by Katie Penryn
As I turned away to walk home, I bumped into Inspector Dubois, my half enemy half friend.
“Madame Munro, be careful. That's twice you’ve flirted with death in under two weeks. Don't let there be a third time. I have a vested interest in your safety. You promised to have dinner with me some time.”
We walked home and had a cup of hot sweet tea each. By the time we had finished our pick-me-up the fire trucks and police cars had dispersed and the helicopter had left the beach free for the tourists once more.
Gwinny left to fetch the boys from the garage while Emmanuelle and I continued with clearing out the store. We were a little shaky to start with but soon got back into the swing of things. We found an old wooden crate filled with school slates and another filled with chipped enamel bedpans. The owner must have bought up the old stock when the local school and hospital was revamped back in the thirties or forties. We shifted several pieces of ancient hospital equipment whose purpose escaped our millenium minds. That's when we found the drugs cabinet pushed right back against the far wall. It had been procured complete with contents. Emmanuelle and I gasped as we read the labels of the pharmaceutical jars, all full. Arsenic and Morphine alarmed me. Class A drugs which had been sitting there for decades. The other drugs were unknown to me without a search on the internet but I betted they were just as dangerous.
“What shall we do?” I asked Emmanuelle who being French would know more about the protocol for dealing with such finds.
“First things first. Let's carry them outside and then decide what to do.”
She pointed to an old wooden box on the floor in the corner. “We'll empty that and take it outside and put the jars in there to keep them safe from prying eyes while we decide what to do.”
As we laid the last of the jars in the box outside on the pavement, the boys arrived in our car closely followed by Gwinny in hers. They came over to see what we had found, and we showed them the jars.
“Wow! The street value of that lot must be enormous,” said Sam.
I hoped he was speaking from theoretical experience.
“So, what do we do?” I asked. “We should phone Dubois and get the drugs squad down here to take control of this lot.”
Gwinny agreed. She wasn't one to balk officialdom after her experience the week before.
Felix was against it. “Don't you think we've had enough excitement for one day? What's the street going to think if we have sirens and police cars zooming down here again tonight?”
Sam shuffled his feet.
“Go on, Sam. Say what you think,” I prompted him.
“I hate to say it, but I think we should throw the lot away over the seawall at the side of the house.”
“Jars and all?” asked Emmanuelle. “They're valuable.”
Sam shrugged. “No, just the contents.”
Jimbo grabbed hold of my hand. “We can't do that. We'll poison the fish.”
Felix walked over to the seawall and looked down.
“If I'm right,” he called back over his shoulder, “The tide's on the turn now. If we wait an hour, the sea will carry it all out into the deep ocean. In any case, it will be so diluted it won't harm the fish, Jimbo, but you are right to think about that.”
“Fine,” I said. “One hour. Meanwhile I must put off Emmanuelle's contact and the museum director. Change their visits to tomorrow night. First thing tomorrow Gwinny must take Sam to fetch the car so he can collect the trailer. I would like to have all this stuff out of the way by tomorrow midnight. Is that all right everyone?”
They all agreed. I wasn't the only one who wanted to find out what there was in the rest of the brocante and examine the higher value items.
We emptied the jars out over the seawall an hour after the tide had turned. Gwinny washed them. Audrey said she would use them in the kitchen where they would be both decorative and useful.
*
I waited for Felix to bring me a cup of tea in bed next morning, and when he didn't I guessed he had overslept. Dressed and ready for the day, I went downstairs to the kitchen only to find that Jimbo was still asleep as well. Jimbo had taken on the duty of fetching fresh croissants for breakfast every morning from our friendly baker on the Esplanade, Monsieur Brioche. The morning was bright and sunny so I clipped the dogs' leashes on and the four of us set off for Monsieur Brioche's.
As we crossed the Esplanade, we ran across the street cleaners making every clean and tidy for the holidaymakers who would soon be crowding the cafés and the beach. We passed by The Union Jack. Hoardings covered the windows and a large For Rent notice was on display. I hoped someone would step forward to take over the business of providing British ex-pats and holidaymakers with their favorite delicacies.
Further along the baker's shop was closed. A notice said that this was his closing day. Anyone wanting bread should go to the shop of his friend and colleague, Monsieur Tidot. A map showed that this second bakery was only two streets away behind the Esplanade. Jimbo hadn't mentioned to me that he shopped at another bakery but there wasn't any reason why he should have done. The family was interested in fresh croissants every morning, not where they came from.
The dogs and I sauntered along the Esplanade breathing in the fresh ozone laden air and turned right when we came to the main street running up from the sea to the top of the town. We found Monsieur Tidot's shop about a hundred yards up on the left. As usual I had to tie the dogs up outside which gave me a chance to look in the shop front. As with all French boulangeries-cum-pâtisseries the window was bursting with the most delicious looking goodies even so early in the morning. Down on the right stood a cake stand of my favorite éclairs filled with fresh cream and topped with vanilla icing.
