Chasing Rainbows

  Part Three: Nick

  Jean-Pierre was already waiting for me in reception and greeted me warmly. His apartment was only a couple of blocks away from the hotel but we drove there. He shared the flat with his lover Henri. It had not occurred to me that Jean-Pierre was gay as our initial meeting was under different and difficult circumstances. At that time, Jean-Pierre and Henri had their flat on the outskirts of the city but now they live in a small, but very chic house in Aix-en-Provence. The Paris flat was tastefully decorated and occupied the third floor of a converted house and overlooked a small courtyard full of potted geraniums.

  Jean-Pierre had already told Henri the details of the case as Eamon had been a good friend of theirs for quite some time and they were both as concerned for him as I was.

  Henri is four years older than Jean-Pierre, slightly taller and stockier with a bald patch on the back of his thin hair that he has never tried to hide. He too speaks perfect English, which really puts my French to shame.

  When I met them, they had only been together for three years and I remember thinking that evening how lucky Eamon was to have such good friends. Henri worked for Radio France as a researcher and Jean-Pierre had only just become a freelance solicitor.

  The evening was very pleasant and, for a while, I actually forgot the reason I was in Paris. The meal was vegetarian and excellent. At 8 p.m. I asked if it was okay for me to phone England ad they suggested I use the phone in the bedroom.

  I called the cottage and it was Imogen who answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Imogen, it’s me.”

  “Nick. I was expecting you. Everything is fine here. We arrived just nearly one hour past and Peter is preparing something to eat.”

  “Good. And how are the girls?”

  “The girls? My God, they are having a wonderful time. This is a real adventure for them. Do you want to speak to Sally? She’s waiting just here.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Daddy, Daddy, hello!” she shouted down the receiver.

  “Hello, darling. Are you all right?”

  “Yes. We are all here with Peter in a big house in the country and there’s horses in a big field next door and Peter said we can go and feed them tomorrow.”

  I was relieved she was happy, which was not too difficult, but above all, safe.

  “Are you coming here tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Not for a couple of days, darling, but you will be careful with those horses and make sure Annette and you don’t go wandering away by yourselves. You must promise me that. It’s very important.”

  “Okay, boss. Can we have a horse? Is Eamon coming with you as well? Can I speak to him?”

  “Sorry, darling, he’s not here with me at the moment ... and he may not be able to come with me.”

  “Well, give him a kiss for me,” she said, “and can we have a horse? Do they eat frogs’ legs in France?”

  I chuckled.

  “Sometimes they do and I don’t think a horse will fit in the flat.”

  “Urgh,” she said.

  “Listen, darling, I have to go now.”

  “Will you call me again tomorrow?”

  “Of course I will. Now go and get something to eat. Goodnight crocodile.”

  “Night, night, Daddy,” and she blew a kiss down the phone.

  Imogen came back on the line.

  “So, Nick. What happens now?”

  “Well, in the morning Eamon’s case comes up in court but the details are complicated and I really cannot give you them now as I’m not so sure myself. I’ll call again tomorrow evening but, in the meantime, don’t let Sally out of your sight.”

  “Don’t worry, Nick. Peter and I will not let either of them come to any harm. Now you look after yourself and I’ll speak again tomorrow. Good night.”

  I bid her goodnight and put the phone down.

  For a moment I sat back on the bed and looked around the room. It was clean and tidy and, as I expected, very tastefully furnished. Not too clinical with a definite lived-in feel. One entire wall was devoted to black and white photos of Henri and Jean-Pierre and many of them were clearly taken on holidays. They looked very happy in them and from what I had already seen they were well suited. It was what I would have wanted for Eamon and me but at that time I was still confused whether I should love or hate him.

  When I returned to the living room, I explained that Sally was safe and we sat on the sofa to take coffee. I asked them how they had got together and the sort of things they enjoyed doing. They had met at a dinner party and Henri had offered Jean-Pierre a lift home at the end of the evening. They ended up spending the night together and Henri pointed out that it was downhill from then on.

