| General Fiction posted November 21, 2018 | Chapters: |
...26 27 -28- 29... 
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Chapter 28: A surprising discovery
A chapter in the book The French Letter
The Moulin Rouge
by tfawcus
| Background Charles and Helen, on a quest to solve the mystery of the French letter, become involved with Madame Durand, who seems to have fallen foul of the Mafia. They are seeking to escape and find refuge. |
End of Chapter 27
"I thought it might have been an epileptic fit," Helen said.
"No. The symptoms are somewhat similar, but there is no evidence of epilepsy." He glanced at his watch. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get on. I just thought I should let you know my opinion, since it seems that Madame Durand is in your care."
"Thank you, doctor. My daughter and I are most grateful. Madame Durand is a close personal friend. She has known Helen since she was in nappies."
I was delighted to see that I had made Helen blush ...or did that reddening of her cheeks indicate fury? I wasn't sure. If I hadn't been such a gentleman, I'd probably have stuck my tongue out at her at this juncture.
Chapter 28
Perhaps, when Dr Dupont departed, Helen and I might have continued our childish banter, puffing it into a full-blown lovers' tiff, but we were interrupted by a call over the hospital intercom system: "Mademoiselle Culverson, voudrait-elle venir au poste des infirmières, s'il vous plaît?"
I was puzzled by the announcement. "Why would they want you at the nursing station, Helen?"
"How should I know? Come on. There's only one way to find out."
She ran on ahead and had already summoned the lift by the time I caught up. We waited impatiently while the amber numbers flashed its progress from the third floor. There was a lengthy pause at the second, which was explained when the door opened, disgorging two hospital orderlies and a wheelchair patient wrapped in bandages. My heart missed a beat. For a moment I feared the worst.
Helen saw the look on my face and said, "It's all right, Charles. No need to be so jumpy. It looks as though that one's from the Burns Unit on the second floor. Jeanne is on the next level."
As the lift doors closed behind us, she leaned forward and kissed me. "Mustn't let an opportunity like this go to waste, must we? Nappies, indeed. What a naughty sugar daddy you are!"
Equilibrium restored, we approached the nurses' station arm-in-arm, like two people in love. A neatly starched young lady glanced up from her paperwork. She had soft, round features that broke into a ready smile as we reached the counter.
"Mademoiselle Culverson? I'm so glad you were still in the hospital. Madame Durand has been asking for you. She seems quite distressed." The nurse got up from her desk and tucked a stray lock of hair under her cap. "If you'd like to follow me, I'll take you to her." Concern showed in her face. "She has already got herself dressed, and is sitting in the waiting room, anticipating your arrival. She should really be staying here overnight, under observation."
"Of course! I couldn't agree more," I said. "We shall do our best to convince her of it. You speak excellent English, by the way."
"Thank you, monsieur. I spent a year as a trainee nurse in England. I was intending to work there, but the conditions were not quite as I had expected."
"Ah, that explains it!"
"Here we are, monsieur. Madame Durand is by the window." The nurse flashed me a charming smile as she left.
"When you've finished flirting, Charles, perhaps you would like to come and help me drive some sense into Jeanne's head."
"Me? Flirting? Well, I must say, that's a case of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?”
"Not in these days of electric kettles and induction stove tops, dear. For goodness sake, which century are you in?"
I knew this was a skirmish I couldn't win, so turned to the matter at hand. The look in Jeanne's eye and the set of her jaw, made it clear that tact would be needed. Jeanne obviously wasn't keen to be sitting around in hospital waiting to be kidnapped again, as had happened in the American Hospital of Paris on Boulevard Victor Hugo a few days earlier.
Nonetheless, we - or, more accurately, Helen - managed to persuade her that the safest place would be right here in the hospital overnight. We promised we would return to arrange her discharge in the morning, in time to catch the first available train to London.
It now looked as though we were going to be saddled with her, whether I liked it or not. But that might not be such a bad thing, in view of what I now knew, or guessed. I felt sure that if we got her alone, out of Paris and away from her contacts, I'd be able to discover the truth of the matter. One thing was becoming clear in my mind - if my suspicions were correct, she was a ruthless woman who had fallen foul of her associates, whoever they might be. Mafia? I wasn't entirely sure. Would they really have been so inept?
We stopped briefly to let the nurse know what we had arranged, and I gave her a cheerful wave goodbye as we made our way back to the lifts. Helen poked me sharply in the ribs.
"Ow! That hurt!"
"Serves you right."
I pressed the button to summon a lift, then turned and said, "What now?"
"I seem to remember that you have a 'two for the price of one' coupon for The Moulin Rouge." Then, rather unnecessarily, she continued, "Since your mind is obviously on pretty young ladies this evening, I suggest we go there."
Of course, she was teasing me again. As the lift doors opened, she added, "It's less than ten minutes from Rue Gabrielle. Maybe we could go back to your place afterwards. I doubt the boys from the Mafia would think we're stupid enough to spend the night there."
