Rough Cut

by Owen Carey Jones

  He grabbed her hand and led her out of the café. She giggled as she followed him out into the street, almost falling as she caught her foot on the threshold and tripped.

  As they walked along the street, Eloise squeezed Jacques’ hand. He smiled and squeezed hers back as she turned her head towards him and looked at him admiringly.

  “Your English is very good,” she said. “Where did you learn to speak such good English?”

  “I have lived all my life in a tourist resort which, in the summer, is full of Americans and English people. It just happened.”

  “Maybe. But I think you must have a special talent for languages as well.”

  Jacques let go of her hand and put his arm round her shoulders. She responded by putting her arm round his waist and leaning towards him, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Half an hour later, they were still arm in arm as they approached Casino Square. Jacques looked at his watch and then turned to look at Eloise.

  “We should be getting back,” he said

  Eloise looked at her watch. “Wow, is that the time!” she said, “We’ll be late.”

  “Don’t worry, nobody is going anywhere without me.”

  They both laughed at this and when they arrived back at the Esprit, everyone else was already on board. Jacques walked briskly along the quay, over the gangway and up the steps to the fly bridge to start the engines, leaving Eloise trailing along behind him. When the engines were running and the boat was ready to leave, Yvonne untied the mooring warps and ran back onto the boat with them, coiling them quickly and expertly.

  An hour after leaving the harbour in Monte Carlo, the Esprit slowed and Jacques took her into the harbour at Cannes. This time it was Jacques’ turn to mind the boat while Yvonne went ashore with Eloise.

  Finally, with all the guests gathered back on board, Jacques took the Esprit back out to sea and sped along the coast at full speed for forty minutes before easing the throttles back as Sainte Maxime came into sight.

  The Esprit continued slowly towards the harbour and once she was securely moored and the guests had left, Jacques saw Jeremy, Anna and Eloise off the boat. On the quay, he turned to Jeremy.

  “I will meet you for dinner tonight at eight? Yes?”

  Jeremy nodded and the two men shook hands before Jacques returned to the boat where he found Yvonne sitting in the saloon, relaxing. He threw up his arms and sat down beside her.

  “Well, it’s done. My first charter completed,” he declared.

  “And I think you have found yourself a girlfriend, maybe?” She looked at him knowingly but he just looked back at her non-committally, pretending not to know what she was talking about.

  “Oh, come on! I saw the way you looked at her,” she challenged and Jacques smiled and looked down at his hands.

  “Yes, well, maybe,” he said before looking up at Yvonne, a smile lighting up his face. “She has invited me to have dinner with them tonight.”

  _________________________

  As Carter parked his car in the car park of the North Yorkshire Police headquarters and walked towards the building, a police car drove past him and stopped in front of the entrance. Two policemen in uniform got out of the car and went into the building. Carter followed them in.

  Carter was hoping that Harris would have some information to share with him and that he would be willing to do so. He was still convinced that there must be a connection between the two murders but he wanted some proof of it and that could only come from the police.

  As Carter waited for Harris in the reception area, he smiled to himself. Meeting up with Nicole had been special. It had confirmed to him that what he had once felt for her was still there, that it had not faded with time. As he ruminated on the events of the last week during which he had seen Nicole on no fewer than five occasions, a policeman in uniform approached him. A few minutes later, he was sitting in Harris’s office on the third floor of the building discussing the results from the forensic examination of the murder scene under the bridge.

  “Did they come up with anything?” asked Carter, upon which Harris turned the open file in front of him round so that it was the right way up for Carter.

  “Nothing that helps. See for yourself,” he said as he pushed the file across the desk towards Carter. Carter started looking at the file, leafing through the papers as Harris continued. “There’s a profile of the bullet of course but it doesn’t match anything on our files.”

  “What about Interpol?” asked Carter, looking up from the file.

  “We could try them I suppose but we don’t have any reason to suspect foreign involvement, do we?”

  Carter shrugged and returned to looking through the file. Then he spotted something and looked intently at it, his face moving a little closer to the file.

  “It says here that there was some blood on his trousers,” said Carter, looking up at Harris as he continued, “Not his own. Have you been able to identify whose it is?”

  “Not yet.”

  “May I offer a suggestion?” The two men stared at each other for a few moments before Harris spoke, they both knew what Carter was saying.

  "I’ll arrange for a comparison of the samples,” said Harris as he picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a button.

  _________________________

  Later that day, Carter was standing at the entrance to his hotel as a taxi pulled up. Conrad, a man of medium height in his thirties, got out of the taxi and the two men approached each other. They shook hands vigorously before going into the hotel and making their way to the bar. When they had chosen a table, they ordered themselves a beer each.

  The two men had worked together on several previous occasions and they had a healthy respect for each other although it was always understood that Carter was in charge. The cases they had worked on together for the FIDT had taken them all over the world, to places both exotic and drab, but they had always enjoyed the process of solving what were usually complex and interesting cases.

  As Carter was filling Conrad in on the latest developments with the current case, his phone rang. He removed it from his pocket, pressed the receive call button and put it to his ear. He listened to what the caller was saying but said very little himself.