  They enjoyed doing much the same as Eamon and I like cooking, entertaining, holidays etc. It was clear they both gained a great deal of support from each other. It was all still part of the learning process for me and I was still under the illusion in those days that all gays spent the nights clubbing, pubbing, pulling tricks and sticking liquids up their noses that smelt like dirty old socks to keep them high. I know better now. The majority of gay affairs are as boring as the next person’s. How anyone can perceive them as a possible threat really rather defies belief.

  For a while, we spoke about my background and I explained all about Maggie and Sally and how I got to know Eamon. They were both easy to talk to and at least appeared to be interested.

  “So now you find yourself in this very odd situation. I can understand it must be very difficult for you.”

  “Yes it is. Though I must confess that I am still not totally sure exactly what it is I am involved in.”

  “Well,” Jean-Pierre started, “you must remember that Eamon is a good friend of ours and now you are too, so if there is anything you need, you must not be embarrassed to ask.”

  He was sincere. They both were.

  I was happy to be spending time in their company.

  “Thank you,” I said. “And thank you for a lovely evening, but I feel I should go now.”

  Jean-Pierre stood up.

  “Come on then. I will drive you back to the hotel.”

  “No, no. Please don’t worry,” I said. “It’s only a couple of blocks away and I still have some thinking to do.”

  “Okay then, but if you are sure?”

  “Yes. Really. It’s fine.”

  “Okay, Nick. I will collect Chrissie and you from the hotel in the morning at 9 a.m.”

  They showed me to the door and I thanked them again. They both smiled as I put my hand out to shake theirs but they kissed me goodnight.

  “You are in France now,” said Henri, “and here, all fairies kiss.”

  “And don’t worry,” Jean-Pierre added, “we’ll see you through this.”

  As I walked back to the hotel, I felt much more secure in the knowledge that they were helping Eamon. They were aware of what I was going through and my thoughts returned to him in his cell at the detention centre. It was breaking my heart thinking of him all alone yet I also wanted to hit him.

  The following morning, Jean-Pierre picked us up as promised and I became more anxious as we sat in the small courtroom waiting for Eamon’s case to come up. Jean-Pierre had checked the list for that day and he was the third case to be tried, which, according to Jean-Pierre, was a good sign. I never asked why he said that. To this day, I am still uncertain as to what the first two cases were all about. The first involved a middle aged woman and a gendarme. She would not stop talking and the whole court, including the magistrate, a very attractive woman probably in her mid-fifties, found it highly amusing. Whatever the outcome was they all seemed pleased, including the woman in the dock.

  The second case involved someone whom I presumed to be a Turkish immigrant worker; his whole family was with him. I thought it odd that all the male members looked like him, a little like Saddam Hussein. Whatever it was all about, the outcome was a good one and they all cheered. Except for a small, bald man who stormed out
of the courtroom.

  Then Eamon’s case was called. He was brought into the large room from a small oak door to the side of the magistrate’s bench and led to the dock by a gendarme.

  He was handcuffed.

  He was still wearing the clothes I had left him in at the airport a couple of days previously. He was neat and clean but the look of fear on his face frightened me.

  Chrissie took a handkerchief from her purse.

  Jean-Pierre was at the front bench and stood up while a clerk read out the charge.

  Eamon was staring down at the floor and I was staring at him from the side. But as Jean-Pierre started presumably introducing his client and putting up an initial defence, Eamon slowly turned his head around to look at us. He did not need to say anything.

  The fear in his face showed and the tears began to well up in my eyes. I wanted to go over and comfort him. He looked like a frightened child about to be scolded by his parents.

  Except this was a great deal more serious.

  The magistrate then spoke to him but I could not understand what she was saying. Eamon could and answered “yes”. She then said something else and there was a silence as she looked at some papers in front of her.

  The police then stood up and took Eamon back through the oak door. Jean-Pierre looked over at us and smiled. It was what he had expected and asked for. Eamon was to be held in custody, though Jean-Pierre would deal with that issue later, and the case was to be passed to a higher court for a fuller hearing involving the border authorities.

  We left the courtroom feeling worse than when we had arrived. Though there was the problem with the language barrier, we knew nothing more at that time than we had the previous day.

