| General Fiction posted January 27, 2019 | Chapters: |
...36 37 -38- 39... 
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Sir David's proposition
A chapter in the book The French Letter
A Matter of Moolah
by tfawcus
| Background Charles and Helen, who have been investigating the mystery of the French letter, are now apart, at least for the moment. Charles arrives in England, where Sir David Brockenhurst makes a proposition. |
end of Chapter 37
Without thinking, I felt in my jacket pocket for the envelope from the Paris Stamp Market. Then I remembered, much to my annoyance, that Alain still had it, together with the letter it once contained.
Chapter 38
I needed to find a way to convince Alain, if not to part with the letter, then at least to let me read it for myself. I already knew from him that it contained hollow promises from the colonel that had lured Suzanne to Paris. Once there, he had set her up in a sordid garret in Montmartre, captive to his carnal whim.
What induced her to follow that path? Money, perhaps? Exchanging the backwater of Versailles for the whirligig of the capital? Or was it that her older sister, Carmen, had preceded her? Maybe she imagined an easy life posing for artists, as Carmen had done for Lautrec. Bright lights have blinded many a young girl to the darkness and depravity concealed, like a rotting corpse, beneath the veneer. Beyond the glitz and glamour, prostitution populates the shadows. Those who can't afford the carousel soon find themselves in a spiral of destitution and despair.
Who was this monster, Colonel Neville Arnoux? I needed to find out. Could Gaston Arnoux be holding the key that would unlock more information about him?
Sir David rapped the table with the bottom of his glass to regain my attention. "My dear chap - are you all right? You seem to have drifted off."
"Not at all," I assured him. "I was merely reflecting while waiting for you to explain your proposition."
"Ah! The proposition. Straightforward, really. I have one or two canvasses in England that need to be transported to Paris next week. They are for an exhibition in Gaston's gallery. Unfortunately, I can't do it myself as I have urgent business elsewhere."
He waited for my reaction, but I remained impassive. Stunned is a more accurate description. "They would fit neatly into your suitcase, and he would pay handsomely to have them delivered in time for the opening. That's it, in a nutshell."
"Whatever makes you think I'd want to do a thing like that?"
"Moolah."
"Moolah?"
"Dough, dosh, cash, old chap." Sir David's eyes lit up like a one-armed bandit about to deliver a jackpot. "I think you may find it suits you." He leant forward. "You see, I was also at the stage door the other night and saw you waltzing off with that tart from the chorus line." He tapped his nose and gave a sly wink. "It would give you a chance to dip your spoon into the honeypot again, old boy - all expenses paid. Now, what do you say to that?"
I resisted the temptation to throw up, spattering his pink shirtfront with partially digested oysters, and reminded myself that I really did want to meet Gaston. As for seeing Kayla again? Well, that didn't seem like too bad an idea, either. Maybe she could contact Alain and act as intermediary. I knew of his penchant for pretty girls. It was much less likely he'd respond if I made the approach.
My focus returned to the present, and in what seemed like an out-of-body experience, I heard myself saying, "I'd be delighted, David. Anything to help a chap out in his hour of need." I fumbled in my wallet for a card then passed it over to him. "Perhaps you could get in touch nearer the time, with arrangements for picking up the paintings?"
"Of course! I knew I could rely on you, Brandon. What a capital fellow you are. Can't thank you enough." He dusted an imaginary speck from his jacket as he got up. "Must dash. Have an important engagement, don't you know." Then, before turning on his heel, he gave a cheery salute. "Toodle-oo! See you next week!"
Curiouser and curiouser. He vanished into the crowd in the main concourse, coattails flapping, the very image of the White Rabbit, and I slipped into my own small world of conjecture until only my smile was left.
My thoughts were interrupted when an odour of cheap perfume assailed my nostrils. A well-endowed waitress was leaning over the table to clear my dishes. "Is there anything else I can get you, dearie?"
I felt my hackles rise. On the verge of saying, "Don't you 'dearie' me, young lady," I realised what a pompous ass I would sound. Instead, I said,"Yes. I'd like a double brandy - and bring me the bill, please." When it came, I wasn't altogether surprised to see that Sir David's Vichy water had been added to my account.
I was still thinking about Sir David as I made my way down to the Tube. Had he been following me, I wondered – and why had he selected me to courier his paintings? There had to be an ulterior motive. He was right, though. It suited my purpose, even if not for the reason he had lewdly suggested. Anyway, I couldn’t see it causing me any harm, and it might provide a useful lead in my investigations.
By this time, the crowds had begun to thin, and I had no difficulty in getting a seat on the Victoria Line train to Oxford Circus. The dank, slightly electric smell of the London Underground filled me with nostalgia. There is nothing in the world quite like it.
As invariably seems to happen, I narrowly missed my connection to the Bakerloo Line, and had to wait a few minutes for the next westbound train. How irritating it is to hear the dwindling rumble of carriages disappearing into the darkness just as one reaches the platform. However, I wasn’t unduly worried, as there is a frequent service to the West Country from Paddington.
I spent the five wasted minutes contemplating the peace and quiet of my little cottage. A few days of solitude were just what I needed.
