Warmonger

by Monique Singleton

  Taking a deep breath, she left the sanctuary of the small room and retraced her steps back to the gala. Pasting on a smile she didn’t feel, she walked through the crowd to where she’d last seen her family. Her father glanced her way, but no more than that. Lilou, however, took a closer look at her daughter, her slightly rearranged dress and make up, and connected the dots. Her smile was one of satisfaction. She knew that the affair was now a given. Her plan was coming together.

  Announcing the last dance of the evening, President Armand once again sought out Natalie and held out his hand for her to take. The slight hesitation and panic that fleeted over Natalie’s face was noticed only by Clement. Inescapably she took the President’s hand and they danced the last dance of the evening. Upon completion, he kissed her fingers, his eyes locking on to hers. ‘I will count the hours till I see you again on Monday,’ he whispered. ‘Then we will continue where we left off.’

  Mistaking her shiver for one of excitement, he let go and taking his leave of the crowd, the President exited the gala.

  Lilou arrived at Natalie’s house around seven o’clock on Monday morning. Her intuition had been correct, Natalie didn’t want to go to the office. She had been physically ill all weekend after the party. Not getting out of bed for more than twenty-four hours, she’d refrained from any kind of nourishment. Crying continuously, she hadn’t answered the phone or looked at her mail. Even the enormous vase of flowers that Armand sent her remained in the hallway outside her front door. The deliveryman had repeatedly rung the bell to no avail and didn’t dare to take them back. He’d seen the sender name and decided to leave them.

  Lilou had a key to Natalie’s apartment. She let herself in, had the chauffeur carry the flowers inside and went directly to the bedroom where she threw open the curtains, letting the early daylight in through the massive windows. Natalie was curled up in bed, awake, but not reacting to her mother.

  ‘Get a hold of yourself,’ Lilou stated authoritatively. ‘Don’t act like a child. You need to get ready for work.’

  ‘I’m not going,’ Natalie tried.

  ‘Of course you are.’ Lilou was resolute, pulling back the covers and physically grabbing her daughter’s arm.

  Sighing, Natalie’s courage failed her yet again and she let Lilou steer her into the bathroom. Her mother closed the door and walked to the kitchen to make some coffee. Natalie stood in the bathroom for a moment, then undressed and walked into the shower. The water cascading over her shoulders helped her gather her confidence and she pulled herself together as her mother had ordered. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged dressed, with her make up on and took the offered cup of coffee.

  Lilou waited for a few moments before she commented on Natalie’s choice of clothes. The suit was extremely conservative. Hiding her curves and beauty as best she could. Her mother understood that this was a reaction to what had happened at the party. However, she was not about to let Natalie rain on her parade. There was more on the line here than her daughter’s prudish feelings. As a result of the party, she and Clement had an appointment with President Armand and Natalie would not ruin the family’s prospects.

  ‘I am glad to see that you are finally getting your act together,’ she started. ‘But that outfit is unacceptable.’ Natalie clutched the high neck of the demure blouse in a feeble attempt to ward off what she knew was coming. ‘You need to change,’ her mother announced.

  Half an hour later, Natalie and Lilou were seated in the air-conditioned Bentley on their way to the Presidential Offices. Natalie looked striking in her fitted dark blue pin-stripe suit. Her hair and makeup had been touched up in places, new jewellery emphasised her long neck and too low cleavage. She looked uncomfortable but resigned herself to the inevitable.

  Natalie walked into her office and quietly sat behind her desk, trying to be invisible.

  At 15.00, the dreaded daily team meeting with the President was upon her. There was no way that she could avoid going, especially when Valentin came to prepare the meeting with her. Together they went to the President’s office. There were the usual eight people there, including Father Julien, standing in the corner as always. Natalie took one of the seats at the back of the group. This caused Valentin to raise an eyebrow, but he sat down next to her anyway. President Armand noticed her sitting timidly. He smiled, but to no avail. She kept her eyes focussed on the papers she had brought with her. He attributed it to shyness on her part.

