Chapter 15: Love hurts

I gazed damp eyed at the face of my old friend, a man I had known and respected for almost forty years, remembering the good times and the bad times we had shared.

‘Well Maurice, you certainly picked a memorable way to leave this life, and by the look on your face you entered Paradise when you departed,’ I said before kissing my fingers and then laying them on his forehead. It was only then I realised the chain he habitually wore around his neck was missing.

“Did that thieving young whore take his chain?” I asked Rafael, anger giving my voice a hard edge.

Rafael calmed me with his answer. “No, Philippe, last Friday I took the chain into Abraham de Souza’s shop to have the faulty catch repaired. M’sieu de Souza said some of the links were so worn they needed to be replaced but he didn’t have the same grade of gold of the links in stock and had to order some. The chain and pendant is still in the shop.”

I nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll pop in to see him tomorrow –” I paused and glanced at my wrist watch, “later today and see if he has completed the repairs. The Chevalier would want to be buried wearing his chain and half heart pendant.”

The undertaker and his assistants then arrived and I left the room as they did what they had to do, then accompanied them and Maurice’s body bagged corpse to the hearse waiting discreetly in the rear car park of the hotel. The hearse drove off and I returned to the White Kepi with tears coursing down my cheeks. I slept only for a few hours and after a swift breakfast of coffee and croissants made a list of what I needed to do regarding Maurice’s death.

I had to inform Leilah and Dihya in Agadir and also Legion HQ at Aubagne of the passing of Maurice Champignon. Maurice was to be laid to rest in the Planchette family plot at Le Boulou’s cemetery and the Planchettes would organise the funeral but the legion would want to send a guard of honour and a firing party to commemorate the Chevalier.

My first call was to Legion HQ at Quartier Vienot in Aubagne. I informed the Duty Officer of former Commandant Chevalier Maurice Champignon’s death and after expressing his condolences the Duty Officer asked me when and where the funeral was to be.

“The funeral will take place in Le Boulou, but as yet we have no date, though it will probably be within two weeks. The doctor who signed the death certificate cited death by natural causes and the police are not investigating the death.”

“Well give us a heads up as soon as you know the date, Professor, and we will take it from there. The legion will send an honour guard and a firing party —we could also supply a bearer party if required. The Chevalier was a former Bearer of the Wooden Hand and will have all the military honours accorded a man of such an honoured status. There will be many high ranking officers, Legion and Army, who will want to attend the ceremony.”

“The Legion will be the first to know when the funeral date is settled,” I said, and then bid farewell to the Duty Officer.

My next call was to Agadir which was an hour ahead of Port Vendres time but I knew Hotel Mon Repos awoke early. Naturally the girls, I first spoke to Dihya and she called Leilah to the phone on speaker, were greatly saddened by the news. They too wanted to know where and when the funeral would be as both intended attending. Once again I had to leave them with a promise to let them know the details of the funeral as soon as I could.

I then paid a visit to Abraham de Souza’s jewellers/pawn shop.

“I am extremely sorry to hear that the Chevalier has passed,” Abraham said after I had told him why I was in his shop. “Maurice Champignon was a good man, an honest man, and I will miss him and the jewels he brought here to sell.” Maurice and I frequently used de Souza to sell the jewellery and other expensive gifts given me by mature ladies, and I knew Maurice had moved some of the liberated jewels acquired during his Away Team episodes through ‘Honest Abe’ as Abraham de Souza was known.

“I know the Chevalier would want to be buried with his chain and medallion around his neck, is it ready?” I asked.

“I have only just acquired the gold to make the new links,” Abe replied.

“Why has it taken so long to get the gold? Rafael said he brought the chain in over a week ago?”

“This chain is made from Conquistadors’ Gold and I wanted to match the new links with the old...”

“Conquistadors’ Gold! What on earth is that?”

“It is the gold taken from the Aztecs and Incas by the Conquistadors and shipped to Spain. It is twenty two carat gold and I wanted to have the same grade of gold to make replacement links. It took me some time to source the gold as Conquistadors Gold is much sought after. I can probably begin the repairs in a few days’ time as I have an order that must be ready the day after tomorrow. When will the Chevalier be buried?”

