They did a deal. It was expensive. Charlotte never understood why her husband was so generous. Mohammed took his family back to Morocco and bought a farm with the proceeds.
During another party in Paris, Johnny Mendes was advocating to George Milton that he and Thérèse should come clubbing. George responded that they were a little old for that kind of loud and lively entertainment.
“Oh no,” laughed Johnny, “you’re not too old for this. It’s adult clubbing, where husbands and wives are free to be daring and enjoy themselves.” The penny dropped.
“You mean a swingers club?” George could just imagine Thérèse’s reaction.
“Is that what you call it?” Johnny grinned, nodding encouragingly.
“Well, it sounds like it. What goes on, exactly?”
“The place has two parts,” elaborated Johnny. “One is like a normal club where you can have a drink, listen to music, meet people, or dance – all quite normal. There’s nothing sordid about it. Then, if you want to, you can go through into another private area and see what’s going on through one-way glass, or participate with anybody who takes your fancy, if they agree of course. That’s what makes it exciting.”
“Do Michel and Charlotte go?”
“Yes. Charlotte was reluctant at first, but when she saw that Michel was enthusiastic she softened up and Ayida gave her some encouragement. Now she is what you would call quite a swinger. Last time we were there, someone offered ten thousand francs for her.” He put this almost admiringly.
“You mean you can sell your wife?”
“Shhh,” Johnny scanned the nearby guests. “You don’t sell your wife or girlfriend just like that, but if someone comes up to you and makes an offer you can take it, subject to her agreement. It’s the same for women too. They can select men.”
“And if it’s a woman, does she know she has been sold?”
“Not in Charlotte’s case, I suspect. She might not take kindly to that. You mustn’t say anything, but there is this offer on the table for ten thousand, but it has not been, as you say, consummated.”
George was stunned but intrigued by this revelation. He had yet to work out how to differentiate between what was free and what you had to pay for in such clubs. He backed out of further conversation by explaining to Johnny that he was happily married and that he knew his wife would react badly to the suggestion that they should participate in the style of recreation Johnny had described. He resolved to reveal nothing of Charlotte’s new leisure activities, either. Johnny ended on the cheerful note that maybe George would tire one day of always making love to the same woman, and if so, he should talk to Johnny about a variation on the theme.
At that moment, Michel approached with Thérèse. They had been dancing and the conversation quickly turned to them. Thérèse mentioned that she hadn’t seen Michel dance with Charlotte. Michel looked at her ruefully. “Not now, but maybe later.” He picked up a glass of whisky left by somebody else, drained it and moved off towards the bar. Johnny followed him, gesturing to George conspiratorially as he went.
“What was that about?” asked George.
“I don’t know, but I suspect that something may be going wrong between Michel and Charlotte,” replied Thérèse.
They moved onto the dance floor and said no more about it.
Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte’s Initiation
The club was in a side street off the Boulevard de Magenta, not far from the Gare Du Nord. A fragile-looking illuminated blue sign outside announced: ‘Alive Bar and Hotel’. Michel Bodin and the Mendeses had agreed to bring Charlotte there and see how she reacted. At the entrance, they were confronted by a large man dressed in a tight fitting dinner suit and bow tie, holding a stamp pad, and another man, equally large, who was collecting entrance fees in cash. Michel paid and everybody had a red stamp put on the back of their hand. Once settled at a table, Charlotte looked around and saw nothing very different from any other gaudy night club, though some of the women were exposing more of their natural assets than normal and there were several pairs of women and pairs of men. There was some interaction between the tables and small groups sometimes moved away through double doors guarded by a steward. Johnny brought drinks and they settled to observe the colourful display of people coming and going. Michel was busy talking seriously to one of the stewards near the bar.
The atmosphere was pleasant enough, but apart from the comings and goings that provided a kaleidoscopic view of weird Paris, there wasn’t much excitement.
“Is there going to be some entertainment?” Charlotte asked Ayida, naively.
“Not the stand-up kind.” Ayida nearly choked on her drink but recovered and smiled broadly. Nothing more was said for a while.
After a second drink, Charlotte became aware of a nettle-like tingling between her thighs, so she decided to visit the ladies’ room, but as she rose the world began to turn around. She couldn’t reach her handbag on the floor and had to put a hand on the table to steady herself. Ayida got up and spoke, but Charlotte heard her as if through a tube. She was breathing deeply and could feel her heart pulsing in her chest. Ayida took Charlotte’s arm and led her away.
When Charlotte partially regained consciousness she was lying on a wide bed with Ayida. Both were naked. She rolled weakly away from Ayida and tried to get up, but her arms were too weak to support her and she flopped back. She could not speak and there was an echoing noise in her ears. She was aware that Johnny and Michel were sitting in arm chairs, watching. At that moment, a door opened and she saw another man enter the room. He approached, greeted Michel, smiled, leaned over him and they chatted confidentially. The man nodded towards Charlotte and there was some further discussion. Michel looked up and laughed, the men shook hands and the newcomer walked towards Charlotte. Her strength was returning though her head remained confused, so when the man tried to pick her up, she struggled. He stepped back, said something to Michel and left. Then Ayida came into view, fully dressed. Ayida helped Charlotte to dress and by the time Charlotte’s vision was able to focus more clearly and she could hear better, they were seated at the same table in the bar and in the same places they had occupied earlier. Ayida touched her arm.
