Page 5 of A Noble Affair
“Have a nice drive, Raphael.”
The cars drove off, crunching on the pebbles until they reached the broad street. Charles stood on the stone steps, watching the iron gates close automatically behind them. He was plunged in thought, remembering the last time he saw Pierre before he disappeared.
The gardener had beenon the ladder, trimming the hedges manually, which was, in itself, an ordinary occurrence. The younger version of himself rounded the corner with his childhood friend, Miriam, having just discovered she returned his deeper feelings. Pierre frowned when he spotted the young couple, and when they looked up, their newly clasped hands flew apart. The gardener removed his beret and studied its lining.
Charles and Miriam had been unable to subdue their excitement. Joy spilled out in their bright eyes and the large smiles of young love. Normally, Pierre would have risked a wink at Charles, celebrating his triumph, but on that day the gardener was somber and unlike himself—as if there had been foreboding that such happiness could not last.
Charles was frozen, recalling Miriam’s brown eyes—the only thing he could remember clearly without looking at a photo. The grief he suffered was long gone, but there had never been any joy to take its place. Sometimes he wondered if that should worry him.
He turnedto go inside and came up flush against the same set of eyes, causing his heart to skip a beat in surprise—a ghost rising from the past.
“Oh. Louis. You’re here.” He paused, his mind a blank.I don’t even know what to say to my own son.“Sorry to spring it on you that I’m away next weekend like that.” Charles shifted to the other foot.
“That’s fine.” A long lock of dark, wavy hair hid Louis’s brown eyes, which didn’t sparkle or laugh like his mother’s, but rather turned downwards.
His son didn’t offer anything else. Charles recalled his conversation with the English teacher and felt a flash of irritation towards her. He had the urge to lean forward and sniff his son to see if he smelled like smoke or something else. He resisted the urge. “I met with your English teacher.”
Louis looked up, alarmed. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it and schooled his expression. His father was forced to go on. “Is…uh, everything all right in school?”
“Yes, Papa, everything’s totally fine.” Louis oriented his face towards the door.
Charles sighed, his eyes on his son.He's just going through a phase, like all boys his age. He'll come about if I leave him alone.He glanced at the iron gates that had closed behind his mother's departing car.At least that's what I would have wanted. A bit of space and more trust.“Make sure you do your homework for school tomorrow.”
“Oui, Papa.” Louis made his escape.
Charles stood on the steps surveying the beauty of his property and trying to shake off the ghosts it held. To the left, theélagueurswere now working on the rows of trees closest to the edge of the park. One man was standing in the bucket, perched on the arm of a small truck. He sliced the side of the tree with his electric trimmer in a perfect line. There were shouts as the men below cleared the area of falling branches.
Charles turned and entered the marble foyer, his footsteps echoing as he walked up the empty staircase.
* * *
Jean wassure it was him. The gentleman who leaned over the stone wall overlooking the Seine perfectly fit the description he’d been given. He had the straight black hair with a touch of gray, the Mediterranean skin color, the black leather jacket. He stood there, waiting. It couldn’t be anyone else.
He watched as the guy pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket. He could read the words FUMER TUE in large letters, even from across the street. Smoking Kills. The man tapped a cigarette out of the packet before tucking it back inside his jacket. Jean waited one more minute before heading over.
He was nervous. This was not a person you messed with—the man radiated power. Even if his reputation hadn’t preceded him, every movement he made was decisive. Jean jogged across the street, dodging the last car that was anticipating the light before he reached the curb. Slightly out of breath—as much from nerves as from the light jog—he approached the wall at a respectful distance, leaving enough space not to threaten the man if he had misjudged.
“Jean.” As if he had sensed his presence, the man turned and reached out his hand, his greeting a confirmation rather than a question. “Let’s walk.” He jerked his head East towards theNotre Dameand began heading in that direction.
“Are you clear on what Etienne told you—your end of the deal?”
“Yes.” Jean’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and continued in a deeper tone. “It’s perfectly clear. There shouldn’t be any problem.”
“I don’t want to rush this. I want every step in place before we proceed. You’re not to deviate from the plan. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely.” Jean gave a firm nod. “That’s precisely how I operate. When I—”
The man cut him off. “Good. I’m glad we agree on that. Take your time. Build those relationships you talked about slowly. It’s been sitting there for twenty-five years, and it can wait a few more months. The important thing is that this time we pull it off without anyone getting caught.” The man studied Jean and lifted his stubbled chin. “Any problems you can foresee?”
“None at all,” he replied quietly. The man cut across the street without another word, and Jean watched as he disappeared into the crowd. An Asian couple approached, gesturing with their camera to take a photo of them next to thePont Neuf. Jean forced himself to smile as he waited for them to pose and for his heartbeat to return to normal.
3
Chastity brooded over the unwelcome phone call while she waited for her son to come out of school. She hadn’t been sure if she should tell Thomas about his father after he made contact, but in the end she did. When she asked her ex why he was calling after all this time, her question was met with silence. Then, “I don’t know. When I moved to France it didn’t seem right not to get in touch once I knew you were living here.” He said he thought it was wrong not to be involved with his son. She curled her lip.I can’t say I feel the same way.
She asked if he got her phone number from her parents, but no. Of course not. When Marc told her it was Caroline who spilled all the details about her move to France and her job at Fenley, Chastity rolled her eyes.Didn’t it occur to her to ask me first before she passed on personal details to someone who was such a jerk to me?She wondered why she had bothered to keep in touch with Caroline when they had nothing in common, even if she didn’t have many friends to choose from.
In the end she agreed to a meeting, unable to decide whether it was a good idea or not. Having worked so hard to overcome her anger over the way he had treated her, she didn’t want to dismiss this chance to show forgiveness. Everything about this was unprecedented. Was it better for her son to know his father?Deadbeat though he is? She reluctantly admitted to herself that part of her ‘yes’ had to do with curiosity over what he looked like after eight years.
