Cécilia Attias, who used to be married to Carla Bruni's husband, now lives in Dubai with her new spouse. "Why not Geneva?" she was asked by La Tribune de Genève, since Mr. Attias once had his offices there. Cécilia feigns a moment's hesitation, then says, "All right, what has to be said has to be said." She goes on to assert that her husband, who had for thirteen years organized the Davos world economic forum for Klaus Schwab, was told by the latter that he was out of a job because it wouldn't do to create tension with the French government. "Since then," Mme Attias adds, a trifle perfidiously, "I have learned that the French president will probably attend the next Davos although he has never attended before."
Actually, her twisting of the knife is a little more subtle in French, with a nuance that is awkward to translate. She says: "Depuis, j'ai appris que le président français se rendrait probablement à Davos ..." The combination of the conditional with probablement leaves one wondering just what Mme Attias learned about her ex's intentions: the French president allegedly will probably attend, it is said that the French president will probably attend, etc. Maybe he'll be there. Maybe not. Never mind. The dagger is planted. Her ex allegedly probably in her opinion had her current hubby fired from his job.
After all, everybody allegedly probably knows already that this is the sort of thing "le président français" does. Well done, Cécilia. You should be working for the McCain campaign. You've mastered the art of character assassination, and there is no way that your ex can escape the charge: if he goes, he's keeping his part of the alleged bargain with Schwab; if he doesn't go, it's because you've exposed his machinations. Bien joué. And what a blackguard: his woman leaves him, so he banishes her and her lover to the farthest corner of Arabia, where contre mauvaise fortune ils font bon coeur: after all, it's only "two hours from India, from China; you can go there for the weekend," even if you have to give up the Parisian pleasures of nightly theater and opera.