Once home, Paul decided to wash the grime of central London off himself with a long hot shower. That, he had to admit, was a nice thing about living alone, there was always enough hot water in the boiler.
Wiping the condensation from the bathroom mirror as he stepped out of the shower, Paul gave his body a few moments dedicated appraisal.
It really wasn’t too bad for a nearly 40 year old, he thought. With a touch of pride he puffed out his chest and pulled his stomach in slightly to show his abs to better effect. What would Julie say to that? Well, she had definitely been right, he had been heading down flab road to paunchville only three or four months ago and now, after his regime of morning jogging and after work squash, the effort was definitely paying off. It was a shame that jogging was quite so arduous. He was never going to really enjoy it.
He turned to get a side view, folding his arm across his chest and flexing his biceps.
Yep, he thought with satisfaction, I’m not altogether un-fanciable and maybe, just maybe, tonight could be the night!
Paul started to dry himself slowly and methodically. Looking at things logically, he thought, she didn’t have a boyfriend and it was a well know fact that a lot of girls were attracted to older men.
He wrapped the towel round his waist and reached for the bottle of deodorant above the sink.
The fact that she’d never yet made any physical move towards him, apart from the brief, glancing cheek kiss he received each time they met, didn’t mean anything. She was a well-brought up girl, taking things slowly. It might even be a French thing, he thought, rolling the deodorant around his armpits.
He started to get dressed, choosing his clothes carefully from the bedroom cupboard.
He’d never met anyone as gorgeous as Elodie before, he was sure of it. From those long legs to those pert breasts, to her deep, melting eyes, she was about as perfect looking as a woman could possibly be. Of course, Julie had been a knockout in her day but that was before childbirth and time had taken its toll.
He couldn’t deny that her reticence, bordering on secrecy unsettled him and the things he had managed to find out didn’t quite add up. For example, he knew she was studying in London but what kind of course included yoga, meditation and martial arts? Definitely none he’d ever heard of. He pondered his choice of shirts, finally plumping for the pink and white pinstripe he reserved for special occasions.
How she made ends meet wasn’t too clear either. She wore designer clothes and they didn’t come cheap, he knew that, and what student could afford to get around London by taxi?
Well he had to suppose, Daddy back in Paris must be footing the bill.
Paul chose a beige v-neck sweater from the drawer, his thoughts wandering as he pulled it over his head. As long as Tara didn’t expect that kind of treatment because she wasn’t going to get it ... Mind you, he continued with a touch of bitterness, she wasn’t even interested in studying. She was more likely to end up in a squat with some shaven headed lay-about of a boyfriend and he definitely wasn’t going to help her financially then ...
Paul frowned at himself in the full length mirror. If only Tara had Elodie’s drive, her self-motivation. His thoughts jarred. What was he doing comparing Elodie to Tara? Well, he supposed, they were definitely closer in age than Elodie and Julie.
His relationship with Elodie was confusing, did he want to be her lover or her father for Chrissakes?
Paul took a deep breath to clear his mind and checked his watch. It was nearly time to go over. He fetched a bottle of wine and the gift he’d bought that afternoon. He took it out of its velvet box and dropped it in his pocket. It would be handier like that if the right moment came to slip it round her elegant neck.
Paul checked his reflection again, practicing his smile. He wanted to look friendly but not over-keen. He mustn’t look desperate. There had to be an element of distance, of cool.
‘Hey Elodie, how you doing?’ he said to the mirror, trying the smile. No, maybe not, he decided he should just relax and be himself.
He left his flat, stepping out onto the cramped landing between their two doors, took another calming breath and knocked. It was ridiculous at his age, feeling like a stuttering, nervous adolescent.
‘Come in, I’m in the kitchen ...’ Elodie called, and Paul pushed open the door, clutching his bottle of wine and made his way down the tidy corridor.
Elodie’s flat exactly mirrored his in size and layout but looked out on the street, whereas his had the view of the overgrown, neglected garden but it was amazing how different they were.
Paul liked to think of himself as a reasonably orderly, tidy person but there was something about the crisp cleanliness of Elodie’s flat that made his seem like a tip.
