| General Fiction posted April 18, 2019 | Chapters: |
...51 52 -53- 54... 
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Chapter 53: Madame Durand
A chapter in the book The French Letter
A Web of Deceit
by tfawcus
| Background Charles, having been coerced into working for MI6, finds the net of intrigue tightening. He finds out more during a meeting in the Paris Embassy with the Air Attache and his nemesis, Mme Durand. |
Last paragraphs of Chapter 52...
An antique French mantle clock above the fireplace struck the quarter hour with the delicacy of fairy bells. Autumn sunshine streamed through the window onto a vase of copper-coloured chrysanthemums turning them to gold. It was hard to believe what mayhem we were discussing in these civilised surroundings.
"Madame Durand will be here shortly. I'll ask James to bring her straight up. She can fill you in on many of the details, particularly those pertaining to the Culverson girls. She will also explain her part in all of this. I should make it clear that she isn't actually working for us, but our paths cross from time to time, and our roles can sometimes become inextricably linked."
Chapter 53
Bamforth eased himself out of his chair and leaned forward to press an intercom buzzer beneath his desk.
"Send Madame Durand in as soon as she arrives, please."
"Very good, sir." James's disembodied voice sounded like a ghost from a previous era.
"She's a remarkable woman, you know. Nerves of steel. Not everyone likes her, but that goes with the territory."
"What territory is that?"
"She works undercover for les stups. A dangerous job, as you have already witnessed in the little time you've known her."
I looked blank. "Les stups? Who on earth are they?"
Bamforth adopted a patronising tone. "Oh, dear! I was forgetting that your command of French is still a bit shaky. Les stups is what members of the French underworld call the Brigade des Stupefiants, the French Drug Squad."
"You mean she's a policewoman?"
"For all practical purposes, I suppose you are right. She has much the same authority, but a freer hand in exercising it. Her operations in Thailand were what brought us together." He looked at me condescendingly. "You'll no doubt understand that there is a close link between drug trafficking and terrorism."
The statement was phrased to suggest that I didn't understand, and probably wouldn't ever understand that, or anything else of consequence. This obnoxious man was beginning to get under my skin again, and it was just as well a knock on the door cut me short.
"Madame Durand, sir."
"Jeanne! How good of you to spare the time. Do come in!" He crossed the room and shook her warmly by the hand. He was not the kind of man to indulge in the French custom of a kiss on either cheek.
Drawing up a beautiful, hand-carved walnut chair, he said, "Made for you, my dear; Louis XV with an Aubusson tapestry - fit for a queen."
Madame Durand was clearly unimpressed. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, sweeping a stray hair back behind her ear as she sat down. Bamforth indicated a rather sturdier looking chair for me and retreated into a defensive position behind his desk.
"You two know each other, of course, so let's get down to business, shall we?"
Jeanne gave me a tight-lipped smile, devoid of warmth, and directed her opening remark to Bamforth. "I presume you have filled in the background for Mr. Brandon?"
"Of course, but I leave it to you to explain about the Culverson sisters."
She adjusted the angle of her chair to face me more directly. "What do you already know? Be brief, if you can." Her tone was withering, but I let it pass.
"I know their parents were gunned down by ISIS soldiers during a brutal attack on their church and, as a result, the girls fled from Pakistan to Thailand."
"Yes, go on."
"Kayla was kidnapped in Bangkok and sexually assaulted by an odious little drug dealer called Bukhari. However, being skilled in self-defence, she managed to fight him off. Unfortunately, a sharp blow to his neck proved fatal and she was forced to flee again, this time as a fugitive from the law. I understand that she made her way to Phuket but I know nothing more of her movements until she turned up in Paris recently, looking for her sister."
"The killing was unfortunate for us all. Mr. Bukhari wasn't just an odious little drug dealer, as you put it. He was high up in the organisation and of great interest to us. I had been cultivating him for months and we were on the verge of a breakthrough. His death was a major blow to our plans."
Bamforth interrupted. "Perhaps you could explain your subsequent interest in the Culverson sisters to our friend, Charles."
"I was coming to that." The sharp response made her irritation clear. "Bukhari and I had seen them singing in a nightclub, and he was attracted to them. It didn't take me long to find out their background and circumstances and I realised how useful they could be with a little grooming."
"A little grooming! That's one way of putting it."
"I understand your animosity, Mr. Brandon. It's true that, as I gained her trust, Helen developed an excessive fondness for me, perhaps in reaction to the loss of her mother."