"Not at all stupid. One of your better ideas, in fact." I thought it sounded like the kind of evening that had the potential to improve as it progressed. I reached for my iPhone. "I'll see if I can book a table for the 11 pm show, shall I?"
Of course, being high season, I discovered that the two-for-one offer wasn't valid. Hardly surprising! However, as luck would have it, I was able to make a last-minute reservation.
As with all such tourist venues, we had to wait in a queue when we arrived. Then we found ourselves being ushered to a table near the back of the room. However, I found that rather unpleasant phrase, 'greasing his palm', worked wonders. Our waiter slipped the notes into his pocket and miraculously discovered a vacant table with a much better view.
Helen was fascinated by the show, drinking in the sheer professionalism and dazzle, the shimmering, feathered costumes with their sequins and rhinestones, and the joie de vivre of the singing and dancing. How different, I thought, from her experiences as a performer in the nightclubs of Bangkok.
The atmosphere was electric, effervescent as the champagne when we clinked glasses and thumped the table. Each scene seemed to upstage the last. I had never seen Helen quite so animated.
Halfway through the show, the stage came alive with jugglers and acrobats, and a troupe of clowns burst onto the scene, cartwheeling and chi-iking one another, provoking roars of laughter from the audience.
Helen leaned across the table and pointed to a dwarf wearing a yellow and red cap-and-bells, and one of the saddest faces imaginable.
"Look!" she said. "It's Germain! At least, it must be his reincarnation. Don't you remember? That epitaph in the churchyard at Versailles? Germain the Dwarf - 'His life was short'! I told you he must have been a comic turn at the Moulin Rouge."
I was delighted by the naivety of her pleasure, and gave her a broad grin of assent. "Yes, I remember!"
Of course, the highlight of the show was at the end, when the famous Doriss Girls came on for one last time, to dance the Can-Can. Many in the audience rose from their seats and clapped along enthusiastically. Helen was right at my side when she suddenly grabbed my arm and started waving frantically. "Kayla! Look! It's Kayla. Right there, third from the end. Kayla is one of the Doriss girls. I've found her! Oh, God, Charles, I've found her."
There were tears streaming down her face as she threw both her arms around me and smothered me in kisses.
"I thought it might have been an epileptic fit," Helen said.
"No. The symptoms are somewhat similar, but there is no evidence of epilepsy." He glanced at his watch. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get on. I just thought I should let you know my opinion, since it seems that Madame Durand is in your care."
"Thank you, doctor. My daughter and I are most grateful. Madame Durand is a close personal friend. She has known Helen since she was in nappies."
I was delighted to see that I had made Helen blush ...or did that reddening of her cheeks indicate fury? I wasn't sure. If I hadn't been such a gentleman, I'd probably have stuck my tongue out at her at this juncture.
Chapter 28
Perhaps, when Dr Dupont departed, Helen and I might have continued our childish banter, puffing it into a full-blown lovers' tiff, but we were interrupted by a call over the hospital intercom system: "Mademoiselle Culverson, voudrait-elle venir au poste des infirmières, s'il vous plaît?"
I was puzzled by the announcement. "Why would they want you at the nursing station, Helen?"
"How should I know? Come on. There's only one way to find out."
She ran on ahead and had already summoned the lift by the time I caught up. We waited impatiently while the amber numbers flashed its progress from the third floor. There was a lengthy pause at the second, which was explained when the door opened, disgorging two hospital orderlies and a wheelchair patient wrapped in bandages. My heart missed a beat. For a moment I feared the worst.
Helen saw the look on my face and said, "It's all right, Charles. No need to be so jumpy. It looks as though that one's from the Burns Unit on the second floor. Jeanne is on the next level."
As the lift doors closed behind us, she leaned forward and kissed me. "Mustn't let an opportunity like this go to waste, must we? Nappies, indeed. What a naughty sugar daddy you are!"
Equilibrium restored, we approached the nurses' station arm-in-arm, like two people in love. A neatly starched young lady glanced up from her paperwork. She had soft, round features that broke into a ready smile as we reached the counter.
"Mademoiselle Culverson? I'm so glad you were still in the hospital. Madame Durand has been asking for you. She seems quite distressed." The nurse got up from her desk and tucked a stray lock of hair under her cap. "If you'd like to follow me, I'll take you to her." Concern showed in her face. "She has already got herself dressed, and is sitting in the waiting room, anticipating your arrival. She should really be staying here overnight, under observation."
"Of course! I couldn't agree more," I said. "We shall do our best to convince her of it. You speak excellent English, by the way."
"Thank you, monsieur. I spent a year as a trainee nurse in England. I was intending to work there, but the conditions were not quite as I had expected."
"Ah, that explains it!"
"Here we are, monsieur. Madame Durand is by the window." The nurse flashed me a charming smile as she left.
"When you've finished flirting, Charles, perhaps you would like to come and help me drive some sense into Jeanne's head."
"Me? Flirting? Well, I must say, that's a case of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?”
"Not in these days of electric kettles and induction stove tops, dear. For goodness sake, which century are you in?"