“Are you OK now, dear? You flaked out for a bit.”
Charlotte asked what had happened.
“You had a bit too much to drink and nodded off,” Ayida reassured her.
“I’d like to go home,” said Charlotte determinedly.
“I’ll take you if you like,” offered Johnny.
“No thanks. Michel, would you take me please?” insisted Charlotte.
“You will be alright with Johnny. I’ll stay here a bit longer,” was Michel’s response.
Charlotte was in no state to argue. She rose and moved slowly and unsteadily towards the exit with Johnny holding her arm.
Next morning she challenged Michel on what had happened the night before. He maintained that she had dozed for a while, but nothing else happened. She asked if Johnny had undressed her and put her to bed. Michel said he had no idea how she got into bed as he wasn’t there and by the time he came home, Charlotte was asleep.
“Somebody spiked my drink and you know who did it,” Charlotte confronted him.
“No no, nothing like that happened,” replied Michel.
“You are a rotten liar.” She removed one slipper and threw it at Michel, causing him to raise his arms in defence. Charlotte said nothing more to him for several days and after that there was even more reserve, one could say distrust, between them.
A few days later Michel took a call on his mobile.
“Hello, it’s Schmitt.”
“Yes Schmitt, how are you?” He could sense what was coming.
“I am waiting for you to tell me when it’s OK.”
“Yes. I’ll get back to you soon. Actually, I think we may have been a bit ambitious. I think she may not be ready to play ball. I may have to give you the money back.”
There was a silence
, and then in a harder voice, “The money does not come back. The deal is a deal come what may, and if you can’t fix it amicably, we’ll have to do it the hard way. On second thoughts, I don’t want to be hard on you.” There was a pause. “Listen, if your wife is reluctant, maybe you could at least facilitate so we can achieve the objective, failing which we might take an even closer interest in your affairs. Understand?”
The phone went dead before Michel could reply. He felt as though his head was being squeezed in a vice.
Later that day Michel took the ten thousand francs he had been given, put them in a large brown envelope and had them delivered to Schmitt’s office.
Chapter Eighteen
A Brush with Evil
December 1998
The four cyclists rode rapidly up the short slope from the quiet side road in Maisons-Lafitte, a smart, low-density suburb in the Yvelines department, to the north-west of Paris. The leafless tree-lined streets were sparsely lit and there was nobody around to see the small peloton swoop into the cul-de-sac that served four large detached houses. There was a faint clicking of gears and the riders stood on the pedals, taking the short climb easily. A bystander might have thought them to be athletes on a training ride, but this was just after one o’clock on a Sunday morning in December, when the night air was cold, clear and clean. The shadowy figures were made to appear darker still by their clothing; tight-fitting black tracksuit bottoms, black trainers, black zipper jackets with hoods over ski masks, and gloves to protect them from the cold. They leaned their bicycles carefully against the white rendered outer wall of a garden, and used them to assist their climb to the top. The last man handed up a backpack and they silently lowered themselves to the ground on the other side, walked quickly across the lawn, and disappeared into the shadows at the back of the house heading for the garden door.
Michel and Charlotte Bodin were in bed, both still reading, one of their favourite pastimes, especially when Michel came home late. It helped Michel to relax and prepare them both for sleep. Charlotte nudged Michel. “Did you hear that noise?” Charlotte often heard noises at night, so Michel was not quick to respond. He lowered his book, looked straight ahead over his half-moon reading glasses, listened intently for a few seconds, pulling his lower lip with his fingers, and then heard a faint knock from downstairs. Sometimes the refrigerator made that noise when the motor stopped. It might have been that, but he decided to investigate, feeling irritated at having to get out of a warm bed. As he opened the bedroom door he felt a faint current of cooler air, but all was quiet.
He left the door open and moved slowly out of the warm light cast by the bedroom reading lamps, across the darker landing towards the stairs, listening for any unusual sounds. As he passed the open bathroom door he noticed the single, yellow, glowing eye of a deodorant dispenser watching him. It detected his movement and uttered a noise like a distant crow, causing him to jump in an involuntary reflex. He silently cursed the device and continued barefoot down the stairs without switching on the lights, and checked the front door to ensure that it was bolted.
