Unwelcome In London

Belle et Bonne flies to Edinburgh the very next day.

On the plane she is reading a newspaper. She flicks through to the sports section, see if there's anything about the Tour.

Ha ha! Froome has made up with Wiggo. I'd like to have been a fly on the wall when that happened, thinks Belle et Bonne. She folds up the newspaper, and looks out of the window at Scotland. Is that Edinburgh already?

.........

Darling! says Vello, when Belle et Bonne arrives at the hotel . You're a lifesaver!

David smiles faintly. A lifesaver? Thank you Vello, old friend.

Well, says Belle et Bonne. To be honest I was lonely in Paris. What's the weather like here? Rainy and cold I suppose?

Not at all, says David. It's balmy. Perhaps you'd like to ride with me out to Chirnside? It would be so pleasant to ride through the dear winding laneways smelling the exquisite wildflowers of Scotland....

She doesn't have a bicycle, says Vello.

No problem, says David. She can ride yours.

Let me catch my breath first, says Belle et Bonne, putting her bag down and dropping the newspaper on the table.

Heard from Ageless? says Vello.

No, says Belle et Bonne. He seems to have disappeared off the train. I wish we knew someone who might have seen him.

Chris Froome was on the train, says David. I saw him.

Really? says Belle et Bonne. Froome was on the train? I read something about Froome this morning. What was it? Oh yes, he's made up with Wiggo.

Let me see, says Vello, grabbing the newspaper. Hee hee! It says here that Froomey took Wiggo a present. A .... boiled lobster from Paris. Oh my.... that's hilarious...a boiled lobster! He bought him a dinner!

Papa! says Belle et Bonne. You don't think....?

But they do think.

And it suddenly seems horribly clear.

............

Arthur knocks on the door of an apartment on the third floor of a house in central London. Mathilde opens the door.

Her face freezes.

Arthur! says Mathilde. What are you doing here?

Is Paul here? says Arthur.

No, says Mathilde. Fortunately, he has just left.

Where was he going? asks Arthur.

As if I would tell you, Arthur Rimbaud, says Mathilde, slamming the door.