‘It’s been three months and you still haven’t found us anything suitable,’ said James into the phone at his Paris office.
The voice on the other end of the line apologised profusely and assured him that this time the apartment would not disappoint.
‘I hope you’re right,’ said James. ‘I’m tired of living in a hotel. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.’
James tidied the papers on his desk then opened the intercom. ‘Have Philbi bring the car to the front door,’ he said. ‘I’m going to view another property.’
James exited his office a few minutes later and took the stairs to the reception area on the ground floor. As he walked towards the glass front doors the light inside the building dimmed visibly as if an eclipse of the sun had begun to take place. People working in the area squinted their eyes and one or two desk lights came on. No one, however, seemed surprised or concerned by the change.
When he reached the doors to the street they magically opened for him, even though they weren’t automatic.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Philbi, holding the outside of the door. ‘Where can I take you to today?’
James looked up at the colossus in front of him and realised what it was that had been blocking the sun. ‘Boulevard des Invalides please,’ he said.
Philbi moved his huge body relatively quickly for someone who stood at over seven feet tall, thought James as the huge security guard/driver covered the distance to the car in an instant and held the rear door open for him. James took his seat and then waited for the usual protracted display to take place.
Philbi opened the driver’s door and stood sideways on to it. He lifted his right leg and extended it as far as it would go into the car. Then, holding the roof with two hands, he slid his rear end down the door pillar until it reached just above the level of the seat.
This is where the grunting starts, thought James.
‘Ugh!’ grunted Philbi as he edged rear-ways into the car, bending his neck at nearly a right-angle to fit himself in. Once his rump had been deposited on the seat he let go of the roof. James grabbed the door handle to his side as the whole car lurched to the left under the weight of the giant driver. There has to be a better way than this, thought James as he struggled to sit upright in the 30 degree tilt.
‘Ugh!’ said Philbi as he grabbed his left leg with two hands and hauled it into the car like a trawler man dragging his net. ‘Ugh!’ he said again as his left leg hit the floor of the car and the whole vehicle tilted yet another couple of degrees. Now he sat like a huge praying mantis, his knees either side of the steering wheel and his shoulders hunched up just below the roof lining. Philbi struggled to fit his hand between his knee and the steering column to find the ignition key. After a few seconds he located it and started the engine. He still looked like a large sardine trapped in a very small can and not until he opened the side window and let his left elbow and shoulder hang out did he take his first breath.
James began involuntarily drumming his fingers on the leather seat: the whole preparatory episode seemed to take forever. Eventually, Philbi put his enormous hand on the gear stick and shifted into first gear. He pulled out into the traffic and James heard the usual beep of an angry horn behind them. This man is the clumsiest driver in France, thought James, and yet he thinks he is Jody Scheckter.
The beep of angry horns seemed to follow them as they made their way to Boulevard des Invalides. Once they’d arrived, James saw the property agent rush over to meet him, smiling like a snake oil salesman. Philbi started to struggle out of his seat to open the door for James but James knew it would take quite some time for the big man to untangle himself from the vehicle.
‘Just wait in the car,’ said James. ‘It’s quicker in the long run.’
‘Good afternoon Mr Faraday,’ said Monsieur Guillome de Mayenne, the property agent.
‘Hi,’ said James. ‘What have you got to show me?’
‘Come right this way!’ said Monsieur de Mayenne. ‘You are going to be very impressed, I can assure you.’
‘I’m already impressed by the location,’ said James.
‘That’s right,’ said the agent. ‘You can’t find a better address in Paris than the 7th Arrondissement. Here on the Rive Gauche you’re surrounded by embassies and government ministries. And of course you have the Eiffel Tower and the Hôtel des Invalides on your doorstep.’
He led James to a grand-looking house. ‘This is one of the Hôtel Particuliers in the area,’ said Monsieur de Mayenne, ‘where the oldest and richest families in Paris resided. Most of them have been lost to the original families because of inheritance tax liabilities and nearly all are now converted to apartments. This house was once the château of the Duke of Nantes.’
They entered the building and stepped up into the magnificent reception area. The floors had been finished in red and white parquet and the walls bore intricate mosaic. The marble stairs rising in front of them boasted a gilded balustrade and looked like a fantasy stairway to heaven.
