Part One: Nick
Chrissie and I had begun our adventure and arrived in Paris just after midday on the Monday. Jean-Pierre had agreed to meet us at the airport. Chrissie pointed out that he was probably not aware of our surnames or what we looked like, but it was not a problem. He stood behind the barrier with a sign marked “Chrissie and Nick”.
Jean-Pierre is of Latin appearance and could not have been mistaken for anything other than French, Italian or Spanish. He was five feet ten inches tall and as I was not brought up on metric measurements, I have no idea what that is in metres. At that time he had tight, dark curly hair and an olive, healthy complexion. He’s always been a good dresser, taking his time to prepare, and on that occasion he was wearing beige trousers with a short-sleeved, light blue shirt and patterned tie. He greeted us with a welcoming smile.
“Jean-Pierre Rousseau?” Chrissie asked.
“Yes,” he said, “and welcome to Paris.” He shook our hands.
“I am sorry that the circumstances cannot be different,” he continued. “I have heard all about you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Well then,” he continued, “I have arranged accommodation for you close to the detention centre. My car is in the garage. Let’s go to a bar now, get a little more comfortable and I will tell you all the details.”
“Yes,” I replied. “This I want to hear.”
Within an hour, the three of us were sitting in the bar below the hotel where Jean-Pierre had booked us a couple of rooms. He knew the hotel owner and, for September, was able to get us a healthy discount. He ordered some light toasted sandwiches and a bottle of Muscadet. I also took a glass of beer, a small glass as is the custom.
He then explained the charges and offence under which Eamon was being held and advised us that we would not be able to see him that day but that it would be possible after the court appearance the following morning. He told us the details he had – about the fact that Eamon was being blackmailed and that he was put in that position of carrying the drugs rather than choosing it. I was not entirely convinced that Eamon had no choice but I was soon to learn the exact details. He also explained that the there was some dispute about whether or not the drug was actually banned. The small amount of cocaine would not have been detected easily and if it had been then he probably would have only been given a caution. But customs in Europe already had already been made aware that a new drug was being developed and, though their information was sketchy and unconfirmed, it was unfortunate that Eamon had inadvertently become a courier for something with enormous potential. Coupled with the fact that Fabrier was involved and being watched by the Paris police – it was unlucky and the odds were against him.
“But I don’t understand,” I said. “Surely all Eamon has to do is co-operate with the police and tell them all they need to know. Starting with the names of these people or person in London will help. Why doesn’t Eamon just do that?”
Jean-Pierre hesitated.
Well, Nick,” he started, “this is the whole problem. The man in charge of this has threatened Eamon. Not only with the magazine photos but ... he has also said that he will harm the people Eamon loves if he goes to the police.”
I was not sure I wanted to hear this.
“Who?” I asked
Jean-Pierre took deep breath.
“Unfortunately, you and your daughter, Nick.”
“Sally!” I shouted as the other customers in the bar looked around. I was oblivious to their attention.
Chrissie sat forward on her chair with her mouth open.
“Yes, it’s true,” he continued. “Apparently Eamon and you have been watched for the past few weeks. If he was caught, he was told that if he was to give the name of the London contact, then something might happen to Sally and yourself.”
“Jesus Christ,” I started, “my daughter and me involved in something like this and we knew nothing about it?”
“I realise that,” Jean-Pierre continued, “but I believe that for the moment there is no problem. The connection in London, I doubt, is aware that Eamon has been arrested but even if so, they have probably gone out of their way to destroy any documents or proof there might be to connect them. I suspect they will have solid alibis for the meetings they had, if they know what has happened. Believe me, I am accustomed to many things like this and it is unlikely that they will run the risk of implicating themselves when they are not aware of the facts.”
I was oblivious to what Jean-Pierre was saying. Chrissie was as white as a sheet and just stared at me, waiting for an answer. My daughter’s safety was all I wanted to focus on but she was miles away from me in London and just then I needed to hold her close.
“I need a phone,” I announced and stood up almost knocking the drinks over. “I need to call Imogen and tell her to take Sally somewhere safe other than the flat.”
“But, Chrissie,” said Jean-Pierre, “I told you on the phone to tell Nick to send his daughter away for a while.”
“Yes,” said Chrissie, “but your message was vague. I presumed that you were not aware that Nick had an au pair. I was not aware that Sally could be in any danger.”
“I don’t believe she is in danger, but I thought it would have been safer,” he said.
“Jesus, I can hardly believe any of this,” I said and stood up. “Things like this just don’t happen to people like me.”
Jean-Pierre stood as well.
“Come with me,” he said. “There’s a public phone over here.”
We crossed the bar and the phone was in a small booth by the door. He took a phone card from his wallet and handed it to me.
