A trickle of rainwater ran its winding course down the window and James followed its twists and turns on its journey to the bottom of the pane.
‘There was a time,’ he said philosophically as he looked down on the Boulevard des Invalides, ‘when I correlated happiness not to how much money I had but rather to how many servants I employed.’ He closed the curtain and faced back into the room where Heiner listened to him attentively. ‘I thought,’ continued James, ‘that the more people working for me in my homes the happier I would be, the easier my life would be, the more contented I would feel. I thought that having domestic staff to cook, clean, train, drive, pamper me and teach my children would somehow release me to pursue other, more interesting parts of my life. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead of simplifying my life they have made it ten times more complicated. In fact not having to manage staff is more of a pleasure. Over the last quarter of a century I’ve had to put up with everything from sexual advances to dishonesty to partial and even total incompetence from the people I’ve employed. I’ve had to deal with the tangle of employment laws, psychological breakdowns, sexual philandering and petty pilfering on a scale where I’ve even suggested to my accountants that I write it off in my tax returns. Did you know that a colleague of mine who also hires domestic staff informs them at interview that they are only entitled to steal up to 5% of their wages! Can you believe that?’
‘He condones it?’ asked Heiner.
‘Pretty much – if you think it’s inevitable, you might as well try to control it,’ said James. ‘I have learned so much through this whole episode – not least that hiring and managing domestic staff takes much, much more time than is saved by having the staff in the first place. The most valuable lesson I’ve learned is that I’m a very poor judge of character. I suppose the worst example of that was with Butzy. I thought I knew people, but I’ve been proved wrong countless times and my trust has been exploited time and time again.’
James detected a tiny flicker in Heiner’s impenetrable façade. ‘I mean in most cases of course,’ said James. ‘Sometimes you find a real gem and you try and hold on to them for as long as you can. Whabi, Patrick, Weymouth, and Cinnamon, God rest her soul, for example. Strongberg, and Vernon too, and, of course, above all others, yourself.’
‘Thank you Mr Faraday,’ said Heiner.
‘Others like Lucky, Philbi and perhaps Pilon I’ve kept on even though they’re not very good at their jobs, I suppose because they amuse me or I just simply like them.’
‘You must have hired hundreds over the years,’ said Heiner.
‘Yes I have,’ said James. ‘And I’ve learnt that if you hire more than six in one place then your own home becomes unionised. The staff have collective as well as individual rights.’
‘Especially in France,’ said Heiner.
‘In France,’ said James, ‘the staff enjoy better conditions than the employer. Another thing I’ve discovered is that, present company excepted of course, the domestic employees that stay at their posts the longest are generally not very good at their job. If they were they would have moved on to better offers.’
‘Headhunted?’ said Heiner.
‘Exactly,’ said James. ‘The world of domestic employees is quite a small one. Once word gets around amongst employers that someone is more than competent at their job then all sorts of plotting takes place. More than one member of staff has been poached from right under my nose. ’
‘It’s a cut-throat business, sir and I’m afraid on that note I have to tell you that Vernon has handed in his notice in Geneva. He’s been headhunted by an Arabian prince at five times the salary you paid him.’
‘Good luck to him,’ said James. ‘The Arabs and the Russians have been driving up the price of hiring a butler way out of the reach of most people. These days a butler won’t even step inside a house for less than £100,000 a year. How did Dee take the news that her staff would be reduced?’
‘Much like Hil did,’ said Heiner, ‘with dignity. As long as she has cover for the young children she’s happy.’
‘And you retained Donna and Sanghi?’ said James.
‘Yes, they’ll look after the cataloguing and preservation of all your libraries from their office in Geneva, travelling if they have to. Apart from them and two maids, a nurse and a footman, all other staff in Geneva are gone. If you don’t mind me asking though, who will be in charge overall? I mean we have Weymouth in Sevenoaks and Mr Herbert in Saint Tropez but now that Vernon has left who will oversee in Geneva?’
‘I’ll be coming to that,’ said James, ‘if you don’t mind waiting.’
‘Not at all,’ said Heiner.
‘Good,’ said James, ‘and what about here in this apartment? How have you sorted the staff here?’
‘Everyone has been laid off except Pilon, who will be retained temporarily until you leave, and Jessie, who will remain indefinitely and run the accounts for all the households from here She’ll use this as a central office and any of your family coming through Paris will also be able to use it.’