As James looked around the impressive interior a beautiful female voice rang out behind him, ‘Good afternoon Mr Faraday.’
James turned to see an extremely regal looking woman with a long elegant neck. She walked towards him, moving like a dancer across the wooden floor.
‘Allow me to introduce Margaret de Bourbon,’ said the agent, ‘the concierge for the building.’
Margaret extended her delicate hand and James took it in his. ‘How do you know who I am?’ he asked.
‘You will find when you move in that I know everything and everyone in this house.’
‘What makes you think I’ll move in?’ said James.
‘Like I said, I know everything about this house - including the type of person who will move in.’ She looked him up and down. ‘We will talk again I’m sure. Perhaps I can tell you a little of the history of the house at some point.’
Margaret watched as Monsieur de Mayenne led James away to a mahogany elevator.
‘These are original manual lifts,’ he said. ‘They used to be operated by servants cranking gears with ropes pulling them up. They were converted to electricity in the early 1900s. Residents say they work better than any modern lifts.’
He showed James up to the fourth floor apartment, but even before he had seen inside James had made up his mind to take it.
Once they had stepped inside the private vestibule entrance and through the green painted doors, the interior of the apartment only strengthened his conviction.
‘These are real marble columns,’ said Monsieur de Mayenne.
James looked around at the variety of marble that complemented the dark oak panels on the walls. Every colour he could think of had been included: white marble, yellow, grey, brown and green, with veins of different colours intermingling on some pieces. Persian carpets would set this place off perfectly, thought James, already imagining himself living there. He made a mental note to visit Siganof, the Russian merchant, who he knew would have exactly the kind of carpets he needed.
‘Four bedrooms,’ continued Monsieur de Mayenne, ‘a huge living room, dining room, office, kitchen, four bathrooms and two separate toilets, one for guests and one for the family. And, of course, staff quarters upstairs.’
James looked in the four different coloured bathrooms, all of which had domed ceilings and had been finished with mosaic under a gilded finish. Even the baths had mosaic tiles.
‘What do you think?’ said Monsieur de Mayenne, opening the shutters to the balcony and letting the traffic noise from the street below creep into the room. He closed the shutters again to demonstrate their effectiveness and, sure enough, they cut the noise right out.
‘I’ll take it,’ said James. ‘Where do I sign?’
James decided to phone Belle straight away with the good news. ‘I’ve taken on a beautiful apartment,’ he said. ‘You’re going to love it. All it needs is furnishing, so you should get the plane straight over here and make a start.’
‘Gladly,’ said Belle. ‘But first of all you need to come back to London as fast as possible,’ she stated with an edge of urgency in her voice.
‘Back to London!’ said James. ‘That’s impossible. I’m far too busy at the Paris office.’
‘I don’t care how busy you are. This is a matter of life and death!’
The phone went dead and James stood looking at the silent earpiece. He shook his head, made his way outside and met Philbi beside the car. ‘Take me to the airport as fast as possible,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir, right away,’ said Philbi closing the rear door and making for the front. He lifted his right leg and extended it as far as it would go into the car. As he grabbed the roof and slowly slid his rear end toward the seat James sighed and couldn’t help but think that it might be faster to take the Metro.
‘Thank God it’s quicker to fly from Paris than to drive from Cornwall,’ said Belle when she saw him.
Belle sat in the kitchen with Christine the maid, who looked as if the world might be coming to an end, and Monica, who looked as though it already had.
‘Why? Who’s driving from Cornwall?’ said James.
‘I didn’t know whether to call the police,’ said Belle, ‘but what could I tell them? Nothing’s happened yet.’
‘Happened to who?’ said James. ‘Or what?’
‘There’s only us three women here,’ said Monica in a shaky voice. ‘Sasoon is out again.’
‘Larry is on his way over,’ said James, ‘and Whabi is downstairs.’
The mention of Larry’s name brought a look of near-terror from the girls.
‘He’ll kill him,’ said Christine. ‘If he gets the chance he’ll kill him.’
‘Who will kill whom?’ demanded James.
The kitchen door opened and the three girls screamed. ‘Aaaagh!’
‘It’s just Larry,’ said James.
