The Snakes

by Sadie Jones

  Without speaking, the driver adjusted the dials. Bea took Dan’s hand. She kissed it. She whispered, so Arun wouldn’t hear.

  Do you mind if I wait downstairs?’

  ‘No, sure.’

  ‘It’s just – I’ve just – had enough of my mother for today.’

  18

  Bea waited in the bar and Dan went upstairs with Arun. The Adamsons’ suite occupied the corner of the first floor. A brass plate on the door proclaimed Suite Présidentielle.

  ‘Good, you’re here,’ said Griff, talking before Dan had even closed the door. ‘Presidential suite. Christ. The only president to set foot in this place is the president of the West Minge Montrachet Appreciation Society.’ He strode away across the room. ‘The chief morris dancer of Little Squirtingdon, celebrating being twinned with – what’s the village called, Arun? The one just there?’

  Arun had melted away into the shadowy expanses of the suite, without actually leaving.

  ‘Sainte –’ came his voice from somewhere, but Griff had moved on.

  ‘Anyway, she’s in there.’ He meant Liv. He went to a faraway sofa.

  Dan followed him, stifling his desire to exclaim at the panelling, and the view, framed like a procession of oil paintings along the room. Griff sat, and gestured Dan to join him.

  ‘Ordeal, was it?’

  ‘No, it was all right,’ said Dan.

  ‘Fucking outrage,’ said Griff.

  ‘More a question of style than substance,’ said Arun’s voice. Dan still couldn’t work out exactly where he was.

  ‘No real trouble?’ said Griff, eyes narrowed, ready for the facts.

  ‘No. But – there was something I thought you should know. I told Bea.’

  He saw Griff prepare himself; it reminded him of Bea, brave and direct.

  ‘Go on,’ said Griff.

  ‘They showed me a CCTV photo.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘A petrol station somewhere.’

  ‘What do you mean, somewhere?’

  ‘They didn’t tell me.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Alex’s car, and Alex, going into the shop, like, to pay, maybe. And another man.’

  ‘Another man? What man?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why did they show it to you?’

  ‘They wanted to know if it was me.’ He kept eye contact. ‘Which was stupid.’

  ‘Obviously. Arun?’

  ‘Don’t worry, they have my letter.’

  Dan thought of Arun’s letter, the white envelope on the front desk at the gendarmerie, and imagined impressive legal threats, and Capitaine Vincent, quaking in his brogues.

  ‘Good. So what did this – person look like?’ said Griff.

  ‘It was totally out of focus. Dark, maybe, black, maybe – but he could have been anyone. They didn’t tell me anything else. Nothing. But I thought you should know about it.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Griff. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘Well, thanks for getting me out of there.’

  Griff shrugged, but didn’t deny it. He stared into space for a moment. ‘I’m glad they’re moving along,’ he said, restrained and calm. ‘Arun, give Roche a call.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Arun’s voice.

  ‘You know he left?’ said Griff to Dan. ‘Released him back into the wild, didn’t we, Arun?’ Griff got up. ‘Excuse me.’ He crossed the room and went through a door.

  Dan breathed again. His mouth was dry.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ said Arun, appearing.

  ‘That would be great.’

  Arun went to a cabinet. ‘Oops, television.’ He opened another. ‘There we are. It’s beer for you, isn’t it?’

  He opened the bottled beer and poured it into a tall glass, and put it onto the coffee table in front of Dan.

  ‘I should think you’ll be needing that,’ he said, like Dan had had a tough week at Foundations of Holloway.

  ‘Thanks.’ Dan picked up his glass.

  The first sip of beer was icy, and the room smelled of vanilla.

  ‘There’s a cloakroom just there, if you like,’ said Arun. ‘You needn’t go through the bedroom.’

  Dan took the hint. The tiny cloakroom was entirely panelled. His face in the mirror looked like another oil painting, in the dimness, framed by dark wood, like the view from the windows, absorbed into this new world. He washed the parts of himself he could get to easily, and went back out and sat down again, and drank his beer. The gendarmerie, and everything associated with it had almost gone. After a few moments, Griff came out of the bedroom and closed the door.

