France: The Bodyguard

Divorces are hardly news in the cinema world. But when Star Alain Delon and his svelte wife Nathalie came to a final parting last week on the grounds of “serious mutual insult,” a great many people found the event worthy of special note as the latest and inevitable in stallment in one of those long-running scandals that Paris so cherishes. Last week Nathalie was in Rome making a new movie, and Alain was before the cameras in Paris. For months, however, both have been the cause of a cause celebre that has everything — sex, politics, murder and decadence.

The plot of the scandal is triangular, and the third party was handsome, mus cular Stevan (“the Bull”) Markovic, a 31-year-old Serb who worked for Alain as a combination valet, bodyguard and friend. When Delon and Nathalie sallied forth to Parisian boites and discotheques, surrounded by their band of hangers-on, Markovic was always at their side. Wherever Alain went, in fact, Stevan was sure to go. He lived with them in their plush town house at 22 Avenue de Messine, traveled with them to their luxurious beach home at St.-Tropez. A skilled wrestler, he was equally quick with his fists; these talents were sometimes useful to Alain, who had picked up a wide underworld acquaintance of pals during his earlier days as a young street brawler, a rifleman in Indo-China and a merchant sailor. For Stevan, it was an amusing existence, but it came to an abrupt end last fall. In early October, a ragpicker found his sackcloth-swathed corpse in a garbage dump at Elancourt, near Versailles.

Almost immediately, the police investigations began to assume an importance far beyond that normally accorded to a simple killing. No fewer than seven inspectors were assigned to the case, a mark of genuine concern, and the Interior Minister was reported to be in regular contact with investigators. Soon some of the story began to get out. Markovic had proved exceptionally able at turning up pretty young girls for his friends; moreover, he produced photographic records of their activities from his private albums even when such mementos were not requested. Properly businesslike, he kept detailed records of the transactions—and there were rumors that those lists included the names of several Gaullist Deputies, the wife of a former Cabinet minister, high-ranking civil servants and wealthy industrialists.

A particularly interesting lead was provided by a letter that Markovic. wrote, shortly before his death, to his brother Aleksander, a Trieste businessman and once captain of the yacht of Yugoslav President Josip Broz Tito. In that letter Stevan told his brother that “if anything happens to me, address yourself to Alain Delon, to his wife and to his associate Francois Marcantoni, a real gangster . . .” Police seized Marcantoni, once linked with the Corsican Mafia, and began putting him through a long series of interrogations that are still going on. So far, however, he has not incriminated himself. “They want me to wear the hat,” he said, “but I can assure them that it won’t fit.” Other underworld witnesses have been hauled in for questioning as well, including such Parisian types as “Jeannot le Corse,” “Bronco,” “Swami” and “Francois le Beige,” but their testimony has simply confused matters. So far, efforts to coax Nathalie to testify have been largely fruitless, although she did submit to one bout of questioning. Now she pleads that she is too busy in Rome to break away. Delon, more cooperative, has chalked up four appearances so far. Each time he makes a point of declaring his innocence to reporters, accusing “rumormongers and nymphomaniacs” of plotting against him.

Nubile Young Girls. Titillating though the published details were, le tout Paris concentrated its gossip on the high personages reportedly involved. Almost everyone seemed to know the name of the former Cabinet minister’s wife, for instance. It all stimulated memories of the “Ballets Roses” organized during the late ’50s by Andre Le Troquer, at the time President of the National Assembly. Le Troquer made a habit of wrapping nubile young girls in antique carpets and delivering the bundles to aging revelers. But that was a long time past. The choicest scandal is always the present scandal, and in Parisian salons there was a delicious feeling that the “serious mutual insult” cited in the Delon divorce might well spread through several more households—and government bureaus—before the end of “L’affaire Markovic.”