Charlie spent the rest of that day in bed. His shoulder was sore, rather than painful, but Bella insisted on bringing him up his lunch on a tray, and Sophie Bonnefoie cooked a special crayfish souffle, one of her most celebrated specialities, to help him on his path back to health.
Bella also rewarded him, when he had finished eating. She sits on the side of the bed after she had cleared away his lunch tray, and kissed him, and she strokes his penis gently, just as she had stroked his good hand after his wounding. Charlie began to engorge, and she stood to undress, moving with a sinuous grace like a dancer, to return to the bed and lower herself gently onto his erection, squatting on him and smiling down at him as she rocked herself gently, and Charlie was filled.
Afterwards, when they had both savoured the wholeness of their joy, and she was still seated astride him, she smiled. ‘I think I’m going to have to make love to you at least three times a day until you are better.’
However Charlie felt a great deal better in the morning, though his shoulder still ached, and insisted on getting up. A man cannot lie flat forever, however much pleasure proneness may bring, and he wanted to be useful. He began to build a money management system for Bella, setting up links to the Net, and factoring in access to investment tools such as news and library services, exchange and interest rate data, and stockmarket price services, to build a financial management base. Markets had begun to drift, and he wanted to develop an investment strategy as quickly as possible.
The work kept him busy, and they began to settle into a comfortable routine – breakfast on the terrace, then a few hours screen time whilst Bella was out renewing local ties, lunch and a nap and an hour or so of caresses, then a long walk and back to his screen to check progress before dinner. Then, after dinner, they walked in the park again, and talked of the future, and sometimes of the past, and then they made love.
Things went well. Charlie opened accounts with brokers in London and Paris, sold Bella out of a bundle of Alan selections, and nested her cash in Jersey. He singed his fingers on one tentative foray into option trading, but then came up trumps on a second venture, and Bella was impressed.
A messenger arrived from the Mairie in mid-morning ten days after Charlie’s dive into the Cher. Charlie was deep into calculating option premiums when Bella came rushing into the library in a state of great excitement. She was holding a stiff square of card with gilt edges, with a tricolour flag proud above several lines of script.
‘Charlie, look, Charlie!’ She waved the card wildly in her excitement. ‘The Comune will be holding a Vin d’Honneur for you.’
Charlie read the card quickly. It was impressive, and effectively wiped Bella’s husband from the map, for it spelled out how the Mayor and Commune of Mondain-sur-Cher expected the honour of inviting Madame la Baronne de Chevigney and Monsieur Charles Tindal to a Vin d’Honneur the following Friday at six in the evening to share with Monsieur Tindal the gratitude of the whole Commune, and present Monsieur Tindal with an official acknowledgement of the debt the Commune held towards him for his recent act of selfless courage. The card noted that music would be provided by the Harmonie Municipale, and that the Vin d’Honneur would also be graced by the presence of numerous local dignitaries.
Bella put her arms around Charlie’s neck – his damaged shoulder was now almost completely mended – and smiled happily. ‘Now, Charlie, you re a hero.’ She kissed him softly, lips barely touching, and spoke in a whisper. ‘I am very, very, very proud of you.’
He smiled back. ‘Will you let me drive your Mercedes?’
Bella’s face fell. ‘Oh, heavens, I forgot. We must take the Explorer back: we can’t keep it forever.’
‘After the Vin d’Honneur?’
‘But you won’t go back to Fulmer?’
‘Never.’
The Vin d’Honneur proved to be more like a state reception than a small town event. Bella chose a primrose silk dress with a scooped neckline and shoulder straps, teaming it with a simple gold necklace and bracelet and matching high-heeled shoes. Charlie drove into Tours and bought himself a dark suit for the occasion, but remained tieless, with his jacket draped over his shoulders, and sporting a spotless white silk sling – because both Bella and Docteur Lemaitre insisted that Mondain expected some visible symbol of his courage. Charles Bonnefoie polished his shoes until they gleamed like glass – Bella’s butler now referred to Charlie as ‘Monsieur Charles’, and had intimated to Bella that Charlie might address him and his wife by their first names, though of course neither would ever even dream of speaking to Charlie without an honorific, and they sat waiting in Bella’s drawingroom for the Delacroix to arrive.
Delacroix had insisted that he must drive them to the town hall in his Mercedes, because it would never do for a hero to arrive at a Vin d’Honneur in a mere van. A car pulled up on the gravel in front of the house, and Bonnefoie ushered the Delacroixs into Bella’s drawingroom. Charlie jumped to his feet, and Bella smiled approvingly. Dynamism and energy may seem impressive when one is young, but good manners are immortal.
They sipped politely at a small aperitif. Charlie was now Charlie, in both English and French, and the Delacroixs had blossomed into Isabelle and Maurice.
The Mercedes purred off to Mondain, followed by the Bonnefoies in a small Renault.. The town hall was a blaze of light, and the municipal Harmonie had already formed up on the square. Maurice Delacroix purred to a halt, and a man in a dark blue uniform hurried to open the car door. Bella smiled to herself. She had known for several days that the mayor must have something up his sleeve, because his assistant had called to check her diary and also spoken to Maurice Delacroix, but she had shielded it from Charlie. However she had never expected anything as grand as a Vin d’Honneur, and she knew it would prove an evening to remember.
