Dreaming of St-Tropez

by T A Williams

  ‘Now, you wait out here. I go in, check it out and then call you. Once inside, I’ll lurk in the background. You ignore me and make sure you say as little as possible and try not to be too nice.’

  ‘Nice?’

  ‘You’re always so smiley and friendly and nice, Jess. But not in the face of the enemy. We’re going into a combat zone here. Stay alert and remember what I said – act as if you own the place or as if you could buy it with your small change.’ He caught her eye. ‘And for God’s sake stop giggling.’

  When they reached the door of the boutique, Pete parked her outside and went in. Jess’s giggles were replaced by nerves by now and she was feeling quite apprehensive once more by the time Pete appeared at the door and waved her in.

  ‘All clear.’

  He could have been waving her into a property recently occupied by insurgents. Jess took a deep breath and stepped inside. Pete followed, closing the door behind them and stationing himself beside it, arms crossed, impassive.

  ‘Bonjour, Madame.’

  The woman behind the counter was immaculately dressed and looked as though she was most probably the owner. She was every bit as elegant and daunting as Jess had suspected, but she was looking nervous and Jess took heart.

  ‘Good morning.’ She made no attempt to speak French.

  ‘Good morning. How can we help you today?’ Unsurprisingly, the woman’s English was fluent.

  Jess didn’t reply. Instead, she just stalked around the shop, affecting only minimal interest in the gorgeous clothes on display until she reached the window. Very casually, she glanced at the backs of the dresses on display and was relieved to see price tags on two of them. She glanced casually over her shoulder and saw the woman watching her anxiously. Just beyond her, the monolithic presence of Pete in his suit and shades was having the desired effect.

  ‘If there’s anything I can do for you, Madame, please just say so.’

  Again, Jess didn’t reply, but she leant forward and ran her fingers over the material of one of the dresses. It felt like silk and it was absolutely lovely. As she did so, she managed to get a closer view of the price tag. The first figure she saw was 999 euros and she almost had a heart attack. Then, to her immense relief, she spotted a thin pencil line crossing this out and, below it, somebody had written 499 €. She felt a wave of relief that she could just about afford it. Turning away, she completed her slow tour of the shop until she returned to the woman at the counter.

  ‘Have you seen anything you like, Madame?’

  ‘The blue dress in the window – do you have that in my size?’

  By this time the shopkeeper must have checked her out and she nodded, scuttling off to return almost immediately with the dress. She was leading Jess to a changing room, when they were interrupted.

  ‘One moment, please.’

  Pete came past them and opened the door to the changing room, his right hand inside his left breast pocket like in the films, and Jess felt an overwhelming urge to giggle again. Fortunately, she managed to keep a lid on it, for now.

  ‘Clear.’ He stood aside.

  The shopkeeper ushered Jess inside and withdrew. Jess saw the comforting shadow of Pete against the louvred door as he took up position outside and she hastened to try the dress on. It fitted perfectly, it felt wonderful, and it looked stunning. It was very simple, cornflower blue, with the thinnest imaginable shoulder straps, and she really did feel like a princess in it. After a couple of whirls and turns, she slipped out of it once more and returned to her supermarket clothes.

  The shopkeeper looked up hopefully as Jess emerged from the changing room and walked over to the counter, accompanied by her faithful bodyguard.

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  Remembering her lesson in the bar, she raised one hand and clicked her fingers. Immediately a large shadow fell across the counter and Pete stepped forward. Jess glanced at the shopkeeper’s face as she watched him pull the hefty bankroll from his pocket and peel five hundred euros off the roll and place them on the counter. It was not dissimilar to the expression on Brutus’s face when his food was being prepared. Jess did her best to keep a straight face as the shopkeeper folded the dress and slipped it into a very fine-looking bag, along with a card.

  ‘If Madame requires anything else, please feel free to call me any time.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jess reckoned she owed the lady at least a word of thanks. The one euro change was left, disdainfully, on the counter.

