Dreaming of St-Tropez

by T A Williams

  ‘Of course, George, I’ll see you then.’

  Jess and the electrician arrived at the villa together. He parked his van alongside the Range Rover and Jess noticed that David’s lovely old Jaguar was absent. Presumably he was out for a drive, and she felt a little stab of regret that she wasn’t going to see him.

  Jean-Pierre had clearly been briefed by his wife and he knew her name.

  ‘Bonjour, Jess.’ He held out his hand in greeting.

  ‘Bonjour, Jean-Pierre. Excusez mon français. Je ne parle pas très bien.’ Since talking to George, Jess had been wondering whether her French was going to be up to discussing technical matters. Luckily George appeared at the door just then and accompanied them round the house. He was able to translate where necessary, but Jess surprised herself – and probably the two men – by managing to understand and make herself understood pretty well. Even so, by the time Jean-Pierre had refused a second glass of cold rosé and made his exit, she felt exhausted.

  ‘Very impressive.’

  She looked up at the sound of his voice. It was David, once again on crutches, rather than in the wheelchair. He looked tanned, his shoulders and arms strong, and she felt a distinct shot of what Hope had diagnosed as good old-fashioned lust at the sight of him. She even found herself blushing a bit as she looked up at him.

  ‘Impressive? My French?’

  ‘I thought you said you could hardly say a word. That sounded pretty good to me.’

  There was no doubt about it. David was smiling. And talking to her!

  ‘I’m glad you thought so. It was a struggle, but I think communication was achieved.’

  ‘Very definitely.’ George came back from the front door, after seeing the electrician out. ‘Jean-Pierre was also very impressed, both by your command of his language and your knowledge of the intricacies of electrical installations.’

  ‘Well I can assure you that I definitely know more about electrics than French.’

  George produced another glass and emptied the bottle of rosé into the three glasses.

  ‘Cheers. So, David, where’ve you been?’

  For a moment, Jess got the feeling he was debating whether to reply, but then she distinctly saw him make an effort. ‘I went up to Ramatuelle for a change. I’d forgotten how lovely it is up there.’

  Jess nodded enthusiastically, keen to keep him talking.

  ‘I went there last night for dinner. I loved the place.’ Feeling that she should clarify matters, she was quick to add. ‘I was with Olivier. He’s the guy who gave me a lift home the other night in the rain. I don’t know his surname, but he teaches at the university in Aix.’

  ‘Olivier Masson. I thought I recognised him in the car with you last week. I went to elementary school with him.’ David sounded quite unexpectedly animated. ‘Was he good company?’

  ‘Very. He told me all about the fighting round here during the war.’

  ‘That’s his subject, I think. I haven’t seen him for a year or two. Is he well?’

  Jess could see that George was clearly delighted to hear his son sounding so interested. She did her best to keep the conversation going.

  ‘He’s fine, I think. We went to the beach bar later on and he did a lot of dancing.’

  ‘Olivier always was a good dancer.’

  The way he said it, just like Hope had done, Jess felt pretty sure he also knew of Olivier’s sexual orientation. Was that even a look of relief on David’s face?

  Then David surprised them by reaching for the remote control for the TV.

  ‘Do you mind?’

  He flicked through the channels until he came to the local news station.

  ‘The quayside was crawling with CRS when I came back through town. I wonder what was going on.’

  George noted Jess’s incomprehension and explained. ‘Have you heard of the CRS? They’re the paramilitary police.’

  They didn’t have long to wait. A slick-haired reporter standing on the quayside was soon describing the events that had closed the harbour. Jess managed to understand enough of what he was saying to discover that the events had taken place early that morning. Then, to her amazement, the camera zoomed in on a close-up of the stern of none other than Max’s boat, Helios IV. She sat in stunned silence, still trying to digest this, as she watched shots of lots of burly men in uniforms, flashing blue lights, and panoramic shots of the waterfront, losing track of what the reporter was saying. After a while, George turned down the volume and looked across at Jess.

