“Sit down, Philippe, and join me.”
“I will sit with you, Father, but I will not indulge in your table until I can pay my way.”
Henri Rousseau stared at his son from across the table. The man could be as stubborn as his parent when he dug his heels in. “How do you intend to pay me for my food, Philippe? You are poor and homeless. The head of the cleaning staff told me the spacious apartment I set aside for you has not been lived in, and a stranger has been found sleeping on the bare concrete floor of the servants’ quarters and begging food from their table. Is this any way to treat a man of my stature’s generosity? My own flesh and blood reduced to such behaviour! It’s a good thing no one knows who you are.”
“I am well versed with poverty, Father, and I have no fear of homelessness. The people I live among...”
“The people you live among, Philippe! When will you realise that all your efforts to comfort the poor are nothing and they are—and always will be-–poor! There is no reason to join them in their squalor when you have all this at your fingertips!” Philippe’s father’s red face indicated the depth of antagonism toward the prodigal standing before him.
Philippe’s head slumped forward. It was as if his father had read his mind and the beleaguering thoughts that had plagued his conscience so many times when he lost hope out on the mission field, usually after someone close to the missionary had died, succumbing to the dreadful attacks of poverty.
Observing his argument had touched a nerve, Henri Rousseau drove his point home with an animated whisper, “There is no God but wealth, Philippe. A rich man can manipulate people and make them believe whatever he chooses. Every man has a price. And every man can be deceived to play along as a rich man’s pawn. Even the highest human moral guardians of faith who are capable of the greatest good, are also capable of the wickedest evil. I have that power at my disposal to control my circumstances and the circumstances of whomever I want.”
Philippe lifted his head to face the new tactic of his father. “I know it to be different to what you say, Father. There is a God, and I know Him. But I will not indulge myself on something I have not earned, even if it is from my own flesh and blood. Anton has generously offered me a position with your gardening team, and as I have committed to stay with you for the six months you desire, I will not indulge in your path that leads a man to the very doors of hell itself.”
Henri Rousseau’s blood was boiling and his face turned crimson, trying to hold down the volcano rumbling out of control in his belly. “GET OUT AND GO BACK TO THE PIGS! HOW DARE YOU CRITICISE ME AND PREACH HELL TO A MAN WHO IS FAR MORE RIGHTEOUS AND GODLY THAN YOU WILL EVER BE!”
Staggering under the verbal assault, Philippe stood abruptly and turned, opening the banquet hall doors and once outside the vast room and protected by the closed barriers, he stood, shaking violently. Maybe his father was right and maybe he was more righteous and Godly than Philippe. Glancing down over the affluent staircase and to the sterile wealth garlanded all around, Philippe pondered his life, desperately trying to weed out the seeds of despair his father had so eloquently sown and then whispered brokenheartedly, “Who are you, Philippe de la Calle?”
*~*~*~*
Anton Geber kicked off his dusty work shoes before entering the main house, careful not to leave boot prints in any part of the lavish white and gold landscape, while precariously avoiding a severe scalding from the meticulous head of cleaning staff. Standing in the massive foyer and staring through magnificent two storey panes of bulletproof glass down onto the millionaires’ harbour far below the sprawling house, he felt overawed and out of his comfort zone, almost afraid to breathe. The sterile opulence and gold plated waste didn’t sit well with the head groundsman, knowing the staircases alone cost more money than he had earned throughout his long, difficult working life. A sickening feeling rose in his stomach, anxious to leave the hostile unfamiliar opulence and the sterile surrounds, eager for the dusty comfortable environment where he belonged.
Pulling in a deep breath, Anton steeled himself to answer the summons from Monsieur Rousseau, his billionaire boss, wondering why the eccentric image of affluence required a personal audience with his lowly staff member. Fearing he had done something to upset the wealthy man and that his job hung perilously in the balance, he nervously chose one of two identical gold plated staircases and began to climb the marble steps, clinging awkwardly to the shining banister rail as it spiralled him in a semi-corkscrew before depositing him on a lavish landing, facing the impressive open plan first floor.