“I am sure that all will be as usual at home,” he said, “as the people Eamon has become involved with have no reason to involve you. But go ahead and check anyway. The code for England is nineteen, then the London code and your number.”
I punched the number in so quickly it failed. The second attempt did as well and I started sweating. On the third attempt I got through and Imogen answered.
“Hello,” she said.
“Imogen, it’s me. It’s Nick.”
“Ah, hello Nick. How are things in Paris?”
“Listen Imogen, I haven’t got time to tell you everything but listen carefully.”
“Nick, please speak slower or I will not understand.”
“Listen, Eamon is involved with some ... some people in London and they have threatened some harm to Sally. It’s important that you both leave the flat and go somewhere safe.”
Imogen understood the message but it was clear she was becoming frightened.
“My God. You mean somebody wants to hurt her. But who?”
“Never mind that now,” I said rather too abruptly, “but you must do as I say.”
“Yes okay, okay. But where will we go? To your parents-in-law?”
I had to think quickly and carefully about this. I did not want too many people involved in what was turning into a frightening experience. One that I could do without. I had not given a second thought to any of the parents and everything would have to come out, though I was confident that Sally and Imogen would be safe with them and was prepared to suggest it.
Chrissie was now standing by the phone booth and tugging at my arm. I asked Imogen to hold a moment.
“Listen, Nick, Peter will be at the house with Annette,” she said, “and I can call him and explain what has happened. I’ll tell him to take the girls to the cottage in Suffolk. It’s empty at the moment and they will all be safe there.”
“Great idea,” I quickly said. “Imogen, pack some food and clothes now and go over to Peter’s house. He’ll take you both away for a few days and I’ll call later and explain. Have you understood all this?”
“Yes,” she said, “but, Nick, now I am worried. I wish I knew what this was all about. I wish my English was better – I need to ask many more questions.”
“Don’t worry, Imogen. I promise I will explain later. Is Sally with you now?”
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“Yes. She’s watching television with Annette.”
“Good. Then whatever you do, don’t frighten them. Tell them that I said it’s okay for you all to go away on a short holiday and I’ll call her later tonight.”
“Yes okay, Nick. We will all go over to Peter’s soon and I will speak to you later. Bye.”
She put the phone down.
I was feeling slightly better now and gave the card to Chrissie so she could phone Peter.
“Come on,” said Jean-Pierre, “you need a drink.”
We returned to the table and finished the wine.
“Nick, I really do not know what to say to you,” he started with sincerity. “I realise that this is a big shock but please believe me when I say that the last thing that Eamon wants is for any harm to come to Sally or you. He loves you very much and I have known him long enough to judge when he is being truthful. He has never been a good liar.”
I didn’t want to say anything even though Jean-Pierre was being very sympathetic and understanding. My thoughts turned to Eamon and I was unsure whether to love him or hate him for what was happening. I blamed him for the fact that Sally could possibly have been in danger though I was not concerned about myself. Had I not got involved with him in the first place, none of this would be happening. I knew full well that, on the other hand, he was as much an innocent in the affair as I was and must have been living a nightmare. I thought of him in his cell alone, yet stilled blamed him.
Chrissie returned to the table with a troubled expression on her face.
“I’ve told Peter all we know. He is getting some things together now and will drive to the cottage later. I’m confident they will all be safe.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said as I downed the wine. “I just hope you are.”
Jean-Pierre then filled us in on some of the other details and what the probable outcome would be in court the following morning. Though he would not normally handle a case like this, he was aware of the legal system and knew that he would have time to decide on what the next move would be. One thing puzzled him though. In a matter like this, it was normally the customs police who took control and set the charges. However, Eamon had already been handed over to Inspector Sablon of the local gendarmerie. That seemed odd and not the usual protocol if they wanted or intended to get a conviction. But he suggested that it might have been a new EEC ruling simply to satisfy the jurisdiction of the area it happened in. Or the local police were advising.
By then, I was slightly more relaxed, if that is the correct term for someone in my situation. Jean-Pierre then suggested that as there was nothing more to be done until after the hearing, we should go over to his apartment near the hotel for a meal after we had taken a short rest.
Chrissie was definitely not in a sociable mood. Her face told the strain of the day and it was clear she needed time to take it all in. She declined his offer but I wanted company. I accepted and wanted to shower anyway even though it was only late afternoon. That was fine as Jean-Pierre needed to go over to his office and collect some papers for the hearing and reschedule his appointments. We agreed to meet at the hotel reception in two hours.
I got Chrissie to write down the number and address of the cottage before we went to our respective rooms. She looked tired and I suggested she take a long bath then raid the mini-bar in her room.
She smiled.
“That was just what I was thinking,” she said.
I showered, had a rest then went down to the bar in the reception to wait for Jean-Pierre.