  ‘She scares me,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if I should say that, about my own wife. But she does.’

  ‘Would you like me to do anything?’ said Arun.

  ‘What could you do? Don’t be stupid. I don’t know if it’s the medication, or shock – I’ve no idea. To be honest, we don’t usually spend so much time together.’

  Arun handed Griff a gin and tonic, and patted him, once, on the shoulder.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Griff, taking a sip. ‘Lovely.’ He turned to Dan, and smiled. ‘My daughter is sulking again, I take it?’

  ‘No, no,’ Dan faltered. ‘She’s downstairs.’

  ‘I was hoping to talk to her.’

  ‘I think she’s tired,’ said Dan, but there wasn’t really any excuse and he felt embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s just business,’ said Griff. ‘You’re better qualified, obviously, but I should probably talk to her.’

  He came and sat down on the sofa. Dan’s curiosity was awakened, like a dog at the smell of meat.

  ‘What kind of thing was it?’

  ‘What? Oh, just some financial business.’

  ‘About the farm? We collected the rent.’

  ‘No, nothing to do with that.’

  He put his drink down and sighed and rubbed his face. He looked very tired. ‘I just thought I’d have another go. In the circumstances.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me? I could talk to her.’

  Griff laughed. ‘That’s a terrible idea. Why would I talk to you? Your wife wears the trousers.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Dan.

  ‘I’m not being rude, but come on. What’s the expression?’ He paused. ‘Pussy-whipped. That’s you.’ The words were shocking coming out of his mouth.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You know, pussy-whipped. My daughter has the upper hand?’

  ‘Yeah, I know what it means.’

  ‘I’m not being funny. I’m the last person to judge anybody’s marital arrangements.’

  Dan said nothing. Griff watched his face.

  ‘I’ve offended your pride.’

  ‘No,’ said Dan evenly. He wasn’t going to fall into Griff’s stereotype.

  Griff leaned forward and put his big hand on Dan’s shoulder. ‘Forgive me. Seriously. I’m not myself.’

  He looked sad, and Dan believed him. ‘It’s all right. Forget it.’

  He picked up his beer, and finished it. But it was no good. He couldn’t leave it alone.

  ‘Bea and I agree about pretty much everything,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the same values.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘No and.’

  ‘A but, then.’

  ‘No,’ said Dan. ‘I mean, I don’t want her to think badly of me.’

  Griff smiled.

  ‘Listen, that’s not the same as being whipped,’ said Dan.

  ‘Isn’t it? Well, she couldn’t have a lower opinion of me, and I survive.’

  ‘We’re honest with each other.’

  ‘Really?’ said Griff. ‘Well, that’s mistake number one, in a marriage.’

  They both laughed at that, and there was peace for a moment, except for Dan’s curiosity, snapping at his heels.

  ‘So what was it you wanted to talk to her about? I’ll pass it on,’ he said.

  ‘Fine.’ Griff no
dded. ‘Arun?’

  Arun stepped out of the shadows. Plucking his trousers at the knee, he sat down on a squat, gilded armchair. Griff lay back, almost horizontal, to rest.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said.

  ‘Hotel Paligny, the farm and the surrounding land are owned by a company,’ said Arun. ‘The land extends to about fifteen hectares –’

  ‘Sorry, which company?’ asked Dan.

  ‘Griff’s company.’

  ‘LCF?’

  ‘No. A different one.’

  ‘Hemisphere?’

  ‘Done your homework,’ Griff murmured, dozing.

  Dan was embarrassed. He thought of scrolling through the pictures of Griff’s family, hunting down the articles, the records at Companies House.

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Arun, ‘neither of those. It’s offshore.’

  ‘Switzerland?’

  Griff snorted. ‘Not these days. That’s over.’

  ‘I thought Paligny belonged to Alex,’ said Dan.

  ‘No,’ said Arun.

  ‘No,’ said Griff.

  ‘The company is based in Cayman.’