“It shouldn’t be more than a week or two. The Chevalier died of natural causes so...”

“Brought on by energetic sexual activity,” Abraham injected slyly.

“How do...?”

“I hear many things, M’sieu Soissons, and I know of the Chevalier’s predilection for young girls. It is an occupational hazard that elderly men with a special interest in young female flesh die of excessive strain on their hearts, although I understand he went out with a smile on his face.”

I nodded. “By the look on his face he must have experienced paradise.”

“Good for him; that is the way all men should go!”

Next day I placed a notice on the door of the White Kepi.

Closed due to a family bereavement. Reopening tomorrow.

Apologies for any inconvenience.

I informed my contacts at the local radio and TV stations of the closure and spent the rest if the day searching for staff to replace those whom walked out with Elaine, a chef and a cocktail server being the most pressing. I could manage as a make do cook in an emergency, using the barbeque equipment and offering a reduced menu, as we had when the kitchen was being upgraded. Babette had gone to the Great Kitchen in the Sky some years before but Bonno the Baker, who I discovered was a nephew of Babette’s, was still going strong. He looked no older or more wrinkled than when I first met him nearly fifteen years ago. His son, Nando, was learning the trade/profession of baker but could always be called into the kitchen for vegetable preparation or behind the bar to serve drinks. One of the young girls Babette had introduced to the bistro after the death of Anne Brennan, Felicite, was a niece of Bonno’s and had become an extremely competent bar maid. Felicite didn’t have Elaine’s voluptuousness and easy familiarity with males but she was an intelligent and attractive young woman who knew her way around a bar and now, with Elaine gone, was de facto head barmaid and manageress in training. However Felicite had only basic cocktail making ability and a cocktail server/mixer was now a profession in their own right. As a trained bartender Felicite, and I, could mix the usual suspects of cocktails but the modern young female wanted more than just a Martini, Old fashioned, Gimlet or a Harvey Wall Banger, and even a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall was no longer just for the cognoscenti. Fortunately I knew a curvaceous and talented cocktail (and cock) server, Leonora, at the Vermillion Coast Hotel who occasionally moonlighted at the White Kepi (and joined me in my bed after work). My plan was to poach her from the hotel with an offer of better pay and the free accommodation at the White Kepi that was far better than the hotel staff dormitory she presently enjoyed. Leonora was off duty and I made her the offer sat in my car in the Hotel Vermillion Coast car park out of sight of hotel management.

“A room of my own and better pay!” she exclaimed when I had finished my spiel. “When can I start?”

I left Leonora packing her suitcase; she would be serving cocktails in the White Kepi the following day. Leonora should have given hotel management two weeks’ notice of her leaving but, like me, she just gave them two fingers.

A chef was more difficult to find/poach. However there was a capable and ambitious commis chef working at the Grand Hotel in Narbonne who I knew wanted to move up the food chain (pun). The usual progression for junior chefs was to go to a bistro where they are usually the only trained chef and have complete control on the quality of the food coming from their kitchen. After a few years they then move back to a hotel /restaurant kitchen with enough experience to be employed as a senior or even sous chef.

I drove to Narbonne and spent several hours tempting Andre to take the plunge and once again the carrot of more pay and free accommodation did the trick. Unfortunately Andre had to give a month’s notice and not wishing to get a bad name in the culinary world he couldn’t/wouldn’t just walk out of the hotel’s kitchen. Half a loaf is better than no bread at all and we shook hands on the deal even though Andre wouldn’t be working in the White Kepi kitchen for another four weeks. I would just have to do the best I could culinary wise using the barbeque and the assistance of Nando, Felecite, and any other members of staff with kitchen experience. Fortunately, the season hadn’t yet begun and a reduced menu would be acceptable to the locals and those customers from the RV park who usually breakfasted at the White Kepi.

Three days after his death Maurice’s Last Will and Testament was read and as executor of his will I was present at the reading, as were Jacques and Isabella Planchette. The will was read in a lawyer’s office in Le Boulou, which meant another day away from the White Kepi. However, many regulars had followed Elaine to her new place of employment in Port Angeles sur Mer and so far the bar and kitchen staff were coping with the reduced number of customers coming through the doors.

