by Alan Norris
Charles inclined his head towards Marie and she translated for us. I asked if he’d have done her any harm when he’d been left here on Sunday morning.
‘Oh no sir. I couldn’t.’ he looked horrified at the thought.
‘That’s good Charlie.’ I said and waved him to a chair. ‘Please sit down.’
‘Thank you sir, but I think I should see to our dinner.’ and he escaped to the kitchen.
I turned to Marie, ‘What do you make of him? I think he’s probably ok. Not a bad sort at all.’
‘Open book.’ she said. ‘I’d say he was sincere and embarrassed as hell because he likes Rachel and doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s probably never met anyone quite like her.’
‘Hmm...I think you could be right. Number one daughter seems a bit sparkly too don’t you think?’
Rachel bobbed into the room, glasses and bottle in her hands. She passed the bottle to me and put the best glasses on the table.
‘Might be best if you do the corking honours Dad. Charles is dishing up now and he’ll bring it through when he’s done.’ She picked up one of the empty glasses. ‘I’ll put some fizzy water in this one for Charles, told me he doesn’t drink.’
She was back in a few moments, bringing a handful of cutlery and a small tray of bread.
‘I think I’ll just have a sip or two of the bubbly giggling juice, sample Charles’ cooking, then I’m off to bed.’ Rachel yawned and dropped into the fireside chair. ‘I’m shattered. I imagine we all are. And I really want to wash and feel clean.’
Charles had tried hard with his cooking, although he did admit that most of it came from freezer packs that he’d brought back with him from the supermarket. None of us had eaten properly all day and I’d had nothing since my few spoonfulls of porridge that morning. And in a hungry silence, we cleared every plateful.
‘Good of you to do all this Charles.’ I said. ‘Is it right that you’ve got nowhere to go? No home?’
‘Yes sir. I daren’t go back to the hostel. I know they’d find me.’
‘And Rachel has had you staying here, while you help out with some of the work around the place?’
‘Yes sir.’ He said with a worried look at Rachel.
‘Oh don’t worry Charlie. You can stay with us, for now at least. I’m sure we’ll work something out.’ I looked at Marie, she smiled at Charlie and nodded.
Chapter 29
It took an age for William to get to sleep, overtired and full of thoughts for his future with Marie, kept him awake until the early hours of Thursday morning. Marie on the other hand slept like a log, lying on her side, her body curved to fit into William’s. She carefully avoided putting any pressure on her injured shoulder and slept solidly until William woke and carefully eased himself from under the warmth of the duvet.
Except for Charles, everyone slept late. He was up at around dawn and had cleaned up the kitchen, relit the fire and had things ready to prepare a simple breakfast. When Rachel arrived downstairs he rushed off to start the coffee maker and to fetch her a glass of orange juice.
~ ~ ~
My hair was still wet from a hot shower and, plastered to my head, was as straight as could be. All was quiet and I thought I was the only one up until I saw what had been going on downstairs.
‘Now Charles, listen to me.’ I sat on a stool at the kitchen counter. ‘What you’re doing is fine, really nice and we could get used to having all these things done for us. But you don’t have to do it. You don’t have to act like a servant.’
‘Yes ma’am, Rachel.’ His eyes looked disappointed, crestfallen. ‘I’m just trying to be helpful.’
‘Oh yes…Yes, I know, and you are. But you can cool it a bit, just enjoy being here.’
‘Yes ma’am. What should I do then?’
‘I think you should think of yourself a little more. Make coffee if you want. Relight the fire if you’re cold. Maybe stay in bed a while if you’re tired.’ I smiled at the look on his face. ‘And Charlie…’
‘Yes ma’am?’
‘Call me Rachel. I think ma’am is good for older women. And call Dad, William, he doesn’t like sir very much.’
‘Oh….Do you think I could call him Guillaume? My french tongue finds it difficult to get around his English name.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be happy with that. I think he’s coming down now…you can ask him.’ I said as I took my mug of coffee outside to the garden.
~ ~ ~
‘Ask me what, Charlie?’ I said, breathing in the aroma of freshly made coffee.
‘Good morning sir…um…Rachel says I’m to ask if I could call you by your french name, Guillaume?’
‘Delighted, no problem. I’ll call you Charlie...ok?’