‘Hiring staff if and when we need them?’ said James.
‘Yes,’ said Heiner, ‘just as you instructed.’ Heiner looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Of course you haven’t indicated where you’ll be living yet?’
James took his turn to look thoughtful. He removed a small piece of paper from his pocket and pushed it across the table towards Heiner. ‘This is where I’ve decided to live,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to find me a suitable home.’
Heiner took the slip of paper and looked at the one word written on it. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak but James beat him to it.
‘I’ve given it much thought,’ said James, ‘and my mind is made up. I no longer want to live on top of my businesses or surrounded by people. I want space. I want isolation. I want peace. What I don’t want is a wife or a household of domestic staff to look after me.’ James sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. ‘Are you aware of the history of the ancient Mamluks?’ he said.
Heiner stared into space for a moment as he gave it some thought. ‘I think I’ve heard the name,’ he said.
‘The Mamluks were originally slaves who became soldiers,’ said James. ‘From there they transformed themselves into a warrior class and soon began to infiltrate all sections of society across the whole of the Muslim world from Egypt to Syria and beyond. They gained military and then political power and before long they seized the sultanates for themselves. They ruled from the 9th to the 19th century beating back the Mongols and fighting the Crusaders.’
Heiner listened attentively.
‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently and I couldn’t help but see the similarities with the Butzy affair. In fact, in general terms in any household where the staff outnumber the employers, then it could easily go the way of the Mamluks. If you have more employees living in your house than family members, then what is it that makes it your house?’
‘I see,’ said Heiner.
‘It’s taken me half my life to work that out,’ said James. ‘If I don’t learn from it and move forward then I’m a bigger fool than I thought.’
James pushed a file across the table. ‘Details of the type of house I’m looking for are in here,’ he said. ‘Find me a few options and I’ll make a final choice.’
Heiner opened the file and scanned the instructions inside. The question he wanted to ask spread unmistakably across his face.
‘You won’t be living there,’ said James, ‘to answer your question. I’d like you to live in Geneva close to Dee and the children. You’ll be there to supervise their household and also be available to me for a day, say every two weeks or so. I hope that will be acceptable to you?’
‘Of course,’ said Heiner.
‘In that case,’ said James, ‘the sooner the better.’
‘I remember this guy from a couple of films I saw,’ said Jessie scanning the headlines of the obituary columns and fixing on a picture of a handsome man taken in the 1970s. ‘He had a beautiful, velvety dark voice. Sounded like warm treacle when he spoke. What a shame.’
James looked up.
‘Throat cancer,’ said Jessie. ‘What a way to go for an actor, can you imagine? He’d only just passed 50 years old as well. That’s no age at all. I’ll bet its cigarettes that did it. Cancer gets most of them.’
James sighed. Over the years he’d never quite got used to Jessie’s macabre hobby. She enjoyed nothing better than seeing who she had outlived.
She heard his sigh and put the paper down. ‘How long has Heiner been gone now?’ she said, still scanning the list of the newly deceased.
‘A week,’ said James.
‘Really,’ said Jessie. ‘You don’t suppose he’s… ’
‘I spoke to him on the phone last night,’ said James, ‘and he was still feeling healthy and very much alive.’
Just then they both heard the sound of singing coming from down the corridor.
‘It sounds like all three of the sisters are here today,’ said Jessie.
‘Do you like to hear them sing?’ said James.
Jessie looked up from the paper. ‘I don’t think frivolity has any place at work,’ she said, stiffening her back. With that she closed the paper, took her seat at her desk and began to punch numbers into a calculator.
James walked through the corridor to the drawing room. The door had been left slightly ajar and he took the opportunity to look inside without being seen. The three Polish sisters were cleaning the room, but having great amounts of fun whilst doing it. James shook his head and smiled, even when doing the most monotonous or mundane of tasks the sisters seemed to enjoy themselves. It was an ability James felt he had lost over the years.
As he continued to watch, he thought back to his early adult years. How he and Hil had walked everywhere, enjoying the outdoors, the fresh air and nature. He remembered them eating sandwiches in the park and watching people walking by. He remembered them cooking their own food, free from the paranoid antics of highly-strung personal chefs. He remembered that even though they might sometimes include the plastic bag in the middle of a roast chicken, that somehow just cooking it yourself made the food taste better. He remembered raising simple plants on the balcony and the pleasure he derived just from keeping them alive. Simple pleasures – normal pleasures. He drifted back from his past and realised the sisters had started singing again. This time they sang a Polish song in the round, starting two lines behind each other and harmonising together. The song sounded complex and the singing technical. James pushed the door open and entered the drawing room.
