Rough Cut (8 page)

   “Are you sure he was the one who killed Rob?” he asked.

   “It was him,” responded Gilles.

   “Then justice has been done.” Philippe turned away from the window and looked at Gilles. “But nothing can make up for what he did. Rob was my only grandson.”

   As Philippe was speaking, his phone rang. He walked over to it and answered it. At the other end of the line was Nicole.      

   Having returned home from Carter’s hotel, Nicole had been uncertain what she should do but it had not been long before she had come to a decision and had picked up the telephone to ring her father. After they had exchanged pleasantries, her voice took on a challenging tone.

   “Papa, I’ve just been speaking to Carter Jefferson; you remember him, don’t you?”

   “Yes,” responded Philippe hesitantly.

   Gilles was now sitting in an armchair watching Philippe and he detected some unease on Philippe’s part.

   “He says you’re involved in something illegal, something to do with diamonds,” said Nicole.

   “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” responded Philippe, trying to deflect his daughter’s interrogation.

   “Really?” Nicole left Philippe in no doubt that she did not believe him. “What have you got yourself involved with Papa?”

   Philippe decided to try a different tack. “Nicole, he has never forgiven me for opposing your relationship with him, you know that. That’s why he is making such a stupid allegation.”

   Nicole took a deep breath before she spoke.

   “So you’re not then?” she challenged.

   “Not what?”

   “Smuggling diamonds.”

   “No, Cherie, I am not.”

   “OK. Bye Papa.”

   “Au revoir Cherie.”

   Gilles looked at Philippe, a little apprehension apparent as Philippe ended the call and sighed.

   “Problem?” asked Gilles.

   “Maybe,” shrugged Philippe.

_________________________

   A few days after his twenty-first birthday, Jacques, with an envelope in his hand, approached a boat which was moored stern on at the Capitainerie. It was the Fleur de Grimaud, the sixty-five foot Johnson motor yacht in the saloon of which, only a couple of weeks earlier, Philippe had been sitting with his laptop open in front of him. As Jacques approached the boat, he looked at the stern. Across it, newly painted, was the boat’s new name, Esprit de Jacques.

   As Jacques looked adoringly at the boat, a man dressed in a suit came to the stern. This was André, the manager of the yacht brokerage in Sainte Maxime, a few miles up the coast towards Nice from Port Grimaud. André addressed Jacques from above.

   “Bonjour Jacques,” he said, “Venez à bord.”

   Jacques crossed the gangway and dropped onto the rear deck of the yacht, close to the man, and they shook hands. With a sweep of his hand, André indicated the new name on the boat.

   “Comme vous voyez, elle a été rebaptisée conformément à vos instructions,” he said.

   Jacques nodded and smiled briefly as André continued. “Vous avez la traite bancaire?”

   Jacques nodded again. “Oui, certainement,” he said and reached out the hand which was holding the envelope.

   André took the envelope from Jacques and opened it. He extracted the bank draft that was inside and nodded before returning the draft to the envelope and looking at Jacques.

   “Bon, le bateau est le vôtre,” he said as he handed Jacques the keys for the boat. They shook hands again before André left the boat. Jacques watched him go, a broad smile covering his face.

   After he had watched André disappear along the Rue Grande, Jacques went to the sliding glass doors which led to the saloon of the boat. He inserted one of the keys in the lock, turned it and the catch sprang back releasing the door. With a gentle push, the door swished aside. Jacques hesitated for a moment before going in and looking round the saloon, taking in the sumptuous detail of this,
his
boat.

   Tinted windows on all sides gave a clear view of everything outside and on the right of the glass doors through which Jacques had entered, there was a small low coffee table of polished maple inlaid with a band of mahogany. This was bounded on three sides by comfortable, continuous seating upholstered in cream with narrow blue stripes and blue piping. To the inboard side of the table, there were two matching low stools and the floor was covered with a thick pile, dark blue fitted carpet.

