Cuba Cunarderane paced up and down the room. He tapped out a silent tune with his fingers as if they played an imaginary, Lilliputian drum.
‘Don’t you ever stand still?’ said Dee. ‘You’re making me feel exhausted.’
Cuba put his fingertips to his forehead and closed his eyes. ‘I can’t believe they haven’t delivered my bulbs yet,’ he said in a raised voice.
‘Listen,’ said Dee, ‘I’ve waited so long to see these museum cabinets that one more day won’t make any difference.’
‘No no,’ said Cuba wagging his forefinger. ‘I said they would be ready for inspection by today and today is when you will see them. Even if I have to crawl across Geneva and get the bulbs myself.’
‘Well, I’m looking forward to it,’ said Dee. ‘James will be delighted to see his collections properly displayed.’
‘God knows I’ve worked my fingers to the bone,’ said Cuba studying his hands. He touched them gently looking for calluses.
‘You’re such a perfectionist,’ said Dee.
‘I feel so nervous,’ said Cuba. ‘Look, my hands are shaking.’
‘You’ve put so much pressure on yourself – if you’d let us see the room before today it wouldn’t be as much of a big deal.’
‘I like to show the finished product,’ he said. ‘Not the ugly bits. I want you to see the stunning swan…’
‘I know,’ said Dee, ‘not the dreadful duckling.’
‘Exactly. Besides, the lighting is probably the most important aspect of the design. I want it lit perfectly when you see it.’
‘OK,’ said Dee, backing down. ‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘how have you presented the pieces?’
‘I’ve divided them by culture,’ said Cuba. ‘I’ve grouped all the Phoenician pieces together and the whole collection’s displayed on its own, as are the Assyrian and Greek pieces.’
‘And the manuscripts?’
‘Ahhhh, the manuscripts have their own special case with its own special lighting. I’ve paid particular attention to them,’ said Cuba.
‘Let me know when you’re ready to show me your baby,’ said Dee.
Across town the board of the oil company listened with interest to the healthy quarterly financial report. When the company accountant had finished, James addressed the men sitting around the table. ‘As you’ve heard, our profits are up again and the forecast for next year is similar, even taking into account our proposed investments… One of the reasons for this rise in revenue is the partnerships we have formed with local businesses, especially in the Arab world. I’d like to thank Gerard Nourbadon for his work in this area. His contacts and continuing relations with the Middle East have been invaluable.’
Nods of agreement and congratulatory remarks wound their way to Gerard’s place at the table. The white-haired German nodded his thanks, pushed back his hair and stood up.
‘Thank you gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Perhaps now I might take the opportunity to demonstrate an idea. As you know I accepted this place on the board and offered my services to the company in the knowledge that I might, from time to time, offer philosophical ideas to a group of men with the vision and also, crucially, the wealth to be able to lift theories off the page and into reality. You men can make a difference. You can turn ideology into actuality.’
James could see that Gerard had everyone’s attention, although with varying amounts of interest. Some seemed to be taken with the idea of having a personal role in global improvement; others seemed to think this was a distraction from the business of making money.
‘I recently returned from the Emirates where, after some business meetings I relaxed on a deep sea fishing trip,’ said Gerard. ‘I sat on the back of a five metre motor boat about 12 miles offshore, strapped into a swivel seat holding a ten metre fishing rod. The prize? Sailfish. A sailfish, for those of you unfamiliar with the name, is a big game fish which can grow to 200 pounds. They reach speeds of 70 miles an hour and are famous for their ability to jump and turn. I felt very excited when the first fish took the bait and my one kilometre of high tensile fishing line began to unwind. I had a real tussle with the fish which would have pulled me into the water if I hadn’t been wearing a harness. We fought for over an hour and by the time I reeled the magnificent beast onto the boat I felt elated as well as exhausted. Its sail-like dorsal fin extended over the whole of its back and its bill must have been two feet long. Magnificent. Not until later that night when I lay on my bed in the hotel did the idea come to me.’
Gerard stepped back and carefully picked up an object covered with a towel. He placed it on the board table in front of him.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘ever since time immemorial man has harnessed the strength of the beast. All kinds of species have been put to work for the benefit of their master: the horse, the ox, the camel, the eagle, the dog. Even the humble earthworm is used to turn the earth. However, no one has yet harnessed the working potential of the fish!’
Gerard whipped away the towel to reveal a goldfish bowl, home to two small tropical fish.
The excitement around the table was noticeable by its absence.