‘Jedzie pociag z daleka
Ani chwili nie czeka
Konduktorze laskawy
Zabierz nas do Warszawy,’
sang the sisters. When they saw James they gradually stopped singing but James waved his hands to encourage them to finish. They smiled and carried on, Sandra sounding the final beat.
‘That was beautiful, ‘said James.
‘It’s an old traditional Polish children’s song,’ said Maj, ‘we’ve been singing it since we were small.’
‘What’s it about?’ said James, ‘it sounds fascinating.’
‘We can sing it in English for you if you’d like,’ said Sandra.
‘Please do,’ said James.
‘It’s called The Train is Coming From Far Away,’ said Margaret.
The sisters linked arms in front of him and without a trace of embarrassment they sang the song for him.
‘The train is coming from far away
It won’t wait a minute for anybody
But please won’t you stop for us
And take us all to Warsaw.’
James applauded. ‘I have to say it sounds better in your language,’ he said. The sisters laughed. ‘Please,’ said James, ‘take a seat, I’d like to talk to you.’
The sisters sat down, starting to look a little worried. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong have we?’ said Maj.
‘No,’ said James, ‘nothing like that, don’t worry.’ He paused for a moment, picking his words. ‘My circumstances are about to change dramatically,’ he said, ‘completely of my own volition. I no longer wish to live in Paris and I’m looking for a sea change in my life.’
‘A sea change?’ asked Maj.
‘What do you mean a sea change?’ asked Margaret.
James laughed. ‘It means a radical change, it means turning things on their head, and it means a new beginning.’
The sisters nodded before Maj said, ‘Does that mean we will lose our jobs?’ she said.
‘Quite the opposite,’ said James. ‘I’d like to offer you all jobs doing the same as you do here but for a little more money and the odd perk.’
‘That sounds great,’ said Maj, ‘but is there a catch? There’s usually a catch.’
‘I suppose the catch is that you’ll have to travel a little further to get to work,’ said James.
‘How much further?’ said Sandra.
‘About two hours on the train,’ said James.
‘Two hours!’ said the sisters at the same time.
‘However,’ said James, ‘I will also pay your travelling expenses and you can come on your own, in pairs or all at the same time, I don’t mind. As long as someone comes for a few hours once a week to clean and tidy up and make sure the house is in order.’
The sisters looked at each other, still not quite sure how to take to the news.
‘Perhaps with the extra money you’ll be getting you might afford to stay overnight in a small hotel if you wish,’ said James, ‘and travel back to Paris the next day.’
‘Why would we want to stay overnight?’ said Maj.
‘You haven’t asked me where it is yet,’ said James.
‘Where is it?’ said three voices.
James let a moment pass before he answered, ‘Deauville.’
The sisters’ eyes widened and for once they were silent, gradually turning to look at each other, as if to confirm what they were thinking.
Sandra was first to speak. ‘Deauville?’ she said.
‘Deauville,’ smiled James.
‘So we could stay and after work we could….’
‘Do whatever you like,’ said James, ‘walk on the beach, swim, visit the shops. Whatever you like, even horse riding on the beach.’
‘But why us?’ said Maj. ‘You could just hire local people.’
‘I have no desire to be hiring anyone anymore,’ said James. ‘I’ll offer you one job, but pay you all. In return I want certain guarantees.’
‘Such as?’ said Margaret.
‘I want no employment problems,’ said James. ‘I want no maternity leave, no sick leave, no death leave, no disability issues, no syndicates or collective conventions and no training requests or courses to attend. As long as at least one of you is available for a few hours, once a week, all year long then I’ll ask no questions and expect none in return.’
‘It seems too good to be true,’ said Sandra.
‘You are all decent, respectable ladies,’ said James, ‘who work hard and enjoy their lives. It would be a pleasure for me to employ you. Well?’
It didn’t take long for James to get his answer. The sisters started dancing and laughing as they picked up their dusters and carried on working. James left them to it, a large, satisfied smile across his face.
The estate agents of Deauville had swarmed around Heiner when he arrived. News of a new buyer on the market had spread fast and sharpened their competitive edge.
