Spoils of the Game

by Lee Lamond

Austin said, “Let me tell you a little secret, Madeline. Ninety-nine percent of the people in the world are not self-made. Almost everyone gets help from the people around them, and your problem is that you have not had the benefit of a mentor or anyone on your side. As of now, I would like to be one of your mentors.”

  Madeline took a deep breath and looked into Austin’s smiling eyes. Who is this man? she thought to herself. She had no answer to his question, but she assumed that it was good fortune that had brought her an ally and a friend. Madeline felt empowered. Whatever happened, her new friend Austin would protect her and help her fight her battles.

  She said, “I asked you to dinner because I wanted someone to talk to, but I’m so sorry I made a mess of your napkin.”

  “They have more. Now, let’s get some dinner.”

  Austin took the menu from the waiter and then looked at Madeline. Her face was in her hands, and her long blonde hair hung down over her hands. Austin felt himself being drawn in.

  “Hey, this menu is only in French,” said Austin with surprise.

  After allowing Madeline to order for both of them, Austin had one more question. “Does Badeau have a problem with you working with me, and is my working with you hurting your situation?

  “Well, right now I don’t think he is overly happy with your arrival.”

  “Me? I am just as nice as I can be,” said Austin with a laugh. “This is juicy. What did he say?”

  “Actually, he didn’t mention a specific problem with you personally, but he wishes you were not here. I think the problem is that you have the ear of the managing director. I’ll keep my ears open, but I think he just wants you to go away. I think you say in English that you are rocking the boat or maybe embarrassing him.”

  “Your friend Badeau is a joke. I am sorry to say that, because the museum deserves someone better in that position. Regardless of what he says or what he does, he will not be an obstacle for me. I just don’t want any problems for you. I’ve done a little research, and the problem isn’t going to be Badeau. Originally I thought the biggest problem was going to be the Catholic Church, as I told Vassar. Today, however, Vassar dropped a bomb on me when he said that I must now also worry about some national trust thing. The problem the Church has—and the art world has—is that the problem is too big. I did a little research, and back in 1989 the Church established the Commission for the Preservation of the Artistic and Historical Patrimony of the Church. It was a move in the right direction, but I don’t think they are up to the task. There has also been some discussion about the UN getting involved, but I wouldn’t expect that collection of clowns to do anything right. When Vassar gets back, I want to talk to him about talking with the Church. I also have to learn about how to deal with the monument trust or whatever it is, and I have to start thinking about a budget for this project, and who I’m going to hit for the money, and what the project really is.”

  “Badeau was talking about your money,” said Madeline.

  “My money?”

  “After you left his office this afternoon, he told me two things. First, that if I helped you, I still had to do my other tasks. I’m also supposed to find out how to get you to give money to the museum. Badeau said that you are worth about two hundred million euros. Is that right?

  “I don’t actually know. I have a majority interest in my company, my dad left me a lot of land and my mother left me some money and stock, and I got some money from my wife’s estate. It might be more or less, but so what? As long as I am trying to do some good in the world and not being irresponsible, it is none of his business. This guy Badeau is beginning to frickin’ annoy me.”

  “If Badeau has an interest in your project proposals, it’s not because he wants to be nice or because he cares about the art. It would only be about him.”

  “That’s okay, as long as I get my way. I’m doing what I’m doing because I believe in it. I’ll use these bozos and their egos to get my way if I have to. But as I said, the obstacle is not your friends—it’s the Church and the other red-tape machine that Vassar mentioned. If the Church accepts help, they’ll be admitting that there’s a problem. Then they’d have to explain why the problem is so big, why it exists, and why they can’t fix it.

  Austin paused, then looked at Madeline. “So what do you say? Are we going to be partners, or what?”

  Madeline looked at her new friend and again studied his eyes. She wanted to answer with a yes, but she felt timid about doing so. His question was so direct. It was coming from an individual that she had met before but didn’t really know. Austin Clay had made a commitment to her, a commitment that no one else had made. She had no idea where the new friendship would take her, but she was willing to go.

  Austin extended his hand, offering to shake that of his new ally. Madeline smiled and shook Austin’s hand. Austin smiled back with a smile that gave Madeline confidence. When Austin Clay made a commitment to a person, even in a business relationship, they were usually much better off in the end. Whether or not the same would be true with Madeline was yet to be determined.

  It was now dark outside, and the light from the candle on the table reflected off Madeline’s face and accentuated her light blue eyes. Austin was disarmed by her ever-changing good looks, but more importantly he was impressed with her goodness. Inside, the beautiful Madeline Rousseau was a good person.

  The food arrived, and Austin looked down at the plates being presented. He wasn’t panicked, just a little concerned. Austin Clay was a meat-and-potatoes man and had his limits. A quick inspection suggested that he would be okay. On Madeline’s side of the table was a fish dish and a small bowl of snails.