It didn’t take long before Isobel—one of Monsieur Rousseau’s many ‘personal assistants’—caught a glimpse of the gardening tradesman and aggressively made a beeline for the lowly worker, intent on scolding him for his presence and swiftly returning him to his correct station... outside.
Interrupting Isobel’s steaming tirade and explaining Monsieur Rousseau had called for him, she flounced off and beckoned threateningly over her shoulder, “Don’t move!”
Finding a place between a nest of gawking young women behind a shining white reception desk, Isobel chatted haughtily to her exquisitely dressed young companions while grabbing for a telephone. Her demeanour abruptly changed once she had confirmed Anton’s story and that Monsieur Rousseau had indeed summoned the gardener. With a smile creaking across richly painted lips and a high-heeled waddle that over pronounced her hourglass figure, Isobel returned to the spot Anton had been ordered to occupy and pointed the shoeless gardener to the expansive second floor and Monsieur Rousseau’s private quarters.
Once again climbing a spiralling staircase, this time to the second floor, Anton nervously stood in front of two enormous carved doors overlaid with ivory and shining to the degree that Anton could see his features reflected faultlessly in its expensive image. A tentative knock drew attention from the other side of a heavy door.
“Yes!”
Anton grasped the gold handle and slowly cracked the overbearing barrier open. Feeling his mouth dry up, he cautiously leaned in and announced, “You wanted to see me, Monsieur?”
“Yes, yes, come in, Anton.”
*~*~*~*
After a frustrating meeting with Anton and as the door to the opulent office plunked closed under the hand of the head gardener, Monsieur Rousseau resisted the desire to have the cleaning staff meticulously polish away any hint of the tradesman’s presence, thus avoiding catching anything from the poor gardener that may jeopardise his substantial empire. Leaning back in a black leather chair and away from a massive highly polished teak desk, Henri Rousseau contemplated a forming idea. Then as the idea took shape, he reached for the desk phone and when it answered, bellowed into the receiver, “Isobel, get in here now!”
*~*~*~*
Around the reception desk populated by a handful of desirable young women, Monsieur Rousseau’s brisk bark was easily heard by all his personal assistants. A self-aggrandising chatter erupted among the women. “Looks like Monsieur wants to play, Isobel, and he has singled you out!”
Isobel smiled, checked her face in a hand mirror and then patted down her revealing attire. “Anything out of place, girls?”
A babble broke out as the chattering sirens examined their offering, and satisfied Isobel’s appearance could kill, they gave her the thumbs up.
A seductive knock alerted the old man to the arrival of his request. “Come in, Isobel!”
The door closed quickly while Isobel attempted to ply her trade, but the old man was in no mood for games and barked a rapid fire of orders at the substantially younger woman. “I want you to find Mademoiselle Baudin and then locate my son, Robert for me. I have a task for them!”
Isobel stiffened at the mention of Janelle Baudin’s name. Her eyes thinned in jealousy and a scathing expression erupted across her features, cracking the acres of makeup plastered over the young woman’s face and a deliberate voice erupted from her lips. “Are your love cats not enough of a siren for you, Daddy? Do you have to employ such a tramp
as Janelle Baudin?!”
Henri Rousseau’s eyes flicked up to meet Isobel’s, realising how much of a threat Mademoiselle Baudin was to his entertainment staff and only confirmed his choice for the task ahead. He was about to indulge in Isobel’s sordid game but lost interest and became angry. “Get out and do what I told you to!”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 18
Philippe dug his robust weeding hoe deep into the hard soil of a long bed of vibrant happy faced roses, but the fine edge of the sturdy hoe struck something hard, arresting the metal blade solidly. The handle couldn’t withstand the gardener’s strong action and with a cracking cry, severed its long grasp into two jagged pieces. Anton heard the destruction from another part of the garden and with an anxious glance up to the main house windows, made a disturbed gait over to a stunned Philippe. Arriving at the scene of the crime, Anton sighed deliberately, annoyed at the broken tool but trying hard not to attribute the blame directly to his new starter.