The kitchen was full of sizzling sounds and fragrant steam and Elodie was bent over the cooker, her shiny hair rolling lustrously over her neck and shoulders.
She turned as she heard him enter, her smile making those irresistible dimples that he’d grown to love and kissed him on both cheeks.
Paul breathed in the delicate smell of her, feeling the softness of her cheeks as they brushed against his and felt himself blushing slightly.
He turned to the large, cast-iron wok on the cooker to hide his embarrassment and sniffed at the contents.
‘Hmmm, another nutritious, meat-free, organic delight then?’
‘But of course,’ Elodie smiled, ignoring his light hearted jibe, ‘I eat only the best.’
Paul helped himself to a chair, pulling it away from the table and sat down.
‘You don’t know what you’re missing ... bacon sarnies dripping grease,’ he mimed biting into an invisible sandwich, before continuing, ‘don’t get me wrong, there’s no harm in a bit of salad as long as there’s a big, juicy slab of steak laying on it.’
Elodie’s laugh was drowned by a sudden sizzle from the wok as she shook a bottle of soya sauce over the vegetables.
‘I have to disagree,’ she replied, ‘for me, organic tofu is better any time.’
Paul leaned forward, settling happily into their usual conversational pattern,
‘Organic food is just a con as far as I can see,’ he stated, ‘same stuff, just twice the price.’
Elodie stirred the food rapidly around before turning off the gas and replying, ‘I prefer my food without chemical residues.’
Paul was settling into his stride now,
‘Yeah, that’s all well and good but what about the starving millions in the third world? You can’t tell them not to use pesticides if there’s a swarm of locusts on the way. Anyway, there is no nutritional difference between normal food and organic - it was in the paper last week ... ‘
Elodie brought the wok to the table trailing steam behind it.
‘Well, you can’t always believe what the media tells you Paul.’
Paul loved Elodie’s voice, it was so rich and lyrical and he could love it, even when he couldn’t agree with what she said.
‘When it’s a respected journalist writing for a reputable paper you can,’ he said pompously.
Elodie raised her eyebrows. He liked her eyebrows too, the way she could look confrontational yet retain a sense of humor.
Paul reached for the wine bottle and corkscrew.
‘Come on Elodie, not this one again, the news is there to inform us, that’s the purpose of it. What would they gain by misleading us? In my opinion, anyone who believes there’s some big conspiracy going on trying to hide the truth from us is just looking for a scapegoat to blame for their own problems.’ He screwed the corkscrew in and then tugged on it, the cork came out with a satisfying “pop”. He proffered the bottle but Elodie shook her head.
‘Still off the hard stuff?’ he teased.
‘You know I don’t drink.’
‘What, not even at Christmas?’ he queried.
What was the point of all her clean living, organic food, water and herb teas? Paul thought.
Why would she want to permanently deprive herself?
‘No, I like to keep my mind clear. Do help yourself,’ she said, handing him the ladle.
Paul smiled at her,
‘Well, I have to admit it does smell delicious Elodie. But much better with a glass of wine. As far as I’m concerned, the foggier the mind the better,’ he joked, whilst ladling food onto both their plates.
‘Maybe if your mind was less active you would have no need to escape from or sedate your thoughts.’
‘Elodie,’ Paul felt slightly affronted, replying condescendingly, ‘when you get to my age, things aren’t quite as simple as they might appear. I mean, if my life wasn’t so chock full of problems, sure I wouldn’t have to think about them ... ‘
‘I find when I have problems,’ said Elodie, contemplating a floret of Broccoli, ‘I make space in my thoughts so that solutions can appear. Meditation is very useful.’
Paul took a long sip of wine and dabbed his mouth with a napkin before continuing
‘Be realistic Elodie, when you’ve got problems you’ve got to think about them. If anyone’s the escapist it’s you - you can’t meditate problems away. It just isn’t realistic.’
‘You might be surprised,’ Elodie paused to spear a carrot stick onto her fork and Paul interrupted.
