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The proprietors were discreet, and had an ancient well-seasoned arrangement with the police, so identity cards were never too carefully scrutinized and generations of “Duvals” and “Durands” had found comforting anonymity at the Benoit. “Society must have laws,” his lawyer friend Arnaud used to say, “and society must have convenient means to evade them.”
The trick was to think about lentils as he used to know them, in a salad with mustard sauce and lean bacon. His father used to say, “You can’t eat dreams!” But, in a way, you could.
On a trip to London during the spy panics of the 1930s, he’d seen tabloid headlines plastered all over the kiosks—HE BETRAYED HIS COUNTRY FOR RED GOLD. Weiss smiled at the recollection. He supposed that calling money gold made it more sinister.
She took his arm and led him around to the side of the building, using the service entry meant for deliveries and adultery, avoiding the eagle-eyed concierge in her loge in the front hall.
Nu comme un ver.”