Nothing wrong here, he thought. Michel was familiar enough with the repertoire of natural sounds in his house to know there was nothing to worry about, but he was still curious about the sound he had heard. As he was about to turn towards the kitchen he was struck by an almighty blow from behind. It had the effect of a bright flash. Michel sank to his knees in a daze, but was immediately roughly pulled to his feet and he took another hard blow to the left side of the face before he lost consciousness. He was vaguely aware that his arms were secured behind him and he was being pushed up the stairs by several men. He stumbled several times and before he reached the top. Charlotte came out onto the landing, saw what was happening and screamed. She turned to re-enter the bedroom to reach a telephone, but one of the men bounded up the remaining stairs and thrust open the bedroom door before she could secure it. He threw her across the bed face down and held her there. When the others arrived, they opened a back pack and quickly taped her arms. They thrust Michel onto a small wooden chair, taped his legs to it and put a double band around his body. The buttons of his pyjama top had been ripped off in the struggle to drag him upstairs, so the tape was roughly stretched across his chest hairs. With one snatch, one of the intruders tore the bedroom telephone cable out of its plug.
Now they moved to Charlotte. They rolled her over to face up. One man ripped open her pyjama top while two others pulled off her trousers. They taped her ankles, now wide apart, to the lower bed posts. Michel was regaining consciousness. He could see very little out of his left eye, but he tried to focus on the raiders to detect any form of identification. There was none. There were not even the usual recognisable brand marks on any of the clothing or shoes the men wore. If any wore a watch it was concealed by their cuffs. There was only a smell of sweat and warm clothing to identify the intruders.
One of the captors went to Michel’s sports jacket, which was hanging on the arms of a trouser press. He first felt the garment all over, then took out Michel’s wallet, removed a wad of high-value notes and, leaving the credit cards, put the wallet back in the pocket. Next, he reached into an inside pocket in the lower lining of the jacket and took out a large roll of bank notes and put those into the back pack. The same man came back to Michel and adjusted the chair so that he was facing his wife. He then placed a gloved hand on her pubis and brushed it gently. Charlotte and Michel tensed as they guessed what might be about to happen.
The attackers had taped the mouths of their victims and by the time they left, not a word had been spoken and no sound uttered since Charlotte’s scream.
A few days later, in a telephone conversation between Thérèse and Michel, when she commiserated with him about the break in, she also probed his obviously defensive answers about the attack and suggested that the truth would set him free. Michel misunderstood the purpose of the question and responded, “How do I say it? What is the right time?” He realised he had already said more than he wanted and cut the conversation short. He would always cut short an uncomfortable conversation and refuse to respond to any questions from Thérèse that delved beyond Charlotte’s intuitions about their relationship.
The loving relationship that had once flourished between Michel and Charlotte Bodin entered the final stages of its extinction from that time on. It had already suffered severely from Charlotte’s increasing distrust and Michel’s concealment of the truth. From Michel’s point of view, his relationship with Charlotte was descending into bitterness. He had felt for some time that the atmosphere at home was becoming unbreathable and he felt a tension in his chest from the minute he entered the house. Michel’s problem was partly due to the fact that he could not accept that his life was changing, and not only of his own volition. He was getting older and things he had taken for granted no longer functioned on demand. He regarded the change as a poison that diminished him, but he could not accept that the cause lay within. The fault must lie elsewhere and he must seek alternative forms of stimulation to overcome the shortfall. He was trapped by a tyranny of the senses.
Although external appearances remained plausible and they continued to share the same bed, there was no intimacy between the couple. Michel missed the warm contact of Charlotte’s body, but when he attempted to touch her there was no reciprocation. Though they still lived in close proximity, they had become distant. Charlotte’s previously warm, expectant eyes were now cold and suspicious. There was no longer the same complicity and intimate connection. Michel’s secrecy had destroyed that.
Chapter Nineteen
The Threat Remains
Michel rode a Kawasaki 650cc motorcycle for easier travel into and around Paris. It solved a practical problem and at the same time satisfied his love of fast motorcycles. One evening, a week after the break-in, he was riding along a narrow side street leading to the place where he usually parked on the pavement outside his office. He was making his regular call before the staff closed the office to get an
update on the day’s affairs and prepare for his evening calls. There were cars parked all along one side of the road and he was probably moving faster than he should. A man briskly approached the kerb from the right at the next junction, looking towards the approaching motorcycle. Michel saw no immediate need to slow down, but turned his attention to the man, expecting him to stop at the kerb, which he duly did; but Michel had been distracted a few seconds too long because when he saw another movement to the left, out of the corner of his eye, it was too late, and he collided with the front of a small van that had accelerated across his path. Michel flew across the bonnet of the van and lay dazed in the road. The van continued its journey, its engine revving fiercely, and leaving passers-by to collect the victim. Nobody saw the driver or the number of the van. Michel was unhurt apart from being dazed, and later suffering from a few bruises and a stiff shoulder. His clothes were grazed, but the motorcycle was badly damaged, with bent forks and frame. He replaced it with a 4x4 car and stayed away from motorcycles for a while.
Within six months of the break-in, Michel sold the house at Maisons-Lafitte and the couple moved to a rented, spacious three-bedroom second floor apartment near La Défense in Paris. It was a step down in space and facilities and two of the girls would have to share a bedroom if they all stayed at the same time, but it was prestigiously appointed, with a wide balcony looking out towards the centre of Paris.
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