Chapter 8When I return to work, I see Doctor Poullet is sitting in the outer office. His round face is shiny with perspiration, in spite of the air-conditioning, and he constantly mops it with a linen handkerchief.
“Bonjour, Poullet – are you waiting to see me?” I ask.
“What a great job you have, enjoying your lunch until nearly 4.30 when others are working from dawn until dusk,” he replies. “I just thought I'd rest a while in these salubrious surroundings and perhaps engage with your sophisticated staff.”
He stares pointedly at Laurent, who is attempting to excavate something from his nostril with the index finger of his left hand. Poullet rolls his eyes. Paul, who is sitting at a desk alongside tries, but fails, to stifle a guffaw.
“You'd better come in to my office,” I say. I don't
