THE HIDDEN FACE OF HAPPINESS

By Leo Beaulieu

© CIPO 466377 (1998)

 

 

Prelude

 

 

 

 

The icy cold rain fell relentlessly during the past few weeks. It mixed with the fresh soil mounded upon the grass and formed small puddles. The liquid mud slowly trickled down towards the hole.

 

It was a sorrowful day this twenty-sixth of September, indeed a sorrowful month.

 

A little more than a dozen people were gathered at the graveside, forming a semi-circle around the large hole. The downpour, falling heavily upon their flared umbrellas, imitated the rat-a-tat-tat sound of rolling drums. It was not only the rain that wet the ground; there were also the tears of the mourners.

 

 

 

Chapter 1

The First Meeting

 

“Martine!” Ovide gently shouted , “…there’s a young man that has just walked in. Would you look after him?”

_______________

 

Martha and Ovide Olivier adopted Martine when she was five years old. The Olivier’s were proud owners of an old, modest little bistro situated on the outskirts of the city.

At the age of sixteen, Martine quit school and took on the job of waitress at her father’s bistro. In her mind, it was the right thing to do. Her parents were not getting any younger, and she felt she owed them that much.

_______________

 

Behind the bar, Martine was busy washing and drying the glasses. She stopped to see where the customer was sitting. She dropped her drying cloth, picked up a small writing pad and pencil and walked directly toward the young man.

 

“Good evening sir. What can I serve you?”

 

“I’ll have a glass of red wine… and maybe some cheese, if you please,” the handsome young stranger replied.

 

Martine pivoted around quickly to go to the bar and returned readily with some wine, cheese and a few slices of French bread on a plate.

 

“I didn’t order any bread,” the young man replied gently.

 

“Compliments of the house! Actually, it comes with the cheese,” Martine answered, flashing a smile, “…I don’t remember ever seeing you here before. Are you just passing through?”

 

“Yes, I am!  I’ve come to this part of the city to conclude some business, then I’ll be going back home to Canada soon after.”

 

The young man quickly stood up and offered his hand to Martine. “My name is Frederic Montreuil. I’m studying Law, here in Paris.”

 

“And mine is Martine,” she proudly replied, “…Martine Olivier, daughter of Martha and Ovide, the owners of this bar.”

_______________

Martine had just turned twenty. She was five feet two inches tall. Blessed with a slim build and a very thin waist, her long and curly blond hair came down well past her shoulders to the middle of her back.  Wispy, long, stray curls framed and enhanced the remarkable beauty of her oval face. She had the brightest blue eyes you could possibly imagine. Indeed, Martine was a very pretty young lady.

 

Frederic was twenty-three years of age. He was tall and slender, with a fairly good build and gave the impression of being strong and fearless. However, he was not the athletic type at all. He had a thick head of satiny black, wavy hair that emphasized his strong, angular facial features and piercing dark sapphire-blue eyes. Frederic was a very handsome young man.

Frederic was born to a privileged life. His father was a prestigious, high profile criminal lawyer in Quebec.

Paul Montreuil was known to be a power-seeking and commanding individual in court. At times, he became ruthless in the ways he went about winning his cases. Nevertheless, his strength, charm, and character made him a very good defence attorney. Unconsciously, he carried that overpowering behaviour into his home.

 

His unreasonable quest for fame created high demands on himself, as well as on his family. When it came time for Frederic to go to college, Paul had insisted that his son follow in his footsteps. He also insisted that he should attend the best Law School there was. In a gesture of false pride, he enrolled him at the renowned ‘ Panthéon-Assas de Paris ‘, in France.

 

Unfortunately, Frederic was not consulted on these issues. He was not even given the prior opportunity to voice his concerns. When he was told that his career would be Law, he strongly contested the vision of his dominant father. In spite of his own plans for a career and in the face of Paul’s strong and uncontestable arguments, Frederic was compelled to yield to his father’s wishes, yet, once again.

 

But now, the young man had decided to return home. He had mustered up enough courage to confront his father. He was hoping to convince him that his views about his future greatly differed from his father’s. However, Frederic was not sure that his father would accept the choices he had made. What he was sure of was that he would react strongly.

_______________

 

“Are you going back home to Canada because you have completed your studies?” asked Martine.

 

Frederic purposely avoided the question.

There was only one other customer present in the bistro. He was sitting quietly at a table in the corner nearer to the front entrance. It was Rodrigue, a faithful client of the bar who was slowly sipping his habitual glass of wine. He would always sit at the same table and no one else ever dared to take his place. Rodrigue would always show up at around four o’clock every day and he would stay until closing time.

 

Rodrigue was a man of small stature. The way he dressed made him look even shorter than he really was. His apparel had not changed much over the years. He always wore an old pair of trousers with random patches, a jacket that never matched anything, and a chequered shirt. His garments were old, but always meticulously clean. He sported an old brownish straw hat that must have been some tint of yellow at some time, or other. He wore it summer, and winter. When he removed it, a halo of white hair covered his shiny bald head. Whenever he smiled, his eyes would squint behind the small spectacles that were perched on the tip of his reddened nose.

 

Some say that old Rodrigue must have been around way back when the bistro was originally built. Obviously, that statement was nonsense. Everyone knew about the carving that was nailed to the wall, over the bar. It showed the names of the first owners, and the date when the bistro was built. That date was 1878.

The bistro was still in its original condition on the corner of the main street and a small side alleyway. There had never been any major changes brought to it. Patrons coming in by the front door could not miss the sight of the magnificent old-fashioned stone fireplace at the rear of the bistro. It was in fairly good condition and Ovide would fire it up once in a while when the weather started to chill in the late fall. On the left, the old oak bar stood up straight and proud, as though it were showing off how well it had kept itself during all those years.

 

There were many small windows, piercing through the thick stone front wall, as well as through the wall facing the stately bar. An emergency door had been cut through that wall, but it was rarely used because it was so large and heavy to move. Its hinges were rusty and squeaked horribly when forced open, sometimes just to air-out the place. Rodrigue had walked the old, waxed, wooden floors for as long as he could remember. He knew every nook and cranny in the old boards.

_______________

 

 “There’s only one other customer in the bar, Martine, why don’t you come and join me?” Frederic took the liberty of asking, as he motioned to a vacant chair across the table from where he was sitting.

 

“I don’t know…” she answered hesitantly, turning her head in the direction of the counter where her father Ovide was standing, as if she hoped to receive some sort of approval, “…I suppose it would be alright.”

 

Slowly, she pulled up a chair and sat down, facing the young man.

 

“So you’ve finished your term and you’re going back home?  Where exactly do you live in Canada?”

 

“I’m returning to Quebec, precisely north of Montreal,” he answered, and in a lower tone of voice, «…and I have not completed my term… well, what I’m trying to say is that… in fact, I’m quitting my studies. I’ve finally realized that the Law profession is not what I wish to do in life. I must, however, convince my father of that. He will be very disappointed to hear that I won’t be following in his footsteps. Nevertheless, he will have to understand that it’s my life, and the choice is mine alone.”

 

The young waitress was observing Frederic very attentively and felt the strong emotions in his statements. She noticed that the young man’s facial expression was one of fear laced with determination. He greatly needed to talk about his concerns, and she felt he was seeking some sort of support.

 

Other than some college buddies, Frederic was very much alone in this country. He appeared somewhat disturbed with the decision he had made. Martine could sense it.

 

“In my opinion, I’m convinced that everyone should do what he, or she wishes to do with his, or her, own life,” she offered, “…my parents have never forced me into anything. Instead, they have always encouraged me to make my own decisions regarding my personal life. Today, I’m practicing what I like to do most, a very simple trade, you might say, but a trade that gives me a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction. But tell me, Frederic, what precisely do you want to do in life? What particular profession attracts you?”

 

Frederic responded passionately. He was thrilled by Martine’s interest in him.

 

“I’ve always had a strong attraction for the arts, especially for literature. Yes, I would love to write. I would like to write novels, novels about love and adventure, but it’s not easy to be recognized in this field. In order to be successful, one must invest an awful lot of time and effort. And, of course, be lucky. Then there’s always the monetary issue to consider… “

 

The young man suddenly stopped talking and slowly shook his head from side to side and burst out laughing.

 

“There I go again, reciting my father’s counter arguments when I first brought up the matter of my personal vision of the future to him.”

 

“Your father is quite right, it’s a difficult profession, but it seems to me that he should realize that all those law books that he owns, have been written by someone like you, who had chosen that career. Granted, they’re writers in a different genre, but they were able to earn a living for themselves and their families. Many people find refuge in the reading of a good book. Quite often, they seek and hope to discover what they would have liked to have happen in their own lives.”

 

Martine paused pensively for a few seconds.

 

“I remember seeing a movie some time ago. It was a fiction movie and the topic was books. Yes, books! It was forbidden by decree to own any form of literary work. Everyone was summoned to surrender his or her books to the authorities. And if they should break the rule, and were found in possession of a book, they were arrested, and put in jail. All the books were confiscated. Books were gathered in a pile, on a site located in the center of town, where they were set on fire. Not all obeyed the ruling. The schemes that some of them devised to obtain and hide a few books were quite unbelievable.

 

The people running that small burg knew quite well that reading books would inevitably raise the awareness of the population as to what was happening outside of their town. The burg authorities did not like that. Their ploy was to keep the people ignorant and subdued.

 

Agreed, the movie was fiction, but nevertheless, it was then that I understood the dire need for some people to read. Some people have an insatiable thirst for knowledge,” Martine recounted.

 

No more needed to be said to Frederic for him to regain hope and to propel him once again towards his dream. It was just pure coincidence; a stroke of chance, or perhaps, it was destiny that made him stop in at that particular bistro that evening to meet Martine.

The young waitress gave him a new breath of hope and with just a few words; she validated his choice of career.

They had been talking for several hours, then both sat quietly for a long pensive moment, looking into each other’s eyes, neither saying a word, when all of the sudden… Bang! The loud noise startled both Frederic and Martine. It came from where old Rodrigue was sitting.

 

It was nearly midnight, and as he so often did, the old man had dozed off after drinking the bottle of wine he used to order every evening. Sleep had got the better of him, and he toppled off his chair onto the old wooden floor. Luckily, he did not hurt himself. Though dazed, he swiftly got up, straightened himself, apologized to Ovide, and hurriedly left the bistro. Unknowingly, Rodrigue had signalled the closing time.

 

“I think I should be going, too, Martine,” Frederic said, getting up from his chair, “…I believe you’ve had a long day. You must be tired. It was very good of you to sit with me. I really appreciated your company,” he hesitated a moment, “…can I see you again, Martine? I’m not leaving for a couple of days.”

 

“Why not? The weekend is just starting and I won’t be working. Perhaps we could go sailing. My father owns a small sail boat and I’m pretty good at the helm, if I do say so myself.”

_______________

The sky was without a single cloud, and the wind was calm and warm. It felt good to be near the sea. The two-hour bus ride to the seashore was well worth it. The smell of algae and seaweed washed up on the shore, reminded Frederic of the many trips he had made to the beaches of f New England. When he was a young boy, his mother would take him along on her many trips, practically every summer. He remembered the collection of fancy pebbles, and the assortment of shells he had accumulated over the years. He had kept them all.

 

For a short moment, he stood deep in thought on the very edge of the wharf, gazing out over the endless body of water. He remembered that when he was a young lad, his father was never with them. Somehow, when a trip or a vacation had been planned, his father would always be involved with some important criminal case that totally monopolized him. Frederic also recalled how much he had missed being able to share his childhood treasures with his dad.

 

Standing alone on the wharf, he did not know if he could ever forgive his father for his repeated absences when he needed him most. He also did not know if he could ever forgive him for running his life when he did not solicit it.

 

Frederic turned around and walked back to the beach to help Martine with the supplies. She had brought a basket full of good food. He took it from her and they both walked toward where the small craft was anchored. He placed the basket in the bottom of the small sailboat. Frederic watched while skilfully, Martine raised the two sails.

 

Though the sails were up, the wind was not strong enough to push the boat away from the wharf. Frederic took off his shoes, threw them into the boat, and jumped into the shallow water. He tried pushing the craft away from the wharf, but the boat had a much greater drag than he had expected.

Then, without any warning, a sudden gust of wind filled the sails and the boat suddenly surged ahead, leaving Frederic, standing barefoot on the slippery, slime-covered rocks. He lost his footing. Frederic grabbed for, and hung onto the helm and pulled himself up into the boat.

 

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a sailor. I imagine that you’ll teach me very quickly,” he said jokingly.

 

“We won’t go far, Frederic. I know about a tiny island where no one goes. A beach of white sand surrounds it. I thought we could go swimming there, and spend a pleasant day.”

 

Though the voyage seemed endless, the young couple enjoyed being together once more.

 

“You’re a very good sailor, Martine. Would you let me give it a try?”

 

“This is serious business, you know. If the wind picks up, you’ll need to react quickly. You’ll have to sail in a criss-cross pattern and use the wind to your advantage. You may have to lower one of the sails if necessary. You’ll need to reduce speed in order to land softly. It’s too much to learn on your first day out,” she answered.

 

“Seems to me, you’ve done this before?” Frederic said, in awe of her sea-faring skills.

 

“Oh, yes, I have many years of practice.”

 

“Have you ever come close?”

 

“Close to what? What do you mean?” Martine asked.

 

“I mean close to crashing, I guess. I don’t exactly know how to say it!”

 

“You probably mean, like sailing too fast, or like hitting a storm, maybe?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean.”

 

“No!”

 

“No, what?”

 

“No, I’ve never come close, never had the bad luck of hitting a storm. But, I always check with the weather office before sailing off. And today’s forecast is just fine for small craft sailing. So please, don’t worry. You’ll have your chance to sail when we return. In the meantime, just observe what I do.”

 

Martine knew what she was doing and Frederic was very impressed by her leadership and sailing skills. From the onset, when he first met her, he had the impression that the young beauty was someone very special… different from the others.

 

Indeed, she was not like the other girls Frederic had met before. She appeared to be quite a bit more mature than other young women her age are. Having been raised by an elderly couple, they had instilled in her, a great sense of responsibility early on in her life. Just a few days after she was born, she was placed in an orphanage until she was five years old, when the Olivier’s adopted her. Martine was very much aware of her good fortune the day Martha and Ovide showed up for the adoption. Finding a new home had a distinctive impact on Martine’s life.

Being wanted and loved by someone was a feeling she had not known before. She felt chosen and very special. Parental love had finally come into her life.

 

Gone was the feeling of rejection. Gone was the feeling of overwhelming loneliness. Gone were the days of just being another child in the group. From that moment on, she had promised herself to never miss out on the opportunity to share her feelings of unconditional love and acceptance with someone else.

_______________

 

After forty-five minutes of sailing on a calm sea, the craft finally landed on the beach of a small cove, nestled in the South bank of a tiny island that surely was never recorded on any map.

 

Everything seemed to forecast a marvellous day ahead for the young couple. The scenery resembled one of the South Seas with its tall trees that looked strangely like the high and slender palm trees of South America, and the tropics.

 

The young couple settled themselves under the trees, on a blanket, which Martine had brought along. They talked for a while, drank some wine and ate.

 

They remained stretched out lazily on the blanket for a fairly long time. The sun had started to go down and was blasting its hot rays on them. The trees were no longer providing the soothing shade they had enjoyed earlier.

 

“Let’s go for a swim!” Martine suggested. She sat on her heels and gradually started to undress.

 

“I didn’t bring a swim suit,” Frederic replied.

 

“That’s all right. I don’t have one either, but I’m going in just the same,” she answered with a smile and continued to undress completely, to the shocking surprise of the young man.

 

She was more beautiful than he had imagined. At first, he thought she was very bold to say the least, but there was a confusing innocence about her. She did not appear to find anything immoral in her behaviour. Frederic attributed it to her parents’ permissiveness. He knew his shock was from his own stringent upbringing.

 

He didn’t really know what to make of her behavior. Beside the casual encounters with girl friends at college, it was really the very first time that he was so intimately involved with a woman. He was beginning to doubt if he would be able to resist what appeared to him to be the illicit advances of this young woman.

 

The shy young man, although quite embarrassed, kept watching this exquisite young beauty play in the surf. The emerald-green water was splashing her legs and slender body. Shiny droplets of water were beading all over her, sparkling like a thousand tiny diamonds as they reflected the warm rays of the setting sun.

 

Now it became only a question of time until Frederic’s desire grew strong enough to overpower his restraint. He could not master his feelings any longer. He stripped himself, and as naked as the day he was born, he ran quickly into the sea that engulfed him to his waist, so as to hide the witness of his passion.