"You bitch! You're nothing but a ..."
Bamforth cut me short. "Steady on, Brandon! Calling each other names isn't going to help."
"I think he was about to accuse me of homophilia, David. I've had worse accusations made against me. Naturally, I led her on. Her infatuation suited me admirably. It made it much easier for me to manipulate her."
I stared at her in disbelief. It was clear that the woman was enjoying my reaction. What a cold-blooded snake she was.
"There's no room for sentiment in our world, Mr Brandon. You'll soon discover that. We do what we must do. Pragmatism is a matter of survival."
"I'm afraid she's right, Charles. In times of war, we have to make difficult decisions for the greater good and make no mistake; this is war."
I looked from one to the other, searching for a vestige of humanity in their faces. There was none. As if to confirm it, the sun chose that moment to go behind a cloud, the chrysanthemums resumed their ochre tones, and the ticking of the mantle clock was amplified by the sinister silence that ensued. Its single chime marking the half hour reminded me of the bell in a boxing arena.
"What we want you to do, Charles, is to resume your relationship with Helen Culverson. She will be devastated when Jeanne distances herself, withdrawing her affection. The poor girl will no doubt seek a shoulder to cry on. We'd like you to make it yours."
"It would be best, Mr Brandon, if you kept Miss Culverson in the dark. For her own protection, you understand. She must know nothing of this. Not yet, at least."
I knew what they were saying was fundamentally wrong and that deceit would only serve to destroy our relationship - if, indeed, we still had one. Nonetheless, I was hungry to see Helen, to share her warmth and laughter, and once again to inhale that tantalising scent of jasmine infused with oriental spices.
"Well, Charles?"
I wrestled with my conscience, but it was clearly having an off-day and offered little resistance. "I'll do it," I said. "Not for me, but for Helen." How easily the lie slipped from my tongue.
"Good." An urbane smile spread across the Air Attaché's face as he rose to shake my hand. "There is one other thing, old boy. It is vitally important that her sister, Kayla, knows nothing of this. We still have her under surveillance."
"Under surveillance? What for?"
"She made some dangerous friends while in Phuket. But that need not concern you. Not for the present, at any rate."
An antique French mantle clock above the fireplace struck the quarter hour with the delicacy of fairy bells. Autumn sunshine streamed through the window onto a vase of copper-coloured chrysanthemums turning them to gold. It was hard to believe what mayhem we were discussing in these civilised surroundings.
"Madame Durand will be here shortly. I'll ask James to bring her straight up. She can fill you in on many of the details, particularly those pertaining to the Culverson girls. She will also explain her part in all of this. I should make it clear that she isn't actually working for us, but our paths cross from time to time, and our roles can sometimes become inextricably linked."
Chapter 53
Bamforth eased himself out of his chair and leaned forward to press an intercom buzzer beneath his desk.
"Send Madame Durand in as soon as she arrives, please."
"Very good, sir." James's disembodied voice sounded like a ghost from a previous era.
"She's a remarkable woman, you know. Nerves of steel. Not everyone likes her, but that goes with the territory."
"What territory is that?"
"She works undercover for les stups. A dangerous job, as you have already witnessed in the little time you've known her."
I looked blank. "Les stups? Who on earth are they?"
Bamforth adopted a patronising tone. "Oh, dear! I was forgetting that your command of French is still a bit shaky. Les stups is what members of the French underworld call the Brigade des Stupefiants, the French Drug Squad."
"You mean she's a policewoman?"
"For all practical purposes, I suppose you are right. She has much the same authority, but a freer hand in exercising it. Her operations in Thailand were what brought us together." He looked at me condescendingly. "You'll no doubt understand that there is a close link between drug trafficking and terrorism."
The statement was phrased to suggest that I didn't understand, and probably wouldn't ever understand that, or anything else of consequence. This obnoxious man was beginning to get under my skin again, and it was just as well a knock on the door cut me short.
"Madame Durand, sir."
"Jeanne! How good of you to spare the time. Do come in!" He crossed the room and shook her warmly by the hand. He was not the kind of man to indulge in the French custom of a kiss on either cheek.
Drawing up a beautiful, hand-carved walnut chair, he said, "Made for you, my dear; Louis XV with an Aubusson tapestry - fit for a queen."
Madame Durand was clearly unimpressed. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, sweeping a stray hair back behind her ear as she sat down. Bamforth indicated a rather sturdier looking chair for me and retreated into a defensive position behind his desk.
"You two know each other, of course, so let's get down to business, shall we?"
