Hello Again
He arrived on a bicycle, nothing posh, one of those heavy black French sit up and beg things with a basket in front which held his worn, kaki, army backpack, a pâté baguette wrapped in waxy paper and a torch. He was halfway up the two mile drive before security caught up with him, the patrols generally ignored the main gates as they were high end security and could only be opened from the house or with a retinal scan, concentrating instead on the perimeter fence where people could break through if determined enough. They put him and his bike through the scanners, declared him clear and called Jill. It was ten o’clock on another sunny morning. Quite an unusual start to their day.
The drive ran through grass parkland with a more formal ornamental garden at the front of the house. Jill thought it de trop, especially the fountain with the naked nymphs worshipping at the feet of Zeus or whoever, but it had been like that for centuries, so she kept her criticism to herself. The drive itself lit up at night as you drove over it. Rafik had first seen it at a pop stars house in Surrey when he was sponsoring a tour the band were doing. That one used runway lights, his used LEDs which lit up a hundred yards in front as the car approached and went out as it passed. So cool he thought. Jill sighed. Reaching the front of the house, when visitors looked up at the blue cream stone with its towers, turrets and crenelations, most thought Disneyland, and indeed the chateau, like so many over France and parts of Germany looked like the original Neuschwanstein Castle Disney had modelled his corporate image on. Inside had been eighteen bedrooms and two bathrooms. Rafik decided he was never having eighteen people to stay the night, so it had been remodelled into a family unit of four bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, and eight guest suites with a bed room sitting room and bathroom. The staff quarters had also been modernised into self contained flats, only the ground and first floor reception rooms retained all their original features with their. frescoes, and intricate paneling, crystal chandeliers and fireplaces in every room with their decorative mantels.
If the house frontage was original, the shorter road at the back which led to its own entrance on the road which ran round the estate, was new. It ran through twelve hectares of neatly trimmed vines, on a gentle south facing slope. The chalk soil and constant sun produced the grapes for a stunning white burgundy, made in the state of the art winery which had been put in by the previous owners. But too late. The old wine had no takers and the modern equipment had not yet produced the new vintage before they went bust and on a whim, Rafik had bought it from the owner on a flight from Pari to New York at a tenth of the value. It was a cash deal, the money transfer took place in first class at 33,000 feet so by the time they landed Rafik’s lawyers met them and the deal was signed on the JFK tarmac. The Count, an actual old school French Count, was delighted and rushed off to his brokers to save the family pharmaceuticals business. Rafik went to a bar in Harlem, agreed an arms deal and got drunk. What the fuck was he going to do with a vineyard and chateau? He hadn’t met Jill at that stage.
When security brought the boy up to the house Rafik and Jill were momentarily puzzled. He was wearing a bum freezer black jacket over a grandpa collar smudged white shirt, black knee length trousers of the same coarse material as the jacket and held up by braces, knee length grey woollen socks and stout black lace up shoes. ‘He’s a character out of Dickens’ Jill thought. ‘Oh no, they don’t have Dickens in France, well Les Mis then. Yes that was it, a perfect replication of a street urchin.’ Her first question was going to be how he had got through the gates, but without a word he pulled a box out of his backpack and handed it to Rafik. It contained a pair of perfect human hands.
“You just push them on” the boy said in English, “the very tiny wires find your muscles and make them work. You don’t need any surgery. I had pictures of your hands and inside is moulded. I couldn’t make your feet yet. No pictures. Sorry”
Rafik had been studying the young boy, pale grubby face, curly black hair and deep dark eyes, what, fourteen at most? Now he took his old artificial hands off, manoeuvred his shattered real hands into the new prosthetics and felt them softly grip his wrist There was some prickling and then he just reached forward and picked a petal off the plant in front of him.
“Amazing. Have you been offered refreshments?”
They sat in the lounge, the glass wall at the far end looking out over hectares of vines, sipping freshly squeezed orange and lime juice.
“Let’s start with who you are” Jill said.
“I am your son.”
Jill looked at Rafik and mouthed ‘Really?’
‘Don’t look at me,’ he murmured back. He turns to the boy
“Why do you say that? Who is your mother?”
“She died last month, she told me to find you and that you would help. Her name was Caterina from the Lombardy region , she was descended from Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci, which is why I am so good at making things” she said.
“Your father?”
“I don’t think anyone knew, ‘specially my mother. She ‘took in washing’ I was told.”
“I really don’t remember ever having met your mother, so I am not sure how I can help” Rafik is torn, the kid has just given him the most amazing prothetic hands but he doesn’t want to be conned..
