Although equal partners in the business, and although Charlotte considered herself to be an equal partner in the family, she had to play a diplomatic role shaped around Michel’s ideas and impulses. So often when he came up with an idea for the business or for their domestic life he would discuss it with her, but equally often implement it whether she agreed or not. He would employ staff without consulting Charlotte. She would simply find that he had offered a job to somebody and the contract and payroll were expected to follow. He would take on clients on terms that were based on historical costs because he didn’t like to do the research, which would have revealed significant materials price increases. Instead, when Charlotte advised him about a margin shortfall, he would make up lost ground by overcharging elsewhere, and above all he would keep going to auctions where he would buy items that were beautifully chosen, mainly light fittings and extraordinary ornaments for the restaurants, but for which the clients had not yet agreed to pay. Some clients were convinced and took the items; others declined, so that numbers of objèts d’art ended up in the Bodins’ home whether or not they were intended to be there. Charlotte was the sweeper for this kind of indiscipline, but did it all with a smile, accepting that it was just Michel being Michel.
There appeared to be a balance in their existence in which Michel was free to pursue his instincts, leaving Charlotte to manage the rest. She undertook the role willingly and well, and she naturally enjoyed the fruits of the business success in terms of shopping trips with an unconstrained cheque book with which to pay for beauty treatments and products, and clothes to impress for every occasion. As the years went by it was also noticeable that Charlotte was spending more time and money on medical treatment to overcome digestive and nervous problems which defied remedy and became chronic.
Charlotte was no dupe and although her telephone conversations with Thérèse showed she was stoic and uncritical of Michel’s strange work habits and increasingly late nights, it was obvious to Thérèse that Charlotte needed someone she could rely on for a second opinion, and she could count on Thérèse to sum up the common sense conclusion that something wasn’t right. Nobody dared to put a finger on it, but the uncertainty was causing Charlotte a great deal of stress and in the secrecy of the night she could imagine and fear the worst. The uncertainty was filtering into her nightmares.
She could not bring herself to challenge Michel directly and every time she casually asked for clarification on his movements there was always a reasonable explanation, though his unconcealed irritation at the questions was new and indicative of his reluctance to disclose more than necessary.
On another visit to Paris, Thérèse and George were staying at the Bodins’ house at Maisons-Lafitte. The two couples were getting ready to go out to a restaurant for dinner. George and Michel were already downstairs, Charlotte was in the kitchen feeding the cat and Thérèse was still in the bedroom getting ready, when the telephone rang. Michel took the call in his study. The door was open and George, who was sitting reading on the sofa in the salon, heard one side of an intriguing and guarded conversation.
Michel – “When are they coming?”
Caller – **************************
“I can’t do anything by then.”
**************************
“So, what do you think I should do immediately?”
**************************
“How could you take care of it now?”
**************************
“Hm! I was just going out, but I’ll rearrange and be there in ten minutes.”
Michel put the phone down, scowling and preoccupied, and walked into the kitchen to find Charlotte. He spoke for a few minutes in a low and urgent voice that prevented George from making out what was said. When they emerged, a visibly tense Michel explained to George that something important had come up and he had to go to the office to get some papers. Charlotte would take George and Thérèse to the restaurant and he would join them there later.
Over drinks at the restaurant George asked Charlotte who had phoned. She leaned forward with a knowing smile, trailing her long glossy hair onto the table, and spoke quietly.
“It was Charles, one of Michel’s contacts in the tax office. He told Michel that there is going to be a surprise tax inspection tomorrow and he should remove certain documents before they arrive.”
“Can he do that?”
“In practical terms normally not, but Charles is sending his men in this evening to take away what the authorities want to see. There will be nothing to arouse suspicions tomorrow.”
“Wow, that’s influence,” marvelled George, “you get the tax office to fix it so the tax office can’t find anything.”
Privately George and Thérèse speculated that the levels of undeclared tax must be substantial to afford this level of attention. Turning again to Charlotte, George asked, “Doesn’t allowing the tax people to take away documents mean they then have what they want?”
“No, Charles is a good friend and will see to it that they are stored safely.”
Thérèse and George could not fathom how such an obvious trick could work, but next day Michel announced that the inspection had taken place and the authorities had found nothing.
The four celebrated with a glass of champagne.
Some months later, long after the Miltons had returned home, there was another late call to Michel from Charles. “Things are changing here and I can’t help you anymore. I don’t think we should meet.”
“What do you think I should do?” Michel tensed. This was potentially serious.
“If I were you, I would sell the company as we discussed previously. Now is the time to do it. It won’t solve all of the problems, but it would make things a little more difficult for them if you’re careful,” Charles advised.
“Hm! Thanks, Charles. I’ll think it over and we’ll talk again soon.”
“Don’t contact me at the office.”