I entered the shop and waited quietly while the locals bought their daily baguettes and the tourists bought their breakfast croissants. A row of photos on the wall attracted my attention. All of them featured the baker. In one he was in desert sand camouflage. So he’d been a soldier but not in the regular French army. He wore the distinctive white kepi of the French Foreign Legion. I wondered why he had left the service to become a civilian baker.
When my turn came, I introduced myself to the handsome baker. Taller than most of his compatriots he was slim with dark hair and piercing blue eyes.
“Oh yes, Madame Munro. I know your younger brother. He came in last week when my friend Brioche's shop was closed for the day. Nice boy. He's a credit to you and your father.”
“You knew my father?”
“Sir Archibald was a popular man around here. Why doesn't he visit us any more?”
“I'm afraid he died, monsieur. In Africa. That's why my brothers and I are living here now.”
“So, what can I do for you today?”
I asked for a dozen croissants and found myself gazing wistfully at the éclairs in the window.
“Try one,” Tidot said, handing one from the case above the counter. “It's a gift to a pretty lady.”
I couldn't refuse such a charming offer and turned away from the counter to bite into its deliciousness with one hand under the other to catch the cream that oozed out of the crisp choux pastry.
With his brows raised and a slight smile on his face, Tidot waited for me to give him my verdict.
As soon as I could speak I said, “Marvelous. Best I've ever tasted. The pastry is so light and the icing to die for.”
He gestured behind him to a certificate on the wall. Its important red seal testified to Tidot's superiority in all things made of choux pastry.
He nodded. “My friend Brioche may make the best croissants but no one can beat my éclairs.”
“I'll take eight for dessert for lunch,” I said unable to resist the flavor or Tidot's salesmanship.
“Mixed flavors?” he asked.
I nodded as I finished off the last bite.
He laid them gently in a pâtissier's white card box separating them with paper doilies. The whole he tied up with a pretty silver ribbon.
I took
the box from him. “That's beautiful.”
“That's how we do things in France. Even if something special is going to last only a day, we treat it with respect.”
I put the bag of croissants and the box of éclairs in my basket and paid Monsieur Tidot, determined to come back and try some of his other pâtisseries.
Chapter 8
Gwinny and I settled in on our own to clearing out the brocante the next morning. I had sent Felix with the boys to make sure they came home safely with trailer and car.
We were tackling the last corner filled with boxes of old clothes and hats. Gwinny pulled out a black felt hat trimmed with a white ostrich feather and plonked it on my head à la Laughing Cavalier. I wasn't going to let her get away with that, so I found a beautiful Edwardian hat of pale green satin, its wide brim trimmed with the lyre-shaped feathers of a Bird of Paradise.
“What are you two up to?” called out a silvery voice from the doorway between the brocante and the storeroom.
Izzy had come to call. Izzy being Isabella Tointon, famous movie star and my friend, who lived in Château Briand for which she had recently paid millions.
“We didn't hear you drive up,” I said. “No windows in this building and the walls are a good yard thick.”
Gwinny peered around Izzy. “Is your handsome bodyguard with you?”
“Garth? He's outside. I came to see how you are. I heard you nearly blew yourselves up yesterday.”
“We had a few panicky moments, but we're all right, as you can see.”
Izzy stepped forward and tipped Gwinny's hat. “Much better. I had to wear a hat like that in one of my films. Loved it to bits. They let me keep it. I've still got it somewhere.”
“I suppose this is old hat to you, Izzy – I can't believe I said that – as you earn your living playing dressing-up.”
“It's a bit harder than putting on a hat, Penzi.”
“You know I was joking.”
Izzy laughed. She hadn't taken offence. “I came to make sure I wasn't missing all the fun. It's boring out at the château now the renovation is completed and I miss my husband. I shan't see him until I fly out to LA for Christmas.”
“Do you want to stay and help us? We could do with another pair of hands especially if they are Garth's. The boys won't be back for some time.”
She spun on her heels and ran out into the sunshine calling for Garth.
The four of us carried on working until Audrey summoned us in for lunch. Izzy said she'd love to stay and work on through the afternoon. Garth had to stay if Izzy did.
The boys arrived back as we were drinking our coffee. The garage man hadn't fixed the tow bar onto the car until that morning. We all trooped outside to see the new trailer and declared it was just what we needed.
“Have some lunch,” I said to the boys. “Then fill the trailer with the piles of junk still in the back yard and take them to the recycling center. Tomorrow you can take what no one wants to the center.”
*
After a short siesta the gang continued with the clearing out of the storeroom and the boys loaded the trailer. When it was ready to go, I decided I should be the one to make the first trip to the center to check it out and see how we should be sorting the rubbish. Felix wouldn't let me go alone. I hadn't had much experience with towing a trailer. The boys had parked facing the wall at the end of our street. I spent a fruitless half an hour trying to turn the whole kit around but I couldn't.
The afternoon heat scorched up from the cobbles every time I jumped out of the car to see what I was doing wrong. Sam and Felix called out contradictory instructions at me.
“Don't mither me,” I shouted at them.
“We're only trying to help.”