   To the left, a circular staircase led to the master cabin beneath the aft deck. Forward of the circular staircase, a range of floor cupboards, in the same restful pale colour of polished maple ran along the side as far as the two broad steps which led up from the saloon to the galley, dining area and helm station. On top of the cupboards, at the far end, near the steps, were a television set and a music centre and above them, a shelf for books.

   Beyond the saloon, up the steps, the dining area on the left was similarly fitted out. The same striped upholstery and maple joinery complemented each other perfectly. To the right of the dining area, the compact, but well designed, galley was separated from the helm station in front of it by a worktop and in front of the Captain’s seat, the helm station bristled with electronic equipment. Switches and gauges crowded into a panel of polished walnut. To the left of the helm station, a flight of steps led down to the forward cabins and on the other side of the steps there was a chart table where navigation maps could be laid out and courses plotted.

   Jacques walked slowly across the saloon and then vaulted the two steps which separated the saloon from the dining area. Then he went over to the helm station and lovingly ran his hand over the shining chrome wheel before noticing that propped up behind the wheel, in front of the instrument panel, was an envelope. He opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. It contained the ownership document for the motor yacht Esprit de Jacques made out in the name of Jacques Armand. It was at this point that the reality of his situation really struck home and in an uncontrollable fit of delight, he slapped the sheet of paper to his lips and kissed it. At last he had the boat he had only ever been able to dream of owning. His mind filled with the opportunities and possibilities that opened up before him. Deep in thought, he replaced the document in the envelope and carefully put it into the pocket of his shorts.

   With the ownership document safely stowed in his shorts, Jacques turned and went back down the two steps into the saloon. There he  saw that the previous owner had left several items on board including a collection of audio CDs next to the music centre and some books on the bookshelf. He looked through the CDs and then briefly at the books. They were mostly modern French paperback novels together with one or two coffee table books about the South of France.

   Still revelling in his good fortune, Jacques decided to explore the rest of his boat. He had been round it before, when he had decided to buy it, but now he wanted to explore it again, this time on his own.

   Below the forward deck at the front of the boat, reached by the steps between the helm station and the chart table, was the stateroom. Like the saloon, it too was luxuriously fitted out in polished maple with a double bed and en-suite facilities. Either side of the steps from the saloon, more steps leading down in the opposite direction, took Jacques from the stateroom to two further cabins. Each of these had two bunk beds and Jacques wandered round the cabins in a daze, hardly able to take in that it all belonged to him.

   Finally, before leaving, he looked round the master cabin, which was beneath the rear deck and which was reached by the circular staircase from the saloon. If he was amazed by the luxury of the stateroom, the master cabin took his breath away. It had its own carpeted lobby with a small door leading to the engine room. A larger door led to the cabin itself. Inside the spacious cabin, there was a large double bed, with a mirrored wall behind. As well as the bed, on one side of the cabin there was a comfortable sofa and, on the other, a range of floor cupboards and drawers incorporating a dressing table, a television and a DVD player. Set into the sound-proofed bulkhead between the cabin and the lobby was a full run of wardrobes and beside the sofa, a door led to the en-suite shower and toilet.

   Jacques was still in a daze as he climbed back up the steps to the saloon and walked out onto the rear deck. He was careful to lock the glass doors behind him before climbing the steps to the fly bridge above the saloon. There, he found another helm station, shrouded in a thick white cover to protect it from the elements. There was more seating on the fly bridge, just as comfortable as that in the saloon but made of weather-proof materials.

   Deep in thought, Jacques returned to the quayside. He turned towards the Esprit de Jacques and lovingly surveyed the boat for a few more seconds before walking off across the tarmac of the helipad and away from the Capitainerie. As he passed by the hotel, he thought he saw an old man watching him through an open window but he couldn’t be sure and by the time he was close enough to have been able to make out the man’s features, he had turned away from the window and disappeared.