The bodyguard looked nonplussed.
‘My father is on the way up from Cornwall,’ said Christine. ‘I told my sister, who told my cousin, who told her mum, who told my mum, who my dad overheard. And obviously he went ballistic!’
‘Went ballistic? Why?’ said James.
‘For God’s sake!’ said Belle. ‘Why would you suppose a father would go ballistic over his daughter?’
‘My mum says he has my brother and my uncle with him,’ said Christine ominously. ‘And my brother is an animal.’
Larry stood in the corner looking sheepish and James at last caught on. ‘So I take it you’re pregnant?’ he said.
Christine nodded.
‘And I take it the father is in this room?’
Christine nodded again and all eyes turned to Larry as if he had been responsible for killing a much-loved family pet.
‘Possibly the father!’ said Larry. ‘Nothing’s been proved.’
‘What do you mean ‘possibly’!’ said Christine. ‘What kind of a girl do you think I am?’
Larry shrugged and stared out of the window. Something caught his eye. ‘Erm, your father? Would he have long grey hair and wear a vest?’
Christine nodded. ‘That sounds like most of my family.’
‘There seems to be,’ Larry paused, counting, ‘four of them, carrying hatchets. The one at the back has a limp. A limp and a sawn off shotgun.’
Christine bit her bottom lip. ‘That’ll be the boyfriend I left behind to come to London. He makes my brother look tame.’
‘Right,’ said James. ‘I’ll sort this out. You ladies stay here. Larry, come with me.’ James hesitated. ‘On second thoughts you’d better stay here as well.’
James went down to meet the West Country lynching mob.
‘To start with,’ he said firmly when he confronted them, ‘it’s illegal to carry firearms in London.’
‘That ain’t a firearm,’ said the grey-haired elder. ‘That’s a wedding licence. Some city slicker has got my Christine up the duff and thinks he may not stand by her. Oi’m here to see he thinks again.’
James had some difficulty imagining Larry as a city slicker.
‘This is 1981,’ said James. ‘You can’t force people into shotgun weddings.’
‘Give him five minutes with me,’ said the brother. ‘He’ll even agree to marry me.’
‘We have our own methods of persuasion,’ said the uncle darkly.
The ex-boyfriend pushed his way to the front and addressed the father. ‘Oi told you – oi’ll take her back, no questions asked.’
The father turned and faced the ex-boyfriend, pushing the barrel of his shotgun away from him. ‘Now you know that’s not going to happen. Oi may be a country bumpkin but even oi know what gene pools not to match. You think oi want three headed grandchildren?’
‘That were never proved!’ said the ex-boyfriend indignantly.
‘Only because they buried it sharpish in secret,’ said the brother.
‘T’ain’t no secret,’ said the ex-boyfriend. ‘He’s under the Ash tree beside….’
The three other West Country folk waited for the next line but the ex-boyfriend checked himself just before he said it.
‘He would have cost a fortune in hats,’ smirked the brother.
‘And glasses,’ suggested the uncle with a snigger.
The ex-boyfriend let the barrel of his shotgun hover in their direction until they checked their smirks.
‘But Par that ain’t fair!’ he said to Christine’s father.
‘You’re here as back-up, now back off!’
‘I’m Christine’s employer,’ said James, ‘and I’m just as eager to sort this out. But I won’t have guns in the equation. Either take those weapons back to your van or I’ll call the police.’
The four members of the mob hesitated and looked at each other for guidance.
‘Now!’ said James firmly. ‘Then we can sort this out.’
Reluctantly, like scalded schoolboys, the men returned the firearms to their vehicle.
James invited Christine’s father to accompany him back to the kitchen of the apartment where he tried to act as intermediary between Christine, Larry and Christine’s father.
‘There be no compromise,’ said Christine’s father. ‘Either he marries her or I’ll…’
‘Ah ah!’ said James. ‘I don’t want any threats. Threats will not get us anywhere. Christine? What do you want to do?’
‘I love Larry,’ said Christine. ‘All I want is to be with him and to have his baby.’
Larry said nothing, though his face gave away the fact that he probably hadn’t given Christine much thought since the one time they’d had sex. James suspected he might make a bolt for it at the earliest opportunity but his reaction surprised everyone.