‘You will be familiar with the expression ‘give a man a fish and you will feed him for a day, teach a man to fish and you will feed him for life’’ said Gerard, continuing undaunted. ‘I wish to add, teach a fish to work and you’ll feed mankind.’
The silence continued.
‘When I fought that sailfish I dealt with sheer power and energy. Imagine if we could utilise that power and direct it to where we wanted it. Watch this demonstration.’
Gerard stood over the bowl and watched the fish for a few moments until everyone had the fish in their sights. The fish, oblivious to their audience, swam sedately and randomly around their transparent home. Gerard lifted his hand and shook some powdered food into the tank. Immediately both fish darted like aquatic bullets for a feed.
‘That sprint, measured scientifically, adds up to about 900 joules of kinetic energy. Imagine if that had been a shoal of mackerel or cod! A million fish charging in a single direction at great speed. Harness that and we could be talking about a potential energy source bigger than oil.’
‘That’s all very well with two tiny fish in a bowl,’ said a board member. ‘But great shoals of fish in the sea don’t exactly behave in the same way.’
Gerard was prepared. ‘The problem of collecting the energy is purely a technical one. It involves funnelling the fish – similar to the fishing methods practiced by many tribes around the world. But how to stimulate the movement at all, and thus the energy? One word: plankton.’
‘Plankton?’ said James.
‘Yes,’ said Gerard. ‘The development money that I need will go towards the process of manufacturing artificial plankton. The word itself comes from the Greek planktos which means wandering or drifting. In other words, it is a random phenomenon. If we can manufacture it artificially, we can manipulate the direction in which shoals will swim. We can control where the fish swarm to, and when, therefore harnessing that energy.’
The silence thundered on.
‘Gentlemen this should excite you!’ said Gerard. ‘The potential is mind blowing!’
Later, in his office, James reflected on the ideas of Gerard Nour– badon. Madman or genius? It’s a fine line, he thought, before turning his mind to his upcoming hiatus. In a way, despite the potential pitfalls, James looked forward to the forced break. A change is as good as a rest he thought, although he had yet to break the news to Dee.
Back at the house, in a newly converted room, Dee listened to a kind of history story as she worked out.
‘Maurice Bejart is a man who all the leading principal dancers want to work for,’ said Babealla Sloan as she stepped off pointe. She had a classic ballet dancer’s figure with slender legs which seemed to go on forever. ‘To dance for his company the Bejart Ballet Lausanne,’ she continued, ‘is both an honour and a privilege.’
‘What’s he like?’ said Dee, holding on to the new ballet bar on the wall.
‘Short in height but big in stature,’ said Babealla. ‘He’s renowned for the philosophical themes of his work which are often inspired by Eastern culture. He’s very spiritual, he has an intense interest in the Sufi tradition and spends a week each year in a Buddhist retreat in Greece. Put it this way, it’s always interesting working for him. And I discover new things about him every week.’
‘Such as?’ said Dee, bending at the knee with one arm draped over her head.
‘Oh, interesting things like the work he has done with the Persian Ballet in Tehran. He is firm friends with the former Empress of Iran.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Dee. ‘Of course he’s much discussed here but not in that kind of detail.’
‘He’s the son of a philosopher,’ said Babealla. ‘He also founded the Ballet de l’Étoile and the Ballet du XXe Siecle in Brussels. I may only ever be in the corps de ballet but at least I can say I have been on the same stage as some of the world’s great soloists.’
‘Like who?’ said Dee.
Babealla reeled off the names: ‘Mikhail Baryshnikov, Fernando Bujones, Suzanne Farrell, Sylvie Guillem, Rudolf Nureyev in Songs of a Wayfarer, Maya Plisetskaya in Isadora and Vladimir Vassiliev in Petrushka. All of them have danced for Maurice Bejart.’
Dee whistled in admiration. ‘I hope some of them come back,’ she said. ‘I’ve only been twice.’
‘Is that where you first saw me?’ asked Babealla. ‘On the stage in Lausanne?’
Dee laughed. ‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘Actually I first saw you roller skating near the Old Town in nothing but a red swim suit.’
Babealla smiled but kept her pose. ‘I’ll never live those days down,’ she said.
Dee heard an utterance from behind her; she rolled her eyes. ‘Would you guys stop complaining?’ she said. ‘We’re just testing out the strength of the bar. I want to be sure that Cuba has made it strong enough. You know what it will be like once the kids get in here.’
Behind her stood Vernon the butler, Sasoon the cook and Patrick the handyman. Each one of them had one hand on the ballet bar and one hand arched over their heads. None of them looked happy to be there.
