waste her time.

.

.

.

After driving through the city for about twenty minutes, the car continued along a dirt road that led further away from the bustling streets and towards the mountains. It was dead quiet inside the car, with only the exception of tires screeching against the rocky ground. Pérez sat silently on the backseat next to Florence with a grim expression on her face. Florence wondered if that was how she always looked. "You should at least ask about my journey, that's common courtesy that even a person like you should be aware of", the woman scoffed and closed her eyes in annoyance. Florence blinked. "Then again, I probably shouldn't expect even that much from you. Have you ever seen the face of the man you take orders from?"

After another minute or two of silence, Pérez seemed to give up and simply sighed in disbelief. Although she was more noisy than Florence would have liked, she did remind her of someone, but she couldn't put her finger on who that was. It might have just been her imagination. She had met far too many people after arriving in Marseille, but Pérez seemed more troublesome than them. She made  Florence think of an early evening. An early evening when the sun had just set and the sky stood still, dark but anticipating.

They eventually arrived at a lavish building enclosed by old, thick trees and several flowerbeds. The hotel itself was a 19th century chateau with a wide balcony on the second floor. A porter greeted them at the stairs, then picked up Pérez's suitcase and ushered the two of them inside.

As soon as they entered the hotel, Pérez's demeanor changed entirely. Her stained lips curved into a toothy grin and her needle-like eyes softened to the point that Florence could no longer see the same hint of disgust and resentment as before.

When it was time for dinner, Ms. Pérez brought Florence with her to the hotel restaurant where a familiar man was sitting at one of the tables by the window. He looked up, then returned his attention back to the meal in front of him. "You look well, Ms. Pérez", Vauquelin breathed. He wore a navy-colored woolen suit that Florence didn't remember seeing before. She discreetly took a seat next to him as to not disturb their conversation. Pérez still had a smile on her face, an expression of such profound submission that just watching it made Florence feel uneasy.

"Shouldn't you get her something to eat? Just look at what a bony body she has", Pérez then pointed her finger at Florence. She was baffled.

Upon hearing that, Vauquelin stopped. He put down his spoon next to the bowl of steaming soup and took off his gloves, gesturing his hand at the waiter. "The gratin. And Italian white wine", Vauquelin requested. "Now look at that. He doesn't hesitate getting you the finest dish", Pérez commented with the same eerie smile that now seemed to make much more sense. In her mind she must have seen herself in Florence. Ms. Pérez was most likely not from an influential background. All she had was her employer, Mr. Lopez.

But Florence wasn't like her at all. Whether she wanted to or not, she was in no position to look up at others and sneer at the rest. She looked through them, for they were all a faceless crowd. "Speaking of which, she hasn't said a word all day! Where did you find her?" Pérez continued, her previously sharp voice now more high-pitched. Florence had already long gotten tired of listening to her talk and no longer paid much attention to what she was saying. But her last question sparked interest in her.

"Florence, my Florence", Vauquelin wheezed after a moment of silence. He looked at neither of them, but towards the ceiling where a pillar connected to marble covered in celestial paintings.

His voice was like smoke in cold air.

"I found her carrying boxes of explosives at the shipyard."