A Clean Pair of Hands

by Oscar Reynard

  Michel noted the multiple piercings, and speculated as to whether there might be more under cover of clothing. On this occasion, Kozi had abandoned her habitual military fatigues and wore a very short black skirt revealing long athletic legs. Above that, she wore a white tee shirt, and no underwear to prevent her nipples showing. He could not quite work out whether they were adorned like her ears. It was hard to concentrate. Michel hesitated and drew a cigarette from a new packet to calm him down.

  French business negotiations tend to follow a pattern, which to a foreigner may resemble dogs circling each other, sniffing repeatedly and for an inordinate length of time before getting anywhere near the subject of discussion. Kozi betrayed the fact that she wasn’t French by looking at her watch and saying that she had only a few minutes for him. Michel explained that he would like to show her some of the work his firm had done around the Paris region. He had anticipated objections on the grounds that ‘The customers like it the way it is’, so he emphasised the need to retain traditional features whilst modernising some of the equipment, including the kitchen, toilets and lighting, so that it would be easier to clean and maintain and above all sharpen up the external appearance. He had not anticipated her immediate reply.

  “OK, make me a proposition for the eight premises in our group; show me what’s in it for me, and I’ll take it to Monsieur Liptov.” He hoped to obtain more information from Kozi before leaving, but she rose, thanked him and left him to his beer. From then on they spoke only on the telephone until the proposal was ready.

  Michel spent the next month visiting the seven other establishments discreetly, estimated their dimensions so as not to alarm the local managers, and then developed sketches and selected colour illustrations of other completed projects. The initial estimate came to two million, four hundred thousand francs. The portfolio he presented was enough for Kozi’s purpose, and a week later she called to say that they would go ahead subject to working out a project plan, phasing the work, and coming to an agreement for her. They discussed some tax-saving opportunities for Monsieur Liptov, and as it became apparent that he was willing to pay a large part of the bill in cash, the main deal was done. They then talked in more detail about the special offers available and Michel made some suggestions as to what could be achieved. Kozi seemed impressed at the range of choice and opted for a new kitchen for her house, so there would be nothing visible from outside.

  Michel though, had made a serious mistake by forming a fantasy that Kozi might become part of the deal. He was intrigued by her appearance and excited by the challenge of having sex with such a tall, fit woman. She had a hypnotic allure for him. He couldn’t get the image of her legs out of his mind. He anticipated that she would appreciate rough sex and although he was only about five feet six in height, he was stocky, and reckoned that overcoming any resistance would enhance the pleasure for both of them.

  As the final plans and project details came together, he invited Kozi to his office so that he could show her the scale drawings and a virtual tour showing how the interiors would look. They agreed that this could be done only after working hours, so Michel collected her at eleven thirty one night from the Lion d’Or, in the Suzuki 4x4 that he used for business. Once again, Kozi had chosen to wear a short skirt, though this time she retained an opaque khaki tee shirt under a short suede jacket with fringes. They drove through the still-busy Paris streets to Michel’s new office near the Bois de Boulogne on the opposite side of the city and parked almost outside. Their mood was companionable enough and they spent more than an hour in discussion over the plans while drinking coffee. At one point Michel put his hand on hers. She withdrew it slowly. Later, he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder and at some point reaching around her, brushed against her to indicate something on the plans. She leaned back and looked up, turning her head with a smile.

  “Look, if you think you are going to play with me you are going to have to fight me for it.”

  This was insufficient warning for Michel. He took it as the challenge he was expecting. It must be an invitation. He breathed deeper. A few minutes later, while Kozi was still seated, he reached down in front of her with both hands, seized the bottom of her tee shirt and pulled it up, revealing her breasts. Kozi arched her back as if with pleasure, slowly reached up to hold Michel’s head in both hands, then after a few seconds of exquisite anticipation, jerked his head sharply sideways. Michel saw stars and fell back, dazed. Kozi got up from the desk, calmly tucked in her shirt, picked up his car keys and her jacket and bag, walked out of the office and drove home in Michel’s car.

  Michel couldn’t find a taxi driver willing to take him home, so had to travel by public transport and on foot. When eventually he arrived, he explained to Charlotte that he had had a minor car accident and hurt his neck. She wanted to take him to hospital for a check-up, but he took two paracetamol tablets and went to bed.

  The next day, Michel found his car parked outside the office where he had left it, but with the front caved in as if it had run into a tree, though the damage was not quite severe enough to immobilise the vehicle. The car was old and would have been too expensive to repair, so the insurance company treated it as a write off. There was no further discussion at home about the events at his office or the true fate of the car.

  The Liptov project was completed to everybody’s satisfaction, proving that Kozi bore no grudge.

  Chapter Eleven

  Friends and Contacts

  ‘Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness.’

  Euripides, a great tragedian of classical Athens

  During another visit to Maisons-Lafitte one September, George Milton was strolling in the garden with Michel. They stopped at a magnificent tree about four metres high, with dark green leaves and covered in large white flowers.

  “I bet you a thousand francs you don’t know the name of that tree,” said Michel.