  “Thanks for letting me know. Goodbye,” said Carter as he ended the call. Deep in thought, he put his phone down on the table before looking at Conrad.

  “That was Inspector Harris from the local police,” he said. “The blood on Spicer’s trousers was Rob’s.”

  Carter looked into the distance for a few moments before speaking again. He had been convinced that there was a connection between the two murders and now he knew for sure.

  “So, now we know who killed Rob,” he said. “We just don’t know why.”

  “And is it any of our business anyway?” Conrad shrugged questioningly as Carter turned his head to look at him.

  “I can’t pin it on anything concrete but my instinct is telling me that it is. There’s a connection between the mine and Rob, that much we know. And my gut says that the timing of his death is more than just a coincidence.”

  “Then I guess we’d better follow through on it, hadn’t we?” said Conrad. Carter smiled and raised his glass. “It’s good to have you on board again,” he said.

  “Well someone’s got to keep you out of trouble,” shot back Conrad, whereupon they both looked at each other and laughed.

  CHAPTER 8

  As Jacques approached the hotel in Sainte Maxime where the Baines party were staying, he was full of anticipation. He was not dressed formally but he had made an effort to look good. He was wearing a smart pair of black jeans and, under a lightweight beige jacket, an open necked black shirt which allowed a few wisps of hair to show against the background of his brown chest. His thick dark hair was swept back and his green eyes shone out from his tanned face.

  As he entered the hotel bar and scanned the room, he spotted Eloise sitting at a table near the window overlooking the prome
nade. He breathed deeply when he saw her. She too was dressed casually but smartly in a pale blue short sleeved blouse which stopped short of the top of her white skirt revealing an inch or two of bare tanned midriff. Around her neck was the only jewellery she was wearing, a simple gold necklace.

  As Jacques watched, Eloise turned away from the window and saw him. She smiled as he walked briskly over to the table.

  “Bonsoir, Eloise,” he said, rather formally.

  “Jacques,” acknowledged Eloise as he settled into the seat opposite her and glanced at the two empty chairs either side of him.

  “Where are the others?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid they won’t be coming. Jeremy is having to prepare for an unexpected meeting in Frankfurt tomorrow and Anna has decided to have dinner with an old friend. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, no, of course not. I would gladly have paid them to stay away.” They both laughed. “Especially that Anna! She is a hard woman.”

  “She’s certainly a single minded one,” responded Eloise. “She knows what she wants and she can usually find a way to get it. That’s how she came to be Yorkshire Woman of the Year last year. Anyway, it seems a shame to waste a free dinner.”

  Later that evening, after a leisurely dinner during which they avoided probing too deeply into each other’s personal lives and talked mainly about the trip to Monte Carlo, Jacques and Eloise were walking along the promenade. The warm evening air, enhanced by the good wine they had enjoyed over dinner, created a feeling of relaxed well-being in both of them. On their left as they strolled along under the street lights was the beach and they could hear the calm sea’s little waves breaking gently on the shore. Every now and then they passed a palm tree held up, or so it seemed, by an amorous young couple. Eloise smiled a relaxed smile and hung on to Jacques’ arm.

  When they reached a gap in the wall which ran alongside the beach, Jacques guided Eloise gently down the two or three steps onto the beach. She stopped and let go of his arm so that she could reach down and take off her shoes. He followed her lead and removed his shoes and socks. He reached for her hand and they walked slowly down the beach, towards the sea. As they moved further and further away from the promenade, the light from the street lamps grew dim and when Jacques turned to look at Eloise, her face was lit only by the moonlight. She looked at him and squeezed his hand, just as she had done in Monte Carlo.

  The two of them looked out to sea. In the distance they could see the twinkling lights of a cruise ship anchored in the bay for the night and beyond that, the lights of St Tropez. They turned quietly away from the sea and Jacques removed his jacket and spread it out on the sand for Eloise. She sat down on it and he sat beside her on the soft sand. She pulled her knees up and dug her feet into the sand before resting her forearms on her knees and staring out to sea.

  After several minutes had passed in silence, Eloise spoke. “This is such a beautiful place,” she said, “I think I could stay here for ever.”

  “Tell me about your home,” he said. “Where you live. Your family. I know about your grandfather of course, but what about the rest? I want to know everything there is to know about you.”

  Eloise turned to look at his face. “I’m not sure I want you to know everything. I must keep a few secrets.”

  He smiled. “Just tell me whatever you want to tell me.”

  “OK. Well, I live in a little village in Yorkshire,” she began and then stopped and looked at him. “Do you know where that is?”

  “It’s in the North of England, I think.”

  “That’s right. I’m impressed.” Eloise smiled. “Welburn, that’s where I live, is a small village in Yorkshire. It’s very pretty and our house is on the edge of the village. I’ve lived there all my life.” Eloise paused for a moment before continuing. “As far as my family is concerned, well, my mother is French, as you know. Her name is Nicole. My father was English. Very, very English. His name was Andrew.”

  “Was?” queried Jacques.