Without thinking, I felt in my jacket pocket for the envelope from the Paris Stamp Market. Then I remembered, much to my annoyance, that Alain still had it, together with the letter it once contained.
Chapter 38
I needed to find a way to convince Alain, if not to part with the letter, then at least to let me read it for myself. I already knew from him that it contained hollow promises from the colonel that had lured Suzanne to Paris. Once there, he had set her up in a sordid garret in Montmartre, captive to his carnal whim.
What induced her to follow that path? Money, perhaps? Exchanging the backwater of Versailles for the whirligig of the capital? Or was it that her older sister, Carmen, had preceded her? Maybe she imagined an easy life posing for artists, as Carmen had done for Lautrec. Bright lights have blinded many a young girl to the darkness and depravity concealed, like a rotting corpse, beneath the veneer. Beyond the glitz and glamour, prostitution populates the shadows. Those who can't afford the carousel soon find themselves in a spiral of destitution and despair.
Who was this monster, Colonel Neville Arnoux? I needed to find out. Could Gaston Arnoux be holding the key that would unlock more information about him?
Sir David rapped the table with the bottom of his glass to regain my attention. "My dear chap - are you all right? You seem to have drifted off."
"Not at all," I assured him. "I was merely reflecting while waiting for you to explain your proposition."
"Ah! The proposition. Straightforward, really. I have one or two canvasses in England that need to be transported to Paris next week. They are for an exhibition in Gaston's gallery. Unfortunately, I can't do it myself as I have urgent business elsewhere."
He waited for my reaction, but I remained impassive. Stunned is a more accurate description. "They would fit neatly into your suitcase, and he would pay handsomely to have them delivered in time for the opening. That's it, in a nutshell."
"Whatever makes you think I'd want to do a thing like that?"
"Moolah."
"Moolah?"
"Dough, dosh, cash, old chap." Sir David's eyes lit up like a one-armed bandit about to deliver a jackpot. "I think you may find it suits you." He leant forward. "You see, I was also at the stage door the other night and saw you waltzing off with that tart from the chorus line." He tapped his nose and gave a sly wink. "It would give you a chance to dip your spoon into the honeypot again, old boy - all expenses paid. Now, what do you say to that?"
I resisted the temptation to throw up, spattering his pink shirtfront with partially digested oysters, and reminded myself that I really did want to meet Gaston. As for seeing Kayla again? Well, that didn't seem like too bad an idea, either. Maybe she could contact Alain and act as intermediary. I knew of his penchant for pretty girls. It was much less likely he'd respond if I made the approach.
My focus returned to the present, and in what seemed like an out-of-body experience, I heard myself saying, "I'd be delighted, David. Anything to help a chap out in his hour of need." I fumbled in my wallet for a card then passed it over to him. "Perhaps you could get in touch nearer the time, with arrangements for picking up the paintings?"
"Of course! I knew I could rely on you, Brandon. What a capital fellow you are. Can't thank you enough." He dusted an imaginary speck from his jacket as he got up. "Must dash. Have an important engagement, don't you know." Then, before turning on his heel, he gave a cheery salute. "Toodle-oo! See you next week!"
Curiouser and curiouser. He vanished into the crowd in the main concourse, coattails flapping, the very image of the White Rabbit, and I slipped into my own small world of conjecture until only my smile was left.
My thoughts were interrupted when an odour of cheap perfume assailed my nostrils. A well-endowed waitress was leaning over the table to clear my dishes. "Is there anything else I can get you, dearie?"
I felt my hackles rise. On the verge of saying, "Don't you 'dearie' me, young lady," I realised what a pompous ass I would sound. Instead, I said,"Yes. I'd like a double brandy - and bring me the bill, please." When it came, I wasn't altogether surprised to see that Sir David's Vichy water had been added to my account.
I was still thinking about Sir David as I made my way down to the Tube. Had he been following me, I wondered – and why had he selected me to courier his paintings? There had to be an ulterior motive. He was right, though. It suited my purpose, even if not for the reason he had lewdly suggested. Anyway, I couldn’t see it causing me any harm, and it might provide a useful lead in my investigations.
By this time, the crowds had begun to thin, and I had no difficulty in getting a seat on the Victoria Line train to Oxford Circus. The dank, slightly electric smell of the London Underground filled me with nostalgia. There is nothing in the world quite like it.
As invariably seems to happen, I narrowly missed my connection to the Bakerloo Line, and had to wait a few minutes for the next westbound train. How irritating it is to hear the dwindling rumble of carriages disappearing into the darkness just as one reaches the platform. However, I wasn’t unduly worried, as there is a frequent service to the West Country from Paddington.
I spent the five wasted minutes contemplating the peace and quiet of my little cottage. A few days of solitude were just what I needed.
 Recognized |
#99 2019 |
List of characters:
Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Sir David Brockenhurst - a chance acquaintance, met at St Pancras Station
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
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.
Gaston Arnoux - an unknown quantity at this stage, a dilettante. Owner of an art gallery in Paris.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Sir David Brockenhurst - a chance acquaintance, met at St Pancras Station
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
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.
Gaston Arnoux - an unknown quantity at this stage, a dilettante. Owner of an art gallery in Paris.
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