  “So what did you order me?” he asked, trying not to reveal any concern.

  “That is a lamb dish in a very nice wine sauce, and these are carrots mixed with small onions.”

  Lamb was not his favorite, but he would keep that secret to himself.

  “Would you like some of my snails?” Madeline asked, holding the dish toward Austin.

  Austin looked at the dish and then at Madeline. “Ah … no, thank you.” The look on his face conveyed more than his words.

  Madeline took back the plate with a laugh. “How am I ever going to convert you into a Frenchman if you won’t eat snails?”

  “Madeline, my friend, that will be the least of your problems.”

  For the first time that evening, Madeline began laughing, and it was a laugh that had been waiting a long time to surface.

  “Tell me, Madeline, where did you learn your English? It is excellent.”

  “In school, when I was younger, and in the university. I also spent a year at your University of Pennsylvania on an exchange program. I speak a little Italian, and some Spanish, and a little German.”

  “My goodness, Madeline, you’re pretty and you’re smart. My French is pathetic, but I am trying. You humble me.”

  After dinner Austin insisted that Madeline have a dessert with whipped cream on top to celebrate their new alliance. She complained about the calories, but Austin made it very clear that an occasional indulgence would be good.

  “I have an assignment for you, and I will not take no for an answer,” said Austin with a smile on his face.

  “An assignment? I think your project will be quite enough … and now there is more?”

  “This is simple. I’ve been to Paris a bunch of times, and I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen the real Paris or the real France. In the next few months I want to see those things that the tourists don’t see. I want to get into the private collections and into the unknown neighborhoods. I want to see the towns and villages around Paris and learn the unknown history. You pick the what and the where. I don’t want you to take time from other things that you must do, but if you can join me, great. If I have to go by myself, that can work as well.”

  Madeline did not want to be a babysitter for anyone, but this was different.

  It had been a good night. It was about ten when Austin hailed a taxi to
get Madeline home. The rain had stopped, and Austin decided to walk back to his apartment. On the way he checked his watch and figured that he could reach Carl Thompson at home. While dodging puddles he reached for his cell phone, pushed a few buttons and then heard Carl’s cell ring.

  “Nice to hear from you, boss. How’s your vacation or whatever you call it?” said Carl

  “Everything here is as I expected. This is going to be an uphill battle, but we’ll win. What’s new at home base?”

  “Oh, the usual stuff. The IRS is going to send you to prison, and the plant burned down.”

  “Stopped being a smartass, or I’ll come home.”

  “Okay, you win,” laughed Carl. “Actually, not much is going on that we did not know or plan for, so we are fine. What is new with you?”

  “Carl, I have a special project for you. This might be a tough one because it involves a couple of people in France. Ask our lawyers if they can do confidential background checks on a Madeline Rousseau and a Claude Badeau. I’ll e-mail you as much personal stuff to identify these people as possible. I just want to know if there’s anything that sticks out and whatever financial info you can find. If the lawyers ask why, just say that it’s a possible pre-employment thing.”

  “Should I ask why?” asked Carl.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

  Chapter 4

  Paris/Saint-Abban

  In Austin’s mind a firm commitment was needed from Vassar. He was the man in charge, the man to impress, and the man with influence throughout the art community. In their meeting, he had given encouragement, but what was needed was the Louvre seal of approval to give the project respect. It had always been his plan to put the Louvre name on the program, and without it, Austin would be lost. Corporate sponsors would be required due to the magnitude of the money involved, and corporate targets would not want to do this to be nice. Now that he had met some of the players, the human side of the project was being revealed. Dealing with facts or tangibles was easy for Austin, but dealing with the mystery of the human mind was more difficult. He put aside the French personalities, born from years living in a different culture, and tried to concentrate on things he could hang numbers on. Was he being naive about what he could accomplish? How soon would he see any success? Should the plan be to start small on an experimental program and hope that it grew? He had much to think about. Was the Church the real obstacle? Talking with Vassar was something he could work on, but how did one address a discussion with the Church? As a non-Catholic, Austin did not even know the administrative structure. Could this be done in France, or was a visit to Rome required?

  Austin sat in his kitchen, slowly sipping a cup of tea and eating a piece of pastry left over from a guilty purchase the previous day. He had been awake since about five, thinking about many things, including Susan. Austin had been on his guard. Back home several women were aware that he might be back on the market, and being good-looking, wealthy, and successful was a magnet he had to control. Madeline Rousseau was different and a surprise. What was disarming was how they communicated effortlessly and how easy it was for them to be open with one another. It was clear that she was aware of what he was and his resources, but she did not seem to be impressed or to expect any benefit. On top of everything she was a very attractive woman with a very nice smile, a genuine person who might benefit from a change in environment. As of that morning he had no plans for seeing her in the next few days, and that was a little bothersome. Perhaps he could find an excuse to get together.