‘Let’s do it then,’ said Larry. ‘Let’s get married.’
‘You mean it?’ said Christine.
‘That was easy,’ muttered her father.
‘I haven’t handed in my notice yet,’ said Larry, ‘but I have a job lined up in Belgium.’ He turned to face Christine and for a moment James thought he’d get down on one knee. ‘Come with me,’ said Larry.
‘I do,’ said Christine. ‘I mean, I will.’
‘Are you satisfied?’ said James to Christine’s father. The West Country hunter looked a little disappointed that no weapons had been fired in anger, but after a moment he nodded his head. The romance and emotion of the moment seemed to have got to him and he put his head on James’ shoulder and began to cry.
‘Under the circumstances,’ said James, ‘neither of you need work your notice. You are both free to move on.’
Within the hour James and Belle stood alone in the kitchen.
‘It’s like being a patriarch of some large tribe,’ said James. ‘I can’t believe I had to leave Paris to sort this out.’
‘Christine isn’t the only maid who’s pregnant,’ said Belle.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Remember Sophia? The girl who went to the domestic school in Cambridge? She rang yesterday to quit because she’s pregnant as well.’
‘Not Larry again?’
‘No, not Larry. She’s getting married and is claiming all sorts of benefits.’
‘But she hasn’t even worked for us yet,’ said James.
‘I know,’ said Belle, ‘but she knows how to play the system. I’ll go and pack my bag and get the flight back with you.’
‘Good,’ said James. ‘At least you can sort out the staff that Bill Finchurch suggests while I get back to the office. I have an important meeting coming up with a Middle Eastern prince and his entourage.’
Monica entered the kitchen. ‘Mr Faraday, there’s a call for you.’
‘Who is it?’ said James.
Monica looked a little reluctant. ‘It’s a private call,’ she said making strange, bulgy eye movements towards Belle.
‘I’ll take it in the office,’ said James, exiting with Monica.
Once they got out of earshot, Monica said in a quiet voice, ‘It’s Hil, your first wife.’
‘Hil?’ James picked up the phone in the office. ‘Hello? Is everything alright? The kids?’
‘The kids are fine,’ said Hil, ‘but we have a problem you need to sort out.’
‘I’m just on my way back to Paris,’ said James. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
‘You’ll have to make time. You need to get down here and sort it out before the children get upset,’ said Hil. ‘Anna is in trouble.’
‘Anna!’ said James. ‘Why don’t you let Bill Finchurch sort it out? I told you he’ll deal with all staff problems.’
‘This is personal,’ said Hil. ‘We don’t want just some agency dealing with it.’ She replaced the phone before he could protest.
James sighed and weighed up his options. He didn’t seem to have any and so he returned to the kitchen.
‘Tell Whabi to come up and get some lunch,’ James told Monica, ‘then he can drive me to Sevenoaks.’ He looked at Belle. ‘Hil says there’s something to sort out. She wouldn’t call me unless the situation warranted it.’
As Whabi enjoyed a snack in the kitchen, Belle sidled up to him. ‘How are you Whabi?’ she asked, tossing her hair slightly.
‘I’m fine thank you Ma’am.’
‘I’m interested,’ said Belle, ‘just what is Hil like exactly?’
Whabi thought about it for a few moments. ‘She likes her privacy,’ he said, ‘and always affords others the same privilege.’
James heard both the question and the answer, Whabi’s discretion made him smile.
During the drive down to Kent, James looked forward to the unexpected opportunity to see Dean and Susie. He also looked forward to seeing Hil whom he realised he would always have a soft spot for. What he didn’t relish was the prospect of Anna. In the short time she had worked for him before he left Sevenoaks he had found her needy in the extreme, bordering on the desperate.
Once he arrived at the old house, he found that whilst some things had been changed, most of the place remained as he remembered it. He entered the kitchen and found that some things definitely just never change.
‘Oi’ve just been having a little tea break,’ said Lucky from his permanent position at the table. ‘Bit of back trouble. A present from the Germans.’
‘I thought you spent the war in a protected occupation, farming,’ said James.
‘Oi did,’ said Lucky. ‘Oi mean Mr and Mrs German down at Lower Farm there. Oi put moi back out doing their hydrangeas last week.’
