Page 145 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

He gave me a final smile. ‘Then I know you are telling the truth.’

The rain made the street slick on the Rue Saint-Denis, and flashing red lights were reflected on the ground beneath me. Burly men puffed away on cigarettes under dilapidated awnings, and I felt their eyes following me as I made my way up the pavement. Not far ahead, a glamorous-looking woman in a fur coat was huddled in the door of a run-down café. I gritted my teeth.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, approaching her. ‘I’m looking for someone.’

‘Look no further, monsieur. A hundred francs, you can do anything you want to me.’ She winked.

‘No, you misunderstand, that’s not what I meant. I’m looking for a woman called Marina.’

The woman rolled her eyes. ‘What would you want a little girl like that for, when you could have a woman like me...’ She grabbed the lapels of my coat.

‘No, I’m not here forthat. I’m just an old friend of her family. I was told that I might find her here. Do you know where she is?’

She frowned and gave a snort. ‘Whatever you say, monsieur.’ She pointed further up the road. ‘Marina’s at Le Lézard.’

‘Thank you. I really appreciate it.’ The woman shruggedand turned away, and I continued towards the glowing neon sign ahead.

As I attempted to enter the premises, an enormous man in a leather coat put his arm out to stop me. ‘Can I help you, monsieur?’

‘I’m here to see someone,’ I replied.

‘Sorry, monsieur. You need to make an appointment with me. But don’t worry, I’m very amenable.’

I involuntarily turned my nose up at the man. ‘I don’t want anything like that, thank you. I just want to talk to Marina.’

He looked sceptical. ‘Marina?’

‘Yes.’ The man looked me up and down. ‘Fine. Don’t know why I keep her on my books. She’s choosy. And beggars can’t be choosers, monsieur.’ It took nerve to restrain myself as the man spoke with such little regard for a desperate human being. He pushed the club door open. ‘She’s right at the back.’

I walked into the dimly lit club, which was sparsely populated by men in suits with girls in short skirts draped over them. The musty air stank of cigarette smoke and bleach. I made my way to the back of the room, where a long leather banquette was positioned against the wall, next to a winding staircase. A slight woman sat cooing over a baby, who couldn’t have been more than six months old.

‘Shh,chéri,’ she comforted. ‘All will be well. Mama will be back soon.’

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Are you Marina?’

The woman looked up at me with fear in her eyes. ‘Pierre is supposed to tell me when someone wants me.’

I put my hands up. ‘Please, that’s not why I’m here. I’m an old friend of your grandmother’s.’

Marina looked perplexed. ‘I don’t have a grandmother. Both died before I was born.’

I took a deep breath, realising this would be a difficulttask. ‘Ah. Actually, Marina, that might not necessarily be the case.’

She furrowed her brow. ‘What do you mean? Who are you?’

The baby began to cry, and a loud male voice shouted from across the room. ‘Shut that bloody thing up. Jesus, I come here to get away from that racket!’

Marina shook her head. ‘Come on,chéri, not much longer now.’ She rocked the child gently, and hummed a quiet lullaby until it began to settle. ‘There now, that’s better.’ She looked back up at me. ‘Just tell me what you want.’

‘May I take a seat?’ I asked, and she nodded. ‘Is the baby yours?’

‘No. He is my friend Celine’s.’ Marina looked up at the clock which hung on the wall above her. ‘She is busy at the moment. Probably for another ten minutes.’

‘I see.’ I shifted awkwardly. ‘Well, as I mentioned, I knew your grandmother, Evelyn. Believe it or not, she actually looked after me when I was a little boy.’

‘Huh. So what does that have to do with you being here?’

I folded my arms. ‘I recently learnt about your family circumstances from an old friend of mine, and I wanted to say how sorry I am. It must all be very difficult for you.’