I knew this was a skirmish I couldn't win, so turned to the matter at hand. The look in Jeanne's eye and the set of her jaw, made it clear that tact would be needed. Jeanne obviously wasn't keen to be sitting around in hospital waiting to be kidnapped again, as had happened in the American Hospital of Paris on Boulevard Victor Hugo a few days earlier.
Nonetheless, we - or, more accurately, Helen - managed to persuade her that the safest place would be right here in the hospital overnight. We promised we would return to arrange her discharge in the morning, in time to catch the first available train to London.
It now looked as though we were going to be saddled with her, whether I liked it or not. But that might not be such a bad thing, in view of what I now knew, or guessed. I felt sure that if we got her alone, out of Paris and away from her contacts, I'd be able to discover the truth of the matter. One thing was becoming clear in my mind - if my suspicions were correct, she was a ruthless woman who had fallen foul of her associates, whoever they might be. Mafia? I wasn't entirely sure. Would they really have been so inept?
We stopped briefly to let the nurse know what we had arranged, and I gave her a cheerful wave goodbye as we made our way back to the lifts. Helen poked me sharply in the ribs.
"Ow! That hurt!"
"Serves you right."
I pressed the button to summon a lift, then turned and said, "What now?"
"I seem to remember that you have a 'two for the price of one' coupon for The Moulin Rouge." Then, rather unnecessarily, she continued, "Since your mind is obviously on pretty young ladies this evening, I suggest we go there."
Of course, she was teasing me again. As the lift doors opened, she added, "It's less than ten minutes from Rue Gabrielle. Maybe we could go back to your place afterwards. I doubt the boys from the Mafia would think we're stupid enough to spend the night there."
"Not at all stupid. One of your better ideas, in fact." I thought it sounded like the kind of evening that had the potential to improve as it progressed. I reached for my iPhone. "I'll see if I can book a table for the 11 pm show, shall I?"
Of course, being high season, I discovered that the two-for-one offer wasn't valid. Hardly surprising! However, as luck would have it, I was able to make a last-minute reservation.
***
As with all such tourist venues, we had to wait in a queue when we arrived. Then we found ourselves being ushered to a table near the back of the room. However, I found that rather unpleasant phrase, 'greasing his palm', worked wonders. Our waiter slipped the notes into his pocket and miraculously discovered a vacant table with a much better view.
Helen was fascinated by the show, drinking in the sheer professionalism and dazzle, the shimmering, feathered costumes with their sequins and rhinestones, and the joie de vivre of the singing and dancing. How different, I thought, from her experiences as a performer in the nightclubs of Bangkok.
The atmosphere was electric, effervescent as the champagne when we clinked glasses and thumped the table. Each scene seemed to upstage the last. I had never seen Helen quite so animated.
Halfway through the show, the stage came alive with jugglers and acrobats, and a troupe of clowns burst onto the scene, cartwheeling and chi-iking one another, provoking roars of laughter from the audience.
Helen leaned across the table and pointed to a dwarf wearing a yellow and red cap-and-bells, and one of the saddest faces imaginable.
"Look!" she said. "It's Germain! At least, it must be his reincarnation. Don't you remember? That epitaph in the churchyard at Versailles? Germain the Dwarf - 'His life was short'! I told you he must have been a comic turn at the Moulin Rouge."
I was delighted by the naivety of her pleasure, and gave her a broad grin of assent. "Yes, I remember!"
Of course, the highlight of the show was at the end, when the famous Doriss Girls came on for one last time, to dance the Can-Can. Many in the audience rose from their seats and clapped along enthusiastically. Helen was right at my side when she suddenly grabbed my arm and started waving frantically. "Kayla! Look! It's Kayla. Right there, third from the end. Kayla is one of the Doriss girls. I've found her! Oh, God, Charles, I've found her."
There were tears streaming down her face as she threw both her arms around me and smothered me in kisses.
 Recognized |
|
Glossary:
nappies [UK/AUS]: diapers [US]
chi-iking [pronounced chai-eye-king]: Light-hearted banter, friendly mocking exchanges. A term popular among London costermongers in the early to middle nineteenth century.
List of characters:
Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Helen Culverson: A woman of some mystery, also a travel writer, who seems to have become Charles's girlfriend.
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok.
Madame Jeanne Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident, and seems also to be involved with the Mafia in some way.
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Henri Carron - a rag-and-bone man, owner of an heroic dog called Bonaparte.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles.
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Estelle Gaudin [deceased]: mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased]: Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. nappies [UK/AUS]: diapers [US]
chi-iking [pronounced chai-eye-king]: Light-hearted banter, friendly mocking exchanges. A term popular among London costermongers in the early to middle nineteenth century.
List of characters:
Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Helen Culverson: A woman of some mystery, also a travel writer, who seems to have become Charles's girlfriend.
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok.
Madame Jeanne Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident, and seems also to be involved with the Mafia in some way.
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Henri Carron - a rag-and-bone man, owner of an heroic dog called Bonaparte.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles.
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Estelle Gaudin [deceased]: mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased]: Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
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