 

They played in the water like children, splashing each other, running up and down the white sandy beach, tossing and touching each other.

Time stood still.

After a long while, they suddenly stopped playing as if both had taken notice of their nakedness for the first time. Shyly, they ran back to where they had spread out their blanket. Frederic knelt and fell on it, face down toward the ground, exhausted. He then looked up and saw Martine quickly wrapping a towel around her before lying down on the blanket. As he reached for his own towel, he realized then that he was not the only one who felt embarrassed about this last outburst of total freedom. He dared not do, nor say anything. They lay there, next to each other, silent, just looking at the ocean as the sun set. Totally unconcerned with time, they were surprised by the dusk.

 

“Martine, I don’t think we will be able to sail back home tonight. It’s too dark and it took us nearly one hour to come to this island. The wind is weaker than it was this morning,” Frederic said while dressing, “…no, I’m sure that we’ll never make it. We’ll have to stay overnight here on this deserted beach. I’ll light a fire, it’s getting chilly!” he added quickly.

 

“You’re worrying for nothing. We have a place where we can spend the night comfortably. Come, follow me!” she replied, while securing the belt buckle of her skirt.

 

Martine knelt down on the sand next to the blanket and with a calculated swift move, she flipped open the lid of the basket, stuffed it with the half empty bottle of wine and what was left of the food.  With her free hand, she snatched up, and draped the wet blanket and towels over her arm, got up and proceeded toward the wooded area of the small island.

 

Stunned, Frederic followed her.

 

“Where are you going? Wait for me!” he shouted, catching up to her. He removed the basket from her hands, “…Martine, where are you taking me?”

 

“Staying on this island is not a problem, Frederic. I’ve been coming here regularly for nearly seven years now, and from year to year, a little at a time, I’ve built this little refuge,” she said, pointing in the direction of a tiny house erected in the center of a clearing, “…and there aren’t any large animals on this island,” she continued, laughing loudly, daringly.

 

The hut was not very big, about eight feet wide by eight feet deep. The roof and three of the walls were made out of old wood, whereas the fourth was covered with a large piece of heavy canvas split up the middle to allow for an entrance. As you entered, on the left was a small bed with a mattress of soft branches. Over the mattress, a single sheet, a blanket and a fluffy pillow were tidily placed. Facing the bed, there was a small table and two folding seats made out of wood frames and canvas seats. An oil lamp was hanging from the ceiling at the end of a delicate steel chain. This was a simple refuge to protect oneself from the weather, nothing more.

 

“Please, don’t tell me that we’re going to sleep in here tonight!”  he said, pointing at the little hut.

 

“We have shelter, food and a little bit of wine. Do you have a better solution?” she replied, visibly disappointed with Frederic’s attitude.

 

Frederic said nothing. He realized that his remark had hurt Martine’s feelings.  He put his hands on his hips, and with his back to her, looked around critically.

 

“You’re quite right, this place is not bad at all, and in fact it’s actually pretty good.  There’s only the one bed though, but that’s no problem, I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ll light a fire to keep us warm until we turn in. It’s far too early yet.”

 

“That’s wonderful. I knew that you would agree with me. While you look after the fire, I’ll prepare the bed for the night.”

_______________

There were no sounds on the remote island, other than that of the crackling fire, and the distant waves lapping against the shore. Frederic was sitting in front of the fire, Indian style, and he was feeding it with old driftwood he had picked up in total darkness along the beach. Some of it was a little wet and steam was rising from it. He poked at it repeatedly with a branch, and in no time at all, he had a raging fire going.

 

As he poked and stirred the fire, he was deep in thought. He felt that things were going too fast between him and Martine. He felt her strength, the power of her control. He wondered if she had somehow planned all this and where it would lead. He didn’t know if he could resist her advances. He thought that Martine’s parents would no doubt be worried when Martine did not return home on time, yet, she did not appear to be concerned about them.

 

“The fire is wonderful, Frederic, but I wouldn’t put in any more wood in it, or you’ll set the whole island on fire,” she said, jokingly, invading Frederic’s reverie, as she came out of the hut and sat next to him. “…I’m very happy tonight. I’ve come here quite often over the years, you know; but it’s the first time that I’ve shared my little house with someone else. Hardly anyone knows that this island exists, let alone that it could be inhabited. Only my parents know that I come here from time to time and they don’t worry if I were to decide to stay overnight,” she said confidently, reassuring the young man.

 

Slowly, she cuddled up to him and took a hold of his hand ever so tenderly.

 

“Do you believe in fate, Frederic? Tell me, why is it that you are sitting by my side, you, a young man from Canada, and me, born in Paris, abandoned by my mother at birth, then adopted by an old French couple? It has to be something other than a simple coincidence. We once were thousands of miles apart, and now our paths have crossed. It has to be destiny, doesn’t it? How would you explain it, Frederic?”

 

“I’m not sure myself, but then, why try to explain it. There are some things that cannot be explained. We have to accept them as they manifest themselves, accepting that there has to be a reason why they happen. More often than not, the reason is not obvious, and sometimes even quite obscure. We may never find the answer.  But then again… one day, we just might understand why certain things happened.”

 

They talked like this for hours, sharing secrets they had never dared reveal to anyone. Intimate secrets they had kept to themselves until that day when they would meet that special person, someone so special… in whom they would not hesitate to confide. It seemed to both of them that this was that day.

 

Unconcerned with time and so totally absorbed with the presence of each other, they ignored the fire and it burned itself out.

 

“It’s late, and I’m sleepy,” Martine said, and gave a little shiver from the damp coolness of the night air.

 

“Let’s turn in then,” Frederic said, helping Martine to her feet.

 

They both got up from where they had been sitting and proceeded to the hut. Martine struck a match and lit up the oil lantern that hung from the ceiling. Instantly, the small flame emanated a soothing warm glow that filtered into the far reaches of the confined room.

 

Martine sat on the edge of the bed and slowly began to completely undress. The glimmer of light given off by the small oil lamp was flashing on her naked body, and again Frederic’s desire grew. But swiftly, she slipped under her blanket.

 

The young man however, before starting to undress, placed one hand to act as a shield behind the top of the opening of the small glass chimney of the oil lantern. He brought his mouth close to the rim of it. With a strong puff, he extinguished the flame. In total darkness, he sat on one of the small chairs and continued undressing, then stretched out on the floor, next to the little bed.

 

“Are you all right?” she asked.

 

“I’ll be okay,” he answered, not overly enthusiastic,  “…would you have a spare blanket, Martine? I’m a little cold.”

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t, but we could share this one. The other one is outside, much too wet to be of any use.”

 

With these words, she opened her blanket to its full width in order to cover Frederic as well.

 

Lying on the floor below the level of the small bed, the blanket covered him only partially. Frederic did not say a word. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep.

After a few minutes of silence the young beauty was fast asleep. She turned abruptly. In doing so, she had twisted the blanket under her body, pulling it away from Frederic. He had also fallen asleep rapidly, but after a few minutes he woke up, shivering uncontrollably from the cold. Both had taken a lot of sun that afternoon. Frederic, unaccustomed, had had too much.

He got up on his knees and with great care he tried reaching over Martine’s warm body for the blanket. The blanket was securely tucked under her. He tried very gently to lift her shoulder while tugging gingerly on the blanket, but he could not budge it. Aware that he would not be successful in his attempt, he prodded Martine’s shoulder insistently until she awakened.

 

“What are you doing, Frederic?” she asked, propping herself up on one elbow.

 

“I’m sorry Martine, but you’ve tangled yourself in the blanket and have pulled it off me, and I’m freezing.”

 

“This blanket is too narrow anyway. Why don’t you come into bed with me and sleep by my side?”

 

Without saying a single word, Frederic, shivering, got up and squeezed under the blanket next to Martine, barely keeping from touching her. She slid off to one side to make room for him.

It felt good lying alongside her, in the soft warm space where she had been sleeping. He was glad she had brought along only one other blanket, and that it was lying wet in a heap outside the hut. For an instant, the thought crossed his mind that it might have been a cunning ploy of hers, but he quickly discarded that thought, remembering the long conversation he had had with her before, and the secrets they had shared.

She had revealed herself completely to him, in many ways. He was now convinced that Martine was not the kind of girl she initially gave him the impression she was earlier, out on the beach.

 

The heat emanating from her body only inches away, the scent of her perfume, the nearness of the young couple, all the necessary elements were there, assembled and leading to the inevitable. What was meant to happen… would finally happen.

 

Frederic turned slowly toward Martine and put his arm around her. Very tenderly, he embraced her. She did not offer any resistance. Both of them suddenly realized that they were no longer playing games on the white sandy beach. They were engaging in a more serious encounter, the game of love.

 

The words that Frederic had said when they were around the campfire kept echoing in Martine’s mind.

“There are things that happen and cannot be explained… we must accept them… the good ones, and the bad ones as well, knowing that there is a reason why they happen… ”

_______________

 

Their first night together was long and they had not slept much. They stayed in bed until noon, sharing more secrets. Frederic was the first one up and for no particular reason he tried to rekindle the campfire. He was coming back to his senses, he thought. Yet, he still recalled each and every moment of his first night with Martine, his first night in the arms of a woman, his first important experience in making love.

 

The cool, strong, northerly wind blowing in his face was bringing him back to reality. The weather had turned sour, he thought. He suddenly became very concerned. The food was gone; therefore they could no longer stay on the island. They had to return home today, but the weather did not look encouraging.

 

“Good morning Frederic! Did you sleep well?” Martine asked, yawning and stretching while standing, holding apart the two pieces of the canvas entrance to the small hut.

 

“Martine, we’ve got to leave immediately! The weather has taken a bad turn,” said Frederic, visibly anxious.

 

“Why are you worried?” she replied, “…this wind that you fear so much will take us home in half the time. It’s coming from the North, that’s exactly what we need.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

The Arrival of Françoise

 

Frederic was pacing the floor of the waiting room of the local medical clinic. He had been waiting patiently for nearly five hours.

 

“Come over and sit down, son. You’re imagining things to be worse than they are and it’s upsetting you,” Ovide said with a comforting smile, “…your mother-in-law is with your wife. Everything will work out just fine, you’ll see.”

 

Ovide was trying to say the right words to Frederic, but he had difficulties dealing with the situation himself. In fact, as much as he wanted to comfort his son-in-law, he did not know the first thing about this aspect of fatherhood. He and Martha got married when they were both in their mid-forties and she had not been able to give him an heir. That was what prompted them to adopt Martine.

 

Without any doubt, Ovide was born to run a bistro. His round jovial face was forever wearing a smile. He always had a good word to say to each one of his patrons. He had made a point of learning everything about them, their families, their likes and dislikes, their joys and their sorrows, the kind of work they did, in fact everything and anything that could cement that magic bond between the barman and his customers.

No one was indifferent towards Ovide. Often, the short, plump, smiling man would drape his dishtowel over his heavy shoulder, suck in his bulk, and manage to squeeze out from behind his bar, walk up to a customer, and sit with him for a while. From his vantage point behind the counter, Ovide could see all his customers. He had the uncanny ability to sense when one of his patrons was upset and needed to talk.

 

Tonight was different. It was his son-in-law that needed reassurance and he could not find the proper words to say.

 

Things had changed since Martine and Frederic’s first voyage together to the small island. They had gone back to it several times. It was for them, their very own secluded hideaway, and their sanctuary.

 

Frederic had reconsidered his decision to quit Law School. Now, he wanted to finish his term completely. This would allow him to stay around Martine a little longer. They kept seeing each other as often as possible and soon they were very deeply in love.

 

When Martine’s pregnancy was confirmed, she had insisted that they get married. That suited Frederic just fine. With the very important responsibility of fatherhood just around the corner, he then decided to remain in college for the final three terms.

 

Now, Frederic was motivated, his plans clear. He would get his degree and work in his father’s law firm back home. In fact, both had decided to remain in  Paris just long enough to save sufficient money to pay for their plane fares toCanada. Ovide had found Frederic a spare time job in a local bookstore, owned by one of Ovide’s patrons.

 

The birth of their first child came sooner then they had expected. Martine was admitted through emergency at the district medical clinic. The baby was coming prematurely, and they were all nervous. Martine now regretted not having followed her mother’s advice when she had suggested that she quit working those long hours at the bistro.

_______________

“It’s a girl! “ shouted Martha triumphantly, as she burst through the large doors of the waiting room, “…and all went well,” she added. With tears flooding her eyes, she embraced both Frederic and her husband.

 

“When can I see them?” Frederic asked with excitement.

 

“Right now! Go to your wife’s bedside! Martine is waiting for you with your newborn child,” she said proudly.

 

Frederic’s pride was mixed with overwhelming emotion at the sight of his infant daughter. He was standing next to the bed while his wife had their tiny infant cuddled in her arms. Martine was radiant; their baby daughter was beautiful and perfect in every way.

 

“She looks a lot like you, doesn’t she?” said Frederic with emotion.

 

Martine was unable to respond to her husband immediately. Labour had been difficult and had left her totally exhausted. With her eyes she motioned to Frederic to come closer and she whispered softly to him, “I must tell you something very important. My doctor told me that I was lucky to have lived through this and he warned me that another pregnancy could be fatal for me as well as for the baby. I was very fortunate,” she said with tears in her eyes.

 

Frederic could not speak a word. He stood there as if he were paralyzed by the reeling punch of her words. He then leaned forward to kiss his wife and his baby girl, ever so tenderly. He could no longer contain the strong feelings that possessed him. He wept.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

Paul and Grace Montreuil

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. Raise your seat to the upright position to prepare for landing at Mirabel,” instructed the stewardess as she paced the aisle of the aircraft, making sure that all the passengers were following her orders.

 

“Martine, we’re about to land!” said Frederic, gently awakening his wife by tapping her shoulder.

 

She had fallen asleep just moments after takeoff. He had looked after their daughter during the entire flight. This trip overseas was the first one for Françoise as well as for Martine. Sitting next to the window, the three-year-old girl was excited when the plane took off from Orly Airport.

 

However, after one hour of flying through a cloud-laden sky, boredom had set in and the little girl had fallen asleep also.

 

It had taken three years for the young couple to gather enough money for the plane fares. Frederic was confident that soon their fortune would change and he was looking forward to working with his father.

 

Working at the library part-time, studying and helping out at the bistro had taken its toll. Frederic was tired, very tired indeed. This heavy schedule had also taken him away from his wife and daughter much too often. But, he knew that things would be different from now on.

 

In an earlier letter to his mother, Frederic had announced his marriage and the birth of his daughter. He had promised his mother that he would return home as soon as his studies were completed.

 

In her return letter, Frederic’s mother said that she missed him and that she was looking forward to meeting Martine and Françoise. His mother also said that his father had not been well for the past several months, and that he was very hurt that his son had not consulted him before getting married to a young French girl.

 

Those last words were echoing in his mind since the moment they had boarded the plane. The young man knew that his father had not changed. He still insisted upon running his son’s life. He did not mention this part of his mother’s letter to his wife. He did not want to say anything that could possibly prejudice her against his father, before she even had a chance to meet him.

 

“I hope your parents will be at the airport, I’m anxious to meet them and I’m particularly eager for them to see Françoise for the first time,” she said.

 

“Me, too, but you know that my Dad has not been well recently. He may not be there to welcome us.”

 

The traffic on the highway from Mirabel was exceptionally heavy on this September night. Curiously, conversation in the limousine was very sparse during the ride from the airport, to the Montreuil Estate. Only young Françoise had broken that silence a few times with a few courtesy phrases that her grandmother Martha had taught her especially for the occasion, before they left for their trip to Quebec.

 

“Why was grandfather Montreuil not at the airport to meet us? Is he still very sick, grandmother?” the little girl asked, innocently.

 

“Yes, he is, Françoise. Your grandfather Paul is not well, at all. He had to stay home, but he is very anxious to meet you,” Grace Montreuil answered, giving her granddaughter an affectionate little hug.

 

Frederic and Martine were sitting side by side, facing his mother. She had insisted upon having her granddaughter sit by her side. They all seemed to be so far away from each other in this stretched limousine.

 

Martine was very impressed by the show of opulence. The expensive limousine, the jewels worn by Madame Montreuil, the exclusive clothes, all of it overwhelmed her. When Frederic had told her about his parents’ wealth, she had never imagined how it would feel to be in the presence of this kind of wealth. She found it to be extraordinarily intimidating.

 

“Martine, is this your first trip to Quebec?” asked Grace Montreuil.

 

“Yes it is, Madame Montreuil,” she answered timidly.

 

“Please, Martine, just call me Grace.”