‘This exercise makes the muscles soft and pliable and the tendons elastic and flexible,’ said Babealla tilting her face upwards and showing off her long neck. ‘It will also develop your sense of balance. Keep your legs turned out from the hips and keep your weight over your toes. And Vernon, keep your chin up.’
‘Chin up!’ laughed Dee.
‘Mr Sasoon,’ said Babealla, ‘please use both your feet or you will do yourself an injury.’
She demonstrated the move again. ‘And bend!’
As Dee followed her instructions she glanced in the full-length mirror at the three reluctant men behind her. Off balance, un-coordinated and heavy, each one of them.
Dee smiled at Babealla. ‘I think your place in the corps de ballet is safe,’ she laughed.
A few minutes later she put the three men out of their collective misery. ‘Thank you gentlemen,’ she said. ‘Unless you’re up for some more you can go now.’
The three hapless dancers didn’t need to be told twice.
The two remaining women laughed together. ‘I can do some more if you like?’ said Babealla. ‘I have the time.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Dee, ‘but I have so much to do today. Mr Tatinburger the alarm specialist should have installed the alarm by now and I have to sort out the details.’
‘You mean you have no alarm? With all the valuable things in this house?’ said Babealla.
Dee nodded. ‘Crazy I know, but hopefully it will be up and running today. I also have to inspect the showcases that Cuba has built for James’ antique collections.’
‘I’ll check on the twins,’ said Babealla.
Dee smiled. ‘I wonder how many other mothers have a ballet dancer for a nanny?’
Dee found Mr Tatinburger on the ground floor, looking over the sophisticated house alarm.
‘Ah,’ he said when he saw her, ‘are we ready to go through the details?’
‘Please, talk a little more slowly,’ said Dee. ‘My French is still not up to scratch.’
‘No problem, I understand completely,’ said Tatinburger, not slowing down one iota. ‘Now, as you know this agreement is an annual contract and the alarm system also detects smoke and humidity as well as intrusion.’
‘As well as what?’ said Dee, trying to catch every word.
‘Intruders,’ said Tatinburger, ‘break-ins.’
‘OK,’ said Dee
‘Let’s go through the security codes first,’ said Tatinburger, handing her a sheet of numbers and instructions. Dee looked at the sheet and scrunched up her face.
‘I can read even less French than I understand,’ she said. ‘Nevermind, James will be able to decipher it.’
‘The alarm system is very sensitive,’ said Tatinburger. ‘If you like I can desensitise it a little until you get used to it.’
‘OK,’ said a familiar voice behind them. ‘I’m ready for my close up.’
Dee turned to see Cuba strutting a little like a Hollywood diva.
‘The bulbs have arrived and are all fitted,’ he said. ‘You can come and inspect the museum cabinets as soon as you like.’
‘I’ll be right with you,’ said Dee.
‘What would you like me to do?’ said Tatinburger.
‘Just leave your invoice,’ said Dee, glad to be distracted. ‘Thank you very much.’
Dee followed Cuba to the museum room. The flamboyant designer had fixed a cream coloured, silk sash across the door and had placed a pair of scissors on a red satin cushion on the floor.
‘For the grand opening,’ he explained.
‘Do I have to make a speech?’ laughed Dee.
‘Only if you want to,’ said Cuba, holding the cushion in his hands.
Dee took the scissors and held them up to the sash. ‘I declare this room of antiquities open!’ she said as she cut the ceremonial barrier. The sash fluttered to the floor and Cuba pushed the door open. Inside he threw a switch and the dark room started to flicker into illumination.
Dee stood transfixed and open mouthed at the sight that met her eyes. She spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Oh my god!’
‘I know,’ said Cuba, biting on his finger knuckle. ‘Its dreamy isn’t it.’
‘Oh my god!’ said Dee once again.
For the first time Cuba’s face, a portrait of unbridled pride and delight, began to register signs of doubt.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Don’t you like it?’
Dee cast her gaze around the whole of the room taking in detail now as well as the overall design.
‘I hate it,’ she said. ‘What have you done?’
‘I’ve done what you asked for,’ said Cuba, his voice beginning to tremble. ‘Chic yet classic. Modern yet traditional.’
‘It looks more like a desperate designer’s clothes shop in a Milan boulevard,’ said Dee. ‘It reminds me of a diva’s dressing room.’
Cuba began to frantically fan his reddening face with his hands. ‘How can you say that!’ he shrieked. ‘I’ve put my soul into this room.’
