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.
Helen laughed with her. “I can hardly imagine a better job, myself. But, do you ever have a problem being almost naked in the store?”
“I haven´t yet, Helen. You know, for the tourists, it´s almost always the women who come to sign up for storage space. Especially when I´m on duty.” She grinned knowingly. “And the men seem to be almost shy. The businessmen from here in town, they come to look at my breasts.” She shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. “I don´t mind. After all, it´s good advertising for the store, and I´m proud of them anyway. I´ve just never been able to show off my body like this.”
“Never wanted to be a dancer? Or, a showgirl?”
“No. I´m not really an entertainer, Helen. I´m not an exhibitionist in that sense. It´s just I have a great body and I´m proud of it.”
Helen took that as a straight line. “And, Sandy´s very proud of your ability, you know. He thinks you´re really good at your job and a real asset to the company.”
Astrid reddened slightly under her golden tan. “Thank you,” she said, then grinned again, lifting a hand to her breast. “He also likes my tits.” She laughed. “But he´s never made a pass at me.”
Helen chuckled, too. “That was one of the first things he said about you, you know – that you have good breasts. But, you know he´ll never make a pass at you, don´t you?”
Astrid shook her head slightly. “Well, I´m used to employers who want to sleep with me, and I can keep them away. I´m strong and I´m quick and I can protect myself. But he´s never even tried; I admire that. I guess you know why he hasn´t?”
“I think so. He believes it´s ‘not right´ to be sexually involved with an employee. You know all the crude remarks about that. He just won´t do it.”
Astrid nodded. “That seems to be correct. He´s like that. Very proper – at least with me. But, it´s also because he´s so fond of you.”
This time, Helen ducked the implication. “I can assure you, he´s not ‘proper´ all the time.”
“It never occurred to me he would be.” Astrid looked into her lap for a moment, considering, then looked back at Helen.
“May I ask your advice about something?”
“Of course.”
“At university, Jean and I both took retail management, but I also had a lot of work in computers. It is Jean who is really interested in retailing.” She looked off toward the sea. There were windsurfers moving up and down the swells off the beach. “Sandy has a very good computer security system,” she began, looking Helen in the eye again, “but I was able to hack it pretty quickly. He has cameras in every storage space and in the office that are activated by motion sensors.” She focused on the hands in her lap for a moment. “Jean and I have known each other for years and have been lovers for most of the time. When I hacked into Sandy´s system, I found recordings of myself and Jean when we make love in the office. I imagine you know about that.” Her chin rose.
“Yes, Sandy has mentioned it. I have to admit that, although I haven´t seen them, I certainly would like to.”
Astrid grinned broadly, sighed and seemed to relax. “Then you aren´t shocked or anything?”
“Astrid, it takes more than two people making love to shock me. I think it´s the most natural thing in the world, and it can be one of the most beautiful.”
“Ah. Yes.” Astrid blushed again. “Well, Jean and I want to live together – we still must live at home – so the office is a refuge for us where we can make love. But, I´m thinking I´d like to disable the camera in that room. All I have to do is turn it off in the supervisory program.”
“Well, you clearly know how to do that, Astrid. What´s the problem?”
“If I do, Sandy will find out. He knows a lot about this stuff. And I´m afraid it will make him angry. I don´t want to lose my job.”
“I don´t think that´s a problem, Astrid. Just tell him what you want and why.” Helen had a momentary thread of thought. “Just what did you do with computers at university? Which university?”
“University of Montpellier – UM2, the science faculty. I had a course in systems architecture and general computer administration. And, what I liked better, several courses in CAD – that´s Computer Assisted Design.”
“I know. I´m an architect. Why aren´t you doing that, working for an architect? And why retail management?”
“We decided that retail was a safe métier. That we could always get a job in retail. That´s worked so far, and anyway, there haven´t been any positions available in CAD work except entry-level trainees for Citroën-Peugeot – not my area of interest, and I don´t want to move to Besançon. But I did enjoy working with CAD.”
“I may want to talk with you more about this, Astrid. I may be looking for help in my practice before long. I´m planning to move my Paris office down here and I´m pretty sure I´ll need a drafter.”
