Red Light in the Pyrenees

Chapter 4

Chapter 4I make my way through the busy streets with some difficulty; as it's the height of summer and a beautiful sunny day, the town is alive with people. I spy Patricia about half way down a line of stalls and I'm amazed that I've found her so easily in such a large crowd. Ollee sees me and hurtles towards me through the legs of tourists and townsfolk, yipping and yapping and leaping excitedly. Patricia throws her head back and laughs delightedly at the dog's antics then our eyes meet and she waves and signals for me to join her.

She is talking to Monsieur Charles and her hand is resting on the biggest ham on his stall. Monsieur Charles is over six feet tall with strong shoulders. His head is completely bald, as it has been since he was a young man. To compensate for the lack of hair on his head, he has grown a magnificent handle bar style moustache. He has very bushy eyebrows and a way of narrowing his eyes and smiling when he is thinking which gives him the look of a nineteenth century villain from an old movie.

“Isn't this the most wonderful ham?” Patricia says as I approach.

“It was a fair exchange,” Monsieur Charles replies shyly. “Hello, Danielle,” he continues, “Nasty business at the whorehouse, very nasty business.”

“Yes,” I reply. “Not the most pleasant way to start a morning.”

“I take it she's dead,” he asks. “Accident, was it?”

“I shouldn't really discuss the case, but it would seem so,” I reply.

Monsieur Charles gives an audible sigh and I wonder how many other men will be relieved.

“Monsieur Charles was just telling me about the lottery win,” Patricia says, changing the subject. “Someone from this region has won two hundred thousand euros in last week's draw, but they haven't come forward to claim it yet. It could be anyone. It might be someone we know,” she speculates.

“We'll probably never know who it is as they'll wish to remain anonymous,” Monsieur Charles says. “I know if I won the lottery, I would definitely remain anonymous because if my wife or my daughters found out, I would never see any of the money,” he adds with a wry smile.

To say that Monsieur Charles is henpecked is an understatement, because this gentle, kind man is completely under the thumb of his bossy wife. Madame Charles is on every committee and is deeply involved with the church. Very pious people always make me feel rather uncomfortable and Madame Charles is no exception. Something about her reminds me of my overbearing mother and I'm sure she must be very difficult to live with. Perhaps that's why Monsieur Charles is interested in news about Madame Henriette, I speculate.

“I would buy more chickens and an apricot orchard and I would take Danielle on a little holiday. We've not had a holiday and we've been living in our house for two years now. I would get Ollee the biggest bone in the boucherie and a box full of new toys.”

Patricia is already dreaming about spending the money that she hasn't won.

Monsieur Charles nods at Patricia then looks at me and laughs. “If only my family's desires were so simple,” he says. “My wife and daughters would want designer this and designer that and bling bling here and bling bling there and I would have to work twice the hours to pay for it. It is better that I don't win. I will be a richer man for not winning.”

“Perhaps the ticket was sold by our newsagent,” Patricia speculates. “If so, Therese who works there might know the identity of the winner. It's a real mystery but quite exciting, isn't it?”

“Patricia, darling, it could have been bought anywhere in the region. One of the supermarkets might have sold the ticket. It may have been a lucky dip and the purchaser might not even have checked the numbers yet. Anything is possible. The only thing we know for certain is that none of us has won.”

“Oh well,” she replies. “We might not be rich, but at least we're not poor. Help me to carry this monster of a ham to your car and then I'll buy you lunch.”

“Now you're talking. I'm beginning to feel really hungry, and if we're quick, we'll get a table at the bistro before the place fills up with tourists.”

We say goodbye to Monsieur Charles, then I carry the ham as one would carry a small child – and I think it weighs about the same – as we make our way through the throngs of people to the car. When we return to the square and are seated at a table outside the restaurant, my thoughts return to one of the items on Patricia's wish list.

“Would you like to go for a holiday?” I ask her. “We could easily afford a few days away. Where would you like to go?”

“I don't really need a holiday, Danielle, but it would be nice,” she says. “You've been working very long hours because of your promotion. Now that things have settled down a bit, I think you could do with a change of scene. But I suppose, with this latest incident, it will be out of the question for a few weeks.”

“I love my work and my position so I don't feel under any strain, but I think it would do us both good to take a break and besides, we can afford it,” I add. “So where would you like to go?”

“Whale watching in Alaska,” she replies, quick as a flash.

“W-what?” I stammer.

“Got ya,” she says, laughing. “Barcelona would be good.”