‘The sole of your thigh length, patent red and glitter boots more like,’ said Dee. ‘This is supposed to be a tribute to the past, not a tribute to Liberace!’
‘Baaah haaah!’ cried Cuba, tears cascading down his crimson cheeks. ‘You’re stabbing my heart,’ he sobbed.
‘Get up off the floor,’ said Dee. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury.’
‘I’m never getting up again!’ sobbed Cuba, slapping the floor with his palms.
‘Oh for god’s sake,’ said Dee. ‘My twins have less of a tantrum than you.’
‘They haven’t worked their fingers to the bone on this display,’ said Cuba.
‘No they haven’t,’ said Dee, ‘but to be frank they couldn’t have done a worse job.’
‘Baaah haaah!’ panted Cuba slapping the floor again.
‘You could not have got this more wrong,’ said Dee. ‘This belongs in German de press in Paris alongside all the other gaudy fashion shops.’
‘Baaah haaah!’
‘Baaah haaah!’
‘Where is the screen I asked for? Where is the subtle lighting? Where is the dignified display. In fact, do you have any idea what dignified means?’
Now lying flat on the floor, Cuba pulled his arms tightly around his ears and used his legs to propel himself around in a circle.
‘The cabinets look as though they’ve been made of chipboard,’ said Dee. She stepped closer and peeled back an ugly veneer. ‘It is chipboard!’
‘Baaah haaah!’
The sound of Cuba’s crying saturated the whole house and hours later at bed time the memory of it still lingered in Dee’s mind. James and Dee made ready for bed and James looked for the right moment to mention his trip away.
‘You look tired,’ said Dee. ‘A good night’s sleep will do you good.’
‘How is the museum room coming on?’ said James. ‘Has Cuba finished it yet?’
‘Not quite,’ said Dee.
‘He seems to be taking a long time over it.’
‘Just a few final details to sort out,’ said Dee as she stifled a large yawn. ‘I’m as tired as you are. Do you mind if I drift straight off to sleep?’
James wanted to break the news of his trip but decided to postpone it until the morning. ‘Good night,’ he said.
Dee turned off the light and both of them closed their eyes. Within moments they had fallen into a deep sleep.
Some two hours later they were rudely awakened with a shock.
NEENA, NEENA, NEENA!
The shrieking noise of the alarm pierced the calm of the house. It performed its function perfectly and ‘alarmed’ everyone in the building, though not everyone had visitors in their bedroom.
‘Aaaagh!’ screamed Dee when she sprang up in bed. ‘James!’
James sprung out of the bed and prepared for a fight to the finish.
‘Woah, slow down!’ said the larger of the two men standing at the end of the bed. He held up a card showing his ID. ‘Security!’ he shouted. ‘What are the codes for this address? ‘
‘Codes?’ said James. ‘What codes?’
‘The codes in your contract. Until you quote them we don’t know if you’re the clients or not.’
‘What do you think we did?’ said James/ ‘Break in for a good night’s sleep?’
He looked at Dee. ‘Do you know the codes?’
‘No, I didn’t know we had to memorize them.’
‘We’re here to protect you!’ said the guard.
‘In our bedroom?’ James demanded.
‘That’s part of the contract,’ said the tall man. ‘The rest of our team are securing the house and checking for intruders.’
James and Dee gradually began to calm down even as they could hear the scared, angry reactions from domestic servants in the rest of the house.
Dee found the contract and supplied the codes. The only people who slept through the whole ordeal were, predictably, the twins.
‘They didn’t even blink,’ said Dee when she returned to the bedroom after checking on them.
The smaller security guard also returned. ‘A false alarm,’ he said. ‘No harm done.’
James and Dee looked at each other and both exclaimed the same words, ‘No harm done!’
‘Learn the codes,’ the guard advised. ‘Then if it is a false alarm you can immobilise the system and you won’t have us invading your bedroom.’
The next morning a bleary eyed Dee entered the kitchen and asked Sasoon for one piece of toast and some hot water with squeezed lemon. ‘What do you think could have set the alarm off last night?’ she said to James as he sipped a black coffee.
‘I have no idea,’ said James, ‘but at least we know we’re well protected. Oh, by the way I have something to tell you,’ he said, deciding this must be the time to tell her about the trip.
‘Sounds ominous,’ said Dee.
‘Not really,’ said James. ‘The thing is I have to….’
NEENA, NEENA, NEENA!
The ferocious and deafening sound of the alarm going off again made James drop his coffee and Dee jump out of her skin.
