| General Fiction posted October 25, 2018 | Chapters: |
...19 20 -21- 22... 
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Chapter 21: Madame Durand has some explaining to do.
A chapter in the book The French Letter
The French Mob
by tfawcus
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
| Background Helen, having been kidnapped by the two men in black, makes good her escape - with the help of Charles's unlikely acquaintances. |
Continued from Chapter 20
There appeared to be no sign of Helen. For a brief moment I panicked, but then I saw her, curled up in a foetal position on the back seat.
"Are you all right, darling?"
"What do you think, you chump? Do I look all right?"
I took her hand and helped her climb unsteadily from the car, whereupon she threw her arms around me, and burst into a flood of tears.
Chapter 21
It took several moments for Helen to compose herself, moments that we shared silently in a mutual embrace. As I felt her heartbeat return to normal, I said, "Surely my driving wasn't that scary, was it?"
"I don't think you realise how serious the situation is, Charles. Those men belong to the French Mob. They will stop at nothing."
"The French Mob? What on earth is that? It sounds like a leftover from the French Revolution. You're not suggesting that we're in danger of being thrown into a tumbrel and carted off to the guillotine, are you?"
Helen smiled, despite herself. "No, my darling, I'm not suggesting that. Nonetheless, heads may roll. Our friends in black belong to the Corsican mafia. They are criminals of the worst sort. They operate in what is called Le Milieu, the French underworld, and it will take them no time at all to bribe their way out of police custody."
"You can't be serious. How on earth have you got mixed up with the mafia?"
"It's a long story."
"I thought it might be. So where does it begin?"
"Across the street. Now that your tinker and his policeman friend have moved on, I think it is safe for us to go and rescue Jeanne."
"Not actually a tinker, a rag-and-bone man - a collector of people's unwanted bric-a-brac. There are only a few of them still in business these days, but they were around long before 'recycling' became the buzzword of modern times."
"I thought he looked a bit like a relic from the last century."
"You may jest, but without the help of Henri and his redoubtable mutt, Bonaparte, we'd have been in dire trouble. Anyway, who's Jeanne?"
"Jeanne is Madame Durand. Last time you saw her, she was spread across the pavement with blood oozing from her head, and she was doing a pretty good imitation of a dead fish. Now do you understand how dangerous these men can be?"
"You're saying that they were responsible for that? No wonder you wanted to get away." I looked at her accusingly. "You were just using me as cover."
"I'm afraid so. But since then you've become my very favourite umbrella. Come on - follow me."
We entered the dingy front office and made our way past an unmanned reception desk to the back part of the house. I wasn't sure what I expected to find there, but I hadn't imagined a terrified, middle-aged woman, gagged and bound firmly to a wooden chair.
"My God, Helen! Why didn't you tell the police?"
"I don't think that Jeanne would have appreciated a visit from the police. She is much more heavily involved in all this than I am. But I think it's up to her to tell you - not me."
Jeanne was by now making noises that suggested she would rather like to be released. I could see that the ropes were tight and the knots secure, so I went through to the kitchen while Helen was undoing the gag. I found what I was searching for in a drawer next to the sink ...a mean-looking carving knife.
When Madame Durand saw me approaching, knife in hand, she passed out.
I cut through her bonds as quickly as I could, while Helen pushed her head down between her knees to help her recover from the faint.
"Wow! That was quite some reaction," I said. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Do you have a thing about knives?"
Madame Durand said nothing. She merely undid her blouse to expose the lacerations on her breasts and the bloodstains on her brassiere.
"Excuse me a moment. I must go to the bathroom. I have a First Aid kit in there, and must attend to these cuts."
Helen offered to help, but was waved away dismissively, so she turned to me and said, "As I told you, these people will stop at nothing. They think that Jeanne double-crossed them. They think that I was part of the double-cross. I can't say how much she will tell you - how much she will trust you - but she owes me an explanation. She owes it to me to say how far I have been drawn into this, and how deeply."