‘Money is not the issue,’ Heiner had told them from the outset. ‘I’m not looking for a mansion or a château and I’m willing to offer a good price for the right place.’
‘So what are you looking for?’ they had all said suspiciously. Suspiciously because usually when someone said ‘money is not the issue’ then the issue would be status: the biggest house, the most expensive, the oldest or the one with the richest history.
‘I’ll know it when I see it,’ said Heiner, ‘but it must meet these criteria: it must be near the beach, it must be quiet and secluded and it must be no bigger than three bedrooms.’
The estate agents all scratched their heads at this point and then inevitably still tried to sell the most expensive properties on their books.
‘Small is beautiful,’ Heiner reminded them. ‘Small is beautiful.’
Pilon steered the car smoothly out of Paris, onto the motorway and headed for the coast. As James watched the countryside sweep past outside his window he turned to a contemplative mood. Just my luck, he thought, as he released his tight grip on the leather strap above the door and relaxed. Just my luck that Pilon has finally mastered the art of driving just before I’m about to let him go.
James felt slightly nervous. Heiner had sent pictures and glossy brochures of the house he’d found in Deauville and James had fallen in love with it instantly. He knew however that until he actually saw the place in its own location he wouldn’t be one hundred per cent sure that it was right for him.
He realised that he needn’t have worried as soon as Pilon pulled the car up outside the house a little over two hours later. Constructed of stone and brick it had a campanile tower and terrific views of the beach and sea.
‘First impressions?’ said Heiner, waiting for him on the doorstep.
‘Perfect,’ said James. ‘Show me inside.’
Heiner took James on the short tour. ‘Kitchen, study, unbelievable views from the living room, three bathrooms and three bedrooms. Big enough to make you feel comfortable but small enough to feel cosy and personal.’
‘I’d like it decorated in blue and silver,’ said James, ‘and furnished comfortably but not extravagantly.’
‘Shall I see to it?’ said Heiner.
‘Yes, I’ll move in within the week,’ said James.
‘Staff?’ said Heiner.
‘I’ve asked the three Polish sisters to attend once a week as maids,’ said James.
‘Are you sure that’s enough?’
James smiled. ‘More than enough.’ He left the house and walked to the car. He turned and took in one more view of the house with its commanding campanile tower, the silver beach extending before and beyond it and the blue, frothy sea carpeting every inch of the background right to the horizon.
‘Ready to go home, sir?’ asked Pilon opening the car door.
James sighed as he felt years of pent up tension slowly beginning to find a means of escape. ‘I am home,’ he said quietly.
The sound of the sea gently nudging the shore repeated itself and the salty wind swept up the beach with enough bite for James to appreciate the hat and scarf that he wore. As he walked he looked for unusual pieces of driftwood in what had become a daily ritual. He took simple pleasure from discovering a gnarled piece of wood in the shape of a goblin’s walking stick or a bare plank with mysterious drill holes in it. He put a hand above his eyes to block out the early morning sun and strained to see the house in the distance. He glanced at his wrist and smiled, caught out again from a lifetime’s habit. He still hadn’t got used to not wearing a watch. He estimated that he’d been walking the beach for nearly an hour. His empty stomach confirmed it.
When he got back to the house he kicked the sand from his boots on the doorstep and entered to the smell of slowly brewing coffee that he’d prepared earlier. The daily aroma of coffee had permeated the whole house now and lived in the fabric of the curtains and the simple carpets that covered the floors. He entered the kitchen and turned the radio on taking a few moments to catch the subject of the morning’s debate. As he prepared an unhurried breakfast from locally produced bread and cheese he glanced at the manuscript he had been working on the day before and smiled with some satisfaction.
After breakfast he took the manuscript through to the office and laid it out on his large desk. Before beginning to write he crossed over to the small music centre by the wall and resumed his appreciation of Mozart. Soon the gentle reassurance of Piano Sonata No.5 accompanied his thoughts as he turned to his memoirs once again.
He worked, undisturbed, for three or four hours until a knocking at the door finally caught his attention.
‘I’m sorry,’ said James as he opened the door, ‘have you been knocking for long?’
‘A few minutes,’ said Heiner. ‘It’s no problem.’
‘How was your trip?’ said James.
‘Uneventful,’ said Heiner signalling for the taxi driver to wait for him.
‘Come through to the kitchen and I’ll make you a coffee before we go through the paperwork.’