  Austin spent his day making flowcharts, writing down strategy steps, and reviewing photographs. He had to have at least a rough layout of his concept on paper. He had done this type of thing many times before, but at least he knew what he was talking about. Vassar had given him a big clue when they talked last. Money was the name of the game. If fifty million was required, how would the project get the money? It was clear that under the current situation, little financial support could be expected from the Louvre. He had to get support for a project that did not exist, to be run by undefined persons, with benefits to the contributors being unknown, and with unknown cooperation from the Church.

  By six that evening, Austin had given up for the day. He wanted to clear his head, and another walk was in order. As he was about to leave his apartment, his cell phone rang.

  “Austin, it’s me,” said Carl Thomson. “Is this a good time to talk?”

  “Sure, I was about to go out for a walk. What’s up?”

  “I got the personal information on those two names you provided. The lawyers have some contacts in France, and they turned this over to them. I told them this was to be kept confidential and to find out what they could from public information. I assume you don’t want any private detectives or anything like that.”

  “Not yet. Just find what you can. I don’t want to make this too big a deal, but I would like to know more, if it is available.”

  They talked about business for about another hour before Carl had to ask, “So how is the art project going?”

  “Carl, I have never believed more that there are some real needs, and some good ideas are emerging, but I have no idea how I am going to make it happen. This may be the most difficult thing I have ever done. I don’t want to sound negative, but I think this may be beyond me. We will see. You know that I am putting in all of this effort to save a bunch of paintings, and at times I wonder if I should be trying to help starving people or something like that. The fact is, Carl, I probably wouldn’t be helping anyone or anything if it were not for Susan’s momentum. Maybe when I get this done, I can do something that addresses a more humanitarian purpose.”

  “Boss, you do that, and we will never see you again,” replied Carl.

  The spring evening was perfect when Austin left his apartment. He had yet to visit the Eiffel Tower. The sun was setting in the west, and it lit the tower in golden light. In the early evening the lines for the elevator were short, and he took the ride up to the top. As an engineer he appreciated what Eiffel had done and the view that the tower provided. Slowly he walked around the observation deck and studied the city. Austin had traveled all over the world, but he could not identify another city as magnificent as Paris. The city has grown in ever-expanding circles, and it was amazing how well the layout worked. It was also amazing how the architecture of all of the buildings, monuments, museums, train stations, parks, and bridges gave the city a sense of style.

  At a small cafe back down on the ground, Austin ordered a bottle of wine and just sat and watched the world. With all of the things that had been on his mind for the past few hours, he had been successful in not thinking about Madeline until now, and now she was all that he could think about. Night was falling quickly, and the walk back to his apartment was made easier by the wine. At his door was a small basket that contained what appeared to be a collection of small cakes wrapped in a napkin. A note was enclosed:

  My grandmother taught me how to make these cakes. I hope you like our old family recipe. Call me. I got you invited.

  Madeline

  Austin raised the basket to his face and smelled the cakes. There was no doubt that the cakes had just been baked. How was he to react to this gesture? They were becoming good friends, and she was certainly helpful to his project, but wasn’t that her job. Austin reflected for a few seconds and decided that he was pleased with the effort she had made and now was disappointed that he had not been home when she stopped by. He looked back at the note. Invited? Invited to what? That was intriguing. How could he resist calling, now that he was powered by curiosity?

  She answered on the third ring.

  “Thank you for the cakes.”

  “You are so welcome. I was in the mood to bake, and I made some for you, some for me, and some for the office.”

  Even though she had not made them just for him, or so she’d said, he was still pleased.

  “They will be lucky if they live until morning,” said Austin with a laugh. �
�So what have I been invited to?”

  “Well … my sister called to tell me … that there is going to be a reception for a priest that I have known since I was a little girl. He is retiring, and the reception is in my old hometown, which is a delightful little village, and … I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to see the real France, like you wanted, and get away from your project.”

  Austin’s mind raced. Madeline’s mind froze. What was happening? He perceived that he was being hijacked, but he was willing to be the victim.

  Madeline nervously continued, “Father Gladieux was the man who introduced me to art when I was little, and he has been an influence in my life for so many years. He was the priest to whom I confessed my first kiss. It would be great if you could come. I will stay at my sister’s, and there is a great little hotel in town where you can stay. I already made you a reservation, in case they got busy. So are you going to join me? My sister will meet the train and drive us around, and all you have to do is be there. It will be fun.” Madeline’s heart was thumping in her chest.