  “A thousand? That’s a lot of money. You must be very sure to offer that much.” George paused as if reflecting very deeply. Then, “OK, I’ll accept the bet if you are serious,” he said calmly, though his pulse rate was increasing and he felt sweat forming on the back of his head. This was a bet he could not afford to lose.

  “I am absolutely serious,” Assured Michel. “Well, what is it?”

  George paused for effect. Then, as the tension mounted, “It’s a Euchryphia Nymansensis from Chile, sometimes known as a leatherwood tree.”

  Michel bent nearly double holding his knees and reared up with an expression of disbelief on his face. At first George thought he was having a fit.

  “How did you know that?” He stepped towards the tree to check there was no label on it.

  “We’ve got one in our garden at home.” George did not mention that his Eucryphia was more than twice the height of this one.

  Michel was as good as his word, and that evening slipped an envelope containing one thousand francs into George’s pocket. Despite George’s protests the payment was unstoppable, though George used most of the money to fund their next restaurant outing on the top floor of a superb modern Japanese hotel overlooking the Seine.

  While the two men were still in the garden, a visitor strolled in through the front gates. Patrick Mastrolli was a good friend, Michel explained to George, as he greeted his visitor enthusiastically, and told him about George’s incredible arboratory knowledge. Patrick admitted he didn’t know the name of the tree, and soon lost interest in the subject.

  Michel explained that Patrick had progressed to a senior position in the French police where he spent a lot of time liaising with Interpol. Patrick spoke good English and like many in his profession was a cool customer. He asked questions, but his own answers were relatively brief and discreet. Michel left the two alone while he went into the house to get something. Mastrolli gave George his card, but explained that he spent much of his time abroad, so was not always contactable directly. George could not quite fathom why he might need to befriend a senior
French police officer, especially as he usually aimed to drive within the speed limits, but he kept the card in case of need. When Michel emerged from the house wearing his jacket, George discreetly left the pair to talk. They walked slowly back towards the entrance with Mastrolli’s hand on Michel’s shoulder. George wondered what they might be plotting.

  Annick Bodin, the eldest daughter, did not often bring friends home while Thérèse and George were staying there, but Estelle’s friends were frequent visitors to the house. The two whom George saw most often were a black African from Mali, whom he only knew as Zu, and a Moroccan Arab boy called Ahmed. As they came and went, George noticed that Michel always had something to say to them. Was he just being polite? More than that, thought George, without further speculation.

  Then, one afternoon when Estelle was out, George had gone to the guest bedroom to fetch his camera. He looked out of the dormer window onto the garden and saw Michel talking earnestly to Zu near the gate. At one point Michel took Zu by the elbow and led him away from the gate beside the outer wall, out of sight from the road, then reached into his jacket pocket, drawing out a roll of bank notes. George had already noted that the cash rolls that Michel usually carried were made up mainly of five-hundred-franc notes, so the amount he peeled off and gave to Zu must have been substantial. Later when Michel was alone with him, George asked if Zu and Ahmed worked for him. Michel threw his head back and showed his teeth in a wide grin.

  “They are my eyes and ears. They are very good boys.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Daddy’s Girl

  By the mid-1990s, Lydia, the Bodins’ youngest daughter, the baby of the family, had grown into a beautiful dark-haired, slender teenager with the grace and perfection of a young deer. She was not only a stunner, but proved to be extremely talented and Michel doted on her. He had hardly noticed her in childhood and had certainly never attempted to contaminate her brain with adult thinking. She had offered him a radiant adolescence and now he felt he was closer to Lydia than he had been to the two older girls, whose passage into adulthood had been largely managed by their mother.

  When Lydia was twelve, Charlotte had told Michel that Lydia was experiencing her first period. It represented an existential drama for a father who liked stability in domestic relationships, characterised by peace, confidence and calm. Suddenly this little girl could make him a grandfather, anytime. She may only have been twelve at that time, but he must make plans for her now so that she married in the best possible circumstances, not like some young people who left their families and lived their lives in an atmosphere of familial disapproval. He went over his thoughts again. The idea that this child could have a baby was shocking, especially as he had no concept of what life might be like as a result. Even before that happened, he had to come to terms with the fact that she might leave the house at some point in the future and he would miss her decorative presence. That would take a substantial slice of pleasure away from his life. He would have to prepare for the future without knowing what it held. His first priority was to support Lydia in achieving a level of higher education that would give her greater independence. From then on he took a much closer interest in her schooling. He made sure she went to the best lycée. If she wanted to take music lessons she could have them. Later, Michel undertook to advance her sexual education with the help of some explicit photos from his erotic book collection, attempting to make the subject far more interesting that the more biological approach taken by schools. As Lydia grew up and continued to excel, there was less need for Michel to participate so closely. Lydia was an avid student and kept the whole family on tenterhooks as she approached selection exams for prestigious universities, the first of the family to achieve such high academic results. She passed them all and chose to go to the selective and internationally famous Institut d’Etudes Politiques, universally known as Sciences Po, in Paris. According to their publicity, Sciences Po’s undergraduate programme ‘…encourages intellectual courage and the ability to face adversity and cope with complexity’. The Paris campus is at St Germain des Près close to French government buildings. All the Bodins and extended family were very proud that Lydia had achieved recognition for her talent, and marvelled at this launch pad from which she could reach for the top in whatever career she chose.