James had to smile: same old Lucky, same old stories.
‘Where’s Mrs Faraday?’ he asked.
‘Oi believe she and Anna are in the office,’ said Lucky sipping his tea.
As James entered the office, closing the door behind him, he said to Hil, ‘So what’s the big problem that you had to drag me all the way down here for?’.
Anna sat in the corner, looking meek and contrite.
‘Anna has got herself into a spot of bother,’ said Hil. ‘Tell him the unfortunate details Anna.’
Anna shrugged. ‘It’s men,’ she said. ‘I just seem to pick the wrong ones all the time.’
‘What happened?’ said James.
‘I thought I really felt something for him, so when he asked me to pose for the photos I agreed straight away.’
‘I get the feeling they weren’t holiday snaps…’ said James.
‘No,’ said Anna, ‘a little more on the intimate side.’
‘Then when he finished with her he started to demand money for the snaps or he says he’ll make them public,’ said Hil.
‘Who’s ‘he’?’ said James.
‘Gino,’ said Hil.
‘Isn’t he the local photographer from the village?’ said James.
Hil nodded. ‘He does the children’s parties every year.’
‘Not any more he doesn’t,’ said James. ‘It’s simple. This is blackmail, we just call the police.’
‘We can’t call the police,’ said Hil. ‘If we do then all the details will come out.’
‘So?’ said James.
‘So I don’t want the children upset. They adore Anna and they’re at school now. Can you imagine what the other kids would say if this went public?’
James sighed and thought for a moment. ‘Does he still have the shop in the village?’
Hil nodded.
‘I’ll pay him a visit,’ said James, ‘after I’ve seen the kids.’
An hour later, James walked into the photography shop in the village and turned the open sign to closed. Walking straight to the counter, he didn’t bother introducing himself to Gino.
‘You know what this is about?’ said James.
The photographer nodded cautiously, sizing James up.
‘If I spread this story about you and your vicious, illegal blackmail demands around our friends in the area you won’t work again, you do realise that?’
Gino obviously saw the strength of James’ mettle and capitulated. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.
‘Destroy the photos and never approach my family or staff again. Understood?’
‘Understood.’
‘And if I ever hear of any of those photos going public I’ll call the police in,’ said James as he left the shop.
Whabi held the car door open for him. ‘Where to, sir?’
‘Get me back to Paris quickly,’ said James, ‘before something else goes wrong.’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help you much with the staff,’ said James one morning a few weeks later. ‘I have this very important deal going down with the Middle Eastern prince. All our efforts at the office have been going into that. It’s vital that we secure his deposits.’
Belle smiled. ‘No problem,’ she said. ‘Furnishing the apartment and hiring the staff has kept me busy. Kept my mind off the pregnancy. If you have any spare time this morning I could introduce you to the permanent staff who start today. The temps have left now.’
‘Very well,’ said James. ‘I have a little time.’
‘This is Strongberg,’ said Belle. ‘He will be taking over butler duties.’
James looked up and up and even further up. The man standing before him stood well over seven feet tall even before his light grey homburg hat came into the equation.
‘Oh my God!’ said James. ‘He’s even taller than Philbi.’
‘I have a superior vertebration of two inches, sir,’ said Strongberg. He wore a formal suit and tie and under the hat the hair visible at his temples had turned a silver grey.
‘Strongberg has impeccable credentials,’ said Belle. ‘He’s a member of a very old French family and has had an intensive, meticulous education.’
‘Stated with full correctness,’ confirmed Strongberg.
‘He also has a somewhat different background to the usual butler type,’ said Belle, clearly pleased with her choice.
‘If you would permit a visual representation,’ said Strongberg.
James nodded and the butler placed a bag on the table from which he took a number of photographs.
‘Illustrations of my sporting career,’ he said, spreading the photos out on the table. They showed a younger Strongberg in his prime mangling and maiming some of the toughest international rugby players in the world.
‘Strongberg versus the New Zealand All Blacks,’ said the butler, showing a succession of painful looking positions perpetrated against fearsome looking Maoris and Southern Islanders.
‘Strongberg versus the Wallabies,’ he said, spreading more photos of himself in conflict with gold-shirted Australian internationals.
