A Clean Pair of Hands (12 page)

“It started with alcohol, to be honest.” She breathed in deeply. “I drank too much free alcohol at receptions and functions with people who drank buckets as a matter of habit. I thought I could handle it, but alcohol blurs common sense and morals and eventually alters your identity. Your inner conscience may be in conflict with the changes that occur to you, and you may even think you are coping, but the changes are relentless. You only find out where you are going, and who you are becoming, when you arrive. Then you discover you have no identity, no substance, so you attach to something that gives you identity – whatever is available. You have no character, no principles, and no modesty,” she went on, “you don't always live life the way you want to – destiny has a hand. I knew inside that I didn't want to participate in the mad life that my colleagues were leading, but I already had one foot in it. I had already cast off and the boat was moving away from the quay. There comes a final point where you can decide whether to jump in it or not, and I jumped.

“You can always regret something afterward, but that has to be balanced with the desire at the time to feel real and be admired. You end up with no clear plans, but you can see your life as a changing image. Nothing you have learned helps you to find a way out or find a moral base
that tells you when to stop. I couldn't. I just kept on till I fell over and was picked up and put back on my feet, but not where I started. My old life had been destroyed for ever, but at least it gave me a chance to survive and start again.”

“So what did you do then?” pursued Thérèse.

“Hah,” laughed Sandrine bitterly, “I started again, but this time with drugs.” She paused, raising her head with her eyes closed and breathed in deeply. “The first time you take drugs you think, that's OK. I can handle that. At first I thought I was really happy – nothing bothered me anymore. Then one day you are found walking naked in the street or being used for sex by a group of men and sometimes women in a hotel room. Drugs are like dying; they cut you off from every earthly constraint, yet they give you the means to live life more freely than you would ever dare to do without them.” Emotion stopped her talking for a while. Thérèse couldn't prevent herself from getting up from her chair and putting her arms around Sandrine.

“You survived. You're still here and you have Christian to think about, so that's something worth fighting for, isn't it?”

Sandrine sniffed loudly and wiped her nose again with a tissue. “It's like being shut in a prison that you know you have to escape from, but you haven't got the strength to break out. Meanwhile, life goes on outside as if nothing had happened.”

At that moment, Fleur Rocha came back into the room with a big smile. “So you are having a nice siesta by the fire,” she beamed brightly. They all nodded.

The conversation turned to the next meal and how it would be prepared.

George Milton and Johnny Mendes were drinking together at one of the Bodins’ gatherings in a Paris hotel. The discussion turned to the reasons why Michel had sold the house on the Cote d’Azur. Was it was all about Mohammed or was there a more obscure reason? They discussed the general difficulty of legitimately finding staff to take care of secondary homes in France because of heavy taxes on employment and the flourishing black labour market that is their by-product. George expressed some puzzlement about the affair and suggested that having a live-in caretaker must present another set of administrative and employment problems for the owners. Johnny leaned towards George, holding his glass of Champagne closer. “Can I share something with you in absolute confidence?”

In George’s experience, that usually meant that the speaker had previously been lying or was telling only part of the story. He nodded to Johnny, put down his glass and nudged it forward on the table like a chess piece.

“Seriously, I don’t want you to discuss what I am about to tell you with Michel or Charlotte. It would cause big trouble if you did.” George offered his hand to Johnny and they shook on it with sly smiles.

According to Johnny, Michel’s problems began when
one day Mohammed went to get some gardening tools from the work-shop; a spacious shed nearly fifty metres from the main house. As he approached the door, he saw that the padlock had been opened and he thought he could hear a faint humming noise and gasping sounds. When he partially opened the door, he saw the resplendent back end of Catherine, Charlotte’s sister. She was naked and kneeling on a workbench, arching her back, while being enthusiastically serviced from behind by Michel Bodin using an electrical device. Mohammed closed the door gently and slipped away silently. He was shocked at the sacrilege he had just seen, but not so shocked that he failed to identify an opportunity to ask Michel the next day for a pay increase to ensure his silence. Once Mohammed’s powers of observation were made incontestably clear to Michel, he agreed to the deal.