  As she walked towards the door, Pete sprang into action, opening the door and stepping out to check the street in both directions before turning back with his usual, ‘Clear.’

  Jess made it as far as the bar once more before the dam burst and she slumped down at a table, erupting into a fit of the giggles that had the other customers looking across at her curiously.

  ‘You’re a natural, Jess. Brilliantly done.’ Pete sat down opposite her and joined in the laughter. ‘And I was very impressed to see that you kept the shades on even when you were changing. That’s real devotion to the cause.’

  ‘You saw me changing?’ She caught his eye.

  ‘It’s my job to see everything.’ Pete was still grinning. ‘By the way, you might like to invest in some new underwear. A dress like that needs something really minimal underneath. There’s a gorgeous lingerie shop just a few doors down.’

  In fact, Jess had been thinking along the very same lines. She took a second look at the big muscleman. The way he was talking wasn’t in the least bit suggestive or offensive. In fact, it sounded like very sensible, impartial advice. She suddenly began to see him in a whole new light. Could it be that underneath the hard man façade he was really made of much softer stuff?

  ‘Pete, you’re a star. Thank you so much for helping me out. I’m sure I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, Jess, and the dress looked fabulous on you – a real princess.’

  ‘A phoney princess, but what the hell? By the way, how come she kept calling me Madame? Do I look that old?’

  He grinned. ‘Not at all. The thing is, Madame is the usual way of addressing any woman these days, irrespective of age. Mademoiselle is being used less and less. No, it’s not because you look ancient.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. Anyway, thanks again, Pete. I owe you.’

  He shook his head. ‘Wrong. I owe you. If you hadn’t told me about those guys on board the Helios, I might have lost a client – and that’s really not very good for business.’ He gave her a wink, before a much more serious expression appeared on his face. ‘Besides, from what the police told me about the heavy artillery they were carrying, a lot of other people might have got hurt as well. And that would probably have included me.’

  Jess reached over and caught hold of his powerful forearm.

  ‘I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, Pete. You’re a sweetie.’

  He gave her a smile. ‘By the way, Jess, I’ve been meaning to say – I was very, very impressed that you didn’t take Drugoi’s money.’

  ‘The less I have to do with Drugoi and his money, the better.’

  ‘He and his little friend, Dmitri, were still discussing it when they left. It must be the first time somebody’s refused his money.’

  ‘They were discussing me in English?’

  ‘No, in Russian.’ Pete caught Jess’s eye. ‘It’s a pretty important language in my profession, along with Arabic.’

  ‘So, you speak Russian and Arabic, as well as French of course?’

  He nodded and grinned. ‘Brains and brawn, eh, Jess? Now I bet you wish I was straight, don’t you?’

  Chapter 21

  Jess went over to the villa just after six o’clock on Sunday. She had followed Pete’s instructions and invested not only in new underwear, but in new shoes – not as expensive as the dress, but a major investment nevertheless. She rarely wore heels, but somehow the new dress seemed to be crying out for them. On George’s instructions, a freshly washed and
brushed Brutus was also invited to the party and he trotted happily alongside her as she cautiously negotiated the gravel path over to the house.

  The parking area was already crammed with cars, many of them probably worth as much as David’s Jaguar, and she began to feel a bit nervous. She walked round to the kitchen door and let Brutus lead her in. She found herself in the midst of a hive of activity. Antoinette was directing operations, while two pretty, teenage girls were preparing trays. Antoinette looked up as she heard the door and beamed approvingly.

  ‘Jess, you look wonderful! That dress suits you down to the ground. Here, say hello to my daughters – Chantal and Marie-Hélène.’

  Jess shook hands with the girls and asked if she could help. Antoinette gave a very definite shake of the head.

