| General Fiction posted February 19, 2019 | Chapters: |
...39 40 -41- 42... 
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Chapter 41: Some connections are made.
A chapter in the book The French Letter
A FaceTime Call
by tfawcus
| Background Charles is back at his cottage in Wiltshire, taking time out from investigating the mystery behind the French letter, and enjoying a few moments of solitude. |
from Chapter 40:
With some relief, I regained the safety of my front door. I stepped inside and shot the bolts across, both top and bottom. I had just finished drawing the curtains and was about to mount the stairs when my iPad chimed like a set of tubular bells. It was Kayla on a FaceTime call. She looked worried.
Chapter 41
I went back into the sitting room and turned on the light.
"Oh, there you are, Charles. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I thought I had. A moth followed me in, and I was brushing it away from my face. I've just come home from the pub."
"Maybe that explains why the picture's pointing at the ceiling. Been drowning your sorrows, have you?"
"Is that better?" I said, slumping down on the chair that had the wall light behind it.
"Not much. Now you look as though you are the ghost - not that it matters. I didn't call up to drool over your handsome features, darling."
There was a playful edge in her tone, and I was glad my face was in shadow. My reaction was best kept to myself.
"What did you call about, then? Is something up?"
"Yes and no. I've been trying to get in touch with you for a few hours and was getting worried in case something had happened. It's a relief to know that you were out getting sloshed."
My hackles rose - at least, they would have if I'd been a dog. The impudence of it! I nearly bit back but thought better of it. "Go on, what's the story?"
"I wanted to let you know that I've contacted your friend, Alain. He's been away for several days. Apparently, he had a run-in with the police."
"What's he been up to? Pinching knickers off clothes lines again?"
"No, nothing like that. Apparently, he had a face-off with a local art dealer here. Accused him of stealing a painting of his. The conversation got heated and they came to blows. The flics were called in and carted him off. He was charged with assault."
"Really? He mentioned a stolen painting when we were with him in Giverney last week. He was pretty stirred up then, too. Seemed to think I had something to do with it."
I shivered, not as you may think, at the memory but because the fire was nearly out. Putting the iPad face down on the floor, I went over to throw a couple of logs on, to resuscitate the flame.
A disembodied voice rose up from the carpet behind me. "What's happened? The screen's gone blank."
"Sorry. Back again now. I don't suppose the art dealer was Gaston Arnoux by any chance?"
"Yes. How on earth did you know that?"
"Never mind. I'll tell you when I see you. It looks as if I may be back in Paris again quite soon. Anyway, go on about Alain."
"It seems that Arnoux dropped the charges. He probably didn't want the publicity. Alain turned up at the Moulin Rouge this evening for his usual shift, so I swung my tits at him after the show. He took the hint and asked me out for a drink. What a very strange man!"
"In what way, 'strange'?"
"I'd half expected him to come on to me like a sex-starved jackrabbit after what you'd said, but not a bit of it. Under that gruff exterior, he's quite shy and reserved. Lonely, I expect."
"I thought you said he was friends with the dwarf."
"Yes, but I didn't say they were living together. It took a while to get him talking. I mentioned that Helen was my sister. The girl at Giverney, I said - remember? He remembered all right! He started off about you, wanting to know who you were and all about you."
"I'll bet he had a few things to say. We didn't exactly hit it off."
"That was the odd part. He was quite apologetic. Said you'd caught him off guard with your envelope. It brought back unpleasant memories of the wrong done to his grandmother by Arnoux's grandfather, and - of course - of the stolen painting."
"Yes, I remember. He said that his grandmother once sat for Toulouse Lautrec. I'm assuming the portrait must have been of her. You do know, of course, that her sister, Carmen, was the subject of his famous painting The Laundress?"
"Oh, my God! I had no idea. You mean the one that sold for squillions of dollars in New York not long ago? That probably explains why he's so bitter. Your meeting prompted him to have it out with the colonel's grandson, but initially, he couldn't get anywhere near him."
"Why not?"
"It's one of those places that's always locked, with heavy grilles over the windows and a notice saying 'By Appointment Only'. There was no way he'd ever get an appointment, so he just waited outside the place until Arnoux turned up. He seemed pretty sure that he either had this other painting or knew about it. Apparently, it was left to his mother, but mysteriously disappeared years ago."
At that point, Kayla also disappeared mysteriously. Her face froze and became a pixilated blur before being replaced by a message saying, 'Internet connection lost'. I had been about to tell her of my meeting with Sir David Brockenhurst.
I began to see a possible connection. If Alain had mentioned that I turned up in Giverney with the envelope containing his grandfather's letter, Arnoux must have decided he wanted to find out where I fitted into the scheme of things. If so, he had a funny way of going about it. Not that it mattered. I was equally keen to discover more about him.
Now there was no doubt in my mind that I would take up Brockenhurst's proposal. I decided there and then that I would ring him in the morning.