Although I had worked with Rafael Planchette and considered him a friend I had only met his parents on a few occasions, the last time was at Rafael and Katarina’s wedding. At first sight Jacques and Isabella Planchette seemed to be a mismatched couple; she was Catalan Spanish, volatile, voluble and voluptuous while he was quiet, self-contained, retiring and several years older than her. However, after only a short time in their company it became obvious they were a loving couple. Jacques shook my hand and Isabella gave me a hug when I entered the office.

“We were greatly saddened by the death of Maurice and knew him for less than ten years whereas you have known him for far longer so the loss must be that much more painful.” Isabella said after releasing me from her warm embrace.

Isabella was a doll, only slightly less voluptuous than Elaine Dupont but without the latter’s man hunger and was unquestionably a one man woman; how I envied that man. Jacques shared several similarities with Maurice Champignon, the first being they both were butchers. Maurice had been an apprentice butcher before joining the legion and Jacques Planchette was a working butcher along with his eldest son, also Jacques, serving the good people of Le Boulou with prime beef, pork, mutton and veal. Like Maurice, Jacques Planchette said little, but when he did speak people took notice, he also possessed the same air of calmness and confidence as had Maurice. The two men shared a similar build and eye colour as well.

There were few surprises in Maurice Champignon’s will other than his wish to be buried in the Planchette Family plot in Le Boulou cemetery. He left the deeds of the building that was the Hotel Mon Repos to the Moroccan sisters Leilah and Dihya and shared the money in his Liechtenstein bank between the sisters and the Planchette family; one third to the sisters and two thirds to the Planchettes with a proviso that Rafael and his wife Katarina were given enough for a deposit on a property for their proposed restaurant. Maurice left the jewellery in his safe deposit box at his Liechtenstein bank to the Retired Legionnaires Home at Puyloubier. There were several smaller bequests and I was most surprised to be given his gold chain and medallion as I thought Maurice would have wanted that with him in his coffin, but at least Honest Abe wouldn’t have to rush the job of replacing the links. The Malacca sword stick presented to Maurice by The Papillions when he left French Guiana was bequeathed to Mathieu (Bear) who had always admired the weapon.

As executor I had the task of closing Maurice’s bank account in the Landesbank Lichtenstein and distributing the money to the beneficiaries. Another two days away from the White Kepi this time spent in Valduz, Lichtenstein, where the papers I carried authorising me to act for the now deceased Maurice Champignon were scrutinised with the intensity of Sherlock Holmes looking for clues as a team of legal ferrets meticulously examined references, cross-checked authorisations and authenticated signatures and seals. The fact that I banked at the same bank was of little consequence; the Bankers of Vaduz trusted no one, especially when it involved money leaving their bank. However all the i’s had been dotted and all t’s crossed and everything verifiable verified and I was permitted to transfer Maurice’s money from his account to mine. I then had to split the sum; a third for the Moroccan sisters and two thirds for the Planchettes. I had obtained the bank details of both Hotel Mon Repos and the Boucherie Planchette before leaving Perpignan airport, flying to Zurich and availing myself of the helicopter service operating between that airport and the heli-pad at Valduz FC Stadium (no service on match days of course)

When I finally accessed Maurice’s account I was amazed by the amount of money he had squirreled away — $443,750! Maurice was old school and insisted his winnings in the casinos and at tournaments be paid in US dollars and exchanged any Swiss Francs, Pounds Sterling or Euros he accumulated for US dollars. After using a calculator, borrowed from one of the bank’s ferrets, I dispatched $147,550 to the bank account of the Hotel Mon Repos in Agadir and $296,200 to the bank account of Boucherie Planchette in Le Boulou. The jewellery in Maurice’s deposit box I left in situ but took over ownership of the deposit box. I also made a copy of the inventory and photographs of the jewels in the deposit box as most of the gems were obtained during the many Away Team actions Maurice led and could be considered as ill-gotten gains and were probably on some one’s watch list. Abraham de Souza was an expert in moving ‘iffy tom-foolery’ (an Alfie Hinds saying that means jewellery with questionable provenance) and I would have him cast his experienced eye over the haul before passing the jewels over to the Retired Legionnaires Home at Puyloubier.

