January 1919.
Following the armistice, Mary Kiten, a volunteer nurse in northern France, is ready to return home to England when she receives a surprise telegram requesting that she report to Paris. The call comes from her Uncle Arthur, a security chief at the Peace Conference.
Within minutes of arriving at the Majestic Hotel in Paris, Mary hears a commotion in the street outside. A man has been shot and killed. She is horrified to earn that the victim is her uncle. The police report the attack as a chance robbery by a known thief, who is tracked down and killed resisting arrest.
Mary is not convinced. Circumstances and the gunshot wound do not indicate theft as a motive. A scribbled address on Arthur’s notepad leads to her discovery of another body, a Russian Bolshevik. She suspects her uncle, and the Russian, were murdered by the same hand.
To investigate further, Mary takes a position working for the British Treasury, headed by J M Keynes.
But Mary soon finds herself in the backstreets of Paris and the criminal underworld.
What she discovers will threaten the foundations of the
congress.
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Le Pistolet Fumant was an odd name for a restaurant located only a few yards from the Champs Elysees. Some may have considered it strangely appropriate to the subject of our intended conversation. The interior was warm, welcoming and tempting. A subdued light gave an intimate air to an arrangement of ornate tables and chairs cosseted with a flush of maroon velvet trimmed with gold. The only concession to its intriguing name was a pair of ancient muskets hung on the wall facing our entrance. The rich smells wafting from waiters’ trays and filtering through kitchen doors teased my senses and banished all other thoughts as we studied our menus in silence.
Visser had decided. He folded his menu and placed it on the table. He said, ‘Would you consider me too forward if I suggested we use each other’s Christian names instead of the “Mr” and “Miss” from now on?’
‘Not at all.’ I was surprised and pleased he had asked. ‘I would be happy to be called Mary or Maria.’
‘And I am plain Adam with no variant or nickname, I’m afraid.’
We smiled, then I quickly returned to the menu as a waiter approached. Our orders given, both of us seemed to be waiting for the other to initiate a resumption of unfinished conversation from the Astoria.
Eventually, he said, ‘Tell me more about the attack on Keynes and how you came to be following him that night.’
‘Oh, we haven’t finished with the enquiries into Arthur’s murder, have we?’
‘No, but there is no more to be done until I have made a few enquiries. Sazanov heads the most influential of the anti-Bolshevik groups in Paris, but there are others. I need to gather information on the current activities of all of them.’
‘Who would have that information?’
‘I have the SIS dossiers we used for briefing before our assignments in Eastern Europe. The French intelligence service should be able to help, but the Americans will probably have the most detailed information.’
‘I’ve already spoken to Colonel House’s assistant, and the information she offered was helpful but brief and incomplete.’
‘It’s Lansing and his entourage who have the data I need.’
‘Excuse my ignorance, but who is Lansing?’
‘He is Wilson’s Secretary of State, although Wilson doesn’t appear to have much faith in him. Lansing is fiercely anti-Bolshevik and opposed all contact with them. I am assured he holds current and voluminous files on all the parties fighting against Lenin, Trotsky and the Red Army.’
I supposed it made sense, but I had an uneasy feeling I was being side-lined. I related the story of my first visit to Bar Felix with Keynes, the retrieval of his notebook, my suspicions aroused by the scheming in street doorways and a sudden realisation of a possible entrapment with a camera. He heard me patiently and without interrupting while we were served with our aperitifs. Finally, I paused my narrative to tackle the mussels we had both ordered.
‘Tell me, Mary,’ he said, wiping his fingers on a napkin, ‘were you and Major Parkes surprised at the attackers’ use of weapons? You knew a trap had been laid.’
‘I didn’t anticipate weapons would be used in anger for the entrapment. I imagined threats would have been sufficient if needed.’ I paused, remembering the shock of the gunshot. ‘Put it down to my naivety. I should have explained more to Major Parkes, then he would have been prepared. But… we were rushed… there wasn’t time.’ I shook my head to dismiss images of John’s wound. ‘No, please ignore those excuses. It was my fault. I was too eager to scupper their plans. I didn’t think it through properly.’
I was half expecting him to protest that I was blameless and say words to ease my conscience, but he didn’t. He didn’t react at all. I wasn’t sure if he approved of my actions or thought I was foolish. His expression told me nothing. The mussels were finished. Delicious. I dabbed my lips with the napkin, then continued to recount the Keynes incident and its aftermath.
Paul Walker
Paul
lives in a village 30 miles north of London, where he is a full-time writer of
fiction and part-time director of an education trust. His writing in a posh garden
shed is regularly disrupted by children, a growing number of grandchildren, and several
dogs.
Paul writes historical fiction. The William Constable series of historical thrillers is based around real characters and events in the late sixteenth century. The first two books in the series – “State of Treason” and “A Necessary Killing” were published in 2019. The third book, titled “The Queen’s Devil,” was published in the summer of 2020.
Travel forward a few hundred years from Tudor England to January 1919 in Paris and the setting for Paul’s latest book, “A Turbulent Peace”. The focus of the World is on the Peace Conference after WW1 armistice. Add a dash of Spanish Flu, the fallout from the Russian Revolution, and you have a background primed for intrigue as nations strive for territory, power, and money.
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