"You are right, my dear." Madame Durand's voice came through the open bathroom door. "There are things that you need to know and actions that you need to take. If you trust your Mister Brandon to help you, then I will tell him, too. Think carefully though - for, if I tell him, he will have great power over you. Great power over both of us. Do you know him well enough to take that risk?"
Helen took my hands in hers and she looked deep into my eyes. "I trust Charles implicitly. I would trust him with my life."
After a few moments, Madame Durand re-joined us. "It may come to that. And you, Monsieur Brandon? Do you want to take on the burden of this knowledge?"
"I think that I'm now implicated to such an extent that I have no alternative. I also need to know what is happening and why. I need to know what the dangers are. You should understand, too, that I have fallen in love with Helen and in the name of that love, I will do anything I can to protect her."
"Charles, you are an ass. You might have told me! A woman likes to know these things."
Madame Durand stepped in to save me from my discomfort. "You're a lucky man, Monsieur. Helen is a wonderful woman. Resourceful, intelligent and strong. We have seen ample evidence of that today."
"Yes. There wouldn't be many women who could escape from the Corsican mafia in such a convincing manner. Where did you learn such skills? You were amazing."
"In Bangkok. Kayla insisted on it. She said that in our line of business, we had to be able to defend ourselves. We used to go to Muay Thai classes every week - 'the art of the eight limbs'."
"Learning how to be an octopus?"
"No. Learning how to be a lethal weapon. The hands become daggers and swords; the elbows strike like a hammer or mace; the knees cut like an axe, the legs bash like a staff and the shins and forearms protect the body like a suit of armour."
"And I'm talking about protecting you? All I can say is that I'm glad that I'm on your side!"
"You'd better believe it."
Both Helen and I turned to Madame Durand. She winced as she re-adjusted the set of her blouse and began to speak. "Yes, Bangkok," she mused. "That is where it started..."
There appeared to be no sign of Helen. For a brief moment I panicked, but then I saw her, curled up in a foetal position on the back seat.
"Are you all right, darling?"
"What do you think, you chump? Do I look all right?"
I took her hand and helped her climb unsteadily from the car, whereupon she threw her arms around me, and burst into a flood of tears.
Chapter 21
It took several moments for Helen to compose herself, moments that we shared silently in a mutual embrace. As I felt her heartbeat return to normal, I said, "Surely my driving wasn't that scary, was it?"
"I don't think you realise how serious the situation is, Charles. Those men belong to the French Mob. They will stop at nothing."
"The French Mob? What on earth is that? It sounds like a leftover from the French Revolution. You're not suggesting that we're in danger of being thrown into a tumbrel and carted off to the guillotine, are you?"
Helen smiled, despite herself. "No, my darling, I'm not suggesting that. Nonetheless, heads may roll. Our friends in black belong to the Corsican mafia. They are criminals of the worst sort. They operate in what is called Le Milieu, the French underworld, and it will take them no time at all to bribe their way out of police custody."
"You can't be serious. How on earth have you got mixed up with the mafia?"
"It's a long story."
"I thought it might be. So where does it begin?"
"Across the street. Now that your tinker and his policeman friend have moved on, I think it is safe for us to go and rescue Jeanne."
"Not actually a tinker, a rag-and-bone man - a collector of people's unwanted bric-a-brac. There are only a few of them still in business these days, but they were around long before 'recycling' became the buzzword of modern times."
"I thought he looked a bit like a relic from the last century."
"You may jest, but without the help of Henri and his redoubtable mutt, Bonaparte, we'd have been in dire trouble. Anyway, who's Jeanne?"
"Jeanne is Madame Durand. Last time you saw her, she was spread across the pavement with blood oozing from her head, and she was doing a pretty good imitation of a dead fish. Now do you understand how dangerous these men can be?"
"You're saying that they were responsible for that? No wonder you wanted to get away." I looked at her accusingly. "You were just using me as cover."