“Monsieur Rousseau makes us pay for any broken tools, Philippe, taking a far greater slice from our meagre salary than the tool is actually worth.”
“What?! But that is treachery!” Philippe complained.
“It may be so, Philippe, but who is going to challenge the wealthy man? Even the police won’t stand up to his strong-arm tactics and if they do, he has people in high places benefiting from his wealth who act when he pulls the strings, making the troublesome law enforcer and his complaint simply vanish.”
Philippe sighed loudly and glanced up at the tenacious house, but as he did, an obvious shadow crossed a window on the second floor in an attempt not to be seen. “Is there a maintenance shed, Anton, where I can repair my heavy handedness?”
“Yes, but you will have to fix it in your own time. We are constantly being monitored and if we are considered to have had too much of an easy day, that too is deducted from our salary.”
Philippe gawked at the old man incredulously while a storm of pent-up fury bubbled under his skin.
“You will have to pull the weeds by hand until the hoe can be fixed.”
Philippe nodded and lowered himself to his knees and began to crawl among the sharp stems of the healthy roses, pulling clumps of determined weeds from the ground by the handful and making sure the roots came up with them. By the time the day had finally come to an end and Anton had dismissed his staff, Philippe’s hands were raw and bleeding, his only clothes were ripped from the sharp thorns, and blood stained his arms from deep scratches.
“Philippe!” Anton called after his new employee.
Turning to face the older man and with the broken hoe in his hands, he tiredly replied, “Yes, Anton?”
“I believe you are sleeping on the floor of the servants’ quarters and you eat what is left over from their table?”
Philippe’s eyes were full of questions while a guarded expression demanded, ’How did you know?’
Anton read the inquisition in Philippe’s eyes before reassuring the suspicious man. “The head of housekeeping is a very good friend of mine and not much happens in Monsieur Rousseau’s sprawling estate that she doesn’t know about.”
Philippe’s suspicion evaporated and he laughed. “Yes, what you have been told is true, but I am not ill at ease with the situation and in fact, prefer it this way.”
With a compassionate glimmer Philippe had grown to recognise in the eyes of poor people, Anton placed his arm over the younger man and squeezed his shoulders. “You will come and live with us and share at my table, Philippe. My daughter has been talking about moving into the larger attic space for a while, and will be more than happy to give you her small room. I have another older set of clothes that will fit, too; but I couldn’t sleep at night knowing you live in such menial conditions while we live well... so it’s all organised!” Anton smiled, shaking Philippe affectionately with the wiry arm draped around his shoulders.
Philippe was about to argue until Anton straightened and insisted, “That’s an order, Philippe.”
The time-recognised camaraderie among the poor was at work in Anton’s generous heart and although Philippe felt accepted among the poor people he called his own, he carried a dreadful secret that ate at his gut and separated him from the gentle folk he loved.
*~*~*~*
Repairing the disabled hoe the best he could, Philippe closed the door to the maintenance room and carried his renovated prize to show Anton. Using the directions Anton had given and approaching the door to a small apartment attached to the Rousseau estate, Philippe knocked loudly, expecting Anton to answer; but instead, a stunningly beautiful young woman in simple dress answered the door and shocked Philippe silent.
“You must be Philippe de la Calle,” she smiled, lighting up her striking features in a warm glow. “Father! Monsieur de la Calle is here!” she called back behind her.
Soon Anton appeared at the door with a hand resting affectionately on the young woman’s shoulder. “This is Petrisce, Philippe, my only daughter and my last living relative. Isn’t she delightful?”
“Father, stop, you’re embarrassing me! Take no heed of him, Monsieur de la Calle, and please come in.”
Philippe stood the hoe against the outside wall, abruptly forgetting about the repaired implement but instead, mesmerised by Petrisce’s elegant walk and following Anton’s beautiful daughter into their humble home.