  At this point Michel Bodin couldn’t resist forming an idea that he should identify an ideal husband for his daughter, or at least speculate on an acceptable profile. He would not, could not, go as far as to trying to arrange a marriage. His wife and daughter would laugh at him, but he would still act as a caring father and maybe make some suggestions or facilitate some introductions. When he started thinking about it, he realised that his problem was that none of his friends and acquaintances had sons who were good enough for Lydia. He consciously went through the list and dismissed them all on the grounds that Lydia would probably reject them anyway. He would have to give more thought to the matter. Meanwhile, he bought a small studio apartment near the campus, so that Lydia would not have to commute daily. It provided her with independence and the freedom to explore life in any way she liked beyond parental comment and control.

  As George Milton had already heard, Michel’s close friend Johnny Mendes and his Haitian wife Ayida ran a hotel in the eastern suburbs of Paris. What he didn’t know then was its reputation as a hostel for what the French call ‘five to seven’ encounters (5pm to 7pm), allowing rooms to be let for a couple of hours for businessmen to entertain a partner on the way home, and over time, hotel owners had widened the range of personal services offered to this market. This particular hotel was one of the places where Michel entertained his clients, and as the facts seeped out later, they revealed that Johnny’s wife Ayida, and their daughter Beatrice, formed part of the personal services provision. When George once naively spoke admiringly of Beatrice and suggested to Estelle’s friend Zu that she would make a nice girlfriend for him he laughed loudly. “Oh yes,” he chuckled, “everybody’s been there.” George stopped and reflected on this revelation, slightly piqued that he was not ‘everybody’.

  He had met Beatrice once as he and Thérèse were arriving at a party that Michel and Charlotte were organising in a large Paris hotel, and for some reason Beatrice was on her way out. She was then about eighteen, dressed conservatively in a black overcoat, dark patterned tights and high boots, with a colourful neck scarf and tumbling black curly hair. George thought she was a bright, stylishly turned-out girl just as you would expect from a French middle-class family. He also noticed that she was taller and more voluptuously built than her mother, and her face was quite different. It was extraordinary and quite hard not to study it to a point of embarrassment. Beatrice had large pale grey slanting eyes, which she emphasised with make-up, high apparent cheek bones, and a natural pout, which she used to effect. George imagined that some women would spend a fortune on cosmetic surgery to try to get their faces to look remotely like this. As she spoke, Beatrice’s pout opened into a wide smile revealing perfectly even white teeth, an opportunity to advertise what corrective dentistry could achieve, except she had it naturally and she smiled a lot. George’s conclusion was that in some cultures where it is considered normal for men to have no self-control, and where men make up the rules, this young woman would definitely be covered in a black tent or punished for disturbing the peace by raising blood pressures.

  As they were reading holiday publications in their lounge one day, Michel confronted Charlotte with the decision that next time they went on holiday to the Club Med, which they usually did once a year, Johnny and Ayida Mendes would be coming with them. Charlotte subsequently intimated to Thérèse in a phone call that the holiday was not a great success. She said it had increased her distrust of Johnny and Ayida and the feeling that they were a bad influence on her husband, but she was unable or unwilling to give details.

  In fact, there was an event during that holiday which confirmed Charlotte’s worst suspicions about the relationship between Michel and Johnny. M
ichel and Ayida had gone to the clubhouse above the beach together, and Charlotte thought Johnny was with them. She was left alone to take a long, relaxing dip in the warm sea and enjoy the sound and feel of the water. She walked back to the cabin and removed her wet bikini, showered in refreshingly cool water, and as it was still hot outside, decided to lie down on the bed rather than dress immediately. She enjoyed smelling and feeling the warm wind passing through the windowless apertures, and the luxury of being able to stretch out naked on the bed with her eyes closed. After a few minutes she heard a creaking noise, but in her semi-conscious state took no notice as the wooden buildings sighed and groaned in the constant sea breeze. Then she became aware of more light entering the room. She opened her eyes and was shocked to see that Johnny had opened the door and was standing just inside, looking at her. She grabbed the sheet and pulled it over herself.

  “You don’t need to do that, Charlotte. You are very beautiful.” Johnny’s voice was calm and coaxing.

  “Get out! What do you think you are doing here? Come any nearer and I will scream.”

  He came nearer and slowly lowered himself lithely onto the end of the bed. Charlotte was sitting up now, tense and still with the sheet pulled around her.

  “You know I’ve always wanted you, Charlotte. How about a little fun?”

  “You need to know, Johnny, that I despise you and I wouldn’t want you near me for anything.”

  She was trembling now.

  He saw this and didn’t move.

  “Michel will be back soon and he will kill you,” Charlotte warned angrily.

  “Michel is with Ayida and I can assure you he will not be back for a while.”