‘Yeah, I would be ...’ he chuckled, ‘if it worked and I had the time.’
‘You have never even tried have you? You just think it doesn’t work,’ she chided.
‘Elodie, I don’t have to try to know that it doesn’t work. If it worked, everybody would be doing it. I’m a logical, practical bloke and I’m -’
‘Paul, you can’t dismiss it because you have never done it. It is something you have to feel,’ she looked at him with mild exasperation.
His mouth was too full to speak. Their eyes connected unimpeded by the distraction of words.
God she was gorgeous! Maybe this was the moment for the necklace, would she melt into his arms, lips parted?
Come on Paul, he thought, not now, we’re eating. Anyway, what was he thinking, she was only twenty three for God’s sake!’
Jesus, what would Julie and the kids think? He quickly blinked and broke the contact.
Elodie, still watching him, smiled knowingly,
‘Mais oui, it’s pretty chaotic in there.’
Paul reddened, hoping she hadn’t guessed his thoughts and poured himself more wine to hide his confusion.
Elodie tactfully changed the subject,
‘So, will you be with your children this Christmas?’
‘Let’s not do my problems tonight, just for once eh?’
He gestured toward her with his glass,
‘What about you, mystery girl? What are you doing for Christmas?’
‘Well,’ Elodie paused to choose her words, ‘I have something to do at Solstice but after that, I hope to spend Christmas with my family.’
‘Solstice, isn’t that in the summer?’ he asked confused.
‘For someone who claims to be educated you don’t know very much. There are two solstices, at opposite ends of the year. Are you sure you went to school?’ she teased.
‘Yes I did. I know all about pagans. They dance around Stonehenge in white robes.’
‘If only it was as easy as that ... ’ she sighed
Her mobile rang, cutting off the end of her sentence
‘I thought you didn't agree with mobile phones?’ jibed Paul.
Elodie winked as she got up to get it, saying,
‘It’s satellite ... excuse me a moment.’ She picked it up and walked out of the kitchen, closing the door behind herself. Paul could still hear her, her voice changing from calm to urgent.
‘Allo?’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Ok I’m going ...’
She came back into the room, her complexion pale, a look of seriousness and worry in her eyes that he’d never seen before.
‘I must go Paul, I’m sorry.’
‘What?’
The sound of slamming car doors carried up from the road below. Elodie walked swiftly to the window and looked out.
‘Merde!’ she breathed.
On the street, two tall men wearing dark grey suits were standing next to a shiny black Range Rover. Police cars were drawing to a stop alongside. As Elodie looked down, the two men snapped their heads up to stare directly at her. She turned, fear and consternation in her eyes. Paul put his glass down concerned.
‘Elodie,’ he said, pushing his chair back and starting to rise.
‘What is going on? Are you all right?’ He hesitated, ‘Can I help?’
She took two steps and stopped in front of him. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she looked deep into his eyes, her gaze seeming to reach to the core of his being.
‘Yes, you can,’ she said, pulling from her trouser pocket a silk wrapped bundle which she held out to him without breaking her eye contact.
‘Please, take this. Look after it for me.’
Stupefied, he reached out, accepting the package. She held his hand for a moment before she let go and Paul saw a shadow of pain or doubt ripple over her face.
‘Keep this closed until they have gone,’ she commanded.
Their eyes still locked together, Paul realized that whatever this was, it meant a huge amount to Elodie.
But before he could think what to say, she started pushing him towards the door.
‘This is more important than you can possibly know,’ she added urgently under her breath.
In the hall she grabbed her handbag, reached in and pulled her address book out. She quickly flipped through it and ripped out a page. Then pointing she said,
‘Please Paul, take it to this address. Give it to my mother. She will pay you for everything.’
Paul tried to look down to read the paper but Elodie was pushing him out of her door until they were standing on the landing between their flats.
They heard a repeated thudding from downstairs. The front door with it’s ancient locks was being kicked down. Elodie looked at Paul again, her eyes burning intensely. There was no space to fall into them now, they were hard and focused. The crash of breaking glass could be heard below.
‘I must go, I will see you soon,’ she breathed, touching his hand one last time.