 

Without a doubt, Madame Montreuil was a woman of the world. She had never tried to hide her wealth, nor had she ever done anything to deny her husband’s standing in High Society. However, she had never purposely behaved in any way that would have appeared to be snooty. They were wealthy, that was a fact. They kept company with wealthy people, which also was a fact.

 

Maître Paul Montreuil was a distinguished and famous defence attorney, reputed to be one of the best criminal attorneys in the country.

Over the years, he had not only acquired his famous reputation by successfully defending some high profile notorious criminals; he had also amassed a great fortune as a result.

 

Nevertheless, the attorney’s wife remained a simple woman in the ways she dealt with people in general. She never forgot those first years of her marriage, when Paul was just starting out, before Frederic was born.

 

As financially difficult as those years were, how often she missed those years. They were together more often then. Life was simpler, and they were much happier. She always loved her husband for the person he was, not for the profession he chose.

 

She was at fifty, as beautiful as when she was thirty. Tall, slender, and very elegant, she had always taken good care of herself. Obviously, the good and easy life she led certainly had something to do with her appearance. Only a few strands of silver-grey hair on either side of her head at the temples, told of her age. She kept her hair natural, defying her husband who had always wanted her to be blonde.

_______________

Grace had noticed Martine’s shyness and uneasiness from the first moment, and felt the tremble in Martine’s handshake. She wanted to put her at ease, and to establish a good rapport between them as soon as possible. She feared an unfavourable reaction from Paul because his son had not consulted him prior to his marriage.

 

As much as she loved him, she knew that her husband thought much too highly of himself.

Having reached the summit of fame in the legal profession, Paul figured he had the right to rule everyone’s life, especially his family’s.

_______________

 

It took them just a little over an hour to reach the Montreuil’s mansion. The large limousine entered a long winding private pathway bordered by tall poplar trees, right up to the vast residence high upon a hill.

 

Finally, the car stopped in front of the entrance stairway of this castle-like mansion, which strangely resembled those medieval castles that Martine had seen so many times inEurope.

 

Two men quickly came down from the main entrance of the mansion. The first, obviously the house butler, opened the doors of the limousine and helped the passengers step out of it. Once they were out, he swung the doors shut and rushed to the back of the limousine to join his partner. Carrying the entire luggage, they struggled up the stairs leading to the entrance of the house, following closely behind Madame Montreuil and her family.

 

The chauffeur, who had been standing at attention next to them while they were unloading the luggage compartment, slowly stepped forth to grasp the lid of the trunk, and closed it carefully. He turned around very ceremoniously, as though he was a soldier, and walked back to the driver’s side of the car. He slid onto the seat behind the steering wheel and sped off behind the immense garden towards a garage large enough to house five cars.

 

As she entered the plush lobby of the mansion, Martine stood in awe while an impressively tall, old grandfather clock sounded off the twelve strokes of midnight.

 

Gathered in the center of the immense lobby, they all waited until the chimes finally ended. They hugged, and wished each other goodnight. All agreed to wait until morning to greet Paul Montreuil, who was obviously fast asleep by now.

 

Grace Montreuil invited them to turn in and instructed George, their faithful butler, to show Martine, Frederic and Françoise to their suite of rooms. The butler picked up their luggage and directed them to follow him up the large winding marble staircase, at the rear of the lobby.

_______________

The bright rays of the morning sun illuminated the Montreuil’s large dining room. Everyone had agreed to be there at the same time for breakfast. Before coming down to the dining room, Frederic wanted Martine and their young daughter to tour the mansion.

 

Their suite of rooms was situated way out on the West side of the house. It was enormous. Two extra-wide bay windows were overlooking the road leading to the main highway. However, large poplar trees had been planted along the roadsides to prevent the castle from being seen by passers-by.

 

Frederic was proud to show-off the house where he had been raised. He guided his wife and daughter along the seemingly endless passageway that ran the full length of the mansion. Flanked on either side of the passageway, were numerous rooms. They kept quiet so as not to awaken anyone. But, they could not possibly be heard. They were walking practically ankle deep in luxurious plush carpeting that Paul Montreuil had imported from India during one of his expeditions.

Although impressively huge, the castle-like mansion was much wider than it was deep.

The main lobby erected squarely in its center, occupied nearly a quarter of the width and rose from the ground floor right up to the very summit of the roof. Across its center, the passageway to the upstairs rooms continued to run in mid-air from one side of the lobby, to the other. It was made out of heavy oak beams with high banisters also made of oak, designed to protect users from falling down into the lobby. It was a sight to behold indeed, with all its elaborate carvings that depicted action scenes in a court of law.

 

At the far back, the marble staircase wound up and disappeared into a turret, topped off by a circular dome. The dome protruded beyond the roofline and was inlaid with stained-glass panels. It looked very much like the nave of a church.

 

Martine and Françoise stood open-mouthed, in awe of the splendour. On the left, as well as on the right side of the lobby, tall, wide doorways gave entrance to respective passages that ran parallel to and under the walkway of the floor above. The passage to the left, led to a small waiting room, a library, Paul Montreuil’s study, and a small office. The passage to the right, opened to a large reception hall, to a dining room, to a large kitchen, and to the servants’ quarters. The whole Bistro could easily have fit into any one of these rooms.

 

When they entered the dining room, Grace was alone. She told them to choose their own places, but mentioned the place, which Paul preferred. They each stood behind a chair of their own choosing.

 

Paul routinely never came down for breakfast before eight o’clock. He had given George, his butler, precise orders to place his wheelchair by his bedside by seven-thirty, every morning without fail.

 

Though Paul had said that he could move about on his feet without any help for short lengths of time, for months, no one had ever seen him out of his wheelchair. This mysterious illness that had befallen him, remained unidentified by medical science, and had bewildered the many specialists he had consulted. It had taken its toll on Paul, and had aged him drastically. He appeared to be twenty years older than he was when Frederic left for his studies overseas.

 

“Have you all slept well?” asked Grace, looking very refreshed herself.

 

“Very well, thank you Madame Mont… sorry, Grace,” answered Martine.

 

“And you, my son?”

 

“Just fine mother, just fine, thank you. By the way, where is father? Is he not coming down to eat with us? Françoise is anxious to meet him.”

 

“Your father never comes down before precisely eight, ever since he took ill. Since his illness, he has adopted some peculiar habits. He calculates everything to the exact minute, every one of his tasks and movements. He tries to avoid all activities that he judges not to be absolutely necessary.

He has changed a lot since you left. He rarely pleads cases anymore. He systematically refuses all new requests for consultations. I believe he has lost all interest for the profession that has brought him so much fame, and all that you see here,” she said, with a sweep of her hand, trying to encompass the grandiose dining room walls, covered with a collection of expensive paintings and tapestries.

She continued emotionally, “…I don’t think your father realizes that our financial situation is getting precarious. I fear that we might have to give up this mansion soon. The high maintenance costs alone surpass the insurance benefits that your father has managed to collect. I thought about letting the servants go, but I don’t drive, and now your father needs to be driven to the clinic twice a week, for his physiotherapy.  If only we knew what ails him. He has been examined by numerous doctors, but this mysterious illness leaves every doctor baffled.”

 

Grace lowered her head as if she were praying.

 

“Your return is a blessing, my son. I hope that you will be interested in taking over your father’s law firm. There are so many cases that need immediate attention.”

 

Grace raised her head and looked pleadingly at Frederic.

 

“At least for a few months… until your father recovers his health… hopefully.”

 

Her son remained quiet. He had chosen not to answer right away. He knew very well that the decision did not rest with him. It had to come from his father, nobody else.

 

There was a moment of complete silence, which was suddenly interrupted by the whining noise coming from the motor of the elevator that had just reached the ground floor.

 

“It’s grandfather Paul!” shouted young Françoise, as she noticed the noisy wheelchair rattling out of the small lift. The old-looking man sitting in the motorized wheelchair impressed her. She walked slowly towards her grandfather’s outstretched arms, and accepted his affectionate embrace.

 

Paul Montreuil had managed to bend forward a little to reach for his granddaughter. He hugged her affectionately for a long time. Then, gently, he pushed her away at arm’s length and held her there by the shoulders. He was examining her from head to toe as if she were another one of his prize possessions.

 

“My God, but you are a good-looking girl! You remind me so much of your Dad when he was your age!” Paul said, as tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over, flowing down his sickness wrinkled cheeks. He then turned to look at the others who were waiting for him, and he noticed that their eyes were moist with tears as well.

 

Emotions in the dining room were palpable.

 

Paul picked up the young girl and placed her on his lap, with surprisingly little effort. He did not use the assistance of the electrical motor. Instead, he spun the wheels of the chair with both his hands and quickly approached the dining table.

 

Frederic was first in line to greet his father. Standing next to him, he turned to face his wife.

“Martine, please meet my father, Paul. Father, this is my wife, Martine,” he said proudly.

 

Paul stretched out and grasped Martine’s delicate hand in both of his.  They held hands for a lingering moment, while once again the lawyer examined her, as if he were in the process of evaluating a rare piece of art.

 

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Martine,” Paul said. He paused a few seconds, “…my son has often mentioned you in his letters, about how charming and beautiful you are. He did not exaggerate at all.”

 

Still holding her hand, he brought her to him and very tenderly, kissed her softly on the cheek. Frederic slowly approached them and put his arms over the shoulders of his father and his daughter.

 

The anticipated anxiety that had seized Martine, Frederic and Grace quickly evaporated, like a magical puff of smoke. Except for Françoise who was too young to understand, all had tried hard to manage the apprehension of this first meeting. They had not discussed it amongst themselves. Nevertheless, everyone had feared Paul Montreuil’s reaction. They had been preoccupied with it.

 

“I don’t know if you feel the same way I do, but all this excitement has made me very hungry!” exclaimed Paul. “… why don’t we all take our seats at the table and enjoy our first family meal together.” On those words, he pushed his wheelchair toward his place at the end of the table, with Françoise still sitting on his lap.

 

Grace looked relieved, and released a barely audible little sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

The Association

 

Frederic was walking next his father who was wheeling his chair through the many pathways of the large garden. Françoise was with them, walking by Paul’s side.

 

“You know, Dad, I have finally completed law school a few weeks ago, and I would like you to help me find employment in a law firm,” Frederic said to his father, “…I also thought that I could work with you. You must have some cases that I could work on.”

 

“I’m not sure, son. I really don’t know anymore. I’ve practically abandoned my practice. This illness, this damned, mysterious illness has taken a lot out of me. Let me think about it for a while. You have all the time in the world to begin your career. You can all stay here with your mother and me for as long as you want. Besides, the fact remains that the Barreau du Quebec has not admitted you as yet, and we all know how slowly they process new candidates.”

 

“But, in the meantime, Father, I could still help you on some cases,” Frederic insisted.

 

“Well, that is very surprising, I must say. I’ve always had the distinct impression that a career in law did not interest you. At least, that’s what I was able to conclude from the many discussions we had about what you wanted to do with your life,” the famous lawyer replied critically, “…what made you change your mind? Could it be that Martine has finally succeeded in putting some sense into that hard head of yours?”

 

The discussion was taking a bad turn. Frederic did not want it to become another argument. They were treading on very sensitive territory for both Paul and himself. Frederic decided to terminate this conversation, and lapsed into silence.

 

“Frederic!” Paul said a little too loudly, shattering the silence between them, “…the battery of my wheelchair is down. Would you mind pushing me?”

 

Frederic readily got behind the wheelchair but slowed down the pace considerably. His young daughter was getting tired and was having difficulty keeping up with them. Nevertheless, they carried on visiting the many little trails that had been designed to cut through the large garden.

 

The proud grandfather was acting as a guide and took pride in explaining to his granddaughter the origin of all the exotic plants and flowers. He had imported most of them from the far regions of South America, during his many trips there. Paul suddenly asked Frederic to bring him closer to a bush where some beautiful large flowers were in full bloom.

Frederic complied and pushed the wheelchair as close as possible to a breathtakingly magnificent, magenta rose bush. Paul reached over and picked the biggest flower of them all, and handed it over to Françoise.

 

“There you are! This is for your mother. Tell her that it’s a gift from you.”

 

Frederic was stunned. His father would never have allowed anyone to touch any of his plants, nor flowers. He stood thinking. It was obvious to Frederic that Martine and Françoise had impressed his father very much. It was a relief, especially when he thought that his daring to have married without consulting him would have enraged his father. Funny still, just a while back, when he declared that his wheelchair battery was down, Frederic doubted it, thinking that it was his father’s way of getting him back in line, of subduing him, and of reminding him that it is Paul who’s at the controls. The young man no longer knew what to think.

There was one more step that must be taken, and that was for Frederic to convince his father to let him take charge of his legal files.

 

Frederic knew that his father was never big on forgiveness. By not allowing his son to work with him, it was his way of getting even with him for getting married overseas, without even consulting him.

_______________

 

“What are you doing in my office, Frederic?” Paul yelled, wheeling himself through the massive oak doorway, “…you know damned well that these dossiers are confidential!”

 

“Father, the Crown prosecutor Maître Bastien called this afternoon. I was alone and I spoke with him about you and your state of health,” Frederic answered, strongly, decisively, “…he is worried about the Morand case and feels that it has been delayed far too long. He threatened to withdraw the case from you. He claimed that he would put in a request for another defence attorney to be assigned to the case. This means that you will have to reimburse the retainer that you received and have probably already spent.”

 

Frederic continued in a firm, but softer tone of voice.

 

“You must understand, Dad, we are badly in need of money in this household. The employees must be paid. There are the taxes, the mortgage and God knows what else. I understand that your health is not what it used to be and that it took away all interest for your work, but someone needs to take over the responsibilities that once were yours. I cannot allow you and mother to end up in a position, which might lead to the loss of what you have earned by your dedication to the profession. It’s probably that unreasonable devotion that has afflicted you for so many years that has got you in this state of ill health.

I’m very disappointed that you are refusing to respond to the new challenge. I want to help you, and I can help you, but you will have to be there to guide me,” Frederic said, pleadingly.

 

They remained silent, face to face, for a long moment, staring at each other, as if they through their eyes, they were searching for the thoughts in the depths of the other’s soul.

 

“In the grey filing cabinet… to the left… third drawer… near the center… under the ” M ”. Bring me the Morand file!” ordered Paul, with a strong commanding voice, and without so much as flinching an eyebrow.

 

Chapter 5

Rodrigue’s First Message

 

“Ovide!” shouted a voice from one corner of the bistro.

 

The voice was old Rodrigue’s.

 

With one hand on the edge of the table and the other grasping the back of his chair, he got up laboriously and proceeded to leave. It was unusual for him to go home so early. He gently pushed the chair under the table and walked over toward the small bar where Ovide was standing.

 

“When is young Martine coming back, Ovide? I miss her very much, you know! How long has it been since she left for Canada? My God, I can’t remember the last time that she brought me my glass of wine. She must be gone for over a year now,” he said.

 

It was not Rodrigue’s habit to speak out like this. The other patrons were quite surprised to hear the old man’s remarks. He seldom said more than what was necessary to order his usual litre of wine when entering the bistro, or to mutter a goodnight to Ovide when leaving at the end of the evening.

 

Suddenly, there was silence in the bistro as all the patrons were eager to hear Ovide’s response to his old friend’s questions, questions they all had wanted to ask, but never dared to, for fear of hurting Ovide.

Everyone missed Martine, but no one missed her as much as Ovide. His usually bright and cheerful eyes had lost their sparkle, which was replaced by a look of pain that was apparent to everyone, from the day that Martine had left for Canada.

 

“Eleven months and twenty-one days exactly! That’s how long they’ve been gone,” answered Ovide with a tear in his eye, as if he needed to be very precise with his response.

Slowly, Ovide bent down to reach under the counter and picked up an unopened bottle of wine. With one quick twist of his hand he uncorked it and with his other hand, grabbed two empty glasses. Tucking in his large stomach by raising both his arms above his shoulders, he slid sideways in order to squeeze out from behind the bar. With a jerk of his head, he signalled Rodrigue to follow him.

Nonchalantly, Rodrigue obeyed, and they both walked back to join the other customers. Without looking, they picked a table at random and both pulled up a chair.

 

They sat lazily as if both had been carrying a heavy burden for much too long a time. Ovide gently pushed one of the glasses forward in the direction of his old friend and proceeded to fill it with wine.

 

“I’ve got to tell you, Rodrigue! I think that you are the luckiest one of us all, here. You’ve always been alone… no wife… no children. You don’t wait for anyone and nobody waits for you.”

 

Not suspecting such a statement to come from the bartender, the small crowd kept silent and waited attentively.