There was still the matter of transferring the deeds for the building housing the Hotel Mon Repos in Agadir. When I arrived back in Port Vendres after my flying visit (literally) to Valduz I rang Leilah in Agadir to ensure she had received the money from Maurice. She had and was overwhelmed by Maurice’s generosity.

“You and Dihya were his family, Leilah,” I said. “A father ensures his daughters are provided for when he shuffles off this mortal coil.” I didn’t let on that the Planchettes had got twice the amount the Moroccan girls received but the Planchettes hadn’t had a building gifted them. “I have the deeds to the property left you by Maurice but will have to bring the documentation to Agadir as I am informed by my legal advisor that as the property is in Morocco the transfer of ownership must take place under Moroccan Law with a Moroccan based lawyer.”

“We have a lawyer who deals with all the hotel’s legal affairs and he will be delighted to enable the transfer,” she replied. “Of course my husband Hassan will be the new owner of the property as in Morocco a married woman cannot own property; all of their wealth is passed to their husband when they marry, which is why Dihya will never remarry. Widows inherit their husband’s wealth although most don’t remain widows for long as their families insist they remarry as soon as possible and then they have to pass over any property and money to their new husband. Dihya makes sure she doesn’t get talked into marriage or forcibly married, the latter is something that happens often. But let us talk of happier things; Dihya and I are looking forward to seeing you, Philippe, but do you have a date yet for M’sieu Maurice’s funeral?”

“Not yet. The Planchettes, who are organising the ceremony, say that many invitees have to juggle their timetables to be available and several VIPs have invited themselves and they too require the funeral arrangements mesh with their other duties. I think the main stumbling block is the Minister of Defence who is representing the French Government. Once the date of his availability is confirmed the other guests will slot in around him and the Planchettes will be able to name the day.”

Visiting Agadir meant another few days away from the White Kepi but it would be better to get all the legal business out of the way before the season began in earnest. Three days after speaking to Leilah I left for Agadir leaving Felicite in charge of the White Kepi. She was young but had a strong streak of Babette in her character so I knew she wouldn’t take any prisoners if anyone had the temerity to try and rip her off or leave without paying their bar bill. Felicite was supported by Bonno’s son Nando, who was both her cousin and her boyfriend.

This was going to be a quick visit, with no time for shows of gratitude from Leilah or Dihya, or so I hoped. I flew first from Perpignan to Marseille and then transferred to a Royal Air Maroc flight to Agadir, cutting out that horrendous journey from Tangiers to Agadir along a road plied by lead footed drivers out of their skulls with either sleep deprivation, alcohol, or Catha edulis – aka kat.

I spent two nights in Agadir. The first night Leilah insisted she demonstrated her gratitude to me; for me being a friend of the late lamented M’sieu Maurice, for saving her and her sister from being publically whipped for blasphemy and un-Islamic behaviour, and for bringing the deeds of the building that was Hotel Mon Repos. Of course the deeds would be transferred to her husband Hassan, the highly regarded chef at the hotel. Hassan and Leilah’s marriage was a sham as far as the sexual side went as Hassan was homosexual, a ‘crime’ punishable by death in Morocco. Being married to Leilah had saved his life and they loved each other as brother and sister rather than as man and wife. Hassan had his own quarters in the hotel and his own ‘husband.’