  Jean-Pierre went to see Eamon again downstairs and met us in reception fifteen minutes later.

  “Well, it’s just as I expected,” he said. “The case has been referred as the magistrate cannot judge and pass sentence on a case like this, which allows me to buy some time. I have also been allowed to arrange a meeting with him for you both. This afternoon at 5 p.m. at the detention centre.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” said Chrissie.

  “And how does he feel now?” I asked.

  “Under the circumstances, not too bad,” Jean-Pierre replied, “though I must say that I just left him in tears. Not because he is so afraid but because of seeing you both in the gallery. He says he needs to talk to you urgently.”

  Jean-Pierre had other work to do and he was still not happy that Eamon was passed over by customs though they would still be involved as a second party. Chrissie and I said that we would amuse ourselves for the day and meet him at the detention centre later. It was agreed and Chrissie and I went off to a cafe for lunch. On the way, I bought a fifty-franc phone card and called Sally and Imogen at the cottage. Everything there was fine; the girls were still enjoying their exciting, impromptu holiday. We had a splendid lunch then took a walk around some of the sites.

  Later in the afternoon, we took a taxi to the detention centre and met Jean-Pierre. The three of us sat waiting in the interview room for Eamon to be brought in. My heart was pounding as I heard the key turn in the door at the end of the room. A gendarme entered first of all, followed by Eamon and then a second officer. Eamon was wearing a small, red, sleeveless tunic over his shirt – the type worn for a netball team.

  He stood staring at us from the end of the room through pitiful eyes and said nothing. Chrissie then burst into tears and ran over to him.

  I walked slowly toward them.

  “Oh Christ, Eamon,” she sobbed, “what the hell has happened?”

  He wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders before looking over to me. He slid from her shoulder to mine.

  “Oh, Nick, Nick, please forgive me,” he sobbed as he pressed himself tightly against me.

  I held back the tears.

  I held him for a few seconds and then became practical. I was conscious of the small amount of time we had.

  “Eamon, sit down,” I said. “We have to get to the bottom of this.”

  I sat him at the table and he held one of my hands tightly. With his free hand he held Chrissie.

  He breathed deeply and sighed.

  “Has Jean-Pierre explained this nightmare situation that I’ve got myself into?” he asked.

  “To a certain extent,” I offered, “but he doesn’t know everything and, besides, why could you not have told me about this? We could have gone to the police.”

  “And put you both at risk?” he replied and began sobbing again. “The two most important things in my life?”

  I was not sure how to respond. Chrissie looked over to me then bowed her head. She was surely important to Eamon?

  As I watched him I felt both pity and annoyance. I should have been crying with him but he knew of a threat to my daughter and my loyalty lay with her.

  “Look,” I said firmly, “you must tell us everything. There may be something the three of us can do to help, and even though you don’t want to involve Sally and me, you already have.”

  Eamon sat back in the chair and rubbed the tears from his eyes.

  “Yes, you’re right,” he said and then went on to explain to us how he became involved with Bulmer and why the initial loan, so trivial these days, was necessary. Chrissie broke down again in tears as he explained how difficult it had been for him after his family had dismissed him as a student. I too became rather tearful especially when he spoke of the blackmailing but at that time, I had only one aim in mind and we were to shed tears for his life at a later date.

  I thought quickly after Eamon had finished. Sally and Imogen were safe for the moment and though I knew little of Bulmer, it struck me that he was probably only a small-time crook, perhaps a bit of a bullshitter, and may not have had the resources to carry out his threats. However, I was involved now and with Eamon out of the way, for a few days at least, any action would need to be taken on my part.

  “Listen, Eamon,” I said, “Jean-Pierre has told us all about the charges and the consequences you may have to face if you do not co-operate with the police. You could end up having to pay the full penalty for smuggling the dope or this new type of drug or whatever the bloody stuff is and I suspect that’s more severe than you think.”

  “But how the hell can I tell them?” he shouted at me. “You have no idea what Bulmer and this connection in Paris might do. I’ve never seen that side of Bulmer but I don’t underestimate that bastard. If he can’t do something, he’ll know someone who can. The person here may the one who has the greatest power. The police and customs people are all going to a great deal of trouble to nail this bloke.”