  ‘Well, well, well. Gang warfare would appear to have reached St-Tropez now.’ Then a look of concern crossed his face. ‘Are you all right, Jess? You look as if you’ve just had a shock.’

  ‘I have just had a shock. That boat, the Helios, is the boat owned by the guy Hope’s been seeing for the past few weeks.’

  She saw George and David exchange glances.

  ‘Did you understand what they were saying on TV, Jess?’ George’s voice was supportive.

  ‘Some, but not a lot.’

  ‘The reporter said the CRS were called in first thing this morning. They raided the boat and they’ve arrested four men.’

  ‘But, why? What for?’

  ‘They got an anonymous tip-off.’

  George was looking concerned, as was David.

  ‘Something about a bunch of Chechen hitmen sent to assassinate somebody.’ George had a sudden thought. ‘Where’s Hope now? She wasn’t on board, was she?’

  Jess stood up, shaking her head. ‘No, thank goodness. She’s here, but her boyfriend owns the boat and he must have been on board. Did they mention anything about the boat’s owner being arrested?’ Both men shook their heads. ‘Would you mind if I dash off? I’d better go and break the news to her.’

  ‘Of course. If there’s anything you want us to do, just say. All right, Jess?’

  Jess gave them both a grateful smile.

  ‘Thank you so much. Hopefully it’ll all get sorted out soon. Thanks for the wine, George.’

  ‘Thank you for talking things through with the electrician.’

  Jess hurried back to the guest house and felt an acute sense of relief when she spotted Hope sunbathing on the lawn, with the dog stretched out beside her.

  ‘Hi Jess, how did it go with the electrician?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, but you’d better come inside. There’s something I’ve got to show you on the TV.’

  They spent the next half hour glued to the television screen and, gradually, they managed to work out exactly what had happened. The boat had been raided in the early hours and, as George had said, four arrests had been made. A small arsenal of weaponry had been discovered in their possession and the boat was now being subjected to a detailed search. There was no mention of Max by name, and there was no sign of him on board the boat that was now swarming with men in disposable overalls and gloves, sifting through and recording everything, while divers splashed around in the water nearby.

  ‘So, do you think it was your Mr Drugoi – whatever his real name is – who was their intended target?’

  Hope was flicking through the other stations to see if she could get more information – preferably in English.

  ‘It seems like a hell of a coincidence if it isn’t him. He’s only just arrived in St-Tropez and, surprise surprise, so have they. Max mentioned the men to you. You told me. I told Pete, and now this. Yes, my money’s on it being Drugoi.’

  ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.’ Hope shot Jess a half-smile.

  ‘God, Hope, he’s a slimy toad, but I wouldn’t want him dead.’ She did her best to smile back, although the thought of a gang of murderers on their doorstep was pretty horrific to contemplate. ‘A stray shot in the groin probably wouldn’t come amiss, but not murder.’

  Then, around half past one, they got another surprise. From Hope’s point of view this was even more momentous than the discovery that her boyfriend’s boat had been used by potential assassins. One of the French national television channels had man
aged to contact a man in London and they broadcast an interview with him. He appeared to be in his late fifties, heavily built, with a piebald grey and black beard. He was interviewed in English with subtitles, so Jess and Hope heard and understood every word he said.

  What stunned both girls was the caption that appeared beneath his name, describing him as the owner of the Helios IV.

  ‘The boat has been available to charter through a reputable agency for several years now and this booking came through them. I’m afraid I have no more knowledge than you as to who they are, or where they come from. I’ve been informed by the French police that my skipper, Max Taylor, is currently helping them with their enquiries, but they stressed that they don’t believe he’s involved in any way. He’s been working for me for two years now and he’s always proved to be trustworthy and reliable. I have no doubt he has nothing to do with whatever these men were plotting.’

  Jess glanced across at Hope and saw her face as white as a sheet as she took in the ramifications of this revelation. Trying her best to sound positive, Jess reached over and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

  ‘That’s good news. Clearly, they aren’t going to arrest Max or anything.’