"I'm afraid so. But since then you've become my very favourite umbrella. Come on - follow me."
We entered the dingy front office and made our way past an unmanned reception desk to the back part of the house. I wasn't sure what I expected to find there, but I hadn't imagined a terrified, middle-aged woman, gagged and bound firmly to a wooden chair.
"My God, Helen! Why didn't you tell the police?"
"I don't think that Jeanne would have appreciated a visit from the police. She is much more heavily involved in all this than I am. But I think it's up to her to tell you - not me."
Jeanne was by now making noises that suggested she would rather like to be released. I could see that the ropes were tight and the knots secure, so I went through to the kitchen while Helen was undoing the gag. I found what I was searching for in a drawer next to the sink ...a mean-looking carving knife.
When Madame Durand saw me approaching, knife in hand, she passed out.
I cut through her bonds as quickly as I could, while Helen pushed her head down between her knees to help her recover from the faint.
"Wow! That was quite some reaction," I said. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Do you have a thing about knives?"
Madame Durand said nothing. She merely undid her blouse to expose the lacerations on her breasts and the bloodstains on her brassiere.
"Excuse me a moment. I must go to the bathroom. I have a First Aid kit in there, and must attend to these cuts."
Helen offered to help, but was waved away dismissively, so she turned to me and said, "As I told you, these people will stop at nothing. They think that Jeanne double-crossed them. They think that I was part of the double-cross. I can't say how much she will tell you - how much she will trust you - but she owes me an explanation. She owes it to me to say how far I have been drawn into this, and how deeply."
"You are right, my dear." Madame Durand's voice came through the open bathroom door. "There are things that you need to know and actions that you need to take. If you trust your Mister Brandon to help you, then I will tell him, too. Think carefully though - for, if I tell him, he will have great power over you. Great power over both of us. Do you know him well enough to take that risk?"
Helen took my hands in hers and she looked deep into my eyes. "I trust Charles implicitly. I would trust him with my life."
After a few moments, Madame Durand re-joined us. "It may come to that. And you, Monsieur Brandon? Do you want to take on the burden of this knowledge?"
"I think that I'm now implicated to such an extent that I have no alternative. I also need to know what is happening and why. I need to know what the dangers are. You should understand, too, that I have fallen in love with Helen and in the name of that love, I will do anything I can to protect her."
"Charles, you are an ass. You might have told me! A woman likes to know these things."
Madame Durand stepped in to save me from my discomfort. "You're a lucky man, Monsieur. Helen is a wonderful woman. Resourceful, intelligent and strong. We have seen ample evidence of that today."
"Yes. There wouldn't be many women who could escape from the Corsican mafia in such a convincing manner. Where did you learn such skills? You were amazing."
"In Bangkok. Kayla insisted on it. She said that in our line of business, we had to be able to defend ourselves. We used to go to Muay Thai classes every week - 'the art of the eight limbs'."
"Learning how to be an octopus?"
"No. Learning how to be a lethal weapon. The hands become daggers and swords; the elbows strike like a hammer or mace; the knees cut like an axe, the legs bash like a staff and the shins and forearms protect the body like a suit of armour."
"And I'm talking about protecting you? All I can say is that I'm glad that I'm on your side!"
"You'd better believe it."
Both Helen and I turned to Madame Durand. She winced as she re-adjusted the set of her blouse and began to speak. "Yes, Bangkok," she mused. "That is where it started..."
 Recognized |
|
List of major characters:
Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer
Helen Culverson: A woman of mystery, also purporting to be a travel writer
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister.
Madame Jeanne Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church
Madame Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise
Estelle Gaudin [deceased]: mother of Francoise and Alain
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased]: Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Image: The Corsican Flag
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer
Helen Culverson: A woman of mystery, also purporting to be a travel writer
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister.
Madame Jeanne Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church
Madame Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise
Estelle Gaudin [deceased]: mother of Francoise and Alain
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased]: Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Image: The Corsican Flag
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