‘That’s ok, thank you. Coffee’s ready, will I do breakfast? I thought just cereals and toast?’
He was grinning, but I wasn’t sure if it was a nervous smile, as though he felt out of place.
‘Charlie, I think it’ll be ok to just put the stuff on the counter-top and we’ll all just help ourselves this morning.’
I picked up my coffee mug to go join my daughter in the garden and, as I opened the door, added, ‘Oh yes, something else, we’ll all take a share in the washing-up and cleaning too.’
~ ~ ~
The air was chilly, but the sky was clear, just the usual string of early morning cloud that would disappear as the sun got higher. A heavy dew had fallen during the dawn, almost as though we’d had a shower and drips spattered onto the garden from the trees. Rachel was looking out across the fields towards the forest and the hills that were a pale grey-blue in the misty, morning light.
‘Morning Rachel.’ I said and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Did you sleep ok?’
‘Yeah, took a while to get off though.’ she shivered. ‘Kept thinking how different things could have turned out.’
‘Mm….Know what you mean, I spent a long time staring into the dark and thinking. But it all kind of ruined your quiet stay didn’t it?’
‘Oh I know, but the final result is just lovely. You and Marie make such a good couple and I like her. I like her alot….Anyway there’ll be other times, other visits won’t there.’ she smiled at Charlie as he trotted into the house with an armful of nicely split logs. ‘It all turned out well for Charlie too didn’t it. And what a story I’ve got to take back from my holiday.’
‘Yeah, you’re a proper little warrior and are going to make a top-drawer lawyer. I can see it now.’
‘Mm…It’s not over yet though is it. Our cheerful, fat gendarme should be calling soon.’ she said
‘I guess so. Suppose I ought to get myself ready to see him. We’ve an appointment with the doc this afternoon so perhaps it’d be an idea to contact him first. Take the initiative, as they say.’
‘Yeah, let’s go get it over with. Sooner the better.’
~ ~ ~
The scent of wood smoke drifted down to us and the thought of the fireside warmth sent us indoors. Marie came down, freshly showered, wearing one of my shirts over her jeans and a broad happy smile.
The last few days had seemed like an age and I wanted to clear things with the police and was eager to get back to our private lives. So with that in mind, I asked Rachel to call Bertrand and make appointments for all of us, as early as possible, preferably at the cottage but at the local station if we had to.
~ ~ ~
And of course it was the local station that all four of us trooped into. Two interview rooms were set up ready for us with modern recording gear and fresh coffee. We duly gave our statements to a couple of officers that Bertrand had briefed, they’d produce transcripts that we could call in to sign the next day. Bertrand himself was too busy to see us. He was keeping a close watch on Gerard at the hospital and was talking to a police section in Rennes, getting them to pick up the list of people that Charles had given him.
~ ~ ~
‘Well, that was all quite painless.’ said Marie as we came out through the hea
vy Police Station security door. ‘Pontivy now, lunch and then the doc’s. First bit’s good, but I’m not looking forward to the other.’
‘Me neither.’ I agreed. ‘What will you two do while we’re busy with the medic?’ I asked Rachel and Charlie.
‘Oh don’t worry about us, we’ll have a look around town perhaps, or maybe a stroll by the river in the sunshine.’ she said.
Charlie nodded, I thought he was beginning to lose some of his shyness with my daughter.
We’d also learnt that the police had finished their post mortem investigations and Jacques’ body would be released for burial on the following week. So we had the sad, distressing job of arranging the funeral and announcements.
‘But that will wait until next week.’ Marie said firmly. ‘Monday we’ll go to our lawyer’s office and get him started on the official paper-chase.’ she decided, then added. ‘I hope I don’t sound callous, you mustn’t think that. But I lost my little boy a long time ago. He has spoiled a lot of things for me over the years, I don’t feel as if I knew him anymore. It seems like he was a stranger, hope you can understand.’
We could see the tears building in her eyes and she turned away for a moment or two, lost in memories until I put my arms around her and kissed her pretty head.
‘Maybe we could go up to the dog’s home, on the way back to the cottage? You said you wanted to get one.’ Rachel suggested, tactfully hoping to lift our spirits.