 

Ovide took a sip from his glass and continued.

 

“For as long as I have known you, Rodrigue, you’ve always been a bachelor. I don’t think that you’ve ever had the presence of a loved one in your life. You can neither imagine, nor feel the terrible void that Martine, Frederic and my granddaughter have made in our lives when they left for overseas,” Ovide said with a choked-up voice, “…the light went out of our lives and the pain is unimaginable. They were only supposed to go to Canada for a month. My poor Martha… she’s practically dying of sorrow and despair. You may not realize it, but it is she who has taken care of Françoise all the while Martine was working the bar in order to help her husband complete his studies. Martha practically raised the girl.”

Without warning, Ovide clapped his hands just once, but very loudly. “ And, paf! Everything ends abruptly. Because of this damned voyage, our lives suddenly become a nightmare!” Ovide stated.

He paused a moment to pull a rumpled handkerchief out of his vest pocket. He patted his forehead with it, then used it to wipe the tears from his eyes and then blew his nose loudly. Nervously, he folded it and unfolded it, again and again, repeatedly before rolling it into a ball and tucking it back into his vest pocket.

 

“Of course, they’ll be back… but we don’t know when. Martine used to write us every two weeks. Then her letters became more scarce and came only every second month. We have not heard from them now for nearly seven months although Martha still writes her daughter regularly. She probably lives a better life out there with Frederic. The last we heard from them, he was working as a lawyer with his wealthy father.”

 

Rodrigue and the others had been listening to Ovide, without interrupting. When the barman appeared to have said all that he had to say, the old man laboriously edged his chair a little closer to him and so did the small gathering of friends.

 

“Ovide, you are my dearest friend. You are surely aware of the extent of my affection for you and of how strong our bond has grown over the years. I can read the pain and anguish in your eyes,” Rodrigue said. Then raising his voice just a little, he continued, “…but my God, Ovide, you’re behaving as if they are all dead! You have got to get a hold of yourself, or else, you won’t be able to comfort your wife.”

 

Ovide looked a bit startled. Rodrigue continued in a mellower tone.

 

“You say that you know me, Ovide, but I’m not so sure that you do. I have the feeling that you know only what your eyes can see. Allow me to share with you, if you will, just a few thoughts, some personal thoughts, about what I believe, you are really missing right now.  Just as you do, I too, call it happiness.”

 

Rodrigue took off his old, faded, straw hat, placed it gently on one corner of the table, cleared his throat and began again.

 

“Happiness seems to be such a remote and intangible entity. Most times, it will manifest itself so very curiously. One could say that it takes on many different forms, or faces, if you like. However, it will always keep one of its many faces, hidden. Under an imaginary mask, that face is not visible, nevertheless, it exists, and it changes, meaning different things to different people, at different times. That hidden face is never the same for everyone, but it is present for everyone. It waits to be sought, to be discovered, and to be unmasked.”

 

Everyone in the bistro moved still a little closer towards Ovide and Rodrigue, to hear more of what the wise man had to say. Some of them really did not completely understand the meaning of the words that Rodrigue used figuratively and Rodrigue was very much aware of it. The man who so seldom spoke, but had so much to say, knew that he had to explain further.

 

“Each and every one of us, at one time or another, has imagined what happiness represents for ourselves. For some of us, it may be wealth, or fame. For others, the word happiness equates to having good health, to being blessed by having a family, or a special loved one, or just faithful friends. For many, it’s all those elements combined. For many, should they suffer the loss of any one of these elements, despair sets in. The terrible feeling of having lost everything will overwhelm them.  Unfortunately, they’ll spend all of their time and energy trying to retrieve the element that they no longer possess. The sad tragedy of this is that they’ll neglect to appreciate and enjoy the ones they still have.”

 

Rodrigue stopped, paused, looked around and continued.

 

“Happiness can be compared to a small oasis of fresh cool water in the middle of the desert, a salvation for those that might have ventured out beyond safe boundaries. The ones that have missed having water the most will rush out to it. They will fall rapidly on their knees at its edge and with both hands cupped like a bowl, they will plunge them avidly into this pool to quench their thirst. In trying to pick up this water of life, they’ll only be able to retain a few drops… most of it inevitably escaping between their fingers.

However, so overly intent upon satisfying their thirst, they will not be concerned about the water that will be flowing from their hands. Instead, they will continue plunging away into the pool until they are completely satisfied.” Rodrigue stopped for a moment and continued, “…let me to go back a few years in time. I think you’ll find this short story enlightening.”

 

The old man straightened up a little and went on in a more casual fashion, neither condescending, nor intimidating. He gave a little chuckle.

 

“Gosh, I’ll always remember…I was just a young boy then. It goes as far back as the time of the First World War.  You know, there were seven in my family. Dinner was the main meal of the day; in fact it was the only one that we could afford to have. As some of you may recall, life was very difficult in those war years. For most people, it was a matter of survival. People had to be very resourceful in order to find, and to prepare as best they could, the barest of daily necessities. I can still see my mother now; she made miracles with the little that we had. One particular day, she had prepared a pot of soup with some of the few vegetables we had managed to grow in our garden, behind the house.

We were all sitting quietly at the table, each with a half-full bowl of that wonderful vegetable broth in front of us. The youngest of my sisters was silent and deep in thought. She was looking at each one of the bowls whilst my father was reciting grace.

 

Very solemnly, after he was through, she got up with her own bowl of broth in her hands. She walked around the table and distributed its contents to each one of us, stating that she was not hungry. It took me a while to figure that one out. It was only later, much later, in my life that I finally grasped the true meaning of her gesture.

Would you believe? In spite of her age, in her young mind, she had reasoned that none of us really had enough to eat to fully satisfy our appetite. Simply, she had arrived at the conclusion that it was better that only one should suffer from hunger, instead of all of us.”

 

The several patrons assembled around Rodrigue and Ovide, looked at each other, dumbfounded by the story. The old man continued.

 

“Yes! I believe that it is possible for everyone to enjoy as much happiness in giving as in receiving. As sure as the sun rises every morning, sharing has got to be one of the hidden faces of happiness,” Rodrigue said, and turned to face Ovide, “…Ovide, my friend, this evening before you retire for the night, take your wife in your arms. Hold her lovingly in your embrace and remind her of the generosity of her unconditional love towards Martine, Frederic and young Françoise. Assure her that more happiness is yet to come her way very soon when they will all return home. Hope is also another hidden face of happiness.”

“Gosh, it’s late!” he declared suddenly, looking at the large clock on the wall of the bistro.

 

Rodrigue rose slowly from his chair, supporting himself with one hand resting on Ovide’s shoulder. He reached out to pick up his faded, old straw hat and plopped it on his head. He wished goodnight to everyone and proceeded to leave as quietly as when he had arrived.

 

Chapter 6

The Discovery

 

Bang! Bang! Bang! The loud pounding of the gavel as it came in contact with the oak block on the bench, called the Court to order. The case being heard was the Morand case. The presiding judge was the Honourable Judge Lebrun, who was about to render his verdict.

 

“The court finds the defendant, Morand, ‘not guilty’ of the charges of money laundering and drug smuggling.

The law, as it is written, does not allow the Court to take into consideration the circumstantial evidence, although quite well substantiated and presented by the Crown prosecutor.

Monsieur Morand, your defence counsel has invoked an ambiguous article in the Criminal Code that I must find in your favour. You are therefore acquitted of all charges filed against you. You are free to go,” the judge stated. He promptly stood up and left the courtroom.

 

At that precise moment, Paul Montreuil jumped up from his wheelchair and shook his son’s hand, congratulating him. He then turned to face his client. He shook his client’s hand briefly, but politely.

 

The entire credit for this unexpected victory belonged to Frederic. He had detected an article, a technicality in the Criminal Code. However, the timing had to be good. He knew that if that point were to be presented under the right circumstances and with all the necessary arguments it would instill an element of doubt, thus exonerating his client. The ploy worked to perfection.

 

Morand had a criminal record a mile long and had been under heavy surveillance for a long time. Following a tip from an informer, the drug squad had intercepted him at the airport in possession of a large sum of money.

He had argued that he was awaiting his flight to Brazil. Also, he had alleged that the money was intended for an important transaction with a representative of a South American importing firm he was to meet and do business with in Rio.

 

Coincidentally, during this intervention, three well-known Peruvian drug peddlers were seen arriving on a flight from Lima. They as well, had been intercepted, searched, and questioned. Subsequently, they were arrested because discovered concealed in their luggage, were a few kilos of heroine.

 

The Crown prosecutor had not been able to establish a factual and concrete connection between Morand and the three Peruvians. The latter denied having anything to do with Morand and they had pretended that the luggage was not theirs.

 

“The alleged link that the Crown prosecutor is invoking is coincidental and based purely upon speculation,” was Frederic’s strong closing statement.

“Your Honour, the Crown was not able to produce any concrete evidence of a physical exchange of goods between the accused and the three other suspects. We, the Defence, move that the charges be withdrawn and that our client be acquitted.”

More than mere suspicions were necessary to put away Morand. During the trial, the Montreuils had produced an airline ticket for Rio de Janeiro, stating that it was found in the briefcase of their client the night of his arrest. Obviously, Morand had a lot of experience in the criminal domain and he had thought that a small monetary investment of a couple of thousand dollars might become a timely insurance policy.

 

Neither Paul, nor Frederic, actually believed that Morand, a top actor in the hierarchy of one of the two local organizations specializing in the sales of drugs and other illicit substances, was telling the truth. However, as lawyers, they were obligated to provide him with the best defence possible, as they would have done for any other citizen. Besides, their legal fee for defending the criminal element was both hefty, and timely. It would pay off nearly all the debts that Paul had accumulated during his illness.

 

Frederic noticed that something very odd had happened at the closing of the trial. His father had jumped up out of his wheelchair, as if he had never needed one. He had been surprised and intrigued by that move.

 

During the drive back home, a flurry of unanswered questions was storming inside Frederic’s head. He wondered if his father really needed a wheelchair, or was he faking. If he was faking, why? What was he hiding? What about this mysterious illness? And, the Morand case, it was straightforward and simple for a lawyer of his father’s experience. Why the delay? Paul had said that he had lost interest in Law since getting sick, but his excitement during the Morand case did not substantiate his statement. Frederic was beginning to realize that something else was going on, and wondered what was lying just beneath the tip of the iceberg.

_______________

 

Upon their return at the mansion, Paul went to his room to lie down for a while, stating that the trial had completely drained him.

 

Frederic, however, needed to find answers to his questions. He felt compelled to go directly to his father’s study.

 

Once there, he began to look through every filling cabinet, every pile of paper, and every dossier he could put his hands on, not knowing what he was looking for, but hoping to recognize it when he stumbled upon it. He did not know why, but he felt he would find the answers to his questions within these four walls.

 

“Hey, what’s this?” Frederic said aloud to himself.

 

He reached into the back of the filling cabinet drawer and pulled out a thick brown envelope. Stunned, he opened it to discover that it was stuffed with money, lots of hundred dollar bills. Frederic made a rough count and realized that there was close to a hundred thousand dollars. He was puzzled. Instead of finding answers, he had more questions.

 

Bewildered, he wanted to know more so he methodically probed into the dossiers of his father’s clientele. As the hours slipped by, Frederic noticed a pattern to his father’s clientele. His practice in recent years had been exclusively dedicated to defending drug dealers from two rival gangs, the most dangerous gangs in the region.

 

The young lawyer was troubled by what he discovered. He wondered what his father had gotten himself into. The money really troubled him. He did not know what to think anymore.

 

He put every dossier back where he had found them.  Tired, disturbed, and confused, he went up to his room where his wife had already retired for the night.

 

Martine was in bed, but not yet asleep. She appeared to have been crying, as Frederic noticed from her puffy reddened eyes.

 

“What’s the matter Martine? What’s happened? What is it?”

 

She handed her husband a piece of paper.

 

“We have to go home, Frederic. George just brought me this telegram from my father. Mother suffered a stroke. I must be by her side as soon as possible,” she sobbed and jumped out of bed, and rushed into her husband’s arms.

 

“Don’t worry, dear. Stay calm. We’ll take the next flight to Paris. I have all the money that we will need. I’ll take care of the reservations right away,” Frederic said, while lovingly embracing his wife.

 

Without any delay, he rushed to the servants’ quarters and pulled the chauffeur out of bed. They both got into the limousine and drove away from the manor.

 

“Drive me over to Mirabel Airport, Leopold. I’ve got to pick up some tickets for Paris for the next available flight. It’s a family emergency. Be prepared to drive us back to the airport, the moment I get a flight confirmation, which hopefully will not be later than tomorrow.”

 

Frederic did not care if he had to pay a large premium for the flight back toParis.  For Martine’s sake, he wanted to be in Paris as soon as humanly possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7

The Disappearance

 

It was nine-o’clock. The chimes of the old grandfather clock in the lobby were sounding off, faithfully counting each hour. Initially, George did not hear the melodic sound of the doorbell in the main entrance, as it blended itself with the chimes of the clock. The last stroke of nine resonated in almost perfect synchronization with the trill of the doorbell.

 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang out again. This time, George heard it and responded. Two policemen faced him.

 

“We’re here to see Maître Montreuil,” declared the taller of the two officers.

 

George politely ushered the officers into the waiting room and closed the door behind them. Then, the butler went to the dining room to notify his master.

 

“Show them to my office, George. I’ll see them there,” Paul said, and quickly propelled his wheelchair down the passage that led to his office.

_______________

 

It was not at all unusual to see policemen at the Montreuil mansion occasionally, given the nature of Paul’s profession, and his exclusive clientele. Because of the nature of his work, Paul had acquired a fair bit of privileged information about the drug world, about the dynamics of the gangs whose members he defended, information that was of prime interest to the police.

 

The police had always entertained a good rapport with Paul. They respected him and valued the inside information he was able to pass on to them. In return, the police would pass cases on to Paul. Nevertheless, Paul was always very cautious with his transactions with the police.

Paul always managed to receive more than he gave away. In exchange for valuable pieces of information that he needed for the defence of difficult cases, he would share with the police, only what he was sure to be incomplete and untraceable back to him.  It was, potentially, a very dangerous game.

Paul had become adept at playing both sides to his advantage. He had always believed he could control the outcome. Although a little too late now, he finally realized the situation had taken on enormous proportions that he could no longer control. In his obsession to become the most famous criminal lawyer in the country, he had gone too far and had reached a point of no return.

 

Though the presence of policemen at the Montreuil mansion was not unusual, this time however, it was different. George had an instinctive sense of foreboding. He felt it when he greeted the police officers at the door, and then again in the tone of Paul’s voice.

George showed the two policemen to the study, where Maître Montreuil was expecting them. He closed the door, but not completely. Then George did something that was totally out of character for him. He stayed near enough to the open door, his back pressed to the passage wall, close enough to hear the conversation that was taking place.

 

“We are here in response to your call, Maître Montreuil. How can we be of service to you?” asked the taller of the two officers.

 

“I want to report a theft. Someone has entered my office, has gone through all of my dossiers and papers, and has run off with eighty thousand dollars.”

 

“Eighty thousand dollars!” exclaimed the rookie officer, flabbergasted by the large amount of money.

 

“Do you suspect someone in particular, Maître Montreuil? An empty envelope is an awfully small clue to start an investigation. It will be very difficult to pick up any fingerprints off this crumpled envelope!”

 

“Nobody has access to my study except my wife, my son, and of course, George, my butler. He alone knows where I keep the key.”

 

“Have you noticed signs of forcible entry, like a lock that may have been picked… loose hinges… broken windows… or, anything else like that?”

 

“No, not at all! None of the doors appear to have been forced. All the windows have security bars. The alarm system was never triggered. All of this is very mysterious,” Paul said, as the thought that this money was not really his, came to his mind.

 

“Can I ask you a simple question? Why didn’t you keep all that money in your safe, instead of stashing it away in a simple brown envelope in the back of an unlocked filling cabinet?” the young rookie asked.

 

Paul was disturbed by the insolence of the young officer.

“Didn’t they teach you at the police academy that the safe is the first place which is broken into during a robbery?”

 

“Please, Maître Montreuil, give me the names of all those living here in the manor. In cases like this, we can’t exclude anyone,” the senior officer said, pulling out his notebook and pen from his jacket pocket.

 

With his back still pressed to the wall, next to the door, George felt faint for a moment. He could not believe that he would be considered as a potential suspect. He was in shock.