Charliewas overwhelmed. A reception formed in the Town Hall entrance, and the municipal Harmonie struck up the ‘Marseillaise’. Charlie held himself very straight. Then he was smiling at the Mayor, though shaking hands was of course quite out of the question when his right arm was tucked into a sling, and greeting the mayor’s wife, and being introduced to the deputy representing Mondain, and his wife, and the chief of the local police, and wife, and Docteur Lemaitre, and wife, and the brigadier who came to the bridge, and wife, and a string of lesser luminaries, and wives, and Docteur Lemaitre and Charlie smiled at each other knowingly. The mayor was resplendent in a tricolour sash, and the policemen were all in their best uniforms, and the men all in their best suits, whilst the wives seem to have opted en bloc for Chanel and imitators, and the whole gathering beamed at Charlie in open admiration.
Then the mayor made a speech. He was a wordy man, and he knew that both regional radio and television had sent reporters, and he was determined to made his mark. He spoke at length of Charlie’s courage, and touched nicely on an Entente Cordiale binding two great nations together, and hoped that Britain and France would remain shoulder to shoulder for many years to come. His assistant stepped forward, to present Charlie with an illuminated address in a black leather folder, and the mayor stepped forward to deliver a mayoral embrace on both Charlie’s cheeks – though he took great care to avoid touching Charlie’s right shoulder.
The deputy meanwhile looked a little bored, allowing himself a small yawn. He was a dapper man, accustomed to strolling in the corridors of power, and rural happenings plainly held little appeal for him. But then it was his turn, and he immediately came to life, to wax eloquent, as only French rural politicians can wax eloquent. He was impressed, he told his listeners, that a guest to the region could show such devotion and commitment so soon after his arrival in the commune. He believed that Charlie’s selfless action symbolised the community of spirit that already bound the European community, and several of his listeners smiled knowingly, because it was well known that the deputy was lobbying hard in Paris for a number of local projects.
The head of the local police also took his turn, and the assembled throng began to fidget, because the mayor had laid on a buffet in the reception room beyond the hall, and theycould see waiters and waitresses scurrying about busily. But then Maurice Delacroix spoke, and the hall was silent.
He had seen an act of heroism, he told his listeners. He had seen a man throw himself into a fast-running river to come to the aid of a young girl with no regard whatsoever for himself. He had seen a brave man suffer a serious wound, and shrug it off. He had seen what it took to made a hero, and he was proud to call this hero a friend.
The assembled gathering broke into spontaneous applause. It did not matter that many Mondainois considered Delacroix a snobbish elderly bore. He expressed in a nutshell how Mondain liked to see itself, as a town where men and women were capable of rising well above the level of general humanity. The mayor and deputy both made mental notes to develop his theme in speeches of their own, and invite Charlie to lunch. Heroes are always useful when it comes to campaigning.
Mondain looked at Charlie. He spoke briefly, expressing his gratitude, and his admiration for the way good people had helped him. Here he looked in turn at Maurice Delacrois, the doctor, and the police brigadier, who all swelled a little. He told the assembled gathering that he already loved Mondain and its people, even though he had only arrived a few days since, and here Mondain collectively beamed at him. He glanced towards the reception room, and told his audience that he was waiting expectantly to sample Mondain hospitality. It was a signal, and his audience turned as one and made for the buffet.
Charlie starred. Bella had to guard him closely, and fight off a gaggle of admiring women, all of whom seem bent on trying to take her place, whilst their men smiled complaisantly, because it is not every day that one encounters a hero face to face. He nibbled delicately at a few canapes, because France had begun to take a toll of his waistline, and drank little, because he had no intention of making a fool of himself. He smiled pleasantly at all the women, and listened attentively to all the men, making it quite clear that he was wholly devoted to Bella, and the men valued him for his devotion, though some of the women judged themselves every bit as attractive as her, and perhaps even prettier.
The evening seemed to stretch on forever, because the good people of Mondain loved a good party, particularly when the commune was footing the bill. But finally the gathering began to disperse, and Charlie bid the last of his admirers farewell, hoping against hope that he would remember a host of names and faces, and they were ready to leave. The Bonnefoies had already gone, to prepare a small supper for four, and Maurice Delacroix chauffered Charlie home in style.
They ate formally in Bella’s diningroom. Sophie Bonnefoie’s idea of a small supper arrived at table as a set of four sizeable souffle dishes containing the fluffiest of egg creations flavoured with golden chanterelles, served with a Saumur. Her husband asked politely whether Bella and her guests would like something rather more substantial to follow, and Charlie rolled his eyes up to Heaven. Bella persuaded the Delacroix to settle for cheese – though Sophie got her own back by sending in at least a dozen different varieties, along with three different kinds of home-baked bread. Then Bella went off for a stroll in the park with Iabelle Delacroix, and Charlie and Maurice Delacroix sipped at generous balloons of a fine armagnac and talked of computers and investments.