‘Ah….Perhaps not just yet.’ I said to her quietly. ‘We could be going on a trip soon and be away from home for a while. I’ve not forgotten though. Maybe when we get back.’
~ ~ ~
Look out for CENSORED, the second book in this series of William Blake stories.
CENSORED is a tale of seafaring adventures, where Marie and William discover some smuggling on a colossal scale. But the smugglers might not be who they seem.
Here’s a preview of what’s to come:
Censored - Chapter 1
William was excited, but he smothered his impatience as he watched his wife working in their Restaurant. Everything had to be just right. Napkins folded in the shape of a crown, silver cutlery laid out so the rose-wood handles were in a precise row and the heavy lead-crystal wine glasses polished until they sparkled in the light from a dozen tall candles.
When she had sold her house and country estate, Marie had said that amongst other things, like the restaurant they now sat in, she wanted some adventure, take a risk or two and enjoy the life that they had together. A total contrast to what she’d had before.
William waited patiently for her to finish her preparations and come across to the fireside, for their usual glass of wine. It was something they always did before the first of the evening’s customers arrived.
But tonight he had a surprise for Marie. They’d been planning to take some time off since they were married six months ago, but they needed to get the restaurant ticking-over first and appoint a good sous-chef who could handle things in their absence.
And now they were ready, they would start their holiday, their belated honeymoon, on Monday, in just two days’ time.
But not in quite the way Marie was expecting.
~ ~ ~
We had been very lucky to get this place, I thought as I looked around. It had been our favourite restaurant in Pontivy almost since the first day we’d met. Marie had heard of the sale at her bank, as she was completing the documents to transfer her house to its new owners. Not one to hesitate when her mind is made up, she made an offer there and then and had come home to our old Breton cottage with a bottle of champagne, to announce that we were now the new owners of the best restaurant in town.
I watched as my lovely wife looked around the room, making sure everything was as perfect as possible, just as she wanted it. Her shoulder length auburn hair shone in the light from the log fire and her eyes sparkled as she laughed at a joke with Marcel, our head waiter. Her boyishly slim body looked good in her new chef’s whites and she still moved with that feline grace that had captivated me. Her shoulder, wounded in a savage attack last autumn, still ached now and then, but had healed well, with very little scarring.
Her enthusiasm and happiness bubbled over, lighting up the room with a glowing warmth whenever she walked in. Marie, fascinated me, I loved her more than I thought it could be possible. She had inspired a new series of poems that had been finally published a couple of weeks ago. The advance from my publisher had been more generous than usual and I’d used almost all of it setting up the new adventure that I was going to surprise her with this evening.
~ ~ ~
‘We’re going to do what?’ Marie said in a voice so sharp that it startled me.
Marcel looked up from organising his menus, frowned and went out to the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him.
About the author
Alan was born in Poole, Dorset, England on October 1st 1948. As a child, he lived in Canada for a few years in what was then a tiny settlement called Malton near Toronto, Ontario. He went to his first school in the village, a one-room school that was quite basic but typical of the times, in those outlying areas of the Canadian countryside.
Later in life he travelled to Western Australia where he worked as a design draughtsman and, in his spare-time, played drums with a very active band called ‘Unicorn’.
Eventually, Alan returned to England, where he found a winter season of high unemployment and a frosty cold that he'd forgotten about. After a couple of dead-end jobs he joined the Royal Navy and quickly worked his way up to become a Chief Petty Officer.
His first ship was involved in the brief skirmish of the mid 1970s that they called the "Cod War". He should have seen the trend, because a few years later he was involved in the Falklands Conflict while serving on the frigate, HMS Argonaut. They were hit by two enormous bombs within minutes of the first day of action. One landed in the boiler room and the other became lodged in an ammunition magazine. Luckily neither of these devices exploded, but unfortunately two of our gunners were killed. One of them was just twenty-one years old that day.
Alan's writing began some years later when, as part of a team producing Technical Handbooks, he began to experiment with fiction and wrote a bag-full of short stories. The experiments continued until 2010 when he set out to use his new-found skills in a second career.
Alan now lives with his wife Stella in a quiet part of central Brittany, surrounded by books, forests, fields and their precious dogs, Elsa, Jester and Monty.
He still plays drums occasionally too.