George was a simple man in many ways. He was not gifted. Although good with his hands, he did not possess any talents other than the polished performance of his duties, and that did not require much thinking. He had been in the service of the Montreuil family for nearly twenty years. Nothing like this had ever happened before. He felt a wave of panic sweep over him. Now, his integrity would be questioned.

Other than his impeccable reputation, George owned nothing. He had managed to put aside a little money, just in case… for an emergency. His whole life had been dedicated to the service of others and he had never been preoccupied with his own welfare. Never once, had he regretted choosing that way of life. The Montreuils had treated him well, and with respect.

 

He lived in the mansion in the servant’s quarters and he was paid reasonably well. Without realizing it, he had found in this environment all the tranquillity and the security he needed, and for him, all of this represented the hidden face of happiness. The thought of possibly losing it all made him despair.

 

Chapter 8

Martha and Ovide Olivier

 

Ovide was pacing nervously, next to the arrival gate area at OrlyAirport. He had been waiting patiently for two hours for the flight that was to bring back Martine, Frederic, and his granddaughter Françoise.

 

Old Rodrigue had insisted upon accompanying Ovide because he was concerned about his best friend, especially now, with Martha so ill.

 

Martha and Ovide only had each other since Martine and her family had moved overseas. Lately, Ovide was obsessed by the spectre of being completely alone one day. With his wife seriously ill and hospitalized, his anxiety worsened. He was not himself. He kept reminiscing about the conversation he had had with his old friend Rodrigue a while ago, and the words he spoke to Rodrigue then, were constantly coming back to haunt him.

 

“I’ve got to tell you, Rodrigue! I think that you are the luckiest one of us all, here. You’ve always been alone… no wife… no children. You don’t wait for anyone and nobody waits for you! “

 

Ovide had regretted saying those words so many times. He wondered how he could have said something so callous and so insensitive.

 

He remembered those empty years that his wife and he had spent alone. They both desperately wanted children, but Martha could never bear children. It had been a painful time for them. Then came the idea of adopting a child.  With the adoption of Martine, their lives changed completely.

 

The old bartender suddenly understood the sense of Rodrigue’s message, that night at the bistro. “Another hidden face of happiness is, to be surrounded by your loved ones, and to never be alone.”

 

At last, the illuminated board announcing the flight arrivals was displaying Flight 640 from Mirabel, arriving at gate 14.

 

Within minutes, Martine, Frederic and their daughter were in line at the Customs’ counter, awaiting clearance. There were endless questions by the Customs’ security officer that tried Martine’s patience to the breaking point.

 

“Why do we have to get cleared by some overzealous Customs officials when we’re in a hurry,” Martine muttered, impatiently, to her husband.

 

When they finally received their clearance, they retrieved their baggage. With angry looks on their faces, they began to repack the contents that the Customs officer had roughly spread out all over the counter. As soon as they were done, they rushed over to be welcomed by Ovide and Rodrigue.

 

 

In the intensive care unit, Martha appeared to have been abandoned in a tiny cubicle formed by drapes of white plastic. No one was with her.

 

Ovide panicked and ran over to the center control desk and he asked around for some information only to learn that the attending nurses and orderlies had just left her bedside. He was told that Martha no longer needed to be on life support and that she was breathing very well on her own.

Martha lay there with her eyes closed… asleep perhaps… resting peacefully, it seemed.

It was a sorrowful sight to see her look so vulnerable. As long as Ovide could remember, Martha had always given the impression of being a strong woman, ready, willing and available to everyone who needed her. And now, here she was, as helpless as a newborn baby, unaware of what had happened to her, her spirit absent for those who surrounded her.

 

Martine’s heart was heavy with emotion. She gathered up enough courage to walk up to her mother’s bedside.

 

With tears welling up in her eyes, she bent over her mother and embraced her tenderly. Martine could not hold back her tears, she sobbed loudly. Martha did not respond. She showed no reaction to the presence of her daughter other than opening her eyes, but she did not appear to recognize anyone. She appeared vacant, like she was living in another dimension. Her lost expression became impossible to bear.

 

Seeing his wife overcome with grief, Frederic put his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her away from her mother and directed her out of the emergency ward.

 

Now it was old Ovide’s turn. Painfully, he advanced to his wife’s bedside. The site of his wife’s condition plunged him into a state of utter confusion. The doctor had said she was better, but she did not appear to be.

 

Françoise expressed the desire to kiss her grandmother.

 

Against his better judgement, Ovide picked her up and sat her on the bed, next to her grandmother. The youngster puckered up her little lips as she had been taught to do, and as softly as the caress of a butterfly’s wings, brushed a kiss on her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek.

At her young age, she could not fully realize the seriousness of her grandmother’s condition.

 

“Mamie, it’s me, Françoise! I’m so happy to see you again. Why aren’t you getting up and coming back home with us? You know, I’ve eaten all the cookies that you gave me for the trip in the big plane.”

 

Old Ovide could not bear to listen to his granddaughter’s request. He was devastated by the naiveté of the child. He felt faint and broke down in tears. He had to quickly find a seat.

 

Françoise remained sitting next to her grandmother and was holding her hand in silence for quite a long time. Suddenly, she cried out. “Pappy!  Mamie smiled at me!”

 

“My little Françoise…” Martha whispered, in a frail voice, “you’ve come to see me… you’re making me so happy. I’ve missed you so much,” as tears ran on her cheeks, and dripped onto her pillow.

_______________

 

” Monsieur Olivier, It’s obvious that my first diagnosis may have been a little premature. I’m delighted to tell you that your wife has made remarkable progress these last few days. Still, I cannot find any scientific reasons that could explain this sudden change of her condition,” announced Doctor Lavalin, “I have to admit though, that this phenomena has been reported with some patients who have suffered from a mild stroke. Although seldom publicized, there were however, a few cases of practically instant recovery that were reported. It is said that most had been subjected to a mild psychological shock, an unexpected surprise, or a particularly pleasant event.

Madame Olivier’s surprising recovery is my first experience. It’s highly probable that your daughter’s return from her long absence could be one of many determining factors. I can’t explain it. So, why not stop trying to figure out what has happened and just be thankful for her good fortune. I’ll be signing her release paper today and she can go home tomorrow. A word of caution, however! She should not be left alone for the next few months.”

_______________

 

Ovide had decided to walk back home, alone. He needed to sort out this terrible ordeal in his mind. He was grateful that it had turned out favourably.

 

The old bartender was tired; his age was catching up to him. These last events were very trying. He realized how close he had come to losing his lifelong companion. When Martha had had her attack and fainted before him, he saw his whole world coming to an end.

 

He had felt so helpless and alone, facing what he thought to be the most dreadful catastrophe of his entire life. Indeed, it just might have been so.

 

That long walk back home was beneficial, as he finally understood how the hidden face of happiness had manifested itself to him. It had been there for him, in the image of his loving wife, for what he thought would be forever. Then, without any previous warning it suddenly threatened to disappear behind its mask for what could have been eternity. Ovide had been fortunate and he knew it, so thankful now that his happiness had returned… quickly… almost as if nothing had ever happened.

 

Rodrigue’s wise words were more meaningful now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9

Martine’s Return

 

The bistro was full today. All the regular patrons had made a point of being present to welcome Martine home. On that very day, she had taken on the responsibility of operating the bistro. Her father had to remain with his wife for a while. It was a good arrangement for all, since Ovide had agreed in return to look after Françoise. Françoise’s presence helped speed up Martha’s recovery.

 

Frederic had planned to remain in France for as long as his temporary visa would allow. He had a good knowledge of how to manage the bistro, and he intended to assist his wife. He was looking forward to the challenge.

 

“Hey, Martine! It’s a pleasure to see you amongst us again. We’ve missed you very much, you know,” shouted Emile, another faithful patron of the bistro.

 

“Looks like things are coming back to normal!” a voice coming from the back of the hall piped up.

 

“My old friend, Ovide, must be very happy!” added old Rodrigue, while sipping his glass of wine.

Martine and Frederic had not hesitated a moment to remain in Paris to help Ovide to care for Martha.

 

Had it not been for their hasty return, Martha might have remained bedridden in a hospital. Now, with her family around her, Martha had been given a new lease on life. Françoise played a major role in her grandmother’s recovery. Martha’s bond with the young girl was legitimate and understandable. It was Martha who had raised her while Martine worked.

 

Three months had gone by and Martha was feeling much better. She had completely recovered from the stroke. Unfortunately, more grief was awaiting her. Frederic’s visa was expiring in two days. Frederic, Martine, and Françoise would be forced to return toCanada.

_______________

 

Neither Martine, nor Frederic, was able to fall asleep that night. Both were stretched out on the bed, on their backs with their hands joined behind their heads. They were both staring into the darkness, as though they expected some magical solution to appear out of the shadows.

 

“How are we ever going to tell Mom and Dad, Frederic?”

 

“I really don’t know, Martine. I’m more concerned with your mother’s reaction, although the shock could be disastrous for either one of them.”

 

Martine turned toward her husband and cuddled up to him. He brought his arms back over her shoulders while she rested her head on his chest.

 

“I don’t know either. We have to return to Canada, but once more Mom and Dad will be terribly upset. I just don’t think they can deal with any more stress right now. This leaving and coming back is awfully hard, not only for them, but for Françoise and me, as well.”

 

“There is no need for all of us to return. I am the only one who has to go back. I can go back alone. I know some influential people who will help me get a permanent visa, and then I’ll come back soon. Besides, just before we left Quebec so hurriedly, I’d come across several compromising documents in my father’s possession.

I also discovered a sum of money, and I mean a lot of money. I wanted to tell you about it sooner, but I figured you had enough on your mind at the time.

I have to clear that issue up with my father. My instincts tell me that he’s mixed up in some illicit deal with the local Mafia. But like I said, I’m not sure. It’s also likely that he may be withholding that money because it’s hot and probably the time is not right for it to be laundered. And that’s not really any better.

There’s one thing I’m sure of, though. The money is not his because he wouldn’t have let his debts accumulate the way he did. I really hope I’m wrong about my suspicions, but I need to find out. Just think what it’ll do to my mother if my suspicions are true.”

Frederic had needed to talk to Martine about this since the day he had gone through his father’s files and papers, and had found the envelope of money stashed in the back of a filing cabinet drawer. He was afraid for his father.

 

“My God Frederic, what are you saying? Is your father in trouble?”

 

“Yes, I believe he could be in an awful lot of trouble, but I have to go back and find out for sure. I’d really rather go back to Canada alone to get to the bottom of this. You do understand, don’t you, Martine? I would rather have you and Françoise stay here where you are needed.”

 

Martine was still cuddled in his arms. He embraced her tenderly and once more the heat of her body was setting him afire. Curiously tonight, for no particular reason, the memory of their first time on the small island and the way she came on to him flashed back in his head.

He recalled how puzzled he had been by what appeared to be boldness, and how he had reacted to it at first. An opportunity that he nearly let pass by came back to his mind. He recollected every move… every kiss… every caress.

 

They had been together now for years. Yet, tonight was the first time that Frederic’s mind wandered back and probed the past. So many things had happened during the course of these years. Sure, they had enjoyed each other as all couples do. But this night, somehow, was different.

 

He was remembering so vividly each and every event. How she had accepted him, wanted him, the passion with which she had surrendered to him… her complete abandon. The same scenario was repeating itself tonight.

_______________

 

Martine was running the bistro by herself. She looked after the bar and also attended to the customers at the tables. With Frederic gone, it took a little longer to be served, but nobody ever complained.

 

Working alone was more demanding on her, but Martine understood that Frederic had made the right decision for all concerned. Ovide dropped by, now and then, to help out during the rush hour; however, he never stayed any longer than necessary. As soon as the busy period was over, Ovide headed home to be with Martha. Though Martha had completely recovered from her stroke, he hated to be apart from her.

 

Both Ovide and Martha were different since her stroke. He was still insecure and hated being away from her for any length of time. Martha was given to sporadic, brief incidences of staring off, vacantly, into space. These episodes troubled Ovide and added to his insecurity.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

The Reception

 

Autumn weather had arrived early in Quebec. There had been raw, cold rain nearly every day for several weeks since Frederic’s return. A sombre forecast of a typically hard and cold winter loomed on the horizon.

 

Today, an extremely cold wave from the Northeast was blowing across the region and the rain pellets were interchanging with big, heavy, wet snowflakes. The fallen leaves that had resisted from being blown away by the wind were frozen and stuck to the ground under the weight of the wet snow.

 

In the lush greenery of summer, the Montreuil’s mansion constructed out of large dark grey fieldstones, looked like a majestic old, European Castle. In winter, it appeared scary and gloomy amongst the barren poplar trees encircling the property. Some snow had started to accumulate on the ledge of the small capitols that were topping off the many windows and doorways. A few fallen leaves, reddened by autumn, were clinging to the corner of cornices and were adding odd patches of color to the grey landscape.

 

It was only four o’clock and darkness was already setting in. A few timid lights were glowing through the windows of the manor. Two large welcoming lamps, mounted like sentinels on either side of the main entrance on top of tall columns suddenly came alive, one after the other as if they were getting ready for the arrival of an important visitor. The manor that appeared to be abandoned a moment before, now showed some signs of life.

 

The headlights of a car coming up the winding driveway was bouncing its beams off the trunks of the tall Poplar trees that stood proudly in a row on either side of the driveway. One after the other, the trunks of the Poplars would catch the light.

 

Then came a steady procession of limousines that approached the Montreuil mansion. In turn, they stopped at the entrance to let their passengers disembark.  As soon as the passengers left the warmth and comfort of the limousine that had brought them, they quickly turned up the collars of their coats and held onto their hats against the howling winds, as they hastily climbed up the long staircase to the main entrance

_______________

 

“Madame and Maître Lauriston!” the butler announced as the visitors entered the reception hall.

 

George turned toward another couple making their way into the lobby. The gentleman handed over his coat and hat and helped his escort with hers. George draped them carefully over the outstretched arms of his assistant, who in turn hung them in the cloakroom.

Several of the most influential friends of the Montreuil’s had been invited to a cocktail party, which had been organized to celebrate Frederic’s acceptance into the Barreau du Quebec. He had received the good news the very day of his arrival from Paris. He was indeed surprised by the speed with which his demand had been processed. Frederic was sure that his father must have pulled a few strings.

 

Consequently, many prominent figures from the legal profession had been invited to the reception, including the Honourable Minister of Justice.

Maître Bastien, the Crown prosecutor, was one of the firsts to arrive.

 

Since the moment Frederic had returned to the manor, the entire household was buzzing with activity in finalizing the last minute details for the cocktail party.

Frederic had not had the opportunity to see his father privately, to discuss the contents of that brown envelope, and tonight was not the night to do so. He did not want to risk spoiling the evening for everyone. Nevertheless, he was burning with impatience. He wanted to resolve this enigma as soon as possible, to put his own mind at peace. He could not bear to think that his own father might be involved with the local Mafia. That thought terrified him.

 

After numerous cocktails, followed by a regal banquet, the guests were invited back to the reception hall to socialize. The party rolled along as many others do, with a lot of posturing, pomposity, and artificial behaviour.

 

As the honoured guest, and a good host, Frederic had made a point of seeing each one and thanking them personally for their presence.  Frederic was an observant individual. It had not taken him long to pick up on the flagrant lack of authenticity of these honourable men and women. While mingling with his guests, Frederic tried to construct a positive image of each one in his mind, but could not succeed. They left him wondering if any of them were really any better than his father’s clientele.

 

“I can predict a promising future for you, Frederic,” said Maître Bastien, “…and you’re lucky. You have a fine mentor in your father.”

 

“Yes, Maître, I’m quite aware of that,” Frederic replied, and then asked to be excused in order to greet another colleague.

 

“My dear young man, at last, you’re finally one of us!” said an old and grossly overweight man who approached them, and impolitely interrupted their conversation. His tuxedo was so tight on him; it looked as though it was about to pop its buttons.

 

The man was obviously quite drunk. A quick thought crossed Frederic’s mind. He amusingly wondered if it was the food the man had consumed during dinner, or perhaps it was the quantity of alcohol he had guzzled that had bloated this man to such grotesque proportions. His overly shiny, fringed, baldhead, coupled with the thick glasses the man wore which excessively enlarged his eyeballs, made him look scary.

 

 “That’s correct, Maître Deschênes,” Frederic answered his ignorant, fat colleague, but in the core of his being, he shuddered to think of himself as being a colleague of this disgusting little man.

 

“So this is the pride of our dear colleague, Paul. Welcome aboard, son!” shouted an elderly man as he was coming out of the middle of the crowd that was surrounding Paul Montreuil.