  The two-hour meeting progressed as usual. Natalie was even able to deliver her report without faulting. When the President dismissed them, she all but ran out of the office.

  Going back to her desk, she gathered her things and went home.

  The rest of the week progressed much in the same way. Natalie avoided the President whenever possible. Luckily, he was absent on Wednesday and Thursday due to a short official trip to Germany. On Friday, he was back, and the end-of-the-week meeting loomed threateningly over her.

  Walking through the door in the Presidential Office, she immediately saw that the seating arrangements had been altered. There were also less people present. Just Valentin, Father Julien and President Armand.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Natalie,’ he said amiably, directing her to a chair next to his. Her heart sank. This did not bode well.

  The meeting was short. President Armand brought them up to speed on the results of his trip to Germany and they discussed the official press releases that needed to go out that day. Natalie was just about to volunteer to write them when Valentin beat her to it. She saw President Armand smile slightly in the direction of the Chief of Communications and then he briefly turned his eyes to her.

  ‘Thank you, Valentin,’ he said. ‘That will be all. Have a good weekend, gentlemen.’ They all stood, including Natalie. As an afterthought the President added: ‘Natalie, would you please remain a minute? I have some matters I would like to discuss with you.’ The colour drained from her face. She felt the ground open beneath her. There was, however, no way that she could refuse, so she sank back down to her chair, clutching her papers as a flimsy barrier.

  The men left the room. President Armand stood up and walked to the drinks cabinet where he poured himself a stiff whisky.

  ‘Would you like something to drink, my dear?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thank you, Excellency,’ she stammered.

  Drinking the whisky in one gulp and replacing the glass, he walked back to where she was seated. Standing behind her he continued. ‘Why so nervous, my dear? It’s not as if I’m going to bite you,’ he chuckled. ‘Although the idea is very inviting.’ Frightened, she clutched the papers even tighter over her breasts.

  With his right hand, he took a lock of her hair and let it fall through his fingers.

  ‘I have the impression that you are avoiding me, my dear Natalie,’ he said to her back. She tried to turn, uncomfortable that he was out of her sight. He placed his hands squarely on her shoulders, successfully stopping her from turning or running away as she really wanted.

  ‘Please, your Excellency,’ Natalie stammered. ‘Please don’t make me do this.’

  ‘Do what?’ he asked, his fingers caressing her shoulders and neck, giving her goose bumps.

  ‘Please, I am not that kind of woman. I cannot.’ She was almost begging now.

  ‘Your mother said you would do this,’ he snapped, surprising her. Feeling her flinch, he continued, ‘Yes, I met your mother and Clement Tuesday evening. They didn’t mention it?’ No, Natalie thought, they hadn’t.

  ‘Well, we had a very nice conversation.’ President Armand progressed his administrations, slowly moving his hands over her collarbones. ‘About all kinds of things: Clement’s aspirations, your family’s wealth and influence and yes, about you, what your role is in this all. We agreed, your mother, Clement and I, that you are an important part of all this. What you do, or don’t do, will have a direct result on the potential for your family’s advancement.’ He let the words sink in. A master manipulator himself, he had disc
ussed how to proceed with Lilou and found a kindred spirit there. ‘Lilou foresaw that you would try to hide behind your faith, behind a false modesty. She assured me that it was as I thought, just a role that you play to get the most out of the situation. A front at most, nothing to be taken seriously.’

  Could her mother really have discussed her so brazenly with her rapist?

  Knowing Lilou, it was a yes.

  ‘She gave me her blessing, as did Clement,’ he whispered the words in her ear, the betrayal hurting her to the bone. ‘She said I could break through your facade and enjoy the real you, the wild one.’ He moved his hands down her chest and cupped both her breasts.

  Natalie was paralysed by the treachery of her mother, of her family. Unable to move, she just sat there.

