| General Fiction posted September 28, 2018 | Chapters: |
...12 13 -14- 15... 
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Chapter 14 - Helen continues her story
A chapter in the book The French Letter
Domaine de la Corniche
by tfawcus
| Background Charles and Helen have broken down in Rolleboise on their way to Giverny. They are following a lead in the mystery of the envelope that Charles discovered in the Paris Stamp Market. |
Connecting to the end of Chapter 13...
Michel cast a professional eye over Fifi and ran a couple of tests. "It looks like you've got a problem with your fuel pump," he said. "I should be able to fix it in the morning."
"Not till the morning," I said with dismay. "Is there anywhere nearby where we could stay overnight?"
"You could try Domaine de la Corniche. It's a nice place and only a few minutes up the road. My brother works there as a chef. I'll give them a ring if you like."
We both thanked him profusely as he disappeared into the office. A few minutes later he reappeared. "All arranged! If you are happy to wait while I lock up, I can give you a lift up there. It's on my way home."
"Oh, dear, Charles. It looks as if we are going to have to spend another night together. Are you up for that?"
A suggestive choice of phrase, I thought.
Chapter 14
Domaine de la Corniche turned out to be a magnificent old building, perched high above a sweeping curve of the River Seine. We had seen it on the skyline as we walked in to Rolleboise and had imagined it to be a fairy-tale castle. Some fairy-tale, as it turned out. While I signed us in, Helen idly thumbed through a brochure on the front counter.
"Oh, look! Legend has it that King Leopold II of Belgium had this place built for his mistress. How romantic!"
"Not if he was the King Leopold that I'm thinking of. He mercilessly exploited the Congolese to build an immense fortune for himself. Millions died in the most horrific conditions. Some have even described it as a genocide."
"You are right, Monsieur," the receptionist said. "That was the man. He also had many mistresses, but the most infamous was Caroline Lacroix, a French prostitute. He showered gifts and estates on her and it is thought that this building was among them."
"Lacroix? What a coincidence. Wasn't that the name of Monsieur le Curé... Father Pierre Lacroix?" I said.
"Wouldn't that be a turn up for the book, if the old hypocrite turned out to be the son of a whore?"
I shook my head. "That's stretching the imagination. Lacroix is quite a common name in these parts."
"Yes, but...? What if he was?"
"What if? My father used to look at me dryly whenever I said that, and he'd dismiss my suppositions by saying, 'If my aunt had balls, she'd be my uncle' ...and that would be the end of it."
"What a brutal way of suppressing the curiosity of a child. Poor Charles! Look! It says here that Caroline Lacroix was only sixteen when the old lecher became infatuated with her, and he was sixty five. What a dirty old man!"
I smiled inwardly. That made the fifteen year gap between Helen and me seem much more acceptable.
The receptionist soon shattered my illusion. "How long will you and your... er ...niece be staying?"
Helen laughed. "I'm not his niece. I'm his mistress. That's why we have a double room."
It was hard to tell which face turned redder, mine or his.
"Oh, I think one night should be enough," she said in an unmistakably sensual tone that added to the discomfiture of us both.
"You're incorrigible!" I whispered.
"I know," she said, kissing my cheek lightly as she winked at him. "We'd like dinner on the balcony at 8.30. In the meantime, I think we'll try out your famous Spaquana. A double massage and then some time relaxing in the Jacuzzi. What do you think, Charles?"
"What do I think? I think that you and Fifi are in league with one another. Don't tell me that we ended up here by accident!"
"Oh, but we did."
It seems that Michel must have put in a good word for us, for when we eventually reached the dining room, we were ushered to a romantic table on the balcony, overlooking the river. The waiter brought menus, but said to me, "I suggest you leave the choices to our chef, monsieur. I understand you know his brother? I don't think you'll be disappointed."
"Yes, it was Michel who recommended that we come here. We'll be glad to take your advice. Thank you."
The gourmet meal that followed defied description. Each dish more superb than the last. Each wine its perfect complement. The setting sun bathed the river in gold. The heavy scent of roses wafted over the parapet, and the sickle shape of an ivory moon suggested the exotic promise of an orient night as the first faint stars began to appear.
"Well, Scheherazade?" I cradled a brandy balloon, and gazed into the deep, mysterious pools that were her eyes, searching for what lay within.
"Shall we indeed have a thousand and one nights like this, oh king of kings?"
"Perhaps ...if your story continues to please me."
"Very well then. We flew on our magic carpet, down from the roof of the world where fairy goatherds dwell, and onto the Gandhara Plains and the most ancient city of Peshawar. There we sojourned awhile. I clasped my sister close, for I was afraid, and she soothed and calmed me.
"Eventually, a great white bird took us onward, following the course of the mighty Indus River, almost to Hyderabad, then continuing south by south-west to the sea, where lies Karachi, capital city of the Sindh, like a million twinkling diamonds in the night. Thus we came to Jinnah, gateway to the world.
"All was a confusion of lights, and of people scurrying this way and that, like rats in a maze. Loudspeakers blared. Strained eyes looked, as if for a means of escape, and Kayla and I stood staring at a great board listing arrivals and departures.
"'Look,' Kayla said. 'There's a flight to Bangkok in a few hours, just before midnight.'
"'Bangkok? Where is that?'
"'A city in the east, many miles away. It is where mother and father spent their honeymoon. It is where her shimmering Thai silk dress came from. The one you most particularly liked.'
"'Bangkok it is, then.'"
"Is that really how you decided where to go?" I looked at her in amazement.
"Yes, pretty much. But that's enough storytelling for one night, don't you think? I'm not yet brave enough to tell you what happened next. Besides, it would spoil a beautiful evening. Come on! Bedtime!"