 

The short, thin, elderly man with a faltering gait made his way towards Frederic. The latter accepted the weak, trembling hand of the sophisticated, old gentleman. Frederic refrained from shaking his hand too vigorously for fear of breaking it off. He had no idea who the old man was, but thought he was at least ninety, and far too old to be pleading cases.

 

The party seemed to go on forever. The last of the guests left the manor in the wee hours of the morning. Once the front door closed behind the last one, Frederic and his parents retired for what was left of the night.

 

Though exhausted, Frederic could not sleep. He stretched out in his bed, and was lost in his thoughts. He wondered if he had appeared a bit hostile with some of his father’s friends. He thought that perhaps he was judging them too harshly. In his mind, he rehashed some so the discussions he had had with some of the guests.

Frederic spoke aloud to the quiet darkness of his room.

 

“No! Definitively no!  That’s not the kind of life I want for myself. To defend criminals that I know to be guilty, or to kow-tow to judges in order to obtain unjust acquittals… no, I don’t want to spend my life in an environment that encourages the truth to be manipulated and distorted. I don’t want to be an accomplice to people that weren’t able to convince me of their innocence; people, the likes of Morand, for instance. When I think of all those lives they are destroying with their damned drugs… “

 

Frederic calmed down a little and reconsidered what he had just said out loud.

 

“Obviously, all the men and women of law are not like father’s guests. I wonder though, are all the other criminal lawyers without reproach? I would be curious to find out if they don’t bend the rules, just a little, when push comes to shove, when it becomes a matter of defending one of those drug criminals. What if they fail, and their clients are condemned? Aren’t they afraid of retaliation? They certainly must learn a fair amount of classified information about the operations of these gangs. In this game, knowing too much is not healthy.”

 

Suddenly, the picture of that large brown envelope stuffed with money, flashed in his mind.

 

“I’ve got to get this money matter settled with Dad and then…  back to Paris as soon as I obtain my visa.”

 

 

 

Chapter 11

The Confrontation

 

They all got up late that morning and nobody felt much like talking. Like a robot, Paul muttered a polite, “Good morning,” to his son, while wheeling his chair into the dining room.

 

Frederic and his father were finishing their breakfast in silence when Grace arrived. She whispered an unconvincing, “Good morning,” and sat quietly at her end of the table.

 

“Father!” Frederic said abruptly, and threw his napkin over his plate while getting up from his seat, “…I’ve got something to discuss with you and it’s important. I’ll be waiting in your study,” he spat out in a harsh tone.

 

Grace was stunned by what appeared to her to be a most disrespectful way for a son to address his father. This was not the shy, and reserved young man she used to know.

 

“What’s going on?” she asked, innocently.

 

Paul ignored his wife’s question. He pivoted his wheelchair around and headed for his study.

 

Grace may have entertained doubts for a long time about her husband’s activities, but she never vocalized them. Paul, a wise individual, had made a point of giving his wife whatever she wanted, as long as she asked no questions.

 

Frederic was waiting for him, half-standing, half sitting, on the edge of his father’s large, ornate, mahogany desk.

 

“What’s bugging you, Frederic? I won’t allow you to talk to me as you did just now, especially in front of your mother. Is that clear?” Paul shouted in anger, swinging the study door shut.

 

“No! It’s not clear, not clear at all! And I’m not talking about my comprehension; I’m talking about your suspicious conduct! Since I’ve come back to this house, I’ve discovered many things for which I have no answers.”

 

Paul was struck speechless.

 

“Father, you’re playing with fire! Your clientele is really rotten, the scum of the earth… that’s what they all are. You’re flirting with drug importers, dealers, members of the Mafia and worst yet, they’re from opposite gangs.”

 

Frederic just got started, he had a lot to say and he spilled out every item on his agenda.

 

“You’re keeping large sums of money in an unlocked filing cabinet, and yet, the operational bills of the mansion don’t get paid, but that doesn’t worry you, it seems. By invoking a mysterious illness, you’ve neglected to look after important cases that would have brought in some money. But, you see, I’ve stopped believing in you, and in that so-called baffling illness of yours. What I do believe is happening though, is that you’re in deep trouble. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you were face to face with a dilemma caused by a conflict of interest between you, and these two gangs of criminals. The path you’ve chosen to walk is marginal, and in spite of the precarious position that you’ve put this household in, you refuse to leave it for fear of losing your reputation. In my eyes, your reputation is tarnished, very badly tarnished. For you, the interpretation of happiness is success, fame and fortune. You’re holding on to them so badly that you’re risking losing so much more.”

 

“Lower your voice, Frederic. You’ll upset your mother,” muttered Paul.

 

Grace had overheard Frederic’s raised voice. She had rushed to the study, and had quietly opened the massive door. She was standing in the doorway, a few feet behind her husband in his wheelchair.

 

Unaware of his mother’s presence, Frederic went on.

 

“Do you think for a moment that mother doesn’t know all about your scheming ways? If she doesn’t already know what you’ve been up to, maybe it’s time she did. You’ve always treated her like she wasn’t smart enough to understand, so you bought her silence with jewellery, and fancy clothes, and expensive vacations. Well, it won’t work anymore. I intend to tell her what you’ve been up to.”

 

Grace stood hidden in the doorway, seemingly paralyzed by this outburst from her son. Paul was still unaware of his wife’s presence behind him. Without warning, he suddenly jumped up from his wheelchair and took a swing at his son. Frederic’s reflexes were sharp. With a swift move, he dodged his father’s fist and Paul momentarily lost his balance. He sidestepped like a boxer, but did not fall.

 

“So you’re the one who took the money!”

 

Paul’s anger was so violent that it made him forget to never get up from his wheelchair when people were around.

 

Grace moved in between the two belligerents, trying to keep them apart.

 

“I knew it! I knew it! You don’t need that wheelchair anymore than I do! And your dirty money is where it should have been from the start, in the safe!” Frederic cried out, as though he had finally resolved the enigma.

 

With tears in his eyes, he turned to face his mother.

 

“Mom, I’m sorry that you had to witness this. I can’t stay here any longer. I’m leaving today, and as soon as I get my visa, I’ll be returning to Paris. I am ashamed to stay here with the man I used to know as my father.”

 

Frederic embraced his mother lovingly, and looked pleadingly into her eyes.

 

“Please understand, Mom, there’s really nothing I can do here until Dad puts an end to his dealings with his sleazy colleagues and his illicit clients. He must find a way out of this situation. Only he, alone, can do it! That man is not my father! It’s another person that I don’t wish to know!”

 

Frederic kissed his mother and without turning back to look at his father, left the room.

 

Chapter 12

The Collapse

 

A few months had passed since Frederic had returned to Paris. He had obtained his visa rather quickly, and as he had promised Martine, he came back sooner than anticipated. He had not expected that the showdown with his father would have grown to such proportions. Of course, when he had planned to expose his father’s foul play, he had counted on some kind of reaction from him. He had hoped for a positive reaction. Nevertheless, if nothing else, he felt he had been instrumental in bringing his father’s fake illness to light.

_______________

 

As predicted, the Quebec winter of 1979 was particularly cold and snowy. The whole landscape had lost its colors under a thick blanket of white. The great, tall, slender Poplars, aligning both sides of the pathway leading to the mansion, appeared much shorter from the abundance of snow covering the ground.

 

The manor had been put up for sale. At the end of the driveway, where it connected with the main road, the sign “Property for Sale” was hardly visible, practically buried under the enormous snow banks left by the snowplough.

 

One event followed the next at the Montreuils since their son left. Paul’s hypocritical ways were now in the open, and his faked illness, confirmed. He had upset a number of people’s lives and had unduly worried everyone that cared about him. Understandably, Grace had difficulties forgiving him and had threatened to leave.

 

Paul had admitted his faults and begged for her forgiveness. He promised his wife that he would do his best to make amends and rectify everything. But he knew that it would not be easy because he was in deeper than he would ever admit to himself.

His first move was to immediately get rid of his wheelchair, which was a flagrant witness to his deceptive ploy.

 

Paul understood long ago, the situation he was getting into when he defended his first client from the underworld. He had demanded a large fee and had won the case. At the time, his greed for power, money, and fame was stronger than any other force in his life, and it had distorted his judgement. Wrongly, he figured that it was easy money and that he would get involved, for just that one case. But, one does not embark on undertakings with the underworld for only one time, when you are in, you are in.

 

Paul had recognized the situation he had to resolve, long before Frederic confronted him about it. That is why he conjured up his mysterious illness. He felt that being ill would solve a lot of his problems. By hiding behind his fake illness, he could avoid going to Court and having to represent members of the underworld. However, he knew too much.

 

Grace, now aware of all the horrible details, insisted that Paul refuse all cases involving these people. He was forced to give back the money they had entrusted him with for the bribing of judges and other influential lawmen.

 

Indeed, Paul had quite a dilemma on his hands. Flirting with both gangs of the drug world as he had done, rendered him even more vulnerable, and his supposedly good connections would now become his dire adversaries.

 

It was not difficult for him to understand that his life, as well as Grace’s, would be in jeopardy. Paul was not a newcomer when it came to designing a defence plan so he formulated a plan for their protection.

 

To that effect, he recorded on audio cassettes, all pertinent classified details pertaining to the two drug dealing gangs, the names of the judges that had accepted bribes, and the names of the false witnesses that came from nowhere when he needed an alibi for his clients. He recorded even the minute details. Then, he made copies of the cassettes and edited them separately, so as not to divulge to one gang, information about its rival. That was a critical issue.

He sent each gang its own cassettes and kept the originals in a safe place. A note from him to each gang leader accompanied the cassettes, stating that if harm of any kind were to come to any member or close acquaintance of the Montreuil family, the original cassettes would automatically end up with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

 

Paul could not figure any other way of protecting himself and his family. No one simply walks away from these people. He now realized that he had been very foolish to have taken such risks for fame and money. He knew that one’s wealth is not of much use when buried under six feet of dirt, and when fame is simply a name carved on the tombstone.

 

Unfortunately, having given up catering to this kind of clientele meant that now the lack of money had become a major issue for the Montreuil’s.

 

With Paul no longer representing the drug lords in the courtrooms and lobbies of the Criminal Court Building, some greenhorns had been retained and were desperately trying to win cases through normal and legal means.

Consequently, the corrupt judges were getting edgy and began to miss their regular allowances. By way of their private network, the judges were informed that they had been implicated in the contents of Paul’s cassettes.

 

In retaliation, some of them wanted Paul terminated and the cassettes destroyed. Using their influence, they concocted a ploy to get him impeached, quickly, before he could do more harm.

 

A rapid and biased investigation was conducted. It did not take long before Paul Montreuil was eradicated from the Barreau du Quebec, for malpractice, among other charges. They made sure he could never recuperate. Their axes fell swift, and sure.

 

The inevitable conclusion had come… Paul was ruined. His reputation was forever blemished. It was a devastating blow, but Paul knew he deserved this punishment.

 

The now former great lawyer owed his ability to survive, to the strength, courage, and love of his wife who had chosen to stay by his side throughout the worst of times.

 

The ex-attorney had to move fast in order to salvage what he could. With no income, and his fortune dwindling, there was so little time left for him to avoid repossessions and worse yet, total bankruptcy. Too many people wanted him ruined, and completely helpless. Paul had been a high profile, powerful man in his time, but even though disbarred, he remained a threat to those that he had mentioned on his tapes.

George, Henry, and Leopold, the Montreuil servants, were the first to feel the Montreuil’s efforts for survival. They were dismissed. Next, came the sale of three of their four limousines.

The profit from the sale of the limousines was enough to cover a few more months of mortgage payments on the mansion. However, in the end, they were forced to put the manor up for sale.

 

It was a terrible turn of events for the Montreuils. For Paul, it was the shame. For Grace, who was the innocent victim in this drama, it was the end of the good life, the end of the expensive trips to Europe, the end of the many Caribbean cruises. In fact, it was the end of the artificial happiness Grace had been granted as a form of compensation, for her husband’s numerous absences.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13

The Celebration of the New Year

 

Ovide had everything going full speed for the reception he organized annually at the bistro to celebrate the arrival of the New Year. It was his way of demonstrating his gratitude to his regular customers.

 

This small bistro was not like any other bistro. It was a very special meeting place where many generations had come and gone, creating pleasant and sometimes less pleasant memories. Its walls held so many secrets.

 

Even when it was not full of customers each and every day, those present often stated that they had the impression of being surrounded by a closely-knit, joyous crowd of people.

 

This year particularly, there were numerous reasons for the coming year to be greeted in a special way. For Ovide, the year that was just ending had been very trying. Eventually, every crisis had been resolved, for which he thanked the Lord. Martha had regained her health. Martine had returned, and she and Frederic had taken charge of the bistro. By her very presence, little Françoise had brought back the joy into their lives. Now, Ovide was looking forward to the New Year with great expectations.

_____________

The lit fireplace created a warm, festive ambiance. Ovide stood at the entrance of the bistro, welcoming the guests he had invited for the traditional New Year’s dinner. Some came with their spouses, some with escorts, but most came alone. Amongst the regular patrons, about a dozen, or so, was old Rodrigue. Ovide was delighted to see him.

 

From year to year, when Ovide would personally invite Rodrigue, the latter would always say that he didn’t know if he would attend because he had been so tired lately, and the party lasted long past his bedtime.

His attendance was always doubtful, yet he always showed up. This night, he had come as usual, dressed in his best suit… the one with the fewer patches.

 

The table setup was ingenuous. Ovide had lined up the small tables one against the other to form a large square in the center of the hall. This would allow everyone to see and talk with everybody else with very little neck stretching. Also, with no preferential seating, no one would feel left out.

 

For practical reasons, because Frederic and Martine would be doing the serving, they occupied the end seats on the side adjacent to the bar. Ovide, Martha and little Françoise sat between them. On the side closer to the entrance, Rodrigue occupied the center seat.

_______________

 

Ding! Ding! Ding! Went the sound of a spoon being gently rapped against the bowl of a wine glass. Rodrigue laboriously rose from his chair and stood behind it, one hand holding onto the back for support, the other hand raising his glass of wine.

 

“I would like to raise my glass to my dear friend of many years, Ovide, and to his wife, Martha!” said Rodrigue.

 

Old Rodrigue had already downed a few glasses of wine, and was in splendid form. He rapped his glass again.” Surely, I mustn’t forget Martine, and Frederic and,” he added with a chuckle, “…especially, little Françoise!”

 

Rodrigue tried to clear the emotional lump in his throat before continuing.” I wish for them all, as well as for all of you, my friends, that the New Year which is upon us, exceed your expectations. May the hidden face of happiness reveal itself to you, each, and every day of your life.”

 

Each guest stood up on cue, glass in hand, to salute Rodrigue and accept his good wishes, as though the old man had made the dedication to each one personally.

 

In silence, the guests turned towards their neighbours, gently tapped their glasses together, and took a sip of wine.  Instinctively, everyone remained standing until Rodrigue sat down.

 

Suddenly, just as the party got underway, the front door of the bistro opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Frederic got up to see who had arrived.

 

“It’s all right, Ovide, I’ll see who it is,” Frederic said.

 

“Whoever it is, invite them to sit with us,” Ovide called over his shoulder to Frederic.

 

“Father! Mother! My god, what a surprise!” Frederic exclaimed, “Martine, come quickly, it’s my parents!”

 

Martine rose from her seat with Françoise right behind her yelling, “Grandfather! Grandmother!” She ran over and embraced them both.

 

“Grandfather Paul, you are not sick anymore,” said the innocent child, at the sight of her grandfather standing up straight and tall.

 

“No, sweetie, I’m not sick anymore. From now on, you and I can walk together, run, and play, go to the circus, do all kinds of things,” Paul said, as he bent down and lifted the young girl in his arms. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

 

“Paul, Grace, please come, I would like you to meet my Mom and Dad,” Martine said, hooking her arm through Grace’s, and directing her to where Martha and Ovide were sitting.

 

Paul, however, did not move. He just stood in front of his son, his granddaughter still in his arms. For the longest moment, their eyes locked on each other’s. At this point, words were not necessary. Frederic understood immediately. He knew that his father had finally decided to change the course of his life. However, he was not aware of what his parents had gone through during these past months.

 

“Come and join us, Dad,” Frederic said, breaking into the silence, “…Happy New Year, Dad.”

 

“Please meet my Father and Mother,” Martine said, “…Mom, Dad, this is Grace and Paul Montreuil, Frederic’s parents.”

 

Ovide stood up and offered his hand to Paul then embraced Grace. “Glad to meet you, Grace… Paul. So you’re the famous lawyer from Quebec. We’ve heard a lot about you here, you know,” Ovide said, no malice intended.

