‘Voulez-vous partager?’
Ah, the international language of getting completely wankered! This was one I definitely understood. With a broad grin, I snatched up the bottle, unscrewed the top and took a big gulp.
‘Hou la la! Ralentissez, petit gars, ralentissez!’[13]
‘Ooo la la is right!’ A broad grin spread across my face, and I handed her the bottle. She grabbed it, and took a gulp even bigger than mine.
‘Voila!’
‘Ha! That’s the best thing you can do? Give me that bottle!’
‘No way! If I do, it be empty in three gulps!’
I froze. Then, slowly, I raised my eyes to meet hers. She clapped her hand in front of her mouth. ‘Merde!’
‘You can say that again, Lady! How come you suddenly speak English?’
She gave me a sullen look. ‘I thought you call me to reduce my pay. That enfoirè Ambrose try to do that twice since he arrived. So I simply pretend I not understand. Simple solution be the best, eh?’
‘Genius!’ I slapped the table. ‘I wish I’d had that idea.’
A corner of her mouth twitched. ‘He try with you, too?’
Oh, he tried lots of things with me—most of which succeeded.
‘Um…something along those lines. But, you know, I’m not here to announce a pay cut.’
She nodded. ‘I gather from what you say.’
&nb
sp; I frowned. ‘Then why did you keep on pretending?’
Her smile blossomed into a full-blown naughty grin. ‘It be so much fun to watch you wrestle with Francais and lose.’
‘You…you devious little…!’ I jabbed a finger at her, while the inner me stood up and applauded. ‘As punishment, you will serve as my translator! I need someone to help me find out what is happening here. And since you’re the victim, you’re pretty much the only one I can trust to tell the truth.’
‘Translator. New job, oui?’ She held out an open hand and raised a delicate eyebrow. ‘How much it pay?’
‘You’ll do it, or I’ll inform Mr Ambrose about this little scheme to avoid him.’
‘Qu’est-ce que vous avez dit? Je crains que je ne comprends pas un mot que vous dites. Je ne parle pas anglais. C’est un langage tellement compliqué, et je ne suis qu’une chanteuse idiote.’[14]
‘Really?’ I gave her a long, hard look. ‘You’re really playing that game again?’
She smiled at me with an innocence not even my little virgin sister could have matched.
‘Excusez-moi? Qu’est-ce que vous avez dit?’[15]
My shoulders slumped. Crap! Or, as the French would say, crêpe suzette! What was I going to do now? I needed someone impartial to translate, or I would never get anywhere in this damn investigation. How could I possibly change her mind and make her help me? How could I convince her?
My gaze swept over the well-endowed prima donna—and then, as if led by a helpful alcoholic divine entity, landed on the bottle. An idea popped into my head. An idea that, I was sure, Mr Ambrose would not like. Which of course meant I had to try it immediately.
A smile spread over my face, and I leant forward, towards my soon-to-be interpreter.
‘Listen. I have an offer for you…’
The Return of the Yellow Piggies