  ‘Trustworthy and reliable… that’s what the man said, isn’t it, Jess?’ Jess saw her take a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure I’d agree with that.’ She looked up and Jess saw the tears in her friend’s eyes. ‘He lied to me, Jess. He told me he owned the boat, and all the time he’s just been the hired hand. I couldn’t care less whether he owns the boat or not. The fact is that he lied to me. I’m sorry… I…’

  Hope jumped to her feet, rushed out of the lounge, and disappeared into her room. Jess gave her a few minutes and then went in after her, accompanied by the dog. As she perched on the side of the bed where her friend was still sobbing, Brutus wandered over and nudged Hope’s hand with his nose, his tail wagging uncertainly. After a few seconds, Jess saw her turn to face the dog and pat his head.

  ‘Thanks, Brutus.’ Hope collected herself and sat up, wiping her eyes with a tissue. ‘And thanks for the support, Jess. Sorry for the tears, but it’s all come as a bit of a shock.’

  ‘A bit of a shock?’

  In fact, all along, Jess had been harbouring the suspicion that Max might not have been the owner of a three-million-dollar yacht, but had kept her suspicions to herself, seeing how besotted Hope was with him. She wondered if alcohol might help Hope and then decided to go for the more traditional English solution to life’s problems.

  ‘I’ll go and make some tea. All right?’

  Hope nodded distractedly, so Jess went through to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. When she returned with the mugs of tea, Hope was sitting on the floor beside the bed, hugging the Labrador in her arms.

  ‘Here… tea.’

  Jess handed the mug across and sat down on the side of the bed again. She sipped the hot tea and waited quietly until Hope felt like talking. It took a while.

  ‘Jess, we’ve been here now for, what, three weeks?’

  ‘We left London exactly three weeks ago today.’

  ‘And we said we’d stay for four weeks, maybe longer?’

  ‘Mrs Dupont is away for another two months, so we could stay until September if we feel like it.’

  ‘I think I want to go home, Jess.’ Hope’s voice, like her expression, was numb.

  Jess nodded, unsurprised at Hope’s reaction, but desperately analysing her own thoughts. There was no doubt that the very last thing in her mind was the idea of going home. Now that she was beginning to settle into St-Tropez life, making friends, and getting to know the area, she knew she wanted to stay. But, above all, she knew she wanted to stay close to David and his father. At the same time, she could see that Hope was hurting. Badly.

  ‘And when you get home, Hope? What then?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Start looking for a job, I suppose. Anything, just so long as it’s as far away from here and from Max as I possibly can be.’

  Jess felt awful for her, imagining how she herself would feel if the roles were reversed.

  ‘Well, we’re sort of committed to another week, so let’s see how we both feel in a few days’ time.’

  ‘But you don’t need to let this spoil your holiday as well, Jess. Besides, what about Brutus? And then, of course, there’s David. I can get a flight home from Nice or Marseille. There’s no need for you to come with me.’

  ‘I know, but let’s just see how we feel next week. For now, I’m committed to drawing up some plans for George anyway. In fact, I don’t know about you, but, although it’s past lunchtime, I’m not feeling very hungry, so I think I’ll skip lunch and sit down at the computer.’

  Leaving Hope to be comforted by Brutus, Jess went back to the kitchen table and opened her laptop. Slowly and meticulously she transferred the measurements she had taken in the villa onto the screen, using the computer-aided design software with which she was so familiar. Gradually, a three-dimensional CAD plan of the villa took shape until she was happy that it represented the villa in its current state. Saving that, she then started working on the changes she proposed, refining ideas in her head as she did so.

  It was well past five o’clock when she decided to stop. She spun the model around on the screen, checking the various alterations she was proposing, and then decided to take a break. Closing the computer, she tiptoed back to Hope’s door and saw her lying fast asleep on her bed. Hearing footsteps, Brutus raised his head and jumped to his feet. Jess mouthed the word Walk to him and he trotted very willingly out with her.