Bloody internet, I thought as I climbed the stairs. It never seemed to work properly down here in the valley. The place was in a time warp, tucked away from all the trappings of modern life. I smiled to myself. That, of course, was a large part of its charm.
With some relief, I regained the safety of my front door. I stepped inside and shot the bolts across, both top and bottom. I had just finished drawing the curtains and was about to mount the stairs when my iPad chimed like a set of tubular bells. It was Kayla on a FaceTime call. She looked worried.
Chapter 41
I went back into the sitting room and turned on the light.
"Oh, there you are, Charles. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I thought I had. A moth followed me in, and I was brushing it away from my face. I've just come home from the pub."
"Maybe that explains why the picture's pointing at the ceiling. Been drowning your sorrows, have you?"
"Is that better?" I said, slumping down on the chair that had the wall light behind it.
"Not much. Now you look as though you are the ghost - not that it matters. I didn't call up to drool over your handsome features, darling."
There was a playful edge in her tone, and I was glad my face was in shadow. My reaction was best kept to myself.
"What did you call about, then? Is something up?"
"Yes and no. I've been trying to get in touch with you for a few hours and was getting worried in case something had happened. It's a relief to know that you were out getting sloshed."
My hackles rose - at least, they would have if I'd been a dog. The impudence of it! I nearly bit back but thought better of it. "Go on, what's the story?"
"I wanted to let you know that I've contacted your friend, Alain. He's been away for several days. Apparently, he had a run-in with the police."
"What's he been up to? Pinching knickers off clothes lines again?"
"No, nothing like that. Apparently, he had a face-off with a local art dealer here. Accused him of stealing a painting of his. The conversation got heated and they came to blows. The flics were called in and carted him off. He was charged with assault."
"Really? He mentioned a stolen painting when we were with him in Giverney last week. He was pretty stirred up then, too. Seemed to think I had something to do with it."
I shivered, not as you may think, at the memory but because the fire was nearly out. Putting the iPad face down on the floor, I went over to throw a couple of logs on, to resuscitate the flame.
A disembodied voice rose up from the carpet behind me. "What's happened? The screen's gone blank."
"Sorry. Back again now. I don't suppose the art dealer was Gaston Arnoux by any chance?"
"Yes. How on earth did you know that?"
"Never mind. I'll tell you when I see you. It looks as if I may be back in Paris again quite soon. Anyway, go on about Alain."
"It seems that Arnoux dropped the charges. He probably didn't want the publicity. Alain turned up at the Moulin Rouge this evening for his usual shift, so I swung my tits at him after the show. He took the hint and asked me out for a drink. What a very strange man!"
"In what way, 'strange'?"
"I'd half expected him to come on to me like a sex-starved jackrabbit after what you'd said, but not a bit of it. Under that gruff exterior, he's quite shy and reserved. Lonely, I expect."
"I thought you said he was friends with the dwarf."
"Yes, but I didn't say they were living together. It took a while to get him talking. I mentioned that Helen was my sister. The girl at Giverney, I said - remember? He remembered all right! He started off about you, wanting to know who you were and all about you."
"I'll bet he had a few things to say. We didn't exactly hit it off."
"That was the odd part. He was quite apologetic. Said you'd caught him off guard with your envelope. It brought back unpleasant memories of the wrong done to his grandmother by Arnoux's grandfather, and - of course - of the stolen painting."
"Yes, I remember. He said that his grandmother once sat for Toulouse Lautrec. I'm assuming the portrait must have been of her. You do know, of course, that her sister, Carmen, was the subject of his famous painting The Laundress?"
"Oh, my God! I had no idea. You mean the one that sold for squillions of dollars in New York not long ago? That probably explains why he's so bitter. Your meeting prompted him to have it out with the colonel's grandson, but initially, he couldn't get anywhere near him."
"Why not?"
"It's one of those places that's always locked, with heavy grilles over the windows and a notice saying 'By Appointment Only'. There was no way he'd ever get an appointment, so he just waited outside the place until Arnoux turned up. He seemed pretty sure that he either had this other painting or knew about it. Apparently, it was left to his mother, but mysteriously disappeared years ago."
At that point, Kayla also disappeared mysteriously. Her face froze and became a pixilated blur before being replaced by a message saying, 'Internet connection lost'. I had been about to tell her of my meeting with Sir David Brockenhurst.
I began to see a possible connection. If Alain had mentioned that I turned up in Giverney with the envelope containing his grandfather's letter, Arnoux must have decided he wanted to find out where I fitted into the scheme of things. If so, he had a funny way of going about it. Not that it mattered. I was equally keen to discover more about him.
Now there was no doubt in my mind that I would take up Brockenhurst's proposal. I decided there and then that I would ring him in the morning.
Bloody internet, I thought as I climbed the stairs. It never seemed to work properly down here in the valley. The place was in a time warp, tucked away from all the trappings of modern life. I smiled to myself. That, of course, was a large part of its charm.
 Recognized |
#80 2019 |
Glossary:
flics - French slang for police
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. flics - French slang for police
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.
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