  ‘In that dress, Jess, absolutely not. I’d never forgive myself if it got messed up. Thank you for the offer, but we’ll manage.’ She smiled happily. ‘I’m so very pleased this is happening. We used to do a lot of entertaining back before Babette got sick, and the post Bastille Day party was a regular annual event. It didn’t happen last year – so soon after her death – so it’s wonderful that George feels like doing it again. I’m sure that’s your influence, you know. Now, you go on through to the lounge. Jean-Pierre’s in there with champagne.’

  ‘You’ve got your husband working as well? It really is a family affair, isn’t it?’

  Jess and Brutus walked through to the lounge as instructed and found it almost empty, although she could see a crowd of people out on the terrace. Jean-Pierre was standing at a side table that was covered with glasses and bottles and he held out a glass of champagne towards her.

  ‘Bonsoir, Jess.’ He raised the fingers of his other hand to his lips and kissed them appreciatively. ‘Comme vous êtes belle!’

  Jess blushed as she took the glass from him.

  ‘Merci bien, Jean-Pierre. Vous êtes très gentil.’

  She let the dog lead her out of the French windows onto the terrace where she found George waiting for her. He was looking very smart in a pair of immaculate light grey trousers, sky blue shirt and a linen jacket. His reaction to her appearance was not dissimilar to the one she had received from Jean-Pierre. He reached out, took hold of her free hand and gave a quiet whistle.

  ‘Jess, my dear, you look breathtaking. Oh, to be thirty years younger!’

  Jess kissed him on the cheeks and thanked him for the compliment, secretly very pleased that he, too, seemed to think she looked all right. She let her eyes roam across the twenty or so people standing out on the terrace, pretending to look for faces she recognised, but really checking to see where David was.

  George didn’t miss much.

  ‘David’s down the far end. I’m sure he’d love to see you. Why don’t you go and chat to him and then I’ll introduce you to a few people a bit later on?’

  Jess gave him a big smile and followed his directions, slipping in and out among the other guests with the dog, feeling a number of curious eyes on her and checking out the clothes of the other women. One thing was for sure – she was in no way overdressed. And, she thought to herself, if a few Chechen gangsters happened to come around, they could no doubt make themselves a small fortune by collecting the jewellery on display – although she was wearing none at all. She returned a few smiles, but recognised nobody, until she reached the end of the terrace and heard his voice.

  ‘Hello, Brutus. You’ve come to the party, have you?’

  David was sitting at the far end of the terrace in an ordinary chair, not in his wheelchair, and Jess felt a rush of happiness for him. It felt really good to see him again. She hadn’t spoken to him for almost a week. As she reached his side, he was bending forward over the dog, giving him a stroke. She touched him lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘Hello, David.’

  ‘Hi, Jess…’

  His voice tailed off as he glanced up and took a good look at her. As his eyes met hers, she suddenly realised why her new dress had appealed to her so much – it was the exact same colour as his eyes.

  ‘Jess, I really don’t know what to say. You look absolutely devastating. That dress, those shoes, your hair… you look wonderful.’

  Jess leant down and kissed him on the cheeks.

  ‘It’s amazing what can be done with smoke and mirrors. Besides, you don’t look too shabby yourself.’

  He was wearing a soft white cotton shirt and immaculate dark blue trousers. His hair had been freshly cut and with his suntan – broken nose or no broken nose – he looked like a Hollywood idol himself. She reached over and clinked her glass against his as the dog sat down between them.

  ‘Cheers – it’s good to see you, David.’

  ‘And it’s really good to see you.’ He sounded as if he meant it. ‘So, what’s your news?’

  She sat with him, chatting, telling him about the latest messages from Hope on the Helios – now somewhere off the Italian Riviera coast – and how the skipper and the hostie were getting on like a house on fire. She also told him about Pete’s invaluable help at the dress shop and was delighted to hear him laugh. As he did so, his face changed so radically from the glum expression to which she had become accustomed, and she felt a wave of optimism for the future – his future.

  And maybe hers.