But Maurice evidently had something else on his mind, and he looked at Charlie very hard. ‘You are a good man, Charlie. Bella loves you.’
Charlie stared the older man straight in the eyes.
‘She has told Isabelle she will divorce Alan.’
Charlie nodded. He also wanted to divorce Jennifer.
‘She was not married in a church.’
‘Neither her, nor me.’
‘You know that Bossuet has his eyes on the pair of you?’
Charlie nodded again. He was not sure he wanted to marry in a church, because he was not a religious man. But he would do whatever Bella, and the good people of Mondain-sur-Cher, wanted of him.
‘I was very close to her father, and he was disappointed by Alan Worthington.’ Maurice Delacroix spoke reflectively, as though to himself. ‘She was a headstrong girl, and one could say nothing to her.’ He was silent for a moment, looking down at the crumbs of cheese on his plate. Then he looked up again. ‘I think he would have been very happy to know you.’
Charlie was too full of emotion to reply, and they were both silent. Then Delacroix stood, and put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. ‘Come, show me this computer. Bella talks of nothing else, and she says you are going to made her a fortune.’
Charlie powered up, and the two men compared notes. Delacroix used his own computer for managing his land, and conducting business correspondence. But hewas wary of the Net, with all its threats of viruses.
Charlie opened up Outlook Express to allay his fears. He saw an email waiting for him, and read it curiously. It was from Leticia, and very brief.
‘Freddie has been arrested for trying to seduce a teenage boy at The Firs. It’s not true, but his solicitor is useless, and Freddie can’t handle it. He needs a crusading journalist to dig out all the facts. You used to be a journalist. He needs your help. Please, please, please call me anytime. We need you desperately.’
Charlie stared at the screen, and felt his happy little world disintegrate around him.
Maurice Delacroix watched his face fall. ‘What is it?’
Charlie explained.
‘You mean the man is in a trap?’
‘I think so.’ Charlie sat in front of the screen and was not sure what to think at all.
Delacroix was silent for a long moment before speaking. ‘You better ring her.’
‘What about Bella?’
Delacroix drew a deep breath. ‘Tell Bella first.’
Charlie sighed. Everything had been riding so well, so high, and now he seemed to have struck another hidden branch, and one much, much more dangerous than the branch submerged in the Cher. He wanted to wipe Leticia’s email out of his computer and forget it. But he knew that he could not. He wanted to cut England completely out of his life. But he knew that he could not. He would have to go back, whatever the consequences. He got to his feet. ‘Ok. I’ll tell her straight away’
Bella was already back in her drawingroom with Isabelle Delacroix. She paled a little as Charlie told her about Leticia’s email, and followed him into the library to read it for herself. Then she nodded simply, and spoke in English. ‘We’ll drive back on Sunday: the autoroute won’t be so busy.’
Charlie hesitated. ‘Will you come to the shop with me?’
‘Do you want me to?’
‘You must.’
Bella gripped his fingers. ‘We’ll have to go in hand in hand.’
Charlie grinned. ‘We’ll slay the forces of evil, hand in hand.’
‘Will we?’ She looked up at him, and tears began to trickle down her cheeks. ‘Will we really, Charlie? Are you sure your wife isn’t trying to get you back?’
He kissed her, oblivious to Isabelle and Maurice Delacroix, both watching them closely. ‘No, Bella. You’re my future, and Jennifer is my past. I’m going back because you’re coming with me.’
He picked up Bella’s telephone.
Leticia answered, and for a moment she was almost hysterical. Charlie made soothing noises.
‘The police came to the shop, and took Freddie to the police station in Slough, and kept him there for about four hours.’ Leticia punctuated her words with tears. ‘They say a boy from The Firs has made a statement accusing him of indecent assault. He says Freddie lured him into a shed and pounced on him. Freddie’s solicitor told him to plead guilty, and hope he’d get off lightly. The whole village is talking about it.’
Charlie listened, and swung back into a journalist frame of mind that he had not used for quite a few years. He began to arrange facts coolly and methodically in his mind. ‘Is any of it true?’
‘No, of course not.’ Leticia’s tears climbed to a fresh peak of sobbing. ‘He moved in with…’ Her voice broke.
‘With Jennifer?’
‘After you left.’
Charlie was holding the telephone so that Bella could listen as well. They looked at each other quickly. One barrier, at least, had been broken. ‘What’s he doing now?’
‘He’s going to pieces. Nobody comes to the shop any more: he sits in a corner with his head in his hands.’
‘What about Jennifer?’
‘She’s trying to hold him together. But she’s not doing very well.’
Charlie smiled grimly. But schadenfreude is not for heroes. He took a deep breath. ‘I’ll be back some time on Monday.’
‘You could come and stay here.’ Now Leticia’s voice held a note of hope.
Charlie looks at Bella out of the corner of his eye, and she shook her head furiously. He coughed delicately. ‘I’ll be coming with a friend.’
Bella kissed him as he replaces the receiver. ‘Am I your friend?’
He took both her hands in his, and spoke in French again, and the Delacroix both smiled benevolently.
‘You are my heart, and my love.’