“No, she said she never met you, but she was a ‘wise woman’ in our small village, and she had a vision before she died. She said that you would take me in and look after me and that I would bring great good fortune to you and all your family.”
Jill takes a breath and starts to explain.
“You see the thing is, oh, I don’t even know your name.”
“Leo.”
“Leo, of course, well Leo, the thing is we already have a daughter.”
“I know, Nora, after your Nana. I will be her big brother.” Only Jill’s godparents and a few close friends knew the baby’s name. Nobody knew why she was called that.
“How do you know…”
“My mother knew. She said I would look after baby Nora and keep her safe as well.”
“Well that is very kind, erm Rafik?”
Before he could answer Marina came in
“Looks like a day for unannounced arrivals” she said. “We have had a landing request for a helicopter.” “Who from?”
“No idea, you better see” and up on the TV screen is the beautiful face of Verona wearing a headset and obviously piloting a small helicopter.
“Hi Jill, Hi whoever you now are. Switch your transponder on, I’m only a couple of minutes away.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” grumps Rafik.
“What a lovely man you have married Jill. I am coming to see my baby sister of course.”
“Oh hell, switch the bloody transponder on” he said, even more grumpily. “And put some vodka in the freezer, no not some, make that lots.”
They heard to rotors wind down outside, then excited chattering from Marina, the clattering along the marble floors as a pair of metal stilettos headed their way, the doors were thrown open and she stood there surveying the scene. Jill stood up and walked towards her, arms wide open.
“Verona. You’ve got clothes on.”
“I am retired. I am Zahra now.”
“Retired from what?” asked Rafik suspiciously.
“Both jobs” she said. “Now where is my little sister?”
“You better meet Leo first, he is her little brother apparently.”
“Oh look at you, aren’t you gorgeous, come here, give me a big hug.”
Pulling away from him she turns to Jill. “Here, I have brought you a present” and she hands her a wrapped bottle.
“Vodka?” guesses Jill.
“Holy water. For the baby’s head. I was in Rome, they are very fond of me at the Holy See. All those Cardinals and no women” she giggled. “Now introduce us to, what have you called her?”
“Nora.”
“After your Grandmother. How lovely.”
‘Jesus’ thought Jill, ‘does everyone know everything about us?’ She was about to bring it up when Marina entered again
“Looks like quite the day for unexpected visitors.”
“Who this time?” asks Jill.
Marina looked at a piece of paper. “William Caulfeild, 1st Viscount Charlemont. A Cavalier, and in full get up too, frilly thing round his neck, big sword and everything. And he is riding a horse.”
Jill and Rafik go to the front door and look in amazement at the handsome young Indian boy, perched on top of a nut brown charger.
“Anish, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Fleeing the Roundheads My Liege but my horse is exhausted so I must rest up.”
“Get in here you idiot” orders Jill as one of the stable hands hurries up to take care of the horse. They go through to the lounge where the others stop speaking and stare.
“Now what gives with the get up?”
“I am on holiday, part of a re-enactment society touring France. It was the only way I could get away from Six without arousing suspicion.”
“Oh no. What have the mad bastards done now?” asks Rafik.
“Cherry is missing.”
Marina fixes Anish up with a bedroom and some rather French normal clothes, by which time lunch is ready. They take it under a vine covered terrace, plates of cold meats, salads, baguette and fruit, everyone helps themselves and chatters about what they have been up to.. After lunch Rafik concentrates on Anish who has been particularly reserved.
“OK, tell us all.”
“For some time top floor have been getting their knickers in a twist, bustling around looking important. We pond scum have noticed lots of transmissions between New York, Brussels and London. Eventually ‘they’ all conclude ‘Something Big’ is afoot and the worker bees are scurried out on missions. All seemed a bit unsubstantiated to me, though admittedly I had more access to transmissions than I am legally entitled to, but hey. Nobody thought the UK important, ‘They’ thought all the action was in the States or Germany, but we wanted to look busy so off everyone goes. Upshot is that Cherry was sent to Ireland without me as liason, to embed herself deep undercover with a group of hippies, despite it being illegal now.”
“Oh shit. Have they lost their marbles?” muttered Rafik.
“All went OK for about a month, she met this guy and well, I won’t go into details, can’t say I am happy about it, but we got regular reports about nothing and then two weeks ago she went off line. They concluded she was even deeper and might be onto something, so no interference, but I know there is something wrong, she would always let me know she was OK, we have our own coms separate from the Service, and I have heard nothing either. I am really worried.”