‘What now?’ James shouted above the din.
Dee found, fumbled with and eventually formatted the alarm system. Just before the hooters fell silent two familiar ninja types sprung through the door and into the kitchen.
‘Nobody move!’ screamed the taller man.
James rolled his eyes and asked Sassoon for more coffee.
‘The toaster must have set it off,’ said one of the security guards when they had removed their ski masks. ‘Your system may be too sensitive. Shall I adjust it?’
‘Of course!’ said James. ‘This isn’t a Pink Panther movie. Sort it out with my wife; I don’t want you guys jumping out of cupboards every other day.’
James acquired another cup of coffee and sat down with Dee. ‘I have to take a trip,’ he said.
‘Not business again?’ said Dee. ‘I thought the idea of moving to Geneva would mean fewer trips.’
‘It’s not business,’ said James quietly. ‘It’s personal.’
Dee looked up. ‘What do you mean personal?’
‘I have to visit Saint Tropez.’
‘Belle!’
‘There are problems with the staff,’ said James.
‘Then let her sort them out,’ said Dee.
‘She’s asked me to intervene,’ said James. ‘I don’t want the kids to be affected if there’s disruption amongst the staff.’
‘How long will you be gone?’
‘A few days,’ said James.
‘Because after Belle I have to visit Sevenoaks.’
Dee tightened her bottom lip. ‘After you visit your second wife you have to go and see your first wife?’
‘More problems…’ said James.
Dee did not look happy and James silently hoped he could solve the crises affecting both of his first wives quickly. He noticed a softening of Dee’s face.
‘At least the museum room should be ready by the time you get back,’ she said.
James flew in by helicopter to the house at Saint Tropez. As he descended to the landing pad he noticed the odd alteration to the garden area of the house but mostly it remained as he had last seen it. As he left the aircraft, Rory and Romy greeted him from up a tree.
‘Mum’s hired a nutter this time,’ said Rory.
‘He’s stirring up a revolution,’ said Romy.
‘Would you come out of the tree?’ said James.
The two boys laughed and dropped, quite a distance, to the ground. James winced when he saw them fall. They both hugged him, like two adolescent bears. James could feel the pent up vigour running through their bodies.
‘You two need to come to Geneva,’ he said. ‘You need to use up some of this energy.’
At the house James got a surprise at how civil Belle appeared.
‘Nice to see you,’ she said to the father of their children.
‘Under happier circumstances would be better,’ said James.
‘Can we go to Geneva again?’ said Rory.
‘I have no objection as long as you don’t miss school,’ said Belle.
The two boys high fived and left.
‘You said the matter is of the utmost urgency?’ said James.
‘I hired a gardener/huntsman,’ said Belle.
‘A huntsman?’
‘Well you know, someone with experience of rifles. I thought he could have some fresh game for the table at parties.’
James rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ said Belle. ‘Parties are what I do best.’
‘So tell me what the problem is?’ said James.
‘The man turns out to be a drunk and a trouble maker,’ said Belle.
‘So sack him,’ said James.
‘And lose most of the staff?’ said Belle. ‘He’s formed them into some sort of trade union.’
‘Can’t you call the police?’
‘And lose face in the community? I have a reputation to keep up,’ said Belle.
‘What’s the name of this man?’ said James, irritated and angry that his family -meaning the boys, but Belle as well- could be treated like this.
‘Chantoiseau,’ said Belle. ‘I think he’s a thief as well but I can’t prove it.’
‘Where can I find him?’ said James.
‘What, you mean now?’ said Belle, looking a little surprised.
‘I mean this minute,’ said James, determined.
The drinking hole of choice for the workers of the area sat at the side of a cross roads a few hundred metres from the town square. Le Bistro Taupe had once been famous as the meeting place for robbers and poachers during the last century.
As James approached the bar he thought that the clientele had changed very little over the years. The level of conversation quietened as he crossed the floor. Suspicious eyes bore into him from under the peaks of worn caps and slack berets. Cigarette smoke hung in the air like a camouflage screen. These men, for the crowd mainly consisted of men, didn’t dress up to go out. In fact he suspected that many of them hadn’t changed in days.
The walls of the bistro sported the heads of long dead animals stuffed, mounted, fraying round the edges and missing an ear here and eye there. An ancient fishing rod hung over the bar and equally old bear traps had been turned into flower pots on the floor.
‘A small red wine,’ he ordered from the thin barmaid whose dry, peroxide hair sat like a small hay stack on the top of her head. When James turned around all conversation had stopped and all eyes rested on him. He took a sip of the local wine and nodded in genuine approval at its surprising quality.