Jeanne gave me a tight-lipped smile, devoid of warmth, and directed her opening remark to Bamforth. "I presume you have filled in the background for Mr. Brandon?"
"Of course, but I leave it to you to explain about the Culverson sisters."
She adjusted the angle of her chair to face me more directly. "What do you already know? Be brief, if you can." Her tone was withering, but I let it pass.
"I know their parents were gunned down by ISIS soldiers during a brutal attack on their church and, as a result, the girls fled from Pakistan to Thailand."
"Yes, go on."
"Kayla was kidnapped in Bangkok and sexually assaulted by an odious little drug dealer called Bukhari. However, being skilled in self-defence, she managed to fight him off. Unfortunately, a sharp blow to his neck proved fatal and she was forced to flee again, this time as a fugitive from the law. I understand that she made her way to Phuket but I know nothing more of her movements until she turned up in Paris recently, looking for her sister."
"The killing was unfortunate for us all. Mr. Bukhari wasn't just an odious little drug dealer, as you put it. He was high up in the organisation and of great interest to us. I had been cultivating him for months and we were on the verge of a breakthrough. His death was a major blow to our plans."
Bamforth interrupted. "Perhaps you could explain your subsequent interest in the Culverson sisters to our friend, Charles."
"I was coming to that." The sharp response made her irritation clear. "Bukhari and I had seen them singing in a nightclub, and he was attracted to them. It didn't take me long to find out their background and circumstances and I realised how useful they could be with a little grooming."
"A little grooming! That's one way of putting it."
"I understand your animosity, Mr. Brandon. It's true that, as I gained her trust, Helen developed an excessive fondness for me, perhaps in reaction to the loss of her mother."
"You bitch! You're nothing but a ..."
Bamforth cut me short. "Steady on, Brandon! Calling each other names isn't going to help."
"I think he was about to accuse me of homophilia, David. I've had worse accusations made against me. Naturally, I led her on. Her infatuation suited me admirably. It made it much easier for me to manipulate her."
I stared at her in disbelief. It was clear that the woman was enjoying my reaction. What a cold-blooded snake she was.
"There's no room for sentiment in our world, Mr Brandon. You'll soon discover that. We do what we must do. Pragmatism is a matter of survival."
"I'm afraid she's right, Charles. In times of war, we have to make difficult decisions for the greater good and make no mistake; this is war."
I looked from one to the other, searching for a vestige of humanity in their faces. There was none. As if to confirm it, the sun chose that moment to go behind a cloud, the chrysanthemums resumed their ochre tones, and the ticking of the mantle clock was amplified by the sinister silence that ensued. Its single chime marking the half hour reminded me of the bell in a boxing arena.
"What we want you to do, Charles, is to resume your relationship with Helen Culverson. She will be devastated when Jeanne distances herself, withdrawing her affection. The poor girl will no doubt seek a shoulder to cry on. We'd like you to make it yours."
"It would be best, Mr Brandon, if you kept Miss Culverson in the dark. For her own protection, you understand. She must know nothing of this. Not yet, at least."
I knew what they were saying was fundamentally wrong and that deceit would only serve to destroy our relationship - if, indeed, we still had one. Nonetheless, I was hungry to see Helen, to share her warmth and laughter, and once again to inhale that tantalising scent of jasmine infused with oriental spices.
"Well, Charles?"
I wrestled with my conscience, but it was clearly having an off-day and offered little resistance. "I'll do it," I said. "Not for me, but for Helen." How easily the lie slipped from my tongue.
"Good." An urbane smile spread across the Air Attaché's face as he rose to shake my hand. "There is one other thing, old boy. It is vitally important that her sister, Kayla, knows nothing of this. We still have her under surveillance."
"Under surveillance? What for?"
"She made some dangerous friends while in Phuket. But that need not concern you. Not for the present, at any rate."
 Recognized |
#224 2019 |
The characters
Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Helen Culverson - a woman of some mystery, also a travel writer, whose relationship with Charles is complicated by her relationship with Jeanne Durand.
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident, and seems also to be involved with international drug trade.
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
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 - Owner of an art gallery in Paris, recently assassinated by Charles Asserted to be leader of an ISIS network
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Helen Culverson - a woman of some mystery, also a travel writer, whose relationship with Charles is complicated by her relationship with Jeanne Durand.
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident, and seems also to be involved with international drug trade.
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
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 - Owner of an art gallery in Paris, recently assassinated by Charles Asserted to be leader of an ISIS network
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