  It was another delightful warm day, although the forecast for the next week was a bit more mixed. Mind you, she thought to herself as she and Brutus wandered through the wildflowers, St-Tropez’s claim to have more hours of sunshine than just about anywhere else in France appeared to be justified, at least on the basis of her experience so far. Their walk took them across the hillside and back down to the coastal footpath a bit further along the coast towards St-Tropez, passing fairly close to the tumbledown farmhouse she had spotted before. It looked even better close-up, but very dilapidated and definitely abandoned. She could imagine it renovated and extended and she felt sure it could become a spectacular house – for a billionaire.

  With a little sigh, she turned for home, encountering a few tricky bits where the path climbed up and down over the rocks at the shoreline, and was delighted to see Brutus managing it without too much trouble. He was definitely looking slimmer and much fitter than when they had started and his energy levels were much higher. And his flatulence had also finally stopped – a state of affairs that had come as a considerable relief to both girls. Jess reflected that, if she and Hope did decide to head for home at the end of next week, the dog, at least, would be in far better condition than before.

  When they got back to their little beach, Brutus wasted no time in leaping into the water and paddling happily out to sea and back again as Jess threw bits of driftwood for him to collect and fetch. As she sat there, she gazed down into the crystal clear water and, from there, past the happy dog and out towards the distant horizon. The sea was that wonderful aquamarine colour she had come to love, and the sun on her shoulders felt really good. It would be very, very tough to leave all this – not to mention the people she would have to leave. And number one among those was, of course, David.

  He was certainly sounding more communicative – still not chatty by any means, but making good progress now. In particular, he appeared much less dejected, and he had even started smiling, albeit weakly. She definitely sensed the same gradual improvement to which his father had alluded, and she hoped desperately he would continue to make progress. On a personal note, she was secretly really pleased that the sight of him earlier that day – although on his crutches – had created a sensation in her that she recognised and welcomed. Today, when he had come into the room, the first emotion she had felt had not been pity, but desire. So her fear that the discovery of his handicap might have made him
less desirable was proving to be unfounded. As Hope had said, wheelchair or no wheelchair, he was still a hunk.

  As she and Brutus walked back to the guest house, she heard her name being called. She turned to find Antoinette standing at the front door of the villa and went across to her.

  ‘Bonjour, Antoinette.’

  ‘Hi, Jess. Listen, there’s a man who wants to see you.’

  ‘To see me?’ Jess was puzzled. Apart from Olivier and maybe one or two others, nobody knew she was here.

  ‘Yes. He sounds foreign, but not English. He’s waiting outside the gate. I don’t let people in unless I know them. Do you want to go and see who it is? I’ll come with you if you like.’

  Together they walked back along the gravel drive to the entrance and Jess peeked out through the gap between the gate and the gatepost. At first all she could see was a big white car right in front of her, and then she spotted two things that clarified the identity of the visitor. The first was the unmistakable silver statuette on the bonnet of the car. Even with her very limited knowledge of vehicle emblems, Jess recognised it as a Rolls Royce. Second, in case she might still have any doubt, was the figure resting against the front wing – Dmitri.

  Jess turned to Antoinette.

  ‘I know who it is, but there’s no way I’m letting him in here. I’ll go outside and see what he wants. Would you close the gate behind me and hang around here, so you can let me in again? Hang on to Brutus as well, would you? I’ll knock when I want to get back in.’

  ‘Of course. Who is this man?’

  ‘It’s somebody I knew in London.’

  Taking a deep breath, Jess opened the side gate and slipped through, hearing it close firmly behind her. As soon as he saw her appear, Dmitri ducked back to the rear door of the car and opened it. As Drugoi stepped out, Jess was relieved to see the front passenger door open and the familiar hefty figure of Pete step out on the other side. He gave Jess an encouraging smile as the interpreter spoke.