Petrisce paused outside a doorway and pointed into a small room. “It’s not very big, Monsieur, although I think after time you will come to appreciate its cosy feel. It has served me well most of my life, but now I have the grand loft to explore and call my home.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Mademoiselle, and I hope I won’t be a nuisance to you or your father.”
A cheeky grin erupted over Petrisce’s lips. “If you are, Monsieur, and the door is locked when you come home, then you will be aware of your folly,” Petrisce excused herself, still smiling impishly and squeezed past Philippe in the small passageway as Anton arrived holding a set of clean clothes.
“The shower is a communal one I’m afraid, Philippe. We share with the other gardening staff, but because I am boss, we get first preference. Take a shower and freshen up and by then Petrisce will have some dinner ready for us.”
Anton’s face unexpectedly fell, leaving Philippe wondering if he was suddenly ill.
“Oh! By the way, Monsieur Rousseau has one of his charity cruises organised for tomorrow and all staff are expected to attend. I think this is his way to salve his conscience for the dreadful treatment his staff are subjected to, but I hate the facade and his pretentious yacht, especially when our families are excluded and we are expected to rub shoulders with his snobbish personal assistants and executive staff.”
Holding the fresh clothes, Philippe stood gazing past Anton for a moment, wondering what new tactic his overbearing father had planned.
“Are you alright, Philippe?” Anton quizzed.
“Ah, yep, Anton. Not much of a sailor, I’m afraid.”
*~*~*~*
“Did Isobel resign?!” a whispered hiss rippled around the group of Monsieur Rousseau’s personal assistants gossiping around the first-floor reception desk.
“No, she’s paid too much for that and has too many perks to leave Monsieur. I think she’s taken leave until this whole Janelle Baudin thing is over.”
“Who’s Janelle Baudin?!”
“Are you simple?! She’s only one of the biggest tramps to hit the rolling hills of this wealthy city!”
The group of testy women fell into deep, reverent silence while each woman contemplated the question perplexing their inquisitive minds, but not foolish enough to be the first to open their mouths and display their total ignorance. Then a brave contender, bursting with curiosity, threw the verbal missile into the group and cringed, waiting for the insulting backlash.
“Has anyone ever seen Janelle Baudin?”
A tumult of disbelief ricocheted around the group and each woman acted as if th
e enquirer was stupid, until each one was singled out in turn and made to confess the truth.
“Just as I thought. None of you has seen her either. Isobel was the only one who knew her by sight and if this Baudin tramp can reduce our strong Isobel to tears and make her take leave just to avoid being around her, then we had better watch our backs! This gal is obviously a stunner and a real pro, yet from what I can gather from Isobel before she left, she’ll walk over anyone and do anything to achieve whatever she has in her mind to do.”
The entertainment staff stumbled into fearful silence, each personal assistant glancing to her neighbour, hoping for strength to conquer the dilemma but the forlorn and nervous expressions straining back only drew deeper fear.
Then one of the group remembered hearing a delightful snippet of gossip when she was visiting Monsieur Rousseau while he was talking on the phone. “Hey, there is some good news though, girls.”
“What’s that?!” the voices joined together in a fervour of clucking camaraderie, hoping for a lift.
“I hear Monsieur Rousseau’s son will be aboard the yacht tomorrow. Robert will liven things up, instead of all these poor bumpkins wandering all over the boat and drooling over things they can never afford.”
A pleased squeal reverberated around the entertainers, jumping up and down on the spot and clapping their hands together with relieved and over emphasised delight.
*~*~*~*
Henri Rousseau’s motorised palace pushed headlong into the Mediterranean’s heaving blue water swell, slicing through the turbulent surface with hardly a movement to affect the comfort of all those onboard. Most of the executive staff congregated around the sparkling pool at the rear of the vessel, champagne in hand, but the blue collar staff were confined by choice to the safety of the vast open decks at the front. Monsieur Rousseau’s personal assistants were confused by the absence of the billionaire tycoon and had been watching for him, secretly whispering to executive staff in a bid to understand his truancy. It soon became evident the old man had engaged in private business, excluding all but those who needed to know, in the privacy of his extensive and ostentatious cabin.