Heavy footsteps were approaching, powering up the narrow staircase.
‘Elodie?,’
‘Get in and shut the door,’ she whispered urgently and before Paul had time to respond she ran up the last flight of stairs, stopping underneath the loft hatch where she crouched for the minutest moment before leaping vertically upwards, her fingers pushing the panel up and clutching onto the edge of the opening. In one smooth movement Elodie disappeared through the hatch and was gone.
Paul stood dazed and confused, the taste of food and wine lingering in his mouth, a torn page of an address book and a silk wrapped package clutched in his hands. If it wasn’t for the sound of trampling feet on the stairs, he could have thought that he had imagined this. This was not how his evening with Elodie should end.
A sudden panic came over him. Quickly he turned the door handle and slipped into his flat, closing and locking the door behind him. His heart was pounding. Not quite sure why he was doing it, he searched frantically for a hiding place, aware all the time of the approaching footsteps. Seeing his squash shoes by the door, he shoved Elodie’s package and address into them.
Elodie had told him to get in but shouldn’t he go out and confront whoever it was? But what kind of person kicked down a front door to get in? Maybe he should call the police? Paul pulled his phone from his pocket and looked through the peephole in his door.
Oh my God! The landing was crowded with police!
Shit, what kind of trouble was Elodie in?
With another splintering crunch, Paul watched as one of the men powerfully drove the heal of his boot into her door lock. His eyes firmly glued to the spy hole, Paul watched, both fascinated and horrified as the police rushed into E
lodie’s flat, leaving the hallway empty except for one exceptionally tall man in a steel grey suit. There was something more than the optic distortion of the peephole glass that made the man appear odd, out of proportion. It wasn’t just his size but something indefinable that sent a shot of queasy fear deep into Paul’s gut.
In an instant, the man’s head snapped round and stared straight at Paul’s peephole, his neck extended, head protruding forward.
Although Paul couldn’t actually see the man’s eyes behind his mirrored shades he recoiled from the stare and involuntarily stepped back, his heart pounding harder, his mouth dry and knees weak.
A sharp knock sounded on his door. Paul's mind disintegrated into a mess of incoherent fear.
Shit, what does he want? I haven’t done anything. Shit! Get a grip. Act normal.
‘Open up! Police!’
Paul, taking several deep breaths reached up to unlock the door. The man barged past him in a blur of grey, giving him barely enough time to step out of the way. Across the hall, another grey suited man, disconcertingly similar to the first, stepped out past the splintered wreckage of Elodie’s door. Paul watched mesmerized as he too brushed past and strode into his flat, again flattening him against the wall.
It took a moment for Paul’s thoughts to catch up,
‘Hang on,’ he stuttered, ‘You can’t just ... have you got a search warrant?’
He stumbled after them into the living room.
Who did these guys think they were? It didn’t matter if they were CIA or MI5 or any other sort of government bloody Agent, it still didn’t give them the right to barge into his flat without a warrant. He knew his rights.
As soon as he walked into the room one of the men turned abruptly to him.
‘Sit!’ he ordered, in a clipped hiss of a voice.
Paul’s moment of bravado left him and he found himself compelled to obey and like a small child he sank onto the sofa.
‘What do you know of Miss Elodie Sauveterre-Dubois?’
The voice was emotionless, accent-less, as forgettable as the grey he was dressed in and yet it was laden with a potent sense of domination. The words, Paul thought, contained a compressed power, a weight that could crush you. He floundered around looking for an appropriate answer but the tramping of police boots outside perforated his thoughts and added to the confusion in his mind.
‘Well, err ... she’s French, erm ... she lives next door, pretty girl ...’
Paul’s sentence drifted feebly to a standstill as the second Agent approached him slowly until his face was just a foot from Paul’s.
‘Have you seen her this evening?’
Paul shrank backwards into the cushions and for some unknown reason spluttered,
‘Errrm ... No.”
Before the words had finished coming out of his mouth a grey sleeved arm shot out and grabbed Paul about the throat in a steel like grip, flattening him into the cushions.
