Chapter 31

On Saturday morning, Helen had a quiet, relaxing breakfast on the balcony with Sandy. She had sent him to the boulangerie for croissants and a baguette for breakfast and a batârd, a larger loaf for use during the rest of the day. They had munched the crisp crusts of the baguette and the dark croissants typical of the south of France along with gobs of butter and jam. The café au lait came from Helen's own coffee maker. Finally, Sandy went off to open the store. Helen went for a walk up the beach, then a shower. The orange cat was left to guard the flat.

On the beach in front of the Heliopolis facilities, contractors have set up areas in which they rent — by the day — lounges and umbrellas for visitors. They also have a bar or small restaurant in a building at the back of the beach that provides storage at night. It was to the eastern-most of the two on the Heliopolis beach that Helen took her basket in the mid-morning. It was mid-June, and there were many vacationers dotting the sands, with umbrellas, chairs and the many accessories families need at the beach. She reflected that some of these could use Sandy's storage lockers when they had finished their vacations.

As a year-round resident, Helen was well known to the people who ran the beach facilities. She had called ahead to ask for a space, but the owner, Silvio, had laughed, saying, "For you, Mme Wallace, always." Helen knew perfectly well he was sincere, but never presumed, and never assumed there would be a space during August. In August, there was no room for sand fleas, much less unexpected people.

She settled down with an umbrella, a bottle of water and her book. The placid ocean stretched before her, blue except where the sun glittered on a wave crest. In the distance, ships and boats of all descriptions went to and fro, and bathers waded far out in the water that covers the gently sloping beach.

The book was interesting, but she was constantly distracted by the passers-by and by her own thoughts.

She watched as a troupe of German teen-agers on vacation with an older couple stripped at the water's edge and began a hilarious game of show-off and touch-tag. It was all very sexy and all totally innocent. 'Well, almost, ' Helen mused, remembering her own youth.

The trip to Orange had been uneventful, and she was comforted by Sandy's presence. The violence and shock of the previous days had shaken her more than she had realized, and a quiet drive up the Autoroute and into the countryside of Provence had helped her settle some of her feelings. Being away from home without wearing her Kevlar vest felt somehow strange, but not unwelcome. Even the busy Autoroute was a good change for her.

She watched the fields and vineyards go by; the occasional town with the typical mix of ancient and modern structures. Everywhere there were clusters of what could only be called tract houses. Yet most of them, with tile roofs, stucco walls and generally traditional coloring, seemed to blend in with the older buildings. And where the truly ancient farmhouses and outbuildings stood, the contrast was striking, emphasizing the age and indomitability of the old structures.

In the vineyards, farmers drove their tractors between the rows, tilling or spraying. Somehow, she even found herself reading the signs on the electric towers that crossed or paralleled the highway. High voltage. Medium voltage. They made a pleasant, distracting blur in her mind.

They had talked little at first as Sandy drove. But Helen's mind soon became busy with thoughts of the coming meetings, as well as of the events early in the week.

"I'm still trying to sort out where Dumont fits in," she said as they passed Montpellier. "I can't decide if he's a good guy or a bad guy."

Sandy glanced at her before replying. She sat, the papers in her lap momentarily forgotten. She had been reviewing the changes she had been considering in her presentation, but now focused on the road ahead, though not seeing much that was there.

"My guess," Sandy answered, "is that he's neither. I think he's just a more-or-less honest workman who got caught in the middle."

"More-or-less?" Helen asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean, he didn't refuse to carry Sauter's messages, even though he works for Schellen. I haven't heard whether he stood to gain anything from any of this. I mean, he hasn't admitted that Sauter offered him a payback or a share or anything."

"Do you think he did?"

"I'd be pretty certain Sauter would have at least implied that doing Sauter's dirty work would be worth Dumont's while. We haven't heard anything about that."

"You don't think he was just being a good boy?"

"Come on, Helen!" Sandy looked over at her with an answering grin. "Oh, I suppose he might have approached Rummy about Theo because Sauter asked him to. But any more than that... Hell, he knows about illegal workers — he's no baby in the business from what you said. He had to know there was something shady going on, and if he didn't feel he was going to get something out of it, you can be sure he wouldn't have done it."

