Pierre was the son of elderly parents who died when he was twelve. Most of his early adolescence was spent in the company of older cousins and relatives, who, although fond of the quiet, young boy, were mainly pre-occupied with their own affairs.

Being a solitary soul by nature, Pierre didn't really feel the lack of close companionship
That changed dramatically when he was sent to the college of St. Etienne in Switzerland.
It was one of the world's best schools for scholastic excellence.
Pierre's own father had been a Head Boy in his time as a student at St.Etienne's and so Pierre was accepted without question.
He soon grew used to living with three other boys in their suite of two bedrooms and a bathroom but realized early on that he was smarter than a good percentage of his classmates, but decided to keep that particular fact to himself.
One of his room mates was Alphonse Lombard. The youngest son of Msr Gaston Jacques Lombard , an advisor to the French Ministry of Defense.

A year older than Alphonse and already fluent in several languages, Pierre made it his task to coach the young French lad in English.

It was then that Alphonse realized he had a natural flair for languages and settled down to study under Pierre's tuition.
They kept it between themselves and so when Alphonse passed an English exam with flying colours, the master accused him of cheating.

An indignant Alphonse rang his father who immediately descended on the hallowed halls of St.Etienne's College For Young Gentlemen and loudly announced that his son was leaving.

It was only Pierre's skilful diplomacy that prevented Msr.Lombard Snr. from doing as he intended. An international incident was averted, and Pierre's reputation as a diplomat was assured.

From then on Alphonse and Pierre became fast friends, with holidays spent at Chateau Lombard, sailing in the lovely little yacht Pierre inherited from his father which they kept at the chateau's boat marina.

After he left school with distinctions in his studies of ancient Eastern
languages, PIerre found a position at the Louvre as a categories clerk in the
Oriental section. His work was satisfying and interesting, and, well paid, enabling him to purchase a three bedroom apartment overlooking a small, elegant park in a tree filled Parisian suburb and furnish it to his liking.

He was also able to indulge his fancy for pre 17th century art and many other lovely things that took his eye.
He was a shy person, who never considered himself attractive to women. So, he remained celibate, although he was well past his 30th birthday. Far from mean, he was naturally frugal so his position at the Museum brought him more than he needed in the way of financial rewards.

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Alphonse was different! Mon Dieu! How different!

Loud was the word! loud laugh, loud automobile, loud clothes, loud parties.
Always some woman draped over his arm .
Always another ever eager to take her place.
All beautiful, elegant and ready for any escapade that Alphonse suggested.
The recollection of the first occasion he had met the rowdy crowd, filled Pierre with amused disgust .
It had proved to be an unruly assembly, under the trees in the Wintergarden of an hotel out on the Rue de la Russe and wasn't what Pierre had anticipated when he accepted the invitation.
He had expected to be one of a select few joining Alphonse at a celebration of the end of University days and the announcement of his acceptance of a junior posting in a Government department .

This was totally different.
So many people! So many voices and accents!
Alphonse was in his element.
Switching from French to English, from German to Russian, he worked the room.
Wherever he stood there would be a crowd of laughing faces surrounding him.
His lean, tanned face lit by a piratical grin, his glass never empty, his arm around some lovely, laughing nymph, this was what Alphonse craved.
Excitement!
No dull job at a departmental desk for him. He had found his niche in life and was resolved to follow it through to what ever the end might be.
It occurred to Pierre that his friend was intent on a course of self destruction.
He realized that if Alphonse was determined to follow this path, there was little he, Pierre, could do to alter his friend's decision.
They would stay friends, but at a distance, which caused Pierre an odd sadness although his acceptance of the situation was as stoic as ever.

Then, to his amazement, he learned of Alphonse's liking for the poetry Pierre had been translating from an obscure Oriental text.
There had been one piece in particular which had touched Pierre the most.
It was a love poem written centuries ago by a lonely soldier on a distant outpost .The thoughts were ancient, but the words were timeless.
As he read them Pierre was surprised with a sense of kinship towards the young soldier who had written them more than a thousand years ago to a girl he barely knew.
Her name was "Nightingale Moon."
Thinking of her name was enough to jerk Pierre back to the present. The girls! Their names! He thought there was one called Yvette. He was almost sure there had been a Ninette.
His brain would not co-operate and he fell back to wondering what Inge looked like.
Was she short or tall.? Dark haired or fair.? More to the point, did she know what he looked like?

to be continued
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