“OK, thanks.”
The pair never spoke or met again, though a few years later, Charlotte contacted Charles on another matter.
Chapter Nine
Take a Profit
It’s never too early to take a profit
The Miltons’ second home at Branne, near Bordeaux, was an eighteenth-century chartreuse, with three characteristically communicating main reception rooms, taking the full width of the front of the ground floor. It was a long, low, smooth white-stone building with tall windows which filled it with light and made it immediately welcoming. The grounds were simple to maintain, with a few flower beds containing magnificent irises and a string of small topiary yews in a dotted line across the coarse-grass area alongside the white-gravelled front approach track. One evening, while the Bodins were staying there with the Miltons, Michel announced that he was expecting a visitor from Paris next morning. He emphasised that he wanted to avoid any inconvenience to his hosts, but one of his collaborators was bringing some documents for him to sign and would return to Paris the same day. George insisted that the visitor should at least stay for lunch, so it was agreed that if there was enough time he would stay a while and maybe take a siesta before leaving.
Next morning, as the sun was still warming the misty spring landscape, a BMW R1200 motorcycle burbled slowly up the drive and halted just in front of the stone steps to the main door. The rider removed his helmet to greet George and the two men chatted. George spent a few minutes admiring the motorcycle which had just covered three hundred and fifty miles in less than five hours, including fuel stops, and was soon going to make the same journey in reverse after the rider had enjoyed a meal and probably a few glasses of wine. Then the pair went inside to find Michel. He was sitting on the back terrace reading a book, so after greetings George left them together, wondering what the meeting was all about.
Over lunch, Michel made an announcement to the family. He had sold his business. He had agreed to a consultancy contract for himself to train the buyers for one year, and as soon as the bus
iness transferred to the new owners’ existing office, he would be able to let the vacated offices to an Indonesian bank on a long-term contract, thus guaranteeing another income for him. He had now signed all the documents for both transactions and he was a happy man. George poured champagne for all and they enjoyed a noisy and good humoured meal which lasted until around 4pm, when the motorcyclist took a 15 minute siesta before taking off for Paris.
The Miltons remained puzzled as to why Michel should sell such a successful business. “That’s the trick,” explained George to Thérèse, “he’s selling at the top of the market.” That indeed proved to be the case.
Two years later, the two partners who bought Michel’s business filed for bankruptcy and the company ceased trading. Michel’s non-compete agreement was thus void and the field was re-opened for him to move back into the same kind of business. He was in two minds. He had had enough of Paris and family life. He needed to revert to a more natural existence, living with primitive virtues as he had seen on his travels and read about. This was in line with his idealism and his philosophy. He shared his thoughts and plans on this subject only with Johnny Mendes. Johnny could see no reason why Michel should not make a clean break. In fact, he was planning something similar himself. He invited Michel to join him and his Haitian wife Ayida next time they went to Haiti.
Michel took a decision and threw the dice, but his plan was not as radical as Johnny had suggested. He needed to clear up a few things before leaving.
Chapter Ten
The Challenges of Work
Michel Bodin did not make a clean break then. Instead, he decided to launch a new business, at first working from home, with an underlying plan to build it up and sell it as a going concern when he was ready. He took it for granted that Charlotte would manage the administration as before, but as he brought together his thoughts about an exit plan he realised that there were one or two changes he needed to make to his domestic arrangements and those changes might take some time to mature, and so Michel launched himself with his usual enthusiasm into the business of acquiring new customers by personal selling. All building operations were contracted out, so although he would advise the clients throughout the projects, the clients would effectively be their own project managers, thus relieving Michel of much of the hassle and risk experienced previously. Within a few months he had enough confidence to open a small office near the Bois de Boulogne on the western edge of Paris, and had rehired some of his most competent design personnel.
Soon after the office had been set up and was fully operational, Michel was following up a sales lead from a previous customer. A man known as ‘The Russian’, whose name was Liptov but was probably not Russian, had stayed on in Paris after the Second World War and somehow accumulated enough money to acquire about eight bars and brasseries serving food around the eastern and northern banlieues of Paris. The neighbourhoods were unfashionable and the premises scruffy, but they had the right sort of traditional, authentic ambience for 1950s movies, and some of the black and white BBC Inspector Maigret television series had been filmed in and around these establishments. One of the bars displayed proudly on the wall a yellowing war-time poster announcing, ‘Out of Bounds to Allied Military Personnel’. The moulded plaster ceilings were tinted ochre with cigarette smoke and the trade mark of the chain was the smoke-filled and coffee-perfumed atmosphere, which was common to all these establishments.