  With all the fight knocked out of her, she listlessly allowed the President to lift her to her feet and guide her to the desk where he pushed her up against the polished wood. He raised her skirt up over her buttocks and jerked her string down to her knees. Unbuttoning his trousers, he freed himself. Whispering in her ear, ‘I can do anything I want with you. Fuck you, humiliate you, anything.’ He pushed her over the desk. ‘Their blessing, you hear me, you are mine.’ He made good his words and entered her roughly.

  All she could do was let the silent tears run down her face. There was no saving her now. The betrayal was complete. He was right, he could do as he pleased. There was no defiance left in her. She was empty, numb. Armand hardly noticed. His own gratification was his only concern.

  She dreaded going to work. Understandably. The bastard raped her whenever he had the chance.

  Because she confided in me as Father Benedict at the neighbourhood church and Father Julien at the Presidential Court, I was able to steer her in the direction I wanted. The feelings of guilt and remorse were exceptional, so it took some convincing to get her to continue with the affair.

  As Father Benedict, I emphasised the value she was having on the community, how she could influence the President to help the needy. As Father Julien, I pointed out the family duty and how she would help Clement further his political aspirations.

  Now I needed to take the scenario to the next level: Jean-Claude.

  I decided to make a house call as Father Benedict.

  Jean-Claude and Emilie lived in a small one-bedroom apartment off the Rue Pinel in the darker section of the city. Not a good neighbourhood, not anymore. Beggars and the homeless littered the streets, violence was rife. But deep down there was also a caring community, people who helped each other wherever possible. Jean-Claude, as a single father, was the recipient of a lot of assistance from his next-door neighbour Madame Brunet. She cared for little Emilie while Jean-Claude taught at the local school.

  When I arrived, Madam Brunet was at the apartment. Emilie was not doing well. The different medicines were clearly not working anymore, and she desperately needed to see a specialist. But there was no way that Jean-Claude could afford it. Madame Brunet explained all this to me while we waited for Jean-Claude to come home. She emphasised that Jean-Claude should be helped as he was donating all his time teaching the local children without any payment. I was familiar with the situation. After 14 years of teaching, he had been sacked due to insufficient funds; the school was forced to dismiss more than half of their staff. That the number of children remained the same was not sufficient reason for the government to support the school. Theirs was a bad neighbourhood, the children had no real future anyway, so only the bare essential investments were made, just enough to avoid revolution. The government didn’t believe in funding failure. The church was about the only thing that kept the school open. That and the selfless actions of formerly employed teachers like Jean-Claude.

  After about an hour, Jean-Claude came home. He briefly greeted me and went directly to the bedroom where Emilie was resting. After a few minutes, he rejoined us, his face ashen. ‘She looks worse than this morning, Madam Brunet,’ he said.

  ‘Oui, Jean-Claude. Her fever has increased,’ the old woman answered. ‘I am sorry, I could do no more.’

  ‘No, please, don’t blame yourself., There is nothing you could have done. It is the medicine, it doesn’t work anymore.’ He sank down in the thread-bare chair, his head in his hands. Turning to me he added, ‘Father, I don’t know what to do. She will die this way.’ He had finally said the unavoidable out loud. It seemed so much more real now that he had voiced it. Tears ran down his face. Madam Brunet moved towards his chair and put her hand on his shoulder to support him.

  ‘Did you write the letter, Jean-Claude?’ I asked softly.

  He shook his head. ‘It won’t work.’ He stated.

  ‘What letter?’ Madam Brunet asked.

  ‘To petition the President,’ Jean-Claude answered. ‘But he won’t listen.’

  Mme Brunet looked at me then knelt down in front of her neighbour. ‘Jean-Claude,’ she said, ‘listen to me.’ He raised his head and looked at her through his tears. ‘You must try; maybe there is a small chance, maybe he will help. If you do not at least try, then you will never forgive yourself.’ He thought about her comment and nodded slowly. ‘You must,’ she added to emphasise the matter.