  ‘The company that owns the hotel?’ asked Dan.

  ‘Yes,’ Arun answered.

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘The details aren’t important.’

  ‘So why are you telling me?’

  ‘Well, you see,’ said Arun, ‘Griff’s initial thought was to sell the property, which he has no use for.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘However, it’s becoming clear that the police will require access to all aspects of Alex’s life. And that means the hotel, and of course the family, will be under scrutiny.’

  ‘Yeah, OK.’

  ‘And,’ said Griff, waking from his doze, ‘the French are bastards when it comes to property. Total bastards. Especially since we’re reverting to pre-1973 rules. I never would have bought the place if Alex and Liv hadn’t had one of their whims. Bad move. Stupid.’

  ‘Never mind, never mind, on we go,’ said Arun, his eyes twinkling at Dan. ‘So, here we are. It is really so simple, and not clandestine at all.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ said Griff, eyes closed once more.

  ‘The company I mentioned owns Paligny, and – with one or two steps along the way – Griff is the CEO of the company. Ergo, Griff owns the hotel. You see?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Dan. ‘So?’

  ‘So we thought we might transfer the company into your name.’

  ‘Sorry, mine?’

  ‘The company that owns Paligny.’

  ‘The company in the Cayman Islands?’

  ‘It’s based in Cayman, yes,’ said Arun. ‘It’s not as big a thing as you might imagine.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said Dan, amused. He was beginning to get the feeling he was out of his depth. Arun wasn’t an idiot. He was the lawyer who’d helped Griff make his millions, not to mention keeping him out of court for forty-five years which, if Dan’s recent investigations were accurate, hadn’t always been easy. ‘How is it not a big thing?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, for one thing, the company’s assets are very, very safe. All very steady, very low-volatility investments,’ said Arun.

  ‘Yes, but what’s it called?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I think it does. If you’re talking about a company, some offshore company, you want me to – what? – front up? And you don’t want to disclose its name. I should probably know something about it. Some fucking thing.’

  ‘Calm down, dear,’ said Griff.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Why don’t we take a walk outside?’ said Arun. ‘There’s no need to get excited. I promise you, these things take place every day.’ He sounded like a surgeon getting out the scalpel.

  Dan’s phone chirped in his pocket.

  Don’t make me come up! Car park 15 mins? Love you xxxB

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he said. Give me 25, he texted back.

  Dan and Arun strolled the gravelled paths of the parterre, past statuary and urns, like characters in a TV costume drama, except neither he nor Arun fitted the profile of that bleached and fetishised past. Quietly, Arun laid out the terms of Griff’s proposed agreement, in all its watertight safety. Paligny would stay in the company name – which was Elven, as it turned out.

  ‘Elven? That’s kind of cute,’ said Dan.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it? Whimsical.’

  Elven owned the Hotel Paligny. It would be months before anyone followed the paper trail to Cayman, and, when it was, ‘So what?’ said Dan.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Arun. ‘You would own Paligny, it’s hardly a crime.’

  ‘So it’s all just to keep Griff’s finances from being investigated?’ said Dan.

  ‘Griff has nothing to hide,’ said Arun.

  ‘So he always says.’

  ‘It’s very boring and expensive to be audited.’

  ‘What does it involve, anyway? Changing names on the deed, overwriting details?’

  ‘It’s not your problem.’

  Dan stopped walking, and looked out at the hills and vineyards, and then up at the hotel, then back to Arun’s expectant face.

  ‘Sorry, no. Bea wouldn’t like this. Thanks and everything, but that’s it.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Arun.

  ‘Good?’

  ‘I’m always wary of involving family members,’ said Arun. ‘I’ve told him before.’

  ‘So, you don’t need me?’ said Dan.

  Arun gave a laugh at the idea. ‘No, no, we’re fine, thank you.’

  ‘So, why ask?’

  ‘Why? Isn’t it obvious to you? Griff worries about Bea. He hoped she might enjoy the money. She’s such a stubborn girl.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Dan, ‘the money?’