In the kitchen Heiner gave a brief overview of James’ business interests and the news from his accountants and advisors. These updates had become shorter and shorter and less important to James the more that Heiner visited.
‘So,’ said Heiner after his short briefing, ‘it’s coming up to the one year anniversary of your moving in here. Any regrets?’
James smiled and shook his head. ‘None at all. I’m just sad that it took me so long to realise what I was missing. I get up in the morning, I walk along the beach, I make my breakfast and then I start -.’
‘What are you writing about?’ said Heiner.
‘Whatever I feel like,’ said James. ‘It might be philosophy one day, a critique on investment the next and my memoirs the next day. I have no deadlines, no pressure and no publisher to please. I write at my own speed and in my own style.’
Heiner picked up a manuscript and read the title, ‘‘Barter is Better’.’
James nodded. ‘You see that bread on the counter. How much do you think it cost me?’
Heiner shrugged.
‘I’ll tell you,’ said James, ‘it cost me a piece of driftwood, some varnish and a little imagination.’
Heiner looked puzzled.
‘I find pieces of driftwood on the beach,’ said James, ‘and I form them into functional pieces of art. A lamp made of bleached twigs, a mirror framed in a sea-smoothed plank that once formed the deck of a boat, a cabinet made from pieces of a smashed barrel. I could sell them to the wives of rich Deauville residents from any number of art shops in the town, but I prefer to barter them for goods that I can use. Bartering is the oldest form of commerce and I can confidently predict it will be the last. When the world finally goes to pot and Wall Street becomes irrelevant, bartering will replace economics. In my local baker’s living room, when he and his buxom wife settle down to relax with a coffee and a croissant, they place their cups on a strange little table that I made from a collection of broken oars. Because of that barter I won’t have to pay for bread for the next six months.’
‘But don’t you get lonely living on your own?’ said Heiner packing his paperwork back into his briefcase.
‘Who said I live on my own?’ said James. ‘Come with me before you go.’
Heiner followed James out of the back of the house and past the tidy vegetable and herb garden that he had cultivated through four seasons. ‘I’m virtually self-sufficient for vegetables now,’ said James proudly, ‘all organic of course.’
Heiner tracked James through a flower garden, past a strawberry patch and toward an outhouse. ‘The children visit me,’ said James over his shoulder, ‘and that’s always a pleasure. But when they leave it’s just me and Belle for company.’
‘Belle?’ said Heiner.
‘Yes Belle,’ said James. ‘Are you surprised?’
‘Well yes,’ said Heiner. ‘I had no idea.’
James laughed. ‘Not the Belle you’re thinking of. This one doesn’t throw stupid parties every other day or waste thousands of dollars on failed restaurants. In fact the only similarity between that Belle and my Belle is that they look alike.’
James threw open the swing door of the outhouse and revealed a grey horse.
‘Meet Belle,’ he said, ‘my favourite companion.’
‘She’s a fine-looking creature,’ said Heiner.
‘I bought her at the local equine auction,’ said James. ‘She’s better company than humans.’
Heiner laughed. ‘And a lot less trouble I’ll bet.’ As they walked back to the taxi Heiner shook his head. ‘You know, sir, if I told people they wouldn’t believe me.’
‘Told people what?’ said James.
‘That a multi-millionaire who ran businesses in oil and banking, owned homes in four different countries, raised children with three partners and once employed over sixty domestic staff at any one time, chose to live alone in a small house by the sea with only a horse for company.’
James thought for a moment. ‘Fray Bentos,’ he said.
‘Fray Bentos?’ repeated Heiner. ‘Don’t they make…’
‘Corned beef,’ nodded James. ‘It’s actually a town in Uruguay, not just a brand name, did you know that?’
‘No I didn’t,’ said Heiner.
‘Her name was Josie and she came from Fray Bentos.’
‘Josie?’
‘The very first person I employed,’ said James. ‘I thought she was cleaning all day when in fact she spent most of her time on my phone calling her relatives in South America. I had to sack her and the odd thing was that Hil and I felt guilty about that. Even though she had been stealing from us we felt guilty sacking her, how crazy is that? Domestic service is useless. You’re better off on your own.’
As Heiner left to return to Geneva James waved him off. He looked around at his little garden, his small house, the beautiful unspoilt beach and then the vast expanse of sea that stretched further than his sight allowed. It made him feel vulnerable and proud at the same time. He returned to the house and his writing.
‘You’re better off on your own,’ he said out loud as he closed the door.