Having thought it over, Mohammed was so shocked by what he had seen that he came to a realisation that for religious reasons he could not work for Michel anymore, so the next rung on the tactical ladder was Mohammed’s new proposal that he should continue to live in the cottage with his family and be paid as usual, but without doing any work. Michel would have to hire contractors to maintain the estate. Michel found this imbroglio difficult to accept and furthermore, impossible to justify in accounting terms to Charlotte, so there was a stand-off between the two men. For several months they didn’t speak and Mohammed didn’t work, resulting in the pipes being neglected that winter.

Michel tried to dismiss Mohammed, but the Moroccan knew about employment tribunals in France and put the case to his boss that as he was a poor immigrant with a family, the tribunal would probably find in his favour whatever the circumstances, and in any event French
law prevented landlords from ejecting tenants between mid-October and March. There was also the question as to what Mohamed might reveal to a public tribunal about what he had seen and heard that drew down such vindictiveness from his employer. Michel could find no alternative but to ask how much Mohammed would accept to leave, so that he could sell the place.

They did a deal. It was expensive. Charlotte never understood why her husband was so generous. Mohammed took his family back to Morocco and bought a farm with the proceeds.

During another party in Paris, Johnny Mendes was advocating to George Milton that he and Thérèse should come clubbing. George responded that they were a little old for that kind of loud and lively entertainment.

“Oh no,” laughed Johnny, “you’re not too old for this. It’s adult clubbing, where husbands and wives are free to be daring and enjoy themselves.” The penny dropped.

“You mean a swingers club?” George could just imagine Thérèse’s reaction.

“Is that what you call it?” Johnny grinned, nodding encouragingly.

“Well, it sounds like it. What goes on, exactly?”

“The place has two parts,” elaborated Johnny. “One is like a normal club where you can have a drink, listen to music, meet people, or dance – all quite normal. There’s nothing sordid about it. Then, if you want to, you can go through into another private area and see what’s going on through one-way glass, or participate with anybody who takes your fancy, if they agree of course. That’s what makes it exciting.”

“Do Michel and Charlotte go?”

“Yes. Charlotte was reluctant at first, but when she
saw that Michel was enthusiastic she softened up and Ayida gave her some encouragement. Now she is what you would call quite a swinger. Last time we were there, someone offered ten thousand francs for her.” He put this almost admiringly.

“You mean you can sell your wife?”

“Shhh,” Johnny scanned the nearby guests. “You don’t sell your wife or girlfriend just like that, but if someone comes up to you and makes an offer you can take it, subject to her agreement. It’s the same for women too. They can select men.”

“And if it’s a woman, does she know she has been sold?”

“Not in Charlotte’s case, I suspect. She might not take kindly to that. You mustn’t say anything, but there is this offer on the table for ten thousand, but it has not been, as you say, consummated.”

George was stunned but intrigued by this revelation. He had yet to work out how to differentiate between what was free and what you had to pay for in such clubs. He backed out of further conversation by explaining to Johnny that he was happily married and that he knew his wife would react badly to the suggestion that they should participate in the style of recreation Johnny had described. He resolved to reveal nothing of Charlotte’s new leisure activities, either. Johnny ended on the cheerful note that maybe George would tire one day of always making love to the same woman, and if so, he should talk to Johnny about a variation on the theme.

At that moment, Michel approached with Thérèse. They had been dancing and the conversation quickly turned to them. Thérèse mentioned that she hadn’t seen Michel dance with Charlotte. Michel looked at her ruefully. “Not now, but maybe later.” He picked up a glass of whisky left by somebody else, drained it and moved
off towards the bar. Johnny followed him, gesturing to George conspiratorially as he went.

“What was that about?” asked George.

“I don’t know, but I suspect that something may be going wrong between Michel and Charlotte,” replied Thérèse.

They moved onto the dance floor and said no more about it.