‘Chantoiseau?’ he said scanning the room from side to side.
‘I am Chantoiseau,’ said a thin man, with even thinner hair, from a table in the middle of the room. The man, disturbingly ugly, rose from his chair. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘James Faraday,’ said James. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
The thin man looked surprised and a little lost for words. He nodded.
‘Large red wine,’ said James to the barmaid.
Chantoiseau took the wine and knocked it back in one swig. James nodded behind the bar for another to replace it.
‘I believe you are demanding more money from my wife?’ said James.
Chantoiseau immediately went on the offensive. ‘We are within our rights,’ he said. ‘I know the law.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ said James. ‘And do you speak for everyone, for all the gardeners?’
Not only did Chantoiseau nod, but so did half the men in the bar.
‘Then you must have a point,’ said James, waiting for the ringleader to down his wine. James nodded again for a refill and continued, ‘I wonder though if you are a sporting man?’
‘A sporting man?’ Chantoiseau repeated, waiting for his wine before following James outside.
‘Yes,’ said James, as he headed toward an area set aside for the game of boules. ‘I wonder if, rather than settling this pay dispute with lawyers and strikes where no one side ever really wins, we should let the winner of a sporting contest decide the outcome.’
Chantoiseau took a large sip from his glass. ‘You mean to challenge me to a game of pétanque?’
‘Why not?’ said James, placing the wine he had hardly touched down on a barrel top in the garden.
Chantoiseau looked behind him at the massed crowd of drinkers who had followed them. He laughed, and they all joined him.
‘You realise,’ he said, ‘that I am something of an expert at this game?’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ said James, nodding again toward the hay stack barmaid. She took his hint and refilled Chantoiseau’s glass.
James stepped closer to Chantoiseau and whispered intently in his ear, ‘If you win you get 10,000 Francs.’
The eyes of the gardener/hunter expanded like a stag deer taking in the late evening light.
‘And if you win?’ he said.
‘If I win you forget your financial dispute,’ said James.
Chantoiseau looked smug and contented with the wager before James added, ‘And you leave my wife’s employ and never come back.’
The thin man’s face turned sour, but he was still greedy; he agreed.
Another man struck out the equipment needed for the game; three hollow metal balls for each player and a smaller white ball.
‘You know the rules of the game?’ said Chantoiseau.
‘I know the basics,’ said James.
‘We have three chances each to get closest to the cochonnet.’
‘The little pig,’ said James. ‘That seems appropriate.’
A neutral tossed a coin which James lost.
‘I will draw a circle in the sand,’ said his opponent, ‘from which we each have to throw, with both feet on the ground. For each end of play the player with a boule closest to the cochonnet wins one point. The first to thirteen points is the winner.’
James nodded his approval. ‘May the best man win,’ he said watching Chantoiseau sink another wine.
The thin man threw the smaller ball a distance of about 6 metres from the circle. He then picked up a metal ball and held it with his palm facing downwards. He drew back his arm slowly and threw the boule in a spinning arc. The eyes of all the onlookers followed its flight. It landed with pin prick accuracy right next to the jack. The audience of drinkers and smokers applauded and cheered.
James nodded and stepped into the circle. He held the cold, metal ball in his right hand and tried not to show surprise at how icy it felt. He closed one eye to try and gauge the distance but abandoned that tack when he noticed the sneers of derision from the onlookers. He took his throw and watched it land agonisingly close to the cochonnet then roll past it some distance. Before long the score stood at 6-0 to the thin, balding, gardener and some of the audience had lost interest.
James however, was still confident, and the next throw underlined his simple but effective plan.
‘Damn!’ said Chantoiseau, as his boule missed by a number of feet. ‘I don’t know what happened there,’ he offered to his remaining loyal cronies.
I do, thought James. The alcohol is kicking in.
‘Beginner’s luck,’ said James, as his next shot landed well within his opponent’s attempt. 6-1.
From there in, the team work of James and the free red wine steadily began to catch and then overtake Chantoiseau. Within the hour the contest had ended. The straw-haired barmaid, who, it turned out, owned le Bistro Taupe, declared the winner. ‘13 to 8!’ she said, ‘to Mr Faraday.’
James approached Chantoiseau and again whispered in his ear. ‘Collect your papers and your tools then never return to the house again.’
As James flew from Paris to London the next day he smiled at the memory of his first and last ever game of pétanque. He just hoped things would work out as smoothly when he got to Sevenoaks.