Astrid looked astonished. “I would like that, Helen.” She looked around her, then at her watch. “Oh, but I must get back to work.”
“What´s your schedule?” Helen asked.
“I want to finish this beach by about 12:30, then I´ll have lunch and go over to the other side of the channel and start the other beaches.”
“Tell you what, when you´re finished, come back here and we´ll go to the bistro behind us and have lunch.”
Astrid agreed and went off down the beach, talking to visitors and handing out literature, disappearing into the distance as she worked. The back of her bikini was blazoned with the words “Entrepôt-à-Louer”.
Helen went back to her book, musing on the encounter with the beautiful young woman, watching the passers-by, the Schellen Problem temporarily forgotten. As she day-dreamed, a little, dark, curly-headed girl, barely more than two years old, dressed only in a strand of pearls, walked up and stood in the sand beside her lounge studying her with solemn eyes.
When Helen noticed her, she said, “Good morning. How are you?” The little girl just smiled, stood there for several minutes more, then went off to study someone else.
When Astrid returned, Helen told her, “Leave your things here, and let´s go eat.”
The younger woman put her bag on the lounge and slipped her blue bikini off her legs, leaving her clad only in her blue cap. “I´m starving,” she said, with a huge smile that showed her perfect teeth and rosy lips.
After lunch, as was her habit on days spent at the beach, Helen went home to escape the heat of the day. She called Sandy.
“What time are you closing today?”
“The usual, 1900. Why?”
“Wait for me. You´re making dinner, and then I want to watch your videos.”
Late Sunday, Sandy and Helen lay dozing on the balcony lounge when Johannes called.
“You´re working today?” she asked.
“‘A policeman´s lot is not a happy one´,” he quoted. “But really I just wanted to bring you up to date and get things set up for Monday.”
“I thought it was Tuesday we had to worry about.”
“That´s just it. I´d like you and Rummy to meet me for dinner and talk Monday night, so we can get our approach straight.”
“Fine with me. If I can´t get a flight, I´ll drive. Or take the TGV to Dijon and rent a car.”
“If you drive – even part of the way – I want you to bring Sandy.”
“Wuff!” Helen exclaimed. “Is it that bad?”
“I´m not taking any chances with you or with Rummy, Helen. You should know that we picked up the car that attacked us that night.”
“Did you! Tell me about it.”
“For now, you should know that it was a rented car, with two men in it. The credit card they used to rent the car was in the name of Theo Brechstein.”
“Oh, my god, Johannes.” Helen was staggered, but only for a moment. “But Johannes, we cancelled all his credit cards after he died. Should I check with my lawyer about this?”
“I would, but I´m certain he will find nothing out of order. Theo´s name was on the card, but it was a corporate card from some obscure company in Switzerland. I´ll tell you more on Monday when I´ll have more details.”
“Okay. Well, tell me where to meet you.”
“Someone will meet your flight. You will stay at a hotel next to the Hôtel de Ville,” he gave the name of a good hotel on the left bank of the Rhône. “It´s close to my office.”
“I see,” Helen said with a chuckle, “and there´s a cop under every bed.”
“Well, no, but it is a safe place for you to be. And, we´ll meet for dinner… No, I´ll pick you up. Say, at 1900.”
Helen agreed and after some general conversation, hung up. She told Sandy the details.
“Theo seems to have nine lives,” Sandy observed.
Helen shivered in the warm sunshine. “It´s so spooky,” she said. “What would they do that for? They killed the poor man and now they´re using his identity.”
“Well, that´s not too surprising, or too unusual. After all, he once had a real identity, and just because he died – just because they killed him – doesn´t mean they can´t keep on using it. Simplifies things, really.”
“I guess I understand that, Sandy, but it makes me really sad…” She looked out over the ocean for a long moment. “And angry.”
Sandy put his arm around her shoulders. “Yes, I know. But look at it this way. Now you know about it, you can really lay him to rest.”
Helen put her head on his shoulder and nodded through her tears.
“And, Helen, while you´re in Geneva, especially when you go to that meeting?…”
“Yes?”
“It won´t hurt to wear your vest.”
Her eyes went wide and she turned to look him in the eye.
“Oh, shit,” she said.