  We all sat back and sighed.

  There was no rational way around the situation unless Eamon helped the police, yet I had my daughter to consider, though I believed her to be safe for the moment.

  “Listen ... tell me how I can find him,” I started. “I want to see this man for myself.”

  Eamon stopped sobbing and looked up at me from the table.

  “But Nick,” he pleaded, “that wouldn’t do any good. He’d simply deny all knowledge of me and God knows what he might do to you.”

  “Look, Eamon, just tell me,” I replied. “I may not be able to do anything for you now but I’ll do anything for my daughter.”

  I had not intended for that to come out quite as abruptly and loudly but she had to come first in this.

  “Eamon,” I continued calmly, “all I want to do is to make him aware that you have not yet implicated him in all this. There may be some compromise we can reach – money perhaps.”

  “Money means nothing to him with the threat of being banged up for a few years.” He started crying again.

  “No Nick, I can’t involve you ... I really can’t.”

  I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up to me.

  “Look, just give me his fucking address!” I shouted into his tear-filled face.

  “The Gala Tandoori Restaurant in Commercial Road
,” he sobbed. “He has an office upstairs and goes there every day. It’s opposite the hospital.”

  I sighed and pushed Eamon back into his seat. I was sorry for the way I had treated him and guilty for the obvious hostility I was showing.

  I rubbed my eyes and sighed.

  “Eamon ... forgive me for that,” I started, “but surely you realise how I feel. Christ, here I am in a foreign country and never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that I would ever be involved in something like this.”

  “I know, I know,” he started. “Look, my trial will probably not come up for a couple of weeks and I understand why you must see Bulmer. Please tell him, I swear he will not be implicated but they already know about Fabrier. But if anything happens to Sally or you, I won’t hesitate. If nothing else, it would make things inconvenient for him for a while. I know full well that I’m in this situation because of my own stupidity and naivety and I alone will pay the penalty.”

  He stood up before me with more tears streaming down his face.

  “Say you’ll forgive me, Nick. Please say you’ll forgive me.”

  A third officer then entered the room and told Jean-Pierre that the time was up. Eamon only stared at us and was then taken out of the room and back to his cell before I could answer his plea.

  Chrissie wrapped her arms around me and we both stood in silence.

  “Come on,” said Jean-Pierre, “we must leave now. I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

  My heart was racing and not in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that I would be in this strange and unwelcome situation. I’d never been quite as angry, and I surprised myself at just how strong I was when the odds were against me. My daughter Sally was all that I was concerned about and her protection was the only thing that was important. Eamon’s mistakes and future, our relationship, the problems when the parents found out, my job, the friends, the whole scenario – nothing else mattered. I’d never grabbed another individual by the scruff of the neck and shouted at them or threatened them. This strength didn’t seem to be me.

  But it was.

  We said nothing in the car on the way back. I was still unsure of what to do or whether or not I had done the right thing at the detention centre. The meeting had not given Eamon the support he needed. But one thing was definite ... I wanted to be with Sally. There was no point in staying in France if Eamon was going to be locked up until the next court appearance and I needed to do something useful.

  I was unsure what that could be.

  Back at the hotel, we made our way to the bar and took a large cognac each, which I don’t remember even tasting.

  “I really need to get back to London, now,” I announced. “Jean-Pierre, will you take me to the airport? I just need to get my things from the room.”

  “Me too,” said Chrissie. “I really need my family at the moment.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, “but we really need to discuss what action should be taken over Eamon.”

  “No we don’t,” I replied. “Do nothing for the next few days or at least until I have had the chance to speak with this Bulmer person and assess the situation.”

  “But, Nick, do you really think that’s wise?” said Chrissie. “You have no idea how dangerous this man could be.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I have to find out all I possibly can.” I turned to Jean-Pierre. “Please, just wait a couple of days until I return ... probably with Sally. I’d rather have her by my side through this.”

  “Okay, I understand,” and he took hold of my hand. “Please, be careful and keep me advised. I’ll do all I can here.”

  I have to say that I was quite impressed with this new confident me. I feared nothing and nobody.