 

Paul’s facial expression suddenly changed. He looked worried, but did his best to mask his feelings.

Frederic brought his parents over to the table and introduced them to all the guests. A couple who had been sitting next to Martha and Ovide, politely got up and offered Grace and Paul their seats and went to sit somewhere else; some seats were still unoccupied.

 

The topic of most conversations was the good wishes that Rodrigue had expressed at the beginning of dinner. Everyone that had the good fortune of having met Rodrigue before knew that he spoke rarely, and when he did, they were convinced that each word he said had a specific meaning.

 

Everyone was expressing his own interpretation of what the hidden face of happiness represented for him or her.

 

However, Paul and Grace who had met Ovide and Martha for the first time were having a different conversation. They were discussing Martha’s sudden illness, and how quickly she had recovered. Paul and Grace were totally amazed to learn of the impact that Françoise had made on Martha’s recovery.

 

Ovide had nothing but praise for Martine and Frederic, for the way they were managing the bistro. The clientele had practically doubled since they had taken over, and Ovide and Frederic were already making plans to expand.

 

Paul had spoken little. Mostly, he had listened to the conversations that were taking place around the table. In the old days, he would have readily joined in the conversations, boasting about his life, his influential friends, and his elaborate plans for the coming New Year. This year, nothing was more obscure than his vision of the future.

 

“We, well… that is, Grace and I… “ He began hesitantly, “…we have in mind to completely change our life style. I’ve decided to retire. I’ve given up Law practice and we’ve sold the mansion. I’ve spent too much time in my life away from my wife. I want to be near her and the two of us… well, we’ll try to discover this hidden face of happiness, that I heard the elderly man mentioned earlier.”

 

Frederic, followed by Martine, was bringing over the second course and had stopped to listen when he heard his father’s revelations. He was stunned. His father was not the same man he had left a few months ago. His arrogance was gone. He was humble, honest, and most of all, very human.

 

“Let me tell you, there’s an awful lot of wisdom in Rodrigue’s words,” Paul said, “…we… no! I’m sorry, not we… I… I’ve always believed that happiness consisted of power, fame, wealth and the good life. However, Grace had not asked as much out of life and after Frederic was born, our relationship started to wane.”

Paul took a sip of wine from his glass and suddenly, he realized that all the guests near him were silently eating their dinners and listening politely to his story.

 

“Things began to go bad, not for me, but for Grace, and Frederic. You see, my practice had expanded so much that I had only time enough to prepare cases, defence speeches and closing arguments. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that my wife and my son were equally in need of my presence. And all of this, because of a trial that made the news all over the country. I was successful in getting an acquittal of a murder charge, for a notorious drug kingpin,” Paul gave a sigh, and continued, “That was all it took to propel my practice beyond all reasonable boundaries. I can’t even recall ever seeing Frederic growing up. I thought that they both were quite happy and content. They had everything they desired. I made sure that all their wishes were fulfilled. You see, I was under the impression that their interpretation of happiness was the same as mine. I saw them with the eyes of the body, not with those of the spirit.”

 

Visibly upset, Paul wiped his forehead with a napkin, took another sip of wine and went on. The floodgates were now open, and he was powerless to halt the tidal wave of guilt that surged from him.

 

“When Martine and Frederic visited us in Quebec and I saw my granddaughter for the first time, I saw Frederic again at that age. In one way, it was a bitter return to the past. One that was so nebulous and nostalgic. I regretted so much that I couldn’t recall the first words my son spoke, nor the first steps he walked, and not seeing him grow up, and his first day at school.  I understand now, that all of this was there, in front of me, and I was not conscious of it. As far as I’m concerned, that must have been it… the hidden face of happiness… and I failed to recognize it. In spite of this, I consider myself very fortunate to be awarded a second chance with young Françoise,” Paul said, reaching over to gently pull his granddaughter to his side.

 

Martha, Ovide, and all those who listened to Paul’s testimony, were visibly moved. Martha felt that perhaps, Paul might be embarrassed by having divulged such intimate secrets about himself, so she tried to rescue Paul by diverting the guests’ attention away from him, and onto herself, as she began expressing her own sentiments on happiness.

 

“I consider myself extremely lucky to be here today to celebrate the New Year with all of you. Happiness to me means being blessed with good health for as long as possible. Without it, nothing else matters. Good health is the key that opens the door to all that is possible. Most times we take it for granted.  Nothing can replace good health, be it money, fame, friends, even those that are the closest to us. Losing your health is like falling into a deep ravine. If you’re lucky, you’ll hang onto the ledge, hoping that someone will pass by and will hold you up, for just a little longer. Today, I strongly believe that our granddaughter Françoise, unknowingly, has done precisely that for me,” Martha said past the emotional lump that was forming in her throat.

Just like Martha had come to Paul’s assistance, Ovide noticed that she as well, was too emotional to go on. He made an attempt to rescue her.

 

“That’s the truth, and I can vouch for that! If Martha had passed away, I would have lost my main reason for living. I would have been alone… and… and…yet, I’m aware that one of us will be first to leave this world one day. I thought that for sure Martha was going to be the one. Faced with the dread of losing her made me realize that the hidden face of my happiness was in having Martha at my side. Today, more than ever, I’m convinced of that.”

 

Perhaps it was the spirit of the New Year, or the bistro’s spirits of generations of patrons gone by, no one knew for sure, but something magical was happening.  It definitely was a night for truths; a night where people searched the depths of their souls and shared profoundly intimate secrets. Some of the guests drew up the balance sheets of the past year of their lives, while others yet, tallied up their entire lives.

 

Grace put down her knife and fork on the side of her plate, picked up her cloth napkin to delicately wipe the corners of her mouth. She too, had something to reveal.

 

“I had lost my husband. And today, we are reunited again. I hadn’t lost him to another woman, but to something even more insidious, more powerful… his profession,” she went on calmly, “…I would have preferred losing him to another woman. I would have known how to defend myself and how to win Paul back. However, against a profession that completely possessed him, I was helpless. Thank God, that in the raising of Frederic, I was able to keep occupied and holding on. Paul gave me everything… except his time. I was always available to him, but it seemed, he did not need me. Eventually, with time, I found the companionship I missed in other women that were in the same predicament as I was. We went everywhere, fashion shows, cocktail parties, social clubs, and what not. If I wasn’t away on a Mediterranean cruise, I was visiting a country on another continent, sometimes as bleak as my own life. Some of you may think that I had all that a woman could desire. But, no! In spite of all that, I was so lonely, and I was deeply unhappy. When Frederic went overseas for his studies, it was like living under a dark shroud of sorrow, mechanically living each day. I was desperately seeking this hidden face of happiness, but it always eluded me. At the lowest point in my life, I finally found it. That was when Paul announced his retirement.”

 

Martine and Frederic were sitting at the table after having served the second course.

 

“I don’t know. Personally, I don’t think I see this hidden face of happiness you are all talking about. Of course, I suppose if it’s hidden, it’s normal that I can’t see it. Then again, surrounded by all my loved ones, I believe I’m probably living with it, and I don’t feel the need for anything more than I have right now. Is it possible that it doesn’t exist for everybody? Can it be that some people will never discover it? I must admit that I have great difficulty putting all of this together. On the other hand, there’s one thing I do know. When Mom took sick and nearly passed away, I understood that good health is the most important gift of them all. Must we make a choice, I wonder? Do we have to choose whether we want health, to be lucky in love, to never be alone, to be rich, or whatever?” Martine said, “…I think the concept of searching for that hidden face of happiness is a little beyond my comprehension.”

 

“It’s not as complicated as you think, Martine,” said a voice coming from the other side of the table.

 

It was Old Rodrigue. He got up slowly, grabbed his glass and came over to where Martine was sitting.

 

“I’ve been listening attentively to each one of you as you have unveiled what I believe, was an intimate episode in your life. Showing a great deal of generosity, you’ve shared with everyone your interpretation of what the hidden face of happiness means, specifically, for you, in your life, and I am really impressed.”

 

Rodrigue put his glass down, looked around, and spotted an empty chair. He brought it closer and turned it around. He placed a foot on the seat, leaned forward, resting both his forearms on the back of the chair.

 

“My gosh, the evidence lies all around us! No one consciously chooses to be poor, to be alone, or to go about unknown, or to be crippled. If we could, we would all rather be rich, healthy, famous people, with oodles of friends and family to love us. It’s our orientation to life that makes us who we are. Mind you, that’s not always the case. Many times, fate will upset our lives, leaving us to wonder what on earth we’ve done to deserve it. What is important though, is irrespective of our condition, there’s always a… how can I say it… a sort of compensation that often goes by unnoticed. Happiness, in my book, is a human being’s state of mind, and in the head, is where it all starts. Certain folks may seem to have it all, and yet, be so miserably unhappy. While others yet, who appear to have nothing, are very happy people. Why is that?”

 

Rodrigue was quite aware that he had captured everyone’s attention. He carried on with his message.

 

“Let me add, if you will,” he said humbly, “…I’m not convinced that at birth, each of us has received an equal segment of the happiness pie, and I’m even less assured that this phenomenon is comparable to the measure of talent we have inherited from our ancestors. Also, I don’t believe in the saying that if a man is born poor, he will die poor. It is far wiser, and more appropriate, to say that a person knitted his happiness with the threads of his sorrows.  Many of us will probably never experience true happiness because we refuse to accept our condition. Mind you, I’m not insinuating that we shouldn’t make an effort to improve our present situation, on the contrary. However, we must try to discern the difference between what we can, and what we cannot change. More often than not, this incessant quest for what we think is happiness, will lead us astray from the real happiness… the one whose face is hidden. It’s up to each one of us to lift the mask that conceals it from the eyes of the body, the mask that we have unconsciously put on it ourselves. We must pause a moment to look around us, with the eyes of the soul, and examine all that makes us happy each day of our lives. I can assure you, we will not discover extraordinary events. Instead, it will be the events of the ordinary everyday life, like today, being here, together.”     

 

All eyes were upon Rodrigue, as he paused for another sip of wine. The careful weighing of his words, and the profoundness of his message, kept everyone spellbound.

 

“You know, I would be very surprised if one of you were to rise and tell us that he is not happy at this particular moment, in spite of his worries and sorrows. We’ve got to remember that we have the power to change the course of our lives, but never our destiny!”

 

During the time Rodrigue spoke, all the guests remained silent. Even Paul, notorious for his long monologues in the courtroom, was impressed with Rodrigue’s eloquence. He had listened intently, soaking up the timely wisdom of Rodrigue’s message. Paul had recognized himself in most of the scenarios.

 

“I think I understand better now. Thank you,” said Martine softly, “…to have unreasonable expectations, can leave you very disappointed.”

 

“You’re right, Martine. You’re bringing up another dimension that escapes us all too often,” the old man added, “…one should not expect to receive out of life, more than he has contributed to it. Nevertheless, too often we have the impression of not having received as much as we have given. Shouldn’t we try to understand that the happiness that is felt in giving is without condition? That kind of happiness is the greatest of all.”

 

On these last words, Rodrigue withdrew his foot from the chair, straightened up and picked up his glass of wine.

 

“In a moment, it will be midnight… the New Year! I propose that we postpone this discussion for another time,” on that comment, he raised his glass, “…let the party begin!”

Suddenly, as though it had been carefully orchestrated, the bistro’s grandfather clock began the countdown of the twelve strokes of midnight.

 

No one could remember when the last time was that the New Year had been welcomed in with so much joy and enthusiasm.

 

The atmosphere inside the bistro was electric with excitement, as all the guests rallied to make this New Year’s Eve, a most memorable one. Each and every guest had a personal reason to rejoice.

 

If it had been the invisible presence of spirits from long ago, that had inspired old Rodrigue tonight, then they too, had reason to celebrate.

 

Chapter 14

The Final Voyage

 

Time had blown away, like the sand, during a desert storm. Spring and summer of 1980 had passed by in a flash. It was September, the beginning of autumn.

 

Paul had feared retaliation by those he threatened to expose, so he and Grace had moved to Paris to escape, but mostly to be near Frederic, Martine, and Françoise. Paul and Grace were living in Paris on a temporary visa, but had applied to the French government for their citizenship.

 

Françoise had just turned four and had started going to kindergarten.

 

The plans that Ovide had about expanding the bistro never materialized. Instead, he and Martha had stayed away from it to enjoy a well-deserved retirement.

 

Granted, Martine and Frederic had brought some changes to the old bistro, but they had refused to expand it for fear that it would lose its flavour. Its walls were impregnated with souvenirs of the past, and besides, the patrons wanted  it to remain the way it always was.

 

Frederic did not regret abandoning Law. His experience with the Morand case had left him with bitter memories. However, he had not completely given up the prospect of returning to Law. In the meantime, Frederic had begun writing in his spare time and had had his first novel published.

_______________

 

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Rodrigue. How are you today?” Martine said, as she welcomed her most faithful customer.

 

Rodrigue did not answer. Aided by his cane, he walked very slowly to his table and dropped a ragged old book on top of it. He drew the chair away from the small table and sat down very laboriously. After having hooked his cane over the back of the chair, he turned towards Martine to acknowledge her salutation.

 

The old wise man had aged quite suddenly these last few months, as though the years had caught up with him all at once. He talked less than before. Still he visited the bistro each day for his habitual litre of wine. He had slowed down considerably and Martine was concerned about him. She realized that he had been a patron of the bistro way before she was even born. Obviously, he was not getting any younger.

 

She brought him his wine, and put it down on the table.

 

“Is every thing all right, Monsieur Rodrigue?”

 

“Not bad… not bad at all… thank you Martine,” Rodrigue responded, in a tone of voice that was less than convincing.

 

Martine stayed close to him. She felt that Rodrigue was not his usual self and she was worried.

 

“What’s this, Monsieur Rodrigue? It’s the first time I have ever seen you with this book,” she said, glancing over at the tattered book, “…it’s a journal… and it’s written by hand.”

 

“Journals are usually written by hand, Martine.”

 

“Oh, how stupid of me!” she answered.

 

“Not at all! You were just being polite and, simply trying to show your interest. You’re certainly not stupid, on the contrary, I find you extraordinarily intelligent. You are very sensitive, and understand more things in life, than many people who are older than you comprehend. You are yourself, without any false pride. Nowadays, one rarely has the chance to meet someone authentic… in whom you can easily detect his integrity and honesty. Frederic is indeed a fortunate man to have you for his spouse. I’m sure he’s aware of it.”

 

Rodrigue nervously patted the pocket of his vest. He turned to Martine.

 

“It appears that I’ve misplaced my writing pen, Martine. Would you lend me yours?”

 

Martine left him, went to the bar, fished into a drawer and pulled out a pen. She hurried back to Rodrigue to hand it to him, and then left him so she could attend to the other patrons.

 

That afternoon seemed to last forever. The normal rush of the day had arrived, and yet, there was but a handful of customers in the bistro. Martine was happy to have Frederic around or else she would have been bored. To pass the time, she had decided to reorganize the shelves where the glasses were kept. Frederic was engrossed in conversation with Emile, another regular patron.

 

BANG!  It sounded like an explosion and it startled everyone. It came from the rear of the hall.

 

“Hurry Frederic! It’s Rodrigue. He has dozed off and fallen off his chair again,” Martine shouted as she hopped down from the stool she was standing on, and scurried over to Rodrigue.

 

“Don’t worry, Martine. It’s not the first time he has dozed off and toppled off his chair,” Frederic said calmly.

 

“But he’s not getting up! Come quickly, Frederic!”

 

The paramedics were called, but it was too late. When the paramedics left, mortuary attendants from the Coroner’s office claimed claimed Rodrigue’s remains.

 

Rodrigue had fallen from his chair for the very last time. The wise old man had chosen the place that he liked the most, to begin his final voyage.

 

The patrons who had rushed over to help Martine and Frederic were in shock. They thought it was better for them to leave and let Frederic close the bistro.

 

Once the bistro was cleared out, Frederic closed the front door and locked it for the night. Martine was sitting on a stool at the bar. She was in tears. Frederic tried his utmost to console her. Both decided that they would stay for a while. To calm down from the shock of losing Rodrigue, they busied themselves, cleaning up as they normally did at closing time. Never before in their lives, had Martine, or Frederic, witnessed someone suddenly pass away before their eyes. The experience had shaken them terribly since they both loved and admired Rodrigue.

 

Having been the first one to arrive next to Rodrigue, Martine was hopelessly trying to convince her husband that she had seen a sort of aura rising from the old man’s chest.  She also added that, at the same time, she had felt a shiver as a cold draft brush against her shoulders.