Michel cast a professional eye over Fifi and ran a couple of tests. "It looks like you've got a problem with your fuel pump," he said. "I should be able to fix it in the morning."
"Not till the morning," I said with dismay. "Is there anywhere nearby where we could stay overnight?"
"You could try Domaine de la Corniche. It's a nice place and only a few minutes up the road. My brother works there as a chef. I'll give them a ring if you like."
We both thanked him profusely as he disappeared into the office. A few minutes later he reappeared. "All arranged! If you are happy to wait while I lock up, I can give you a lift up there. It's on my way home."
"Oh, dear, Charles. It looks as if we are going to have to spend another night together. Are you up for that?"
A suggestive choice of phrase, I thought.
Chapter 14
Domaine de la Corniche turned out to be a magnificent old building, perched high above a sweeping curve of the River Seine. We had seen it on the skyline as we walked in to Rolleboise and had imagined it to be a fairy-tale castle. Some fairy-tale, as it turned out. While I signed us in, Helen idly thumbed through a brochure on the front counter.
"Oh, look! Legend has it that King Leopold II of Belgium had this place built for his mistress. How romantic!"
"Not if he was the King Leopold that I'm thinking of. He mercilessly exploited the Congolese to build an immense fortune for himself. Millions died in the most horrific conditions. Some have even described it as a genocide."
"You are right, Monsieur," the receptionist said. "That was the man. He also had many mistresses, but the most infamous was Caroline Lacroix, a French prostitute. He showered gifts and estates on her and it is thought that this building was among them."
"Lacroix? What a coincidence. Wasn't that the name of Monsieur le Curé... Father Pierre Lacroix?" I said.
"Wouldn't that be a turn up for the book, if the old hypocrite turned out to be the son of a whore?"
I shook my head. "That's stretching the imagination. Lacroix is quite a common name in these parts."
"Yes, but...? What if he was?"
"What if? My father used to look at me dryly whenever I said that, and he'd dismiss my suppositions by saying, 'If my aunt had balls, she'd be my uncle' ...and that would be the end of it."
"What a brutal way of suppressing the curiosity of a child. Poor Charles! Look! It says here that Caroline Lacroix was only sixteen when the old lecher became infatuated with her, and he was sixty five. What a dirty old man!"
I smiled inwardly. That made the fifteen year gap between Helen and me seem much more acceptable.
The receptionist soon shattered my illusion. "How long will you and your... er ...niece be staying?"
Helen laughed. "I'm not his niece. I'm his mistress. That's why we have a double room."
It was hard to tell which face turned redder, mine or his.
"Oh, I think one night should be enough," she said in an unmistakably sensual tone that added to the discomfiture of us both.
"You're incorrigible!" I whispered.
"I know," she said, kissing my cheek lightly as she winked at him. "We'd like dinner on the balcony at 8.30. In the meantime, I think we'll try out your famous Spaquana. A double massage and then some time relaxing in the Jacuzzi. What do you think, Charles?"
"What do I think? I think that you and Fifi are in league with one another. Don't tell me that we ended up here by accident!"
"Oh, but we did."
It seems that Michel must have put in a good word for us, for when we eventually reached the dining room, we were ushered to a romantic table on the balcony, overlooking the river. The waiter brought menus, but said to me, "I suggest you leave the choices to our chef, monsieur. I understand you know his brother? I don't think you'll be disappointed."
"Yes, it was Michel who recommended that we come here. We'll be glad to take your advice. Thank you."
The gourmet meal that followed defied description. Each dish more superb than the last. Each wine its perfect complement. The setting sun bathed the river in gold. The heavy scent of roses wafted over the parapet, and the sickle shape of an ivory moon suggested the exotic promise of an orient night as the first faint stars began to appear.
"Well, Scheherazade?" I cradled a brandy balloon, and gazed into the deep, mysterious pools that were her eyes, searching for what lay within.
"Shall we indeed have a thousand and one nights like this, oh king of kings?"
"Perhaps ...if your story continues to please me."
"Very well then. We flew on our magic carpet, down from the roof of the world where fairy goatherds dwell, and onto the Gandhara Plains and the most ancient city of Peshawar. There we sojourned awhile. I clasped my sister close, for I was afraid, and she soothed and calmed me.
"Eventually, a great white bird took us onward, following the course of the mighty Indus River, almost to Hyderabad, then continuing south by south-west to the sea, where lies Karachi, capital city of the Sindh, like a million twinkling diamonds in the night. Thus we came to Jinnah, gateway to the world.
"All was a confusion of lights, and of people scurrying this way and that, like rats in a maze. Loudspeakers blared. Strained eyes looked, as if for a means of escape, and Kayla and I stood staring at a great board listing arrivals and departures.
"'Look,' Kayla said. 'There's a flight to Bangkok in a few hours, just before midnight.'
"'Bangkok? Where is that?'
"'A city in the east, many miles away. It is where mother and father spent their honeymoon. It is where her shimmering Thai silk dress came from. The one you most particularly liked.'
"'Bangkok it is, then.'"
"Is that really how you decided where to go?" I looked at her in amazement.
"Yes, pretty much. But that's enough storytelling for one night, don't you think? I'm not yet brave enough to tell you what happened next. Besides, it would spoil a beautiful evening. Come on! Bedtime!"
 Recognized |
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Cast of Characters
Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer
Helen Culverson: A woman of mystery, also purporting to be a travel writer
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister.
Madam Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church
Madam Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise
Estelle Gaudin: deceased mother of Francoise
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer
Helen Culverson: A woman of mystery, also purporting to be a travel writer
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister.
Madam Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church
Madam Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise
Estelle Gaudin: deceased mother of Francoise
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