‘Yes, yes,’ he choked and the hand relaxed slightly but didn’t withdraw. Paul tried to summon a bit of outraged dignity, ‘Yeah, I did. She’s my neighbour, she invited me, there’s nothing illegal about eating dinner for Gods sake!’
The Agent withdrew his hand from Paul’s neck. Without physically moving the Agents seemed to be closing in on Paul, the intensity of their presence pressing him physically deeper into the cushions. Both deadpan faces were turned towards him, their focus as intense as a laser burning into the depths of Paul’s mind.
‘What has she told you?’
Paul scanned through the numerous conversations he’d had with Elodie, a chaos of disconnected words tumbling around his brain as he tried desperately to compose a coherent sentence.
What could he tell them? They’d talked of vegetarianism and religion and art and his kids and Julie but whoever these guys were, he didn’t think they wanted to hear about his relationship issues.
The nearest Agent’s upper lip twitched slightly into a half-sneer as he straightened up to his full imposing height. Paul shivered, a feeling of invasion overwhelming him as if his mind was an open book for the Agents to rifle through.
A uniformed officer entered the room,
‘She’s not here, Sir.’
The second Agent’s voice cut across Paul’s thoughts, his massive bulk silhouetted against the orange glow from the street lights.
‘Where has she gone?’
In his mind’s eye, Paul saw Elodie disappearing through the loft hatch. Instantly the Agents tilted their heads towards the ceiling. Paul felt spooked, was he seeing things? Was he making this up? Did they know what he was thinking?
The Agent spoke without shifting his focus from Paul.
‘Cordon off the area ... and check the roof.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said the officer, who turned on his heels and started shouting orders as he was half way back down the corridor.
The first Agent sniffed derisively,
‘He knows nothing.’
The Agents cast a last look around Paul’s room and then simultaneously turned to leave. Paul rose, a breath of relief washing over him now that their menacing focus was withdrawn. He stumbled to the living room doorway. He needed to see them leave, to know they were gone. Shakily he held onto the door frame and watched the Agent’s suited figures retreating down the corridor.
As the second Agent reached the open front door he slowed and stopped. In an instant, and Paul didn’t know how he’d done it, the Agent was facing him again. He spoke slowly, his voice heavily laden with menacing ballast,
‘What do you know about Alesia?’
Paul was confused, Alecia?
What?
Was this a joke?
No, this man didn’t joke.
Alecia?
The only thing that came to mind was Alicia, who he went out with in 5th year ...
The Agent continued to speak, the words now seeming to hold him by the throat,
‘If you have deceived me ...’
The Agent turned slowly this time, the unfinished threat hanging like a gallows rope in the hallway.
Paul waited for what seemed an age before he shakily crossed the corridor and closed the door. He let out a huge breath of relief as he found himself slowly sinking down against the door frame.
Jesus, who were those guys? They definitely weren’t ordinary police and even secret government Agents weren’t that scary were they? He couldn’t put his finger on what it was about them but they gave him a chill like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
Paul heard the distant bang of closing car doors on the street, followed by a succession of engines firing up.
Even though it had only happened moments ago, the whole episode was starting to feel unreal. Paul wasn’t someone who was normally scared of authority. After all, he was a respectable, taxpaying citizen. He didn’t do anything illegal and had no need to fear the law. He wasn’t a coward either but just thinking about those Agents, remembering that brutal grip on his throat gave him a cold shiver.
‘Jesus, Paul, get a grip!’ he said out loud and pulled himself awkwardly to his feet. What he needed now was a drink.
He poured himself a generous glass of Scotch from the bottle in the kitchen cupboard and gulped it swiftly, feeling the familiar burn in his mouth and throat. Grimacing, he poured another and cradling the glass for comfort Paul walked back into his living room. There was no trace of the men now but somehow it felt as if they’d contaminated his home with their presence. He turned quickly and walked down the corridor to his front door, gingerly checking the spy-hole. The hallway was deserted. Elodie’s door hung crookedly from its top hinge, the wood around the lock splintered. It had definitely been real. He opened the door with caution, looked to both sides and crossed into Elodie’s flat.