‘Strongberg versus the Pumas,’ he said spreading yet more photos, this time against the Argentinean rugby team.
‘Strongberg played number eight for France,’ said Belle. ‘He’s a sporting celebrity!’
‘Was,’ said Strongberg. ‘Fixed in the past, forever a memory.’
‘Very impressive,’ said James.
Strongberg collected his photos, tipped his hat and called through the next employee.
‘If I might be permitted, sir, I have hired Fedul as a bodyguard.’
Fedul came through; despite the fact he was a big man himself, he was practically dwarfed by the enormous butler. Fedul, a Tunisian, introduced himself in Arabic.
‘Very good,’ said James with a smile. ‘Just in time for my Middle East meeting.’
‘Your good lady informed me that you might hold the meeting informally here at the apartment,’ said Strongberg. ‘So I took the liberty.’
‘Good move,’ said James.
‘And this is Aurora,’ said Belle, introducing a plump, middle aged, Portuguese woman who smiled and said, ‘Hello.’
‘Aurora comes recommended as the best housekeeper in Paris,’ said Belle. ‘If you don’t believe me just go into bathroom number four.’
James took the short walk to the fourth bathroom and looked inside. The room had been impeccably clean when they moved in, or so he had thought; now it positively gleamed. Behind him Aurora held up her secret weapon: a toothbrush.
‘She actually cleans the whole house with a toothbrush,’ said Belle. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Very good,’ said James. ‘But I’m most interested in the new cook. If I bring the prince here, I want him to be impressed.’
‘The new chef specialises in Chinese food, just as you wanted,’ said Belle.
‘Chef will audition by way of lunch, sir,’ said Strongberg.
The new staff left Belle and James and went about their duties.
‘At least the maid is old enough to put the male staff off getting her pregnant,’ said James.
‘I don’t think you have to worry about that,’ said Belle. ‘Especially with Gerard, if you know what I mean,’ she added with a wink.
‘Who’s Gerard?’
‘The Mauritian Cook, Jerry for short.’
‘Jerry doesn’t sound very Mauritian.’
‘Unless you want to call him by his real name, Jang Jang e Tong Jung Woy?’
‘Jerry it is,’ said James.
When lunch came it blew away any preconceptions that James had had about Chinese food.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ he said as dish after dish turned up on the table. ‘It looks almost plastic it’s so perfect. Like it’s been printed out of a glossy magazine.’
Dozens of dishes filled the table and they all looked ten times better than any restaurant might serve up: spring rolls, crab won tons and baby back ribs served as appetisers, followed by noodles, rice, five different chicken dishes, crispy duck, sea bass in black bean sauce and pork tenderloin.
James called for the chef and Jerry appeared. A thin, short, round faced man with a soft voice and slightly effeminate nature, he didn’t look capable of turning out what had been delivered to the table.
‘Magnificent!’ said James. ‘Just what I’m looking for. If you can keep this up and feed my Middle Eastern prince he’ll sign on the dotted line and ask for more.’
Jerry smiled and bowed slightly before returning to the kitchen to plan more menus.
On the big day James checked that everything had been prepared for his important meeting.
‘Does Jerry need any help in the kitchen?’ he said.
‘His preference is to work unaided,’ said Strongberg, today wearing a dark suit and matching homburg. ‘And he is more than capable.’
James inspected the rooms that the prince would be using and found that Aurora had done her magical cleaning, improving the appearance of the rooms beyond imagination.
‘You understand the procedure,’ said James. ‘When the prince and his entourage arrive we will spend 45 minutes conducting preliminary business. Lunch will then be served and after that the deal will be closed.’
‘I understand fully and exactly,’ said Strongberg.
A while later the bell phone rang and James picked it up.
‘Your prince is just arriving,’ said a familiar voice.
‘Margaret?’ said James. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes it is,’ replied the elegant concierge.
‘How on earth did you know that the prince would be here? It’s supposed to be a heavily protected fact.’
‘I told you once,’ said Margaret. ‘I know everything that goes on in this building. I will greet them formally for you and show them up.’