Leilah’s gratitude was prolonged and exhausting and I awoke next morning much later than normal. Leilah had quit my bed at day break and seen to the guests’ breakfasts while I was deep in the exhausted sleep brought on by her assault on my willing but now sorely abused body. I was still recovering and rebuilding my physical and sexual energy later that day when the transfer of the deeds took place in the office of the Moroccan lawyer who dealt with all the legal business of the Hotel Mon Repos, including that pertaining to the hotel’s employees registered as sexual technicians. That evening Hassan, the new and proud owner of the building housing the Hotel Mon Repos, prepared a celebratory dinner. I lost track of the number of courses and what viands were served, but it certainly was a meal fit for the Gods. I do recall swallowing several oysters and I assume there were other aphrodisiac boosting food on the menu as I had fully recovered my sexual and physical energy after their depletion by Leilah’s ‘gratitude’ and was now as randy as a rutting rhinoceros. After the meal, when the serving girls had cleared the table and the dish washer was in full operating mode, Dihya took me by the hand, first to her room and then to paradise. Judging by the guttural groans, the shrill shrieks and sonorous sighs of satisfaction from Dihya I believe I took her to an equally sexually stimulating place. Dihya’s gratitude was even more enthusiastic and prolonged than her sister’s. Dihya was a few years younger than Leilah and was much more agile, passionate, energetic and lewdly inventive than her more decorous, vanilla, sister.

I was still hanging on my chin-strap later the following morning when both girls and Hassan saw me off at Agadir airport. I slept the entire flight and only awoke as the Royal Air Maroc aircraft taxied to a halt at Marseille. I managed to stay awake during flight to Perpignan but fell asleep in the taxi taking me to Port Vendres. When Felicite shook me awake outside the White Kepi she says I called out. ‘Please, no more, Dihya. I’m well and truly knackered!’ However Felicite possesses the twisted sense of humour of Catalonia and she might have just been taking the piss.

Two days after my return from Agadir I had a telephone call from Abraham de Souza to say that Maurice’s chain had been repaired and was ready for collection. I called into to his shop that afternoon with the inventory and photographs of the jewellery in my safe deposit box in Valduz gifted to the Retired Legionnaires Home at Puyloubier.

“I enjoyed repairing this fine example of a goldsmith’s skill,” Abraham said, holding the chain in his hand. The chain glinted under the shop lighting with the golden links, perfect and polished, complementing the black obsidian half heart pendant. “And as a token of my great respect for the Chevalier I will only charge you two hundred US dollars for the gold I have used and not anything for my time. It was a pleasure to handle an object two hundred years old made by a Master Craftsman, probably an Italian as the obsidian stone is from the Stromboli volcano...”

“Well that is very generous of you, Abraham, not to charge me for your time but how do you know the stone came from Stromboli?”

“The light refraction test reading, Philippe. Obsidian has a different reading depending from which volcano the stone originated. These two hundred year old obsidian stone heart shaped sweetheart pendants are highly sought after.” He pointed to the pendant. “Those two nibs show that this is a male half heart, the female half will have two matching recesses to admit the two nibs of the male half. Only a matched pair will fit together. The Chevalier’s half heart and chain will fetch something in the region of five thousand US dollars but if you had the matching half heart it will be somewhere near fifteen thousand dollars.”

“The Chevalier said his true love had the other half but she drowned and the chain and pendant was not around her neck when her body was recovered from the river.”

“Whoever it was fished the body out from the river probably made off with that half. Find it and I will –” He stopped abruptly. “But of course you are going to throw away five thousand dollars and put the chain and pendant in the coffin with the Chevalier.”

“No, not now. The Chevalier gifted the chain and pendant to me but I don’t wear anything around my neck other than my dog tags so will keep it in a box and perhaps one day the other half will turn up.”

“Well, if it ever does, remember me. I’ll get you a good price.”

“I certainly will, Abraham; you have always played fair with me and Maurice. I have the inventory and photographs of some jewellery and will pay for your valuation of the gems and any light you can throw on their provenance. They have been given to the Retired Legionnaires Home at Puyloubier by the Chevalier and I don’t want them arrested for receiving or selling stolen goods. If there are any gems with questionable provenance then I will need your assistance in disposing of them through more nefarious means than a public auction.”

I handed over the inventory and the photographs along with two hundred US dollars. Abraham de Souza was also of the Old School.

A week after picking up the chain and pendant I was visited by Elaine Dupont. The White Kepi had only just opened and was empty. I looked up in surprise as I heard the clacking of high heels as most of my early morning customers were local fishermen and few if any wore high heels. My initial surprise segued into astonishment as Elaine swept into the room.