Paul’s mouth dropped involuntarily open, shocked at the state of the place. The normally tidy corridor was strewn with Elodie’s belongings. Her coats, shoes and books, had been scattered and trodden into the floor and a light coa
ting of downy feathers trailed out from the bedroom door. In the kitchen the cupboard and drawers had been ransacked and their contents strewn about. Rice and lentils crunched under his feet as he walked around the table. The pan of crispy tofu cubes and vivid green broccoli, Paul’s wine and Elodie’s water sat amidst the wreckage like a surreal still-life.
A shiver ran down his spine and he turned and walked to the living room where similar destruction met his eyes. The settee had been slashed, the foam insides gaping like flesh wounds. Her tidy life lay in shredded piles of feathers and foam.
What could Elodie have done to deserve this, he wondered?
Was she a terrorist? Or a thief? Perhaps a drug smuggler?
He couldn’t imagine it but then he didn't actually know that much about her or her life.
But no, he just couldn’t see it.
She didn’t ... She couldn’t ... Elodie just wasn’t like that.
He turned back into the corridor and walked past her bedroom. Her clothes lay strewn about the floor, her wardrobe thrown onto its front and her mattress, like the settee next door, was laced with slash marks.
Well, whatever she’d done, they were definitely looking for something they thought she’d got.
Suddenly Paul froze on the spot, remembering vividly the parcel Elodie had given him, seconds before the raid.
Oh my God! The thought hit him like a thunderbolt.
He had what they wanted!
He knew it with a certainty, with absolute conviction. Paul hurried back into his own flat and locked the door behind him.
He picked up his squash shoe and shook out the crumpled package and the torn out page from the address book that Elodie had given him. He squeezed it, feeling a hard lump in the middle.
What could she have given him that those Agents wanted so badly?
Whatever it was lay wrapped in a silk handkerchief in the palm of his hand.
Delicately, Paul unfolded the corners of the patterned silk to reveal a small egg-shaped crystal. He turned it gently, bemused, between his finger and thumb.
A crystal?
A small crystal?
He held it up to the light. It was opaque with tiny filaments running through it and no bigger than a quail’s egg.
How could this be what they had been looking for?
It certainly didn’t seem that valuable. He didn’t know much about these things but he was sure it wasn’t a diamond. Anyway, you’d hardly send in the heavies for a jewel, even if it was a diamond. In fact, he thought, rolling it in his fingers, it looked like nothing more than a piece of quartz
No, it just wasn’t possible.
Whatever those Agent were after, Elodie must still have it and this ... his eyes returned to the tiny crystal, it had to be a family heirloom, something she was emotionally attached to ...
He turned his attention to the torn page and slowly read the address written in a neat, flowery hand,
Mme Sauveterre-Dubois
23 Avenue de Balzac
Ile St Louis
Paris 75012
Paris!
Did she really expect him to go all the way to Paris?
Could he send it?
Paul remembered the intensity of Elodie’s expression as she’d given him the package.
She really did want it taken personally.
The name, ‘Sauveterre-Dubois,’ wasn’t that the name the Agent had called Elodie?
It was hard to remember now, it had all happened so fast but he knew with absolute certainty that Elodie wasn’t coming back.
Paul felt a moments self-pity as he thought of the necklace in his pocket that he hadn’t had time to give her. His romantic intentions had been well and truly trampled on.
He clicked his computer to life and tapped the address into Google maps. A street map of Paris popped up on his screen pinpointing the location on the edge of a small island in the Seine, the old heart of the city.
Paul sat down in his swivel chair and tapped ‘Eurostar Paris’ into the search box. When the window popped up he tapped in tomorrow’s date. He felt as if he was on auto pilot, his hands clicking and tapping the necessary keys, whilst his mind was bubbling over with the events of the evening. He reached for his wallet, pulled out his master card and tapped the 16 digit code into the box.
What had Elodie done?
Why had she asked him to deliver this crystal?
Who were those guys?
And what had they been looking for?
With one last click, his train was booked.
Elodie: 15th December