She replaced the phone and placed a scarf over her head before she met the prince. ‘Good day Your Royal Highness; if you would permit, I shall guide you to your host. Perhaps while we wait I can tell you something of the history of the house?’
‘I have always been most interested in European history,’ said the prince.
‘Then you are in for a treat,’ said Margaret.
Upstairs James frowned. ‘What on earth is that noise?’ he wondered, looking in the corners and checking behind curtains. He heard it again.
‘Roscheau!’
It sounded like a stifled cry or a call from one mouse to another. Strongberg listened and nodded, ‘It’s Aurora,’ he said.
‘Roscheau!’
‘Aurora? What do you mean?’
‘Roscheau!’
‘When she cleans she is sensitive to any dust.’
‘You mean she’s sneezing?’
‘Roscheau!’ came the reply.
‘Tell her to stop cleaning, at least when the prince is here.’
‘Consider the task accomplished,’ said Strongberg.
By the time the prince eventually entered the apartment, Margaret had given him the impression that James owned the whole building. James didn’t feel the need to put him straight.
In the kitchen Jerry made the final additions to the huge lunch menu.
‘I think you should feed me first,’ said Fedul swinging through the door.
‘Out of the question,’ said Jerry. ‘I’m far too busy. I’ll feed you after Mr Faraday and his guests.’
‘But I’m hungry,’ said Fedul with a touch of menace. ‘How can I carry out my duties if I’m hungry?’
‘You’ll just have to wait,’ said Jerry. ‘You’re not my priority.’
Fedul pushed the chef on the shoulder causing him to damage one of the delicate dishes in front of him.
‘What are you doing? You idiot! Get out of my kitchen!’
‘Not until you feed me!’ cried Fedul.
The short, thin chef and the well-built bodyguard began to fight in the kitchen. A swinging fist caught Jerry full on the nose and blood spattered across the worktops. Jerry sprang on Fedul’s back and used his nails to hang on. In an effort to throw him off, Fedul banged against every surface in the kitchen, sending the beautifully prepared meal in all directions. The two of them then circled the kitchen like ice skaters, sliding and slipping on the fallen food like a custard pie scene in a silent movie. Except this encounter couldn’t be described as silent.
Jerry fled from the kitchen and ran through the apartment shouting, ‘He’s trying to kill me, he’s trying to kill me!’
He ran into the dining room where James and his VIP guests waited for their lunch.
‘Fedul beat me up!’ screamed the chef to everyone’s astonishment.
Strongberg had, by now, heard the commotion and intercepted Fedul with a rugby tackle that would have made him proud even in his prime. The North African bodyguard was flattened against the floor and from that moment all the fight left him.
Trying to resume some sort of order and rescue the situation, James had Strongberg round up the pugilists and hold them in the war-torn kitchen. He summoned Aurora and sent her out to buy some ready-made food so that he might at least feed his guests.
To her credit Aurora moved as fast as she could and returned and soon returned with several bags. She toasted, presented and delivered platefuls of sandwiches to the dining room. ‘This is all I could get,’ she said.
‘You’ve done well,’ said James hoping that this quick fix would save the situation. Only then did he notice that the prince and most of his party had started laughing.
‘What,’ said James a little desperately. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Croque-monsieur,’ noted the prince correctly.
‘Yes,’ said James. ‘Ham and cheese.’
‘We’re all Muslims,’ said the Prince.
James understood and began to see the funny side as well. The situation had turned into such a disaster it would probably be better to laugh than to cry, he thought.
‘I suppose this means we’ll lose your deposits,’ said James fearing he had insulted the prince and tried his patience too far.
‘Only if you fail to provide such fantastic entertainment in the future,’ said the Prince. ‘I haven’t laughed so much in years. Staff assaulting each other, ham for Muslims! Whatever next?’
The prince signed the papers and deposited his money with James’ bank. Jerry resigned and walked out. Another employee advised him to ask for compensation but he never did. James sacked Fedul on the spot.
‘I never want to see you in this house again,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Fedul. ‘You won’t.’
The crazy security guard disappeared. Unfortunately at the same time a Jaguar motor car from the garage disappeared as well. James reported it missing to the police and had strong suspicions that Fedul had stolen it as a parting shot. However, with no proof, he didn’t feel he could mention this to the police.