Gemini Rain (8 page)

His agent and manager (also
Jacqueline’s
agent and manager David found out later) put him under pressure to have Ja
c
queline Orliac - a famous French soft-porn actress - by his side. As usual, her advances were too much for him, he was a man after all, and now they had a tempestuous on-off relationship he truly regretted
, even though he and Francoise were separated at this stage
. This time it’s got to end for good, ‘there, decision made,’ he said aloud.

‘What?’ Jacques looked up as he stuffe
d his papers into his briefcase
he was debating with himself what restaurant would be suitable under these circumstances and thought he missed something important.

‘Nothing, just thinking aloud,’ David became embarrassed as he noticed a concerned look growing on his friend’s face.

T
he traditional French two-hour bre
ak for lunch edged
by for David then
waiting in the courtroom for the Judge to return
was
even slower. Looking around he regretted the fact that Francoise’s solicitor succeeded in getting this into a public court – was the bastard going to win this argument too? Beads of sweat were forming on his brow, a dampness
sticking his shirt to his back;
his hands were shaking so he held them tightly trying to control them. Feeling his broad shoulders beginning to slouch he checked himself giving his body a jerk to sit upright, chest out emulating his pride – ‘
the stance’
one of his friends called it.

Eventually the Judge arrived commencing with his verdict, speaking to David and Francoise as if he was a headmaster correcting two children after a fight in the schoolyard and directing most of his criticism towards David, a fact evident to everybody in the courtroom. Finally he gave his decision; David could have one, supervised weekend with his children every two months.

             
‘No Way,
Merde! Two months, Francoise you ca
n’t do this to me!’ David anxiously cried over to her, ‘you can’t do this to me!’ The feeling of embarrassment and anger overtook all common sense as it rushed through his body quicker that the blood flowing through his veins. 

             
‘Calm down!’ Jacques was getting worried attempting to restrain his
friend;
he knew full well how David could lose his temper and all sense of consideration for others around him, ‘Please David calm down!’

Without thinking David 6’ frame easily brushed the 5 inches shorter and leaner Jacques aside, he needed to talk to Francoise but the guards in the courtroom were on him in seconds, they were prepared; he was renowned for this type of outburst. David’s brothers tried to get involved but other guards and photographers got between them, suddenly hidden cameras
and cell phones
appeared from nowhere. 

             
‘Silence! I will not have this sort of
behaviour
in my court and confiscate those cameras,’ the Judge was shocked at the disrespect being displayed before him, ‘Take M.
Corvasieur
below, maybe two hours in a cell will bring him to his senses!’

There was uproar in the courtroom with a sudden rush for the doors as journalist after journalist tried to be the first with their exclusive. The photographers were having a party as extra guards were brought in to control the chaos and stop them from taking more photos. 

Francoise wanted to shrink away and die she didn’t want this to happen, her hands covered her mouth in shock as she watched the guards dragging a struggling D
avid below, still calling her.
‘
Why didn’t he agree to the terms we offered?
’
She understood how he felt but her job
offer
in Barcelona was beyond her dreams. Any
more than one
weekend
trip per month to France or wherever he was working would be too much for the children, they were confused enough as it was, both with the move an
d Papa no longer being around. 
‘
Not that he was around that much anyhow,
’
Francoise attempted to convince herself,
‘
since the
break-up
he’s become too emotional towards the children, too close
constantly
telephoning them nearly every day - the hypocrite never did that when we were married.  Maybe this divorce will do him good make him bloody grow up.
’

Observing her solicitor, a small bespectacled man now carefully filing away his paperwork choosing to ignore the bedlam surrounding him, she began thinking how he made up for his small stature in the thorough way he conducted his work. No wonder other married men fear him - his work and reputation is indisputable. Although he had warned her in advance she was still not prepared for what he produced in the courtroom. She couldn’t even build up the courage to look at David although she could feel his brooding dark brown eyes penetrating her from time to time throughout the proceedings. How stupid could she have been - always believing his excuses throughout their miserable lie of a marriage.

‘Can you get me out of here?’ Francoise pleaded to her solicitor.

‘I’m sorry Madame,’ he said unemotionally, always formal never getting involved with his clients, ‘but the only
public
exit is through those doors.’ Knowing full well that behind those doors were a pack of journalists from every French gossip magazine and newspaper, waiting to pound on Francoise and David’s brothers.

She put on a brave face, ‘Mon Dieu, thankfully this will be the last time I will have to face the wolves.’

‘Don’t worry we’ll get you through
them
, you don’t have to answer their questions.
’ Francoise turned to face the voice she happily welcomed, both of David’s tall brothers stood side by side ready to protect her even after all that’s just happened.

Two and half-hours later, David and Jacques emerged from the jail at the back of the courthouse. Suddenly a car pulled up, ‘Quick! Get in!’ It was David’s younger brother Claude, he was enjoying the attention from the media, it was a first for him but then he was also concerned for David and what effect this would have on him, again another first for Claude – his brother looked terrible.

Both men jumped in the car, the tyres screeched as it sped a
way, ‘Where do you want to go, t
o the apartment?’ C
laude just expected confirmation of what he thought David wanted to do
.

