Where the Light Falls(113)
Jean-Luc wondered, as much for Sophie’s sake as his own, where André was. Somewhere in the Mediterranean, with Bonaparte’s fleet. Was he part of the party sailing for Africa?
“When that happens…when Bonaparte comes back and restores some order to this place”—Gavreau drained his wineglass—“the first thing I plan to do is recommend you for a promotion to the Directory.”
Jean-Luc turned his gaze and his focus back to his employer, his eyes widening at the statement.
“Don’t argue with me on this, St. Clair. I know you’ve bucked in the past when I’ve tried to recommend you. I know that the thought of working every day alongside or opposite Guillaume Lazare makes you about as comfortable as the thought of pissing over a pit of snakes. And I cannot entirely blame you for that. There’s something not right with that fellow. I just…I just regret that I put you in his path.”
Jean-Luc waved this last comment away. “All you did was introduce me to his colleague, Merignac. It was not your fault. It was I who sought out Lazare’s acquaintance and his camaraderie,” Jean-Luc admitted.
“Aye, but…” Gavreau hesitated. “I’m not entirely innocent, I regret to say.”
Jean-Luc frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Merignac…he came to me looking for…an acolyte.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You know that Lazare. How he always seeks to have his minions. His ‘Little Projects,’ he calls them. His band of disciples, even if he’s not Christ. Hell, perhaps he’s the Antichrist.”
Jean-Luc nodded, yes. He did understand, for his mind went back to the Jacobin Club on Rue Saint-Honoré, the first night he’d met Lazare, and how they’d been surrounded by a band of admirers; the men had been wordless in their subservience and attendance to Lazare, their undisputed sage and master.
“Well, Merignac came to me, saying that Lazare wanted a bright new talent from within our department. Someone he could mentor. I recommended you, of course.”
Jean-Luc felt a chill pass over his body, in spite of the warmth of the café.
“Thought it would be a good opportunity for you. You were my most talented, most hardworking clerk. Ambitious, too. I regretted that the only work I could give you was bureaucratic drudgery. But now…well, now, I regret ever putting you in front of him.”
Jean-Luc understood, in that moment, just how wrong he’d been. He’d supposed that Lazare had sought him out for the quality of his work. That the prodigious lawyer had followed his career from afar and had respected his service to the Revolution. That all this time, Gavreau had been pushed aside and not invited into the acquaintance with Lazare. But, in truth, Gavreau had been the one to pull Jean-Luc into Lazare’s orbit, had been the one to facilitate the relationship—a relationship from which Jean-Luc now longed to escape.
“So, that dinner, that first time you introduced me to Merignac?”
“It was an interview…of sorts.” Gavreau nodded, averting his eyes. “You passed, whatever that means. ’Course now, I fear that Lazare was less interested in mentoring you and more interested in molding you; I suspect you’ve proven a frustrating prospect to him as a result, you and your damned character and integrity.” Gavreau leaned closer, his voice low and uncharacteristically devoid of jest. “Just…just don’t let him get too close.”
“No.” Jean-Luc frowned.
“He’s very intrigued by the work you do. He’s always asking about your cases and your files. Just be careful…I wouldn’t let him get much closer. To you…or your family. And whatever you do, keep him out of your office.”
Jean-Luc nodded, agreeing. He wanted that man out of his life entirely. “Perhaps I should just…” Jean-Luc hesitated. “Perhaps this was all a mistake,” he said, his tone sour. “I should pack up Marie and Mathieu and take us all back to the south where we started. The hell with them all—Lazare, Merignac, the damned Directory.”
“No, no,” Gavreau growled. “None of that defeatist talk. Don’t turn cynic on me now, St. Clair. We’re so close, at last. Hear this, the one bright spot: the days of lawyers terrorizing Paris are almost over.” Gavreau leaned back in his chair. “When General Bonaparte comes back, things will be different. He’ll bring the army and pack up that guillotine and restore order so that folks like Lazare won’t be ruling with fear. And you’ll get your promotion in the new regime. You’ll finally be playing the role in this damned nation that you deserve.”