_________________________

   Outside his hotel in York, Carter was waiting on the steps at the entrance to the hotel. He looked at his watch; she was late but only by a few minutes. When he had invited Nicole to have dinner with him, he had hoped that she would accept the invitation and she had. She hadn’t even hesitated when Carter had posed the question and he had been confident that he had done the right thing. But now, as he waited for her, he was worried that she might have changed her mind. There was so much history between them that maybe she had decided not to contemplate renewing their relationship. After all, it had been twenty-five years since they had last seen each other. But Carter hadn’t quite been able to let her go and for a few years after they had parted, he had kept up with her news through mutual friends. With time, however, even that had died out and the last he had heard of her had been nineteen years before when Rob had been born.

   As he heard the sound of a car approaching, he looked excitedly to his left and saw Nicole’s car drive through the hotel gates. A broad smile covered his face as he watched her park the car and walk towards him.

   “Thanks for coming,” he said as she came up the steps. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

   “None of this is your fault, Carter. And, believe it or not, I still have feelings for you,” she confided as they embraced and kissed. Then Carter took her hand in his and led her into the hotel and through to their table in the dining room.

   After they had ordered their food, Carter and Nicole, who were sitting opposite each other at the small table, looked into each other’s eyes. Neither of them spoke for several moments and it was Nicole who broke the stare first as she reached down to her handbag to retrieve an envelope from it. She handed the envelope to Carter.

   “I don’t know if it’s got anything to do with your case,” she began, “but I found this in Rob’s room. It’s a printout of a very strange email he received a few days before he died. I think he was trying to decipher it.”

   Carter took the envelope and opened it, removing the sheet of paper which was inside. As he scanned what was on the sheet, he nodded a couple of times. Then he put the paper back in the envelope and put the envelope into his pocket. Reaching out, he put his hand on Nicole’s, affectionately, as he spoke.

   “Thank you,” he said.

   “Is it important?” asked Nicole.

   “I don’t know. It might be.”

   Nicole smiled as the waiter returned with their food and Carter, slightly embarrassed, withdrew his hand from hers.

CHAPTER 6

As Jacques lay awake in bed, he could hear outside his bedroom window the early stirrings of the stall holders in the Place du Marché. He still found it hard to believe that his long-held dream, his fantasy, had actually become a reality, that he had become the proud owner of a luxury motor yacht. But he realised that with the boat came many responsibilities. For one thing, maintaining and running a boat of that size would not be cheap. With her fifteen foot beam, the Esprit was far too big to moor in the canal by the apartment. The berth at the Capitainerie alone would cost him around two thousand euros a month. And then there would be insurance premiums, repairs, fuel. His head was spinning with all the things that were going to cost him money.

   Buying the boat had taken most of the money he had received from his father and the more Jacques thought about it, the more he realised that he would have to put into practice what he had always told Yvonne; he would have to make the boat earn its keep. More than that, it would have to earn his keep too. His mind eased a little as he worked out in his head that it would not take too many charters to cover the costs and he relaxed, resolving to go that morning to see Gilles at the charter agency in the Place des Artisans. Gilles would be able to advise him.

   An hour or so later, Jacques walked into Gilles’ office. He was slightly nervous but confident that he would soon have the solution to the problem of how to pay for the maintenance and running of the Esprit de Jacques.

   The charter agency’s small office was wedged between the tower which kept vigil over the main entrance to the town and a restaurant. Inside there were two desks, at one of which Gilles was sitting going through the papers in front of him and occasionally signing his name. To the right of Gilles, a young man sat at another desk. He was Gilles’ assistant and it was he who looked after the agency when Gilles was not there. Between and slightly behind the two desks a flight of stairs led to another office on the floor above. In the window facing onto the Place, there was a large display board covered with photographs and details of boats which the agency had available for charter. Above the centre of the room, a large fan rotated lazily, helping the warm air to circulate.