“I only heard about the Chevalier’s death yesterday when I got back from Toulouse,” she said before I could say anything. “I know he was a close friend of yours and I am sorry for your loss.” She gave me a kiss on the lips and then hugged me to her substantial bosom. I enjoyed both experiences. “But I didn’t come here just to offer my condolences...”

“If you’ve come for your old job back the position has been filled.”

She laughed. “I’m glad of that. I didn’t want the Barn – the White Kepi – to close down. May I sit down, and a cup of coffee wouldn’t go amiss?”

I indicated for her to sit and went to the coffee machine and poured a freshly brewed cup, took it to her and then sat down across the table from her. Elaine radiated an air of calmness and confidence that I assumed was due to her passing through the maelstrom of menopause and was now in calmer waters with more stable emotions.

“I have a business proposition to put to you, Philippe —” She paused to allow me to interrupt or decline. I indicated she should continue. “I own twenty five per cent of The Barn Company and I’m willing to sell you those shares.” (Although the Barn bistro was renamed the business name remained the same)

“How much are you asking?”

Her answer floored me. “One hundred and fifty thousand Euros. And before you say anything I’ve had the business valued and you know it is a fair price.”

“Those shares were only a hundred francs each...”

“That was then this is now!”

“I’ve put a great deal of my money and time into growing the business...”

“And I’ve put in over twelve years of my life!”

She was right; although I had put money in the business if it hadn’t been for Elaine’s hard work and her customer winning personality, The Barn, and then The White Kepi, would have foundered and sank long since. She put her life and soul into the enterprise and so deserved the full benefit of what she had done. I had enough money in my account to cover the amount she wanted and every six months I received royalties from my book sales that would soon make up the outlay; the gold bullion and a few expensive knick knacks in my safe deposit box ensured I would remain solvent so I could easily afford the money. It had long been my ambition to have absolute control of The Barn Company and by holding all the shares that ambition would be realised.

“Okay, Elaine, I will pay the price you ask. I admit your input into first the Barn and then the White Kepi is worth the price you ask. We can go to my lawyers whenever you like and do all the legal and bank transfer stuff.”

Elaine gave a whoop of joy then gave me a fulsome kiss. She felt good in my arms and the kiss went on for some considerable time before we had to come up for air. In some ways it was like the kiss I shared with Heather Saunders in England, a final goodbye.

“Thank you Philippe. I was hoping you would agree, I know you are a decent man and would recognise my worth.”

“What are you going to do with the money?”

Me, Emile, and Magda will...”

“Who is Magda?”

“She was the girl that walked out with me and Emile when we quit.”

“Ah yes, Magda the cocktail server, a chunky, redheaded young girl from Innsbruck.”

“That’s her, although she isn’t a natural redhead and when stripped naked has a body I would describe as Rubenesque rather than your rather unflattering ‘chunky’.”

“How do you – no, don’t bother to answer that, continue with what you were saying.” I knew Elaine was addicted to man meat but hadn’t realised she liked hairy pie as well.

“We are going to buy and run a restaurant in Toulouse. Someone I know who lives in Toulouse informed me that the place was up for sale. Emile, Magda and me have money saved and with the money for my shares I’m confident of acquiring the business.” Then Elaine delivered a bombshell. “And then me and Emile are getting married; he finally asked and as no one else ever has I thought to take him up on his offer in case he finds a better candidate for a wife.”

I hugged her. “My heartiest congratulations to you both, and there is no better, or other, candidate than you; he has adored you from first sighting.”

She nodded her head. “Yes, I have to admit he has grown on me and I probably love him as much as I could love any man. You and me would have been a good pairing but the sex part never worked except for that first explosive time. Me and Emile have a successful working and carnal relationship, he loves me and I respect and like him and we can get each other’s rocks off. In time, I might get to love him as much as he loves me.”

“What about Magda; where does she fit in the relationship?”

“Emile wants kids but I don’t even if I could have them, but thank God I’m past all that now...”

“So Emile will have Magda for procreation and you for recreation?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Emile loves me and Magda loves me; Magda loves shagging Emile and Emile loves shagging Magda and I love shagging them both. Four bare legs in a bed is good but six bare legs in a bed is better!”