  After a while, she managed to persuade him to stand up and, with the support of his crutches, accompany her on a tour of the other guests. She could see the effort – mental rather than physical – that it cost him, but she felt sure it was the right thing to encourage him to do. In the course of their slow progress along the terrace, she was introduced to a load of people whose names she felt sure she would never remember, and she got a close-up view of some of the finest jewellery she had ever seen. Most of the people were of George’s era, with a few younger exceptions here and there. Roughly half of them were French, and she found herself speaking French to a couple of the older ones. The others a mixture of nationalities, from Canadian to Indian, with a handful of Brits thrown in. By now she counted upwards of thirty people out here and her progress along the terrace seemed interminable.

  Just as they were finally reaching the end, George appeared with a man who was probably around the same age as him at his side. This charming, smiley gentleman was introduced to Jess as Philippe Mailly, one of his near neighbours. George and David then went off together, leaving Jess to have a long chat with M. Mailly – partly in French and partly in English – in the course of which she told him about the changes they were going to make to the inside of the villa. He appeared very interested – particularly when she told him she was an architect and had worked in London for some years. When he finally moved on to talk to other people, she wondered whether she might find him knocking on her door sometime soon for some architectural advice about his own property.

  Brutus had a wonderful time, being thoroughly spoilt by everybody. Jess was pleased to find that he stayed close to her, so she was able to divert most, although not all, the treats that people were intent upon giving to him. Antoinette’s two girls were doing a grand job of circulating with trays of delicious nibbles and Brutus’s nose was permanently cocked upwards, his eyes ever-hopeful. He really was looking noticeably slimmer and fitter, so Jess decided a few extra calories wouldn’t hurt him – just this once.

  After a while, she spotted David heading indoors, so she and the dog followed him into the lounge. For a moment, she thought he might be about to take the lift – which, she noticed, now boasted a fine piece of carpet on its floor – and disappear upstairs, but he didn’t. Instead, he settled down on the very upright armchair he normally used and stretched his legs out in front of him. She went across to him.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

  ‘Please do. I just needed a sit down.’

  Jess took a seat on a stool beside him and Brutus flopped down at her feet.

  ‘So, how’s it been, David?’

  ‘Physically – surprisingly easy. Mentally – a bit wearing.�
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  At that moment, Jean-Pierre appeared with a bottle of ice-cold champagne. Without being asked, he topped up their glasses and he was just moving off when Jess caught his attention and asked when he would be starting the electrical work. His answer was just what she wanted to hear.

  ‘Demain matin, Jess.’

  She gave him a big smile and, after he had left, she looked across at David.

  ‘So, tomorrow morning the rewiring starts. I hope that isn’t going to interrupt your work with your computers too much.’

  David shook his head. ‘No, it’s all sorted out. First thing he’s going to do is to set up a separate temporary circuit for Dad and me to use while he rips the old wiring out. I should be fine. I’ll still be contactable.’

  ‘Do lots of people contact you?’

  He nodded. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many.’

  ‘Business or pleasure?’

  ‘Almost entirely business, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What is it you do, exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘I sometimes ask myself the same question. Things have got so complicated over the past few years.’

  ‘Computery stuff, isn’t it?’

  He smiled – a lovely light, happy smile – and she found herself smiling with him.

  ‘That’s right – computery stuff.’

  He then went on to attempt to explain what he did and Jess was flabbergasted. Not only had she heard of his company, she actually used the internet messaging service he and his company had designed. As he talked, she remembered reading about the secretive boss of the company, who rarely appeared in public. Clearly, she was sitting next to a twenty-first century icon.

  Suddenly she began to realise that, however rich his father might be, David was in another league entirely and, by the sound of it, he had done it all himself. She was sitting alongside a man who was most probably on first name terms with presidents, prime ministers and household names like Bill Gates. She was so totally gobsmacked that the Labrador must have sensed her stupefaction, as he pulled himself to his feet and laid his head on her knee.