The club was in a side street off the Boulevard de Magenta, not far from the Gare Du Nord. A fragile-looking illuminated blue sign outside announced: ‘Alive Bar and Hotel'. Michel Bodin and the Mendeses had agreed to bring Charlotte there and see how she reacted. At the entrance, they were confronted by a large man dressed in a tight fitting dinner suit and bow tie, holding a stamp pad, and another man, equally large, who was collecting entrance fees in cash. Michel paid and everybody had a red stamp put on the back of their hand. Once settled at a table, Charlotte looked around and saw nothing very different from any other gaudy night club, though some of the women were exposing more of their natural assets than normal and there were several pairs of women and pairs of men. There was some interaction between the tables and small groups sometimes moved away through double doors guarded by a steward. Johnny brought drinks and they settled to observe the colourful display of people coming and going. Michel was busy talking seriously to one of the stewards near the bar.

The atmosphere was pleasant enough, but apart from the comings and goings that provided a kaleidoscopic view of weird Paris, there wasn't much excitement.

“Is there going to be some entertainment?” Charlotte asked Ayida, naively.

“Not the stand-up kind.” Ayida nearly choked on her drink but recovered and smiled broadly. Nothing more was said for a while.

After a second drink, Charlotte became aware of a nettle-like tingling between her thighs, so she decided to visit the ladies' room, but as she rose the world began to turn around. She couldn't reach her handbag on the floor and had to put a hand on the table to steady herself. Ayida got up and spoke, but Charlotte heard her as if through a tube. She was breathing deeply and could feel her heart pulsing in her chest. Ayida took Charlotte's arm and led her away.

When Charlotte partially regained consciousness she was lying on a wide bed with Ayida. Both were naked. She rolled weakly away from Ayida and tried to get up, but her arms were too weak to support her and she flopped back. She could not speak and there was an echoing noise in her ears. She was aware that Johnny and Michel were sitting in arm chairs, watching. At that moment, a door opened and she saw another man enter the room. He approached, greeted Michel, smiled, leaned over him and they chatted confidentially. The man nodded towards Charlotte and there was some further discussion. Michel looked up and laughed, the men shook hands and the newcomer walked towards Charlotte. Her strength was returning though her head remained confused, so when the man tried to pick her up, she struggled. He stepped back, said something to Michel and left. Then Ayida came into view, fully dressed. Ayida helped Charlotte to dress and by the time Charlotte's vision was able to focus more clearly and she could hear better, they were seated at the same table in
the bar and in the same places they had occupied earlier. Ayida touched her arm.

“Are you OK now, dear? You flaked out for a bit.”

Charlotte asked what had happened.

“You had a bit too much to drink and nodded off,” Ayida reassured her.

“I'd like to go home,” said Charlotte determinedly.

“I'll take you if you like,” offered Johnny.

“No thanks. Michel, would you take me please?” insisted Charlotte.

“You will be alright with Johnny. I'll stay here a bit longer,” was Michel's response.

Charlotte was in no state to argue. She rose and moved slowly and unsteadily towards the exit with Johnny holding her arm.

Next morning she challenged Michel on what had happened the night before. He maintained that she had dozed for a while, but nothing else happened. She asked if Johnny had undressed her and put her to bed. Michel said he had no idea how she got into bed as he wasn't there and by the time he came home, Charlotte was asleep.

“Somebody spiked my drink and you know who did it,” Charlotte confronted him.

“No no, nothing like that happened,” replied Michel.

“You are a rotten liar.” She removed one slipper and threw it at Michel, causing him to raise his arms in defence. Charlotte said nothing more to him for several days and after that there was even more reserve, one could say distrust, between them.

A few days later Michel took a call on his mobile.

“Hello, it's Schmitt.”

“Yes Schmitt, how are you?” He could sense what was coming.

“I am waiting for you to tell me when it's OK.”

“Yes. I'll get back to you soon. Actually, I think we may have been a bit ambitious. I think she may not be ready to play ball. I may have to give you the money back.”

There was a silence, and then in a harder voice, “The money does not come back. The deal is a deal come what may, and if you can't fix it amicably, we'll have to do it the hard way. On second thoughts, I don't want to be hard on you.” There was a pause. “Listen, if your wife is reluctant, maybe you could at least facilitate so we can achieve the objective, failing which we might take an even closer interest in your affairs. Understand?”

The phone went dead before Michel could reply. He felt as though his head was being squeezed in a vice.

Later that day Michel took the ten thousand francs he had been given, put them in a large brown envelope and had them delivered to Schmitt's office.