  ‘It is all by the by, now.’ Arun checked his watch. ‘She’s waiting for you, I think.’

  He held out his hand, but Dan didn’t shake it. He tried, but couldn’t think of another way to phrase it. ‘What kind of money?’ he asked.

  ‘As nominal CEO of Elven?’ said Arun.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’d be a token salary, obviously.’

  ‘So, what is a nominal CEO’s token salary? Out of interest.’

  ‘Oh, gosh, maybe a hundred and fifty a year. Something in that area.’

  Just the sound of it – just hearing the numbers – it was humiliating, but it made Dan want to cry. He stood before Arun, dirty, exhausted and unshaven, having spent the day in a concrete barracks, his status as a nobody reinforced, yet again, as if he needed his nose rubbed in it; made to look back at his dingy childhood, have the notion of himself as a student of art sneered at, judging his marriage through the tainted lens of circumstance. The chance to change everything was close enough to touch. Arun stood quietly, waiting, the sleeves of his pale pink shirt were turned up crisply, to the elbow. His wristwatch sparkled.

  ‘His daughter means a great deal to him,’ he said at last. ‘You understand? He wants to see her financially secure. Sadly, every time, she turns him down.’

  There was silence.

  ‘It’s a shame,’ said Arun.

  Dan, impotent, nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Shame.’

  He shook Arun’s hand and walked back through the parterre; along the gravel paths, past a vast mass of tall white lilies, bright white in the sun, down, round the chateau, to the back entrance, and the car park, to meet his wife.

  19

  A hundred and fifty thousand pounds. A hundred and fifty thousand pounds a year. In the middle of the night, Dan lay in bed and watched Bea sleeping, and hated her. A hundred and fifty thousand. Her rounded cheek was resting on her open hand. She looked about twelve years old. Innocent. This didn’t need to have happened, this wasn’t where they had to be. He thought of their rain-soaked, stupid honeymoon in Yorkshire, his two cheap M&S suits, the slip-on shoes he hated. He thought of the smell of their old clothes, drying by the radiators, and the twistin
g in his stomach every time Bea sat down to do the sums for the month. He thought of how she pretended to worry about paying each bill, and made him feel guilty for every takeaway coffee, and sick with himself for going along with her lie. For three years he had hardly let himself think of it; her money, like coins that stacked and heaped and shuffled in an arcade coin-pusher, but never fell. Bea had the key. She could open up the back of the machine, at any time. They could be holding fistfuls of gold, and she knew it, but she kept pretending, fixing broken soles onto her shoes, and telling him how lucky she felt. Lucky. He had thrown away his dreams to spend his days showing strangers around stinking flats vacated by the corpses of threadbare old men; hoping for his reduced, only fair, non-exploitative 1 per cent commission to drag them into the next month, and the next mortgage payment, never having any choices, never doing anything they wanted with the one precious life they had. Because of her. Because of her, his future was in cold storage, and had dried up, and gone. She talked about believing in him, but all the time she held him back.

  ‘Bea, wake up.’ He pushed her shoulder. ‘Wake up.’

  He pushed her again, and she jumped.

  ‘Where’s Alex?’ she said.

  He switched on the light, and she screwed up her eyes in the glare.

  ‘What’s happened?’ She groped for her phone. It was three o’clock in the morning.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Dan. ‘Sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to scare you, but we need to talk.’

  ‘What about?’

  It was wrong to discuss it in bed. ‘Get up,’ he said. ‘You need to.’

  ‘What is it?’

  He pulled on his jeans, and, stumbling, she followed him downstairs to the first, small, sitting room.

  ‘Dan?’

  The moonlight coming through the window made squares on the floor. Dan felt his way along the wall, to a standard lamp, and switched it on. It was reflected, misshapen, in the black windows.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said.

  She sat at one end of the sofa and tucked her feet up, pulling her T-shirt over her knees. He sat at the other end, in his jeans, but no shirt, his legs pulled up too, facing her, as he embarked on his bloodless revolution. He began with her father and Arun, and the offer of the company, the ownership of Paligny.