I sat down in a heap on the front doorstep. A tear of weakness escaped from my eye and I wiped it away furious at myself. I wasn't used to being incapable.
Garth had a go. He only made things worse by scraping the trailer against the seawall. Felix said he’d no experience, and I knew Sam hadn't any.
How were we ever going to get rid of all the junk if I couldn't even tow a trailer? We didn't have enough for it to be worth hiring a dumpster again.
I looked up. A crowd of neighbors had gathered by this time to watch my futile maneuvering. That only made me feel worse. I was about to give way to tears of frustration when one of my neighbors stepped forward. I recognized him from when I knocked them all up about the danger from the unexploded shell.
“You can turn it round?” I asked him.
He smiled. “No. But you have to think like a Frenchman.”
He gestured to Felix, Sam and Garth to join him. He uncoupled the trailer and told them to pull it backwards to give me room to make a K turn with the car.
As soon as I had done so, he showed the guys how to turn the trailer round so that it was facing back down the street. It took some pushing and wangling because it was so heavy and unwieldy but eventually they managed to couple the trailer back onto the car pointing in the right direction.
“Voilà,” he said. “When you come back, park far enough away from the wall to be able to turn around and repeat the process. It's not easy living in a cul-de-sac.”
By this time Gwinny had appeared with a box of wine and Audrey with a tray of glasses – the traditional French thanks for any helping hand, however slight it might be.
*
Felix and I drove off to much whistling and cheering. We were on our way to the recycling center. As long as we kept going straight, I would cope.
“You didn't come across any road works on your way back today, did you?” I asked Felix fearing that I might have to reverse.
He shook his head. “You'll have a clear run. Just remember your vehicle is twice as long as usual and will take twice as long to slow down.”
“I thought you couldn't drive.”
“I never said that.”
*
We passed through the town and out through the town walls. Signposts showed the way to the center past the trailer shop. We turned off the main road. The center took up a greater expanse of land than I had expected. On the right was the domestic recycling area, our destination, and on the right sat a full-scale industrial site with machinery for crushing cars and shredding old tires. We drove through the gates and up towards the ramp leading to the dumpsters labeled for the various recyclable materials. I was lucky. There was no car in front of me so I could take a quick run up to the top where I parked and looked around.
I undid the straps on our load while Felix walked up and down taking note of the bins.
I began by tugging at a cracked metal sink, but I couldn't get it free.
A burly man, his belly hanging out over the top of his dark blue denims, came out of a kiosk at the top of the ramp.
“Do you some help? I haven't seen you before,” he said. “I'm the manager and owner of this center.”
“We're new here.” I answered letting go of the sink. “Just moved here from England.”
“Jules Déchet,” he said offering his elbow.
I was getting used to that way of shaking hands when that of the offerer was too dirty to be touched. I shook his elbow feeling rather silly as I did so.
“It's all right, mate,” said Felix hurrying up to help me.
“This part of the center is open only on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. On the other days I operate the industrial side. There isn't enough call for both sides to be open every day.”
“Is there anything you don't accept?” asked Felix.
“Asbestos and poison. They require specialized treatment for which I am not licensed.”
“We don't have any of that,” said Felix. He gave me a sly wink and whispered, “Only artillery shells.”
Déchet seemed agreeable. He muddled in and helped us unload the trailer, but he was pernickety about our getting the categories correct. Felix threw some old copper piping into the metal bin. Déchet scowled and pointed out there was a special bin for copper as it was
valuable. He made much of fetching a long ladder, sliding it into the bin, climbing down and recovering the pipe.
“Forgive my annoyance,” Déchet said when he had climbed out and put the ladder back on its rack. “Things have to be just so or I can’t sell the stuff on. Look to make up for it, come and see my office.”
We said we’d like to do that. He helped us unload the rest of our junk and then directed us to drive down the ramp and around to his office.
He had a bird's-eye view of the whole site from his office. One wall was taken up with a bank of screens showing the feed from the many cameras. He could operate all the heavy machinery by remote control from his desk with the aid of the cameras.
“Fascinating,” said Felix.
“Do you enjoy your business?” I asked Déchet.
“It's interesting, and it's a way to earn a living. It may look rough and dirty, but I go home to a good clean home and a wonderful wife when the day is over. Plus I have the added advantage of having no sense of smell.”
“I can see that would be a bonus,” said Felix wrinkling his nose at the overpowering pong wafting over from the mountain of household garbage bags.
We thanked Déchet for his help and hurried home to fill the trailer up again as the centre would be shut the following day.
Chapter 9
As soon as the next load to the recycling center was ready, I set off with Sam to show him the way and to make sure he knew what to do when we arrived there. Monsieur Déchet was not around this time, and so I showed Sam what he needed to do. I wanted to pass the job onto him so I could concentrate on what was happening back in the brocante.
The whole gang worked hard through the afternoon and filled up a third load for Sam to take with Jimbo along as his sidekick. By five o’clock it was obvious we would be finished that evening.
Izzy and I took a breather to lean against the seawall and breathe in the fresh air after the dust in the storeroom. I asked Izzy if she wanted to stay the night.