"I suppose." Helen sighed. "I guess Johannes will find out."

She returned her attention to her proposal and began to talk with Sandy about some of the ideas she had. It was clear that she didn't want to go much further with the Schellen problem, and Sandy made a point for the next day or two of not bringing it up.

In Orange, they met with a pleasant, athletic-looking man and woman They talked with the couple, and after lunch at a charming garden restaurant in the outskirts, then went into the city to an office near the Theâtre Antique, the ancient Roman amphitheater, for a meeting with the entire committee. Sandy helped her set up her projector and went outside to wander the area while she made her presentation.

The meeting went well. Helen answered a number of questions, stressing her experience with the Wald Sauna and similar projects and how she had emphasized quality at reasonable cost through the use of common components. She also showed other projects that fit the guidelines of the committee.

There was lively discussion; clearly everyone present wanted his or her view reflected in the final project.

When Helen finally found Sandy in the sun at a café in front of the amphitheater, she sank gratefully into a chair. He looked the question at her.

"Oh, yes, it went well. I'm going to have to go home and come up with a concept and a design, but I knew that going in. Jobs like this, you have to put something in for everyone, so they can say, later, 'That was my idea'."

"Going to get the job?"

"Probably. That is, I've got a good chance. I got the impression some of the other bidders are amateurs. But there are some of the big guys bidding too, I'm hoping my special experience will get me through."

They ate dinner at a good restaurant, then strolled into the park behind the amphitheater to look at the city lights from above. A rock band was tuning up in the ancient Roman structure as they headed back to their hotel in the Vieil Orange district.

In the morning, they had a final, informal, meeting with the committee, then drove back toward home across the Rhône and through the vineyards and orchards, stopping for lunch at a restaurant where they could eat outside alongside the Canal du Midi, sheltered from the sun by the glorious rank of trees that lines each side of the canal along most of its length. They were home in time to take off their clothes for a long walk along the beach.

Today, Helen still felt the discord of 'The Schellen Problem', and her attention wandered between her book and the scene around her. She watched as a pair of young people walked naked, hand in hand, down the edge of the tide mark. When a shadow crossed her, she looked up. A tall, blonde, young woman stood beside her lounge.

"Pardon, Madame, may I give you this?" She extended a small brochure.

Helen blinked and looked at the woman again. She swung her legs off the lounge and stood up, rather surprising her visitor.

"You must be Astrid!" Helen blurted out. "Excuse me, I don't have your surname. I'm Helen Wallace, and I think you work for Sandy duVin" She pronounced his name in the French style, a habit she hadn't been able to break.

Helen looked Astrid over, noting the golden hair, bronzed skin, broad shoulders and firm, though not overly large breasts. Not 'big tits', she thought, but lovely.

Astrid was decked out in her uniform bikini, a matching blue cap with her hair pulled through the adjustment gap at the back, and a smallish blue shoulder bag full of literature. Several centimeters taller than Helen, it was amusing to either have to look up at her face or stare at her breasts. As Sandy had said, she was gorgeous.

Astrid broke into a broad smile and extended her hand. "How nice! Delacourt," she said by way of introduction. "I've caught glimpses of you, now and then, and M duVin..." she smiled again and grinned at Helen, continuing "Sandy talks about you a lot." She looked down at Helen's feet briefly. "He's really sweet on you."

Helen laughed deep in her chest. "Well, he says he is, Astrid, and if he doesn't mean it I'll skin him alive. But tell me, how do you like the job?" She gestured for Astrid to sit down on the end of the lounge, sitting down herself.

Astrid sank onto the warm surface. "I like it very well," she said, "it gives me a chance to try some new things — Sandy's always interested in new ideas, and I love wandering the beaches talking to people." She spread her arms, causing her breasts to rise in the manner Sandy had described as 'impressive'. "And I hardly have to wear any clothes at all." She grinned hugely.