According to Michel’s information, Liptov had made a fortune and was semi-retired, but now, after years of under-investment, he might be ready to put some of his cash into cautious upgrades to enhance the value of the properties, possibly with a view to selling them. Liptov could not be approached directly. He was, to say the least, a reclusive person, so the challenge to Michel was to find a way in. He found out that Liptov had a manager at one of the brasseries in whom he had absolute confidence. Her name was Kozi Dubois. She was believed to be Dutch, and some of Michel’s contacts thought she possibly had a spell as a prostitute before joining Liptov and moving into management.
The Lion D’Or brasserie in Aubervilliers was just outside the Boulevard Périphérique on the north-east corner of Paris. It was a tough place to control, but Kozi Dubois successfully managed two attractive young women as house prostitutes, and a regular clientele, some of whom were Paris taxi drivers, for whom she played the roles of platonic mistress and mother. Despite their foul-mouthed banter and frequent lewd propositions, mostly based on wishful thinking, the regulars adored her, and she always had a quorum of rough chevaliers servants in the bar to protect her if needed. In turn, she protected the girls from the more sadistic customers and sorted out any misbehaviour. There was a code of conduct extending to escorting inebriated clients back to their homes, and nobody was robbed on the way.
The credit slate could extend for long periods if a client was in genuine difficulties, but the debt would have to be settled quickly once fortunes improved. Infringement due to unemployment could be partially redeemed by unpaid labour, such as cleaning, and washing up. This facility usually provided a good supply of hands to resolve any temporary staffing difficulties.
From her attitude and competence at handling aggressive, oafish men, who were often excited by alcohol, Kozi’s customers speculated that maybe she had been trained in military service. They concluded jokingly that it must have been in the Foreign Legion. Kozi ran a tight ship in a way that some men saw as a challenge. Bets were offered as to whether certain individuals were man enough to overcome her by force if necessary, but none of the regulars would take a chance.
One day, three naive newcomers were talked into accepting the challenge and tried to have their way with her on the billiard table. Kozi left them bent double and holding their testicles as she booted them out. Most regulars thought her status as unopposed ruler of her domain was secure from that day on, but there was a further challenge to come.
One warm summer afternoon, when the front doors were locked open and there was a lull in the normal flow of traffic in the street, two North Africans entered, walked to the till, pointed pistols, and spoke quietly to Kozi, who was seated on a stool behind the counter reading a newspaper spread on the bar top. There followed a tense silence, broken only by a fly buzzing against a window. A chair creaked, but nobody got up. The few customers gathered to play belote turned their heads slowly and cautiously to see how Kozi would deal with this intervention. Cigarettes were carefully settled on ash trays in anticipation. Cards gently turned and lowered to the table.
She looked up, closing her newspaper slowly, leaned forward with her head on one side and shouted, “You’ll have to speak up, I’m deaf.”
The men stepped forward against the counter, gesticulated with their guns and pointed meaningfully to the till. As they did, a muffled chattering sound filled the bar for a second or two. The two men started dancing like puppets, then bent double, dropped their guns, and collapsed, writhing on the floor. The customers saw smoke or dust rising from behind the bar, and noticed that holes had appeared in the cream coloured Formica fascia panel that fronted the bar. Kozi reached for the phone and called the police.
“…Yeah, I shot them in self-defence. I have about eight witnesses.”
All the men’s wounds were below waist level. After a short enquiry, during which Kozi spent a day at the police station, it was found that she had not used excessive force to protect herself from armed robbers. Kozi showed customers the two fully automatic Uzi pistols that she kept under the bar and the word got around. There were no further attempts to rob the brasserie or test Kozi’s authority.
Despite her appearance and professional persona, Kozi Dubois was married, led a happy domestic life, and was the mother of three young children. She ran about two kilometers a day in the park at nearby Courneuve and regularly worked out in the gym. Her biceps and upright military bearing showed the results.
Michel Bodin knew none of this when he sought her out as his informant had suggested, by going to the Lion D’Or la
te one afternoon. He sat inside at one of the small round marble-topped tables on ornate cast-iron stands, ordered a beer, and asked to see the manager. The waiter asked him for what reason, and Michel explained that he had a business proposition. Michel bent over and stuffed an empty cigarette packet under one of the table legs to stabilise it and when he looked up, the manager was standing next to him, dominating the seated caller. He had a shock, because apart from being told she was quite a character, nothing had prepared him for what he saw.
Kozi Dubois was six feet tall, quite masculine in her facial appearance, and with cropped, bleached, spiked hair. Her ears carried so many rings that they resembled a metal puzzle. She had a rough Paris accent, throaty voice, and was clearly not going to be a pushover. After standing to shake her powerful hand, Michel offered her a cigarette.
“Thanks, I don’t.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
She called the waiter. “Jerome; a fizzy water here, please.” She turned back, amused and smiling. “So what can I do for you?”
A Clean Pair of Hands Page 7