  ‘Will he listen, Father?’ Jean-Claude asked me.

  ‘Father Julien will do whatever he can to ensure that the President sees the letter and takes notice. As Mme Brunet says, you must try. For little Emilie.’ That clinched the deal. Jean-Claude wiped his eyes and the determination returned. He would do anything to help his little girl.

  That was what I was counting on.

  Two days later, he delivered a heartfelt letter to me at the church. I now needed to get this to Natalie. Her job as Communications Manager meant that she screened every letter that was sent to the President. She could not help but be moved by what Jean-Claude had written. As a teacher and a single father, he had managed to make the letter unbelievably moving. Even I needed to remind myself that it was for the greater good.

  There was always collateral damage.

  Natalie was sitting at her desk when I arrived. I observed her for a moment before she saw me. Though she looked as ravishing as always, her hair and makeup were perfect, her clothes impeccable, yet there was something missing. It was the shine, the aura that she had previously exuded. It was gone. Flat.

  She noticed me and looked up. The spark in her eyes was indeed absent. After a few moments, she smiled a half-smile.

  ‘Father Julien,’ she said. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Hello, my child,’ I answered. ‘How are you?’ The question was senseless. I knew how she was. She had been to confession at the local church yesterday. As Father Benedict, I had heard her heartfelt cry for absolution.

  ‘Ok, Father,’ she answered unconvincingly.

  ‘I see that you are troubled, Natalie,’ I continued. ‘Will you confide in me? Maybe I can help you.’

  She sighed. ‘Thank you, Father, but I think I am beyond help now.’

  ‘Please walk with me, my dear?’ I asked. She looked at me, at the papers, then nodded almost imperceptibly. Standing up she moved from behind her desk and we walked out of the office down the hallway to the gardens. They were deserted at this time of the day so we had some privacy.

  ‘What troubles you, Natalie?’ I started the conversation.

  ‘The President, Father,’ she finally stammered. I stayed silent, letting her determine what she wanted to tell me.

  ‘I… No, we… I am caught up in an affair with the President and it is killing me,’ she continued. ‘It is wrong, it is vulgar, brutal. It goes against everything I believe in. I cannot go on like this.’

  ‘Then stop the affair,’ I offered. This was playing the field, but I had to take the chance. I needed her to be absolutely convinced that there was no way out. I had to test her resolve.

  ‘I can’t, Father,’ she replied. ‘It would mean the end of my family. They would disown me. My life would be over.’

  ‘Can’t you discuss this with President Arm
and?’ I asked. ‘Is he not open for your feelings, your misgivings?’

  ‘No Father, I have tried. The man is obsessed with me, so it seems. He will not listen. He will not let me go,’ she continued, small tears forming in her eyes. ‘I am lost.’

  We talked for almost an hour. She unburdened her feelings about the affair, the betrayal of her family, about the work she did, the constant dilemma between the truth, what she was expected to do and what was right. I saw that she was indeed lost. There was little spunk left in her. Little courage.

  When talk once again turned towards work, I broached the subject of what she could do for the needy, how she was of great value there. Taking the letter out of the pocket in my cassock, I held it while she spoke of the misery that she saw in her daily work reading the petitions that people sent the President.

  She saw the letter in my hands. Without a word, I presented it to her. Taking it, she opened the envelope, a few photos spilling onto her lap. They showed the small Emilie. Her beautiful but pale face. Her smile lighting up the otherwise drab pictures. Natalie looked from one photo to the next, a small nagging thought of recognition playing in the back of her mind. Where had she seen this child before?

  ‘I do not wish to make your work even harder, my dear,’ I said. ‘But this is a special case.’

  She raised her head and looked at me.

  ‘Please read the letter. It is a plea from the child’s father. The child is ill. She needs medical attention, but there is none. The local church has exhausted its resources. There is nowhere else the desperate man can turn to. He works as a teacher without any payment. He does it for the children. She is all he has.’