‘No, home,’ David could barely speak, with his
head bent forward, his
eyes closed tightly
as
he pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘What do you mean?
’
Claude didn’t understand.
‘
Marseille?’

‘Yes,’ turning to his young brother,
‘
how lucky you are
,’
David thought as he attempted a half smile.

Claude quickly glanced at David fully comprehending, ‘I’ll drop Jacques off first, collect Joel and our cases at the apartment then head straight for the airport. Jacques could you phone Joel and tell him to get ready please.’

‘Francoise?’

‘She’s fine, safely back at the hotel and Jacques ensured the security will stop any reporters from pestering her.

No more words were needed between the two brothers.

While Joel waited for his brothers’ arrival, he arranged flight details to Marseille. He was informed of flights the next day but thinking of David’s state of mind and his predictable change of moods, he knew it would be best if they got an immediate flight.

The three brothers were lucky to get seats on a private internal flight to Marseille at 2am. After a long day, Claude and Joel took advantage of th
e hour long flight
but David couldn’t sleep his emotions were a mixture of sadness, adrenaline, fatigue and worry, as the
plane rose from the Charles De Gaulle
airport
he stared out the window looking at the millions of streetlights below his thoughts were elsewhere.

‘
Pierre and Chantal when will I ever g
et to see them again,
’
soon
he was leaving for Italy to start making a TV film he would be gone for nearly ten weeks. He couldn’t expect the children to visit him there sometimes filming lasted 10 to 12 hours per day,
a
ll going well and with the contract signed,
around
five days later he would be leaving for Columbia for an American backed movie.

Continuing to stare out the window as the plane flew over Paris, the city was still alive with its lights glowing, moving. But suddenly it was gone, hidden by the clouds,
‘
like my family
is now gone
,’
sighing to himself with tears starting to flow down his cheeks.

Chapter 6

Marseille -
Gabrielle Corvasieur carried out her daily chores with her usual brusqueness but her thoughts were in Paris, it was 2.30pm. Finishing washing the worktop for the third time she shouted down to her husband,
‘What’s happening, why can’t
some
body telephone us?’ her normally laid back character was losing its patience.

‘Quiet
woman! We’ll get a call when something happens
and there is news to tell
,’ Jean-Pierre shouted back as he was sketching in his workshop below. At least he was trying to sketch – but more errors were showing up on what should be a simple outline on the paper.
‘
I’ve never had this trouble before,
’
he thought to himself,
‘
but then I’ve never had a son get divorced before.
’
He sighed,
‘why won’t someone call?’
he wiped his brow as the feeling of exhaustion crept into his bones and now regretting
how
he snapped at Gabrielle.
‘
But it was the fourth time she has shouted
down the same question to me.
I’ll go up and join her
as soon as I’ve finished this,
’
his weather-beaten dark face trying desperately to concentrate insisting that his normally natural artistic ability flow to his hands and onto the page pegged to his easel.

Gabrielle sat her rounded frame down in one of the matching
rocking
chairs placed by the side of the fireplace her chubby hands tightly clasped together, her small eyes darted around the kitchen muttering, ‘What else can I do? Normally I have plenty to do why not today of all days!’

With her mind trailing back to the events of the morning, she could feel hot spots of red rushing to her plump cheeks. Placing her hands on them in exasperation she questioned herself,
‘
why
did I start talking to Lauren
like that? She must think I’m a crazy Old French woman.
’
But then Gabrielle
quickly
changed
her mind admitting how the
young
woman
was very kind though,
‘
just listening and waiting for me to finish my ramblings, never showing any impatience even staying for two cups of coffee instead of her usual one! I could never talk to the others in the village so freely, I trust her,
’
confidently
Gabrielle hugged herself.

Lauren
instinctively knew something was wrong because Gabrielle waited until the bread man left before commencing their usual chat.
‘
Did she understand what I was saying? There were many times before when she asked me to slow down, maybe now she can understand our language and is just lacking the courage to speak it.
’

Gabrielle chuckled as she remembered the first time she spoke about mo
re than the weather to her new friend
, the look of shock on the young woman’s face said it all –
‘
Oh my God, the French woman has said something more than it’s going to rain today!
’

Thinking of the previous three months when the widow first arrived, (the locals started calling her that because she always wore black), everybody knew she was foreign - the estate agent’s wife Mme. Fauche made sure of that, ‘Divorced perhaps,’ she would snootily state to her captive audience in the local patisserie. That was one meeting place Gabrielle had the advantage of not
regularly visiting, the bread man
called out to all local houses on the outskirts of the village
on a daily basis
.

Visiting the small village only for fresh f
ood supplies and for church, Lauren’s
two children attended a private school in the outskirts of Marseille. Gabrielle liked that, not that she had a superior stance over her neighbours, her own children had attended the local primary school and nobody would ever give that opi
nion of Gabrielle. But Lauren
kept herself to herself never getting personally involved with the usual banter of local gossip,
‘
would she understand it if she tried?
’
Gabrielle laughed aloud.