  “Yes. He died a few years ago, when I was eighteen.” Eloise paused and looked into the distance as her eyes grew moist. “And,” she continued, her voice now faltering, “As well as my Mum and Dad, I had a brother.” She sniffed and her face contorted as she fought back the tears which suddenly welled up. “He died recently.”

  Eloise looked away from Jacques and down at the sand beside her. She picked up a handful, letting it run through the tips of her fingers onto her feet as she fought back the tears.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Jacques, “How did it happen? Was he sick?”

  Eloise shook her head. “No,” she said. “He was murdered.”

  Jacques closed his eyes and winced. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Eloise, her head sunk into her shoulders. Though she said nothing, her pain was evident. Slowly, she lifted her head and in the moonlight he saw a solitary tear run down her cheek leaving a wet trace behind it.

  Eloise took a deep breath and turned to look at Jacques. “And I have absolutely no idea why,” she said, the tears now running down her cheeks freely.

  Jacques said nothing, there was nothing he could say. He just put his arm around her and pulled her towards him. Eloise let him and gently laid her head on his shoulder as the tears flowed.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “This is the first time I’ve cried since that awful day. I didn’t want Mum to see me crying; she was upset enough as it was.”

  Jacques felt her shake and heave as the sadness and misery which had stalked her flowed out freely onto him. He cradled her head with his hand and stroked her hair. He could feel her tears running down his neck and when, eventually, she stopped crying and looked up, her face was stained and her eyes misty.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  Jacques turned her head towards him gently and kissed her on the forehead. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Eloise. I’m glad that you trust me enough to let me be here with you, to share your sadness, your grief.”

  Eloise let her head fall back onto Jacques’ shoulder.

  Eventually, after a while, their inactivity made them feel chilly in the night air and Eloise shivered. Jacques stirred and she lifted her head.

  “Cold?” he asked and Eloise nodded.

  They both got to their feet and Jacques put his jacket round Eloise’s shoulders to keep her warm as they began to stroll back to the hotel.

  When they reached the promenade, Jacques put his arm round Eloise and squeezed her shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled a warm affectionate smile.

  “When do you have to go home?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” Jacques stopped and turned to face Eloise. “Can’t you stay a little longer. For a few more days at least?”

  “I’d like to,” said Eloise. “Really, I would. But I don’t know if it’s possible.”

  “I’m sure it would be good for you,” pleaded Jacques. “The sun, the wine, the swimming in the sea…”

  Eloise smiled as she turned to continue towards the hotel. “OK, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Jacques smiled a broad smile, “Good! Come and tell me in the morning what you have been able to arrange.”

  As they approached the entrance to the hotel, a taxi pulled up in front of them beside the steps. The passenger door on the far side of the taxi opened and Anna got out. Although Jacques couldn’t see him clearly enough in the dark to identify him, he knew that the other passenger in the taxi was a man. Anna bent down to the window and kissed him on the cheek before standing again and turning to go into the hotel. Jacques and Eloise looked at each other. Eloise shrugged and held out her arms as if to say ‘How should I know?’

  _________________________

  By the middle of the next morning, Eloise had not appeared and Jacques was convinced that he had seen the last of her. By the time she did return to the Esprit, having made her excuses to Jeremy and Anna and sought Jeremy’s approval for her absence from work, he had gi
ven up hope of ever seeing her again and was forlornly preparing the Esprit for the short trip home across the bay. Finally, as he started to untie the mooring warps, he heard a familiar voice.

  “Jacques!”

  He straightened up instantly and turned to see Eloise’s unmistakable form approaching the boat. He ran to meet her, taking her in his arms and swinging her round before putting her down.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said, “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “So I see! Looks like you were going to leave without me.”

  “I have to take the boat back to Port Grimaud,” said Jacques, “I’ve already stayed too long in this berth. Do you want to come with me?”

  Eloise nodded. “I can stay another week. But the hotel is fully booked so I need to find another one before tonight.”

  “There’s a good hotel in Port Grimaud. I’m sure they’ll have a room for you.”

  Jacques picked up Eloise’s holdall and carried it onto the Esprit before returning to the quay to untie the warps. When he had, he threw them onto the deck of the Esprit and guided Eloise across the gangway before raising it. As the boat began to drift away from the mooring, he made his way to the helm station on the fly bridge and started the engines. Eloise followed him, climbing the steep steps up to the fly bridge. She stood next to him as he raised the anchor and the Esprit began to pull away from Sainte Maxime.

  “Is it OK if I go and get my phone, it’s in my holdall?” Eloise asked as they left the small harbour behind them and cruised towards Port Grimaud.

  “Of course,” replied Jacques, “go wherever you want.”

  Eloise went back down to the rear deck and then into the saloon. Once inside, she went over to the dining area and removed her phone from the side pocket of her holdall.

  On her way back through the saloon, she performed a pirouette, clearly enjoying being on the boat, and took the time to have a look round. She saw the bookcase and went over to look at the books that were stacked neatly in it. She pulled one of them out, a travel book, and leafed through it briefly before returning it to the bookcase.