Frederic was skeptical. Nevertheless, as she spoke, she was wiping tables and seemed to be regaining her composure. Frederic was aimlessly sweeping the floor.

 

Eventually, Martine arrived at the table where Rodrigue had taken his last drink. The old manuscript lay open at the last page that was signed… ‘Rodrigue’. She took it and closed it gently as if it were very precious. On the cover was written the title:  “The Hidden Face of Happiness”

 

Martine could not resist. She stole a peek at the first page. To her amazement, she noticed the date… 1910. Rapidly, she flipped through the other pages. They were all dated, as well, just like a diary. Time had faded the ink from those days and the text was not all that easy to decipher. Just the same, it was clear to see that the careful and faultless writing was that of a child.

 

“It is a diary!” she said out loud, as she carried on reading.

 

Tuesday, September 21st, 1910

 

It’s my birthday today; I’m ten years old. Father and Mother gave me a new pair of shoes to wear on Sundays and for my First Communion. I am very fortunate to have such good and generous parents. I have decided today, that on each one of my birthdays, I will write down in this book the events that have made me particularly happy during the year. So I’ll never forget them and they will always be there to read over and over again, when things are not going so good.

 

 Rodrigue

 

All the pages were the same. All dated, September 21st, of successive years. Each annual entry carried a different description of one face of happiness. Martine was just finishing reading the last page, when Frederic sat by her side.

 

“What have you got there, Martine?”

 

“Look Frederic! It’s incredible! At each one of his birthdays, Rodrigue wrote in this old journal, as he called it, his interpretation of what happiness had been for him, during the year.”

 

“No wonder he could spend hours talking on that subject with so much knowledge and experience. What’s on the last page? Did you know that today happens to be the twenty-first of September?”

 

“Listen to this! I’ll read it to you. It’s not easy, his hand must have been trembling when he wrote it; the writing is very shakey.”

 

Frederic pulled in closer to Martine to help her make it out.

Sunday, September 21st, 1980

 

Today, it is my eightieth birthday. It could very well be my last one but… I am still here! I do not really have anything different to write on the subject of happiness this year. Perhaps I have discovered all its faces. But, I believe that the greatest one is yet to come and I fear I will not be able to describe it.

 

Rodrigue

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15

Martine’sMission

 

Under the shelter provided by their large black umbrella protecting them from the heavy September downpour, Paul and Grace were but one.

 

Martha and Ovide were there as well. In turn, they approached the casket and bent forward to touch it one last time. Ovide, for one, was overcome with grief. He missed his best friend. He vividly recalled how Rodrigue had supported him when Martha had taken sick not so long ago.

 

Many patrons from the bistro, who had known Rodrigue for years, were there to pay homage to a man they had learned to both love, and respect.

 

Martine and Frederic stood close by. Both had tears flowing from their eyes, mixing with the droplets of rain being blown by a steady cold wind. She had brought the old journal, and was holding it next to her heart. Martine had planned to return the journal to its rightful owner by depositing it on the coffin, amongst the bouquets of flowers. At the last moment, she changed her mind, thinking that Rodrigue would not have wanted his precious journal to find such a dreary and final end.

Consciously or not, the wise man had greatly impacted the lives of everyone who had known him and had heard him speak. His treasured journal was his silent witness. Martine, herself, could not understand why, at the very last instant, she had changed her mind. The moment she decided that Rodrigue’s journal would not perish, the memory of Frederic’s words from years ago on their deserted island flooded back to her. He had said that there are things that cannot be explained, but one has to accept them, believing that there has to be a reason.

 

Without warning, the mortician started to lower the casket down into the pit. The squeaking noise from the rusty mechanism sent a shiver down everybody’s spine.

One after the other, they turned away and left the gravesite.

 

Only Martine and Frederic remained standing in a puddle of rain and mud, watching as the coffin disappeared from view. Frederic tried to comfort his wife as best he could. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and tenderly held her free hand with his other hand.

 

Martine clutched Rodrigue’s journal tightly to her heart, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

 

“Come, Martine, we’ve got to go now. People will be waiting for us at the bistro. I’ll tell the chauffeur to go, and we’ll walk the distance to the bistro.”

 

Frederic snapped open the umbrella he had brought, but had never thought of opening until this moment. Soaked, they slipped under it and left the cemetery by the front gate.

 

“You know, Frederic, after Rodrigue’s death I decided to return his journal. I had in mind to deposit it on the casket and let it be buried with him, forever. But something strange happened at the last minute. I hesitated, and didn’t carry out my plan. The fact is, I couldn’t do it! It was impossible for me to release my grip from the book. My hand was like a vise, tight and hard! I’m absolutely convinced that Rodrigue’s last will was manifesting itself! Too many odd coincidences happened lately. I feel as though there is something I am supposed to do with this journal, and burying it, was not it. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it now.”

 

“You’re right, Martine, just too many coincidences. Or perhaps, it is something other than a simple coincidence.”

 

They stopped talking and continued walking toward the bistro. Ovide and Martha had prepared a simple buffet lunch for those that had come to the funeral. The atmosphere in the bistro was sombre. Everyone was there, yet the place was practically silent. Unconsciously, they had taken a seat here and there in small groups of two or three. They were talking in low, muted voices amongst themselves, out of respect for the memory of Rodrigue. Everyone bore the look of saddness.

 

Rodrigue was a quiet man who rarely spoke, but when he did speak, his messages had been filled with unquestionable wisdom, giving many a new avenue in their quest of happiness.

 

After refreshments, the mourners politely thanked Ovide and Martha and offered their condolences. It was evident to all that Ovide had taken care of all the funeral arrangements. Rodrigue had been alone, having survived all the members of his family.

 

Paul and Grace did not stay long either. They left early, taking young Françoise along. Soon after, Martha and Ovide followed. The day had been a long and very trying one for Ovide, as well as for Martha who had felt faint during the ceremony at the church.

 

Martine had made her rounds of all the tables to pick up the dirty dishes. She sat on a barstool at the counter, nonchalantly washing dishes while deep in thought.

 

Frederic was cleaning the floor of the bistro with soap and water. The mourners unknowingly, had brought in mud from the cemetery on their shoes.

 

“Frederic!” Martine suddenly called to her husband, “…I know exactly what I must do with the journal! I’m going to continue writing the journal as old Rodrigue was doing. I’ll start where he left off. I have a strong feeling that he would want me to do this,” she said proudly, “…why would he have brought it here for the first time, on the day he died? And what about when he asked me to borrow my pen? And again this afternoon, when I couldn’t part with it as I had planned to do? I’m absolutely convinced that somehow Rodrigue was sending me this message from beyond. However, I won’t do it quite like he did. I’ll not write just once a year, but every month. I’ll describe as faithfully as I can, what has made me particularly happy during the month. That way, I won’t have any choice, but to entertain positive thoughts throughout the month.” 

“After what you’ve just told me, Martine, I believe that old Rodrigue has left you an heirloom, one that very few people have had the good fortune of receiving. I think that you have a rare treasure there. Old Rodrigue has revealed to you, by way of his journal, seventy different hidden faces of happiness he discovered during his lifetime. And, he appears to have chosen you to perpetuate his discovery. Let’s go home, Martine. We’ll finish up some other time. I’ll lock up the bistro. I left a note on the door saying we’ll be closed for a couple of days.”

“That’s fine with me; I’m a little tired also.”

 

She cuddled up in his arms and they both stood there, motionless and silent.

 

“It has been quite a day,” said Frederic, “…quite a day!”

_______________

 

Martine had crept out of bed early that morning. As she was standing beside the bed, getting dressed, she was watching Frederic sleeping soundly. She decided not to awaken him. There would not be anyone at the bistro since it was closed. She planned to go in early and finish cleaning up.

 

Though she needed to finish cleaning up, more than anything else, she wanted to write her first entry in the old journal. However, with little left to do, she finished her chores quickly.

 

Sitting comfortably on a barstool at the counter, she lay open the journal in front of her and searched for the first blank page that followed Rodrigue’s last entry. She entered the date at the top of the page and sat contemplating it for over an hour.

 

 Saturday, September 27th, 1980

 

But, the page remained blank.

“Darn, it‘s so difficult to begin writing, especially when I must relate an event that has made me particularly happy these last days,” she muttered aloud, “…we’ve just lost a very dear friend. How does one find happiness while still in mourning? It’s certainly not an ideal time to start this.”

           

In spite of her good intentions, Martine could not think of anything that might inspire her. She was looking around the bistro and her gaze was going from the ceiling, to the walls, to the furniture until it came to rest on a small table in the rear of the hall.  Martine’s eyes were locked onto the table where Rodrigue habitually sat. She wondered if sitting there, in his chair, might give her the inspiration she sought.

 

In a single swift move, she grabbed the journal and pen, and with her cup of coffee in hand, she walked directly to the small table. She sat in Rodrigue’s chair, poised, pen in one hand, her mug of coffee in the other.

 

Then suddenly, she started writing.

 

Today, I am desperately trying to continue the task that old Rodrigue started seventy years ago. I am finding it quite difficult because I still have the image of his burial in my head. I cannot erase from my mind the image of the casket being slowly lowered to its final resting place. I am certain that old Rodrigue, who wrote but once a year, had less problems sorting out the good and pleasant events, from the bad ones.  It is a fact that as fragile humans, tragedy takes over our entire beings, for a very long time. It is unfortunate that we find it practically impossible to find compensation in the good moments that each day brings us.

 

Curiously, in reading the memoirs of Rodrigue, I was not able to detect a single reference to unhappy events that he must have encountered in his long life. I find it very hard to believe that he only lived blissful events.

 

I must admit though, that I have all the reasons in the world to feel blessed with happiness. I have a husband that loves me and whom I love. We have a daughter that we adore, and Mom and Dad are still with us. As far as I am concerned, I can honestly declare that “The Hidden Face of Happiness” is definitely not hidden from me!

 

Martine

 

She proudly signed her first entry in the old journal, closed it with care and said aloud, “…that wasn’t so difficult, after all. I just need to look inwards.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 16

Paul’s Awakening

 

Paul and Grace Montreuil had settled into a rented flat just a few blocks away from the bistro. It was quite a change for them; they were now living in an area that easily could have fit into their dining room at the manor. That bothered Paul at the beginning, but he soon got used to it; in fact, he enjoyed being closer to his wife than he had been for a very long time. However, living as they were without any income, other than the money he got from the sale of his last limousine was starting to worry Paul.

 

Paul had been forced to sell the mansion for the balance of the mortgage. Since moving toParis, they had been living on a tight budget; however, there were necessary, unavoidable expenses.

 

Paul had thought that escaping from Quebec to start a new life elsewhere, would be the solution to all his problems. As it turned out, more difficulties were now arising. He knew that he had to act quickly.

 

He was sitting at the breakfast table. Grace had gone to fetch the pot of coffee from the stove. She poured herself a cup and asked her husband if he wanted a refill. He had not eaten anything, and was blankly gazing out the window of the tiny kitchen.

 

“Paul, you haven’t eaten your breakfast! Is something bothering you? You seem worried.”

 

He did not answer immediately. He slowly took a swig of coffee from his cup.

 

“I hate to worry you unnecessarily, Grace, but at the rate that our expenses are running, we’ll have nothing left in a few months’ time. We’re facing a situation that is not easy to resolve. We can’t count on the welfare system of this country for any kind of help. We’re not permanent residents. We have two choices. Either we use the money we have left to fly back to Quebec, or we find refuge with Martine and Frederic. It appears to me that neither is a viable solution. I’m afraid to go back to Quebec. I know that we would be more than welcome at Frederic’s, but we would be intruding on their privacy? I just don’t know what to do.”

 

The wrinkles in Paul’s face appeared more accentuated. Grace had hoped that by escaping from the elements of stress he had endured back home, it would be a positive change for Paul, bringing him the peace of mind he so badly needed. But, in Paul’s deeply etched wrinkles, Grace could read his unhappiness, his torment.

 

Grace felt the pain of his dilemma. Though she knew he, alone, was culpable for their situation, it had been her decision to stand by his side.

 

“It’s a decision that you’ll have to make, alone, Paul, but if you want my opinion… let’s go back to Quebec. I’ll find a little job somewhere. If the worst comes, we’ll go on welfare, that’s all. However, we should keep in mind that short of some sort of miraculous windfall of money, we might not be able to return here for a very long time.”

 

“I realize that I’m responsible for us losing everything, Grace. I have put you through an awful lot, yet, you have stuck by me. If you think we have a chance back home, and you want to return, then I think we should go. God willing, we will make it back here one day.”

______________

Martine, Frederic and little Françoise were very upset when they learned about Grace and Paul’s plans to return to Quebec. Therefore, a few days before leaving, they all got together at the bistro to try one more time, to dissuade them from leaving. No one there wanted this reunion to be a farewell party.

 

To avoid being questioned, and in order to salvage what was left of his pride, Paul had lied in giving the real reason for their leaving. He had claimed that he needed to go back home to take care of business. He said he needed money and had several pieces of real-estate that he wanted to liquidate. During the time they stayed in France, he had never denied what most people had assumed in regards to his alleged wealth. Playing the game of deception he had mastered, Paul purposely evaded clarifying the situation, leaving them to believe what they had imagined.

 

Ovide was first to open the discussions and he was prepared.

 

“Paul, compared to me, you’re still a healthy young man. Why don’t you reconsider and open a Law practice here in town? This way there wouldn’t be any need for you to go,” Ovide suggested.

 

“I can’t, Ovide. The laws are different here and I’m not familiar with the Penal Code of this country,” he responded,  “…I would have to go through a recycling period and so on… at my age… no, I don’t even want to think about it.”

 

“Dad, forgive me, but these are very weak excuses. I’ve completed my law studies here. The French and Canadian laws are very similar. Only the Penal Code is slightly different. Whatever the code may be, it must be consulted on a regular basis for every criminal case.”

 

“Son, I’m telling you, there’s no use discussing this further. I won’t be practicing Law anymore, either in Canada, or here.”

 

Old Ovide had not given up yet. He rose from his chair and sat next to Paul.

“I’ve got lots of friends, and acquaintances, Paul. I’m sure that they would be pleased to find you a job. You wouldn’t get rich, but it would allow you to remain with us.” Ovide’s invitation was sincere.

 

“Thank you, Ovide. Your offer touches me profoundly. But, I can’t accept it. I don’t have any knowledge or skills other than in my field of expertise. Thanks just the same.”

 

It was Martha’s turn to implore Paul’s spouse.

 

“Grace, can’t you make your husband listen to reason? You must stay here with us. My God! There’s got to be some kind of work that your husband can do.”

 

“I see now that it’s time for you know the whole truth, the reason we are here with you today, and why we have to leave,” Grace said, looking towards Paul for approval.

 

“Go ahead,” Paul said, “it’s time to tell the truth; they deserve to know.”

 

“Where can I start… how can I explain… so that you’ll not be tempted to pass judgement too quickly?” Grace sighed and continued, “…when a person has occupied an envious social position during his entire life and all of the sudden he loses it, it is very difficult to cope. Deep scars are left which only time can heal. Admittedly, Paul has committed some errors in his life, but who hasn’t? However, those that he made were serious and full of consequences. He has paid dearly, and continues to feel the repercussions.”

 

Grace lifted her head proudly, totally at peace with what she had to say.

 

“My husband’s name was stricken from the membership list of the Association du Barreau du Quebec. He can no longer practice Law in Quebec, in fact, in the whole of Canada. I doubt if he could possibly practice here. You may not realize it, but disbarment carries with it an awful stigma.” and continued, “Why did we decide to come to Paris, you may ask. I could tell you that it’s because we wanted to be with our son and his family. If I did, I wouldn’t be telling you the whole truth. The most important reason, apart from being with our loved ones, is that we are escaping. Yes, running away from very dangerous people. You see, being an attorney in criminal law means defending notorious bandits that you often know to be guilty. If you fail to get them acquitted, you may suffer reprisals.

Sometimes, one uses unorthodox means to succeed, be it going from inciting witnesses to make false testimonies, or to bribing judges.

The quest for fame and fortune grows to be such a powerful demon with some individuals that, the thin line separating right from wrong, gets even thinner, eventually disappearing from their consciences. Then, one day, something, or someone will happen along and wake them up, making them realize what they’ve done. They’ll discover that they’re in so deep that they’ll not be able to see their way out of it. And please, don’t think that I’m defending Paul. He was wrong and he knows it. I’m just stating the facts as they are.

After Frederic’s last visit, Paul knew could not continue anymore. However, he had made a lot of enemies, and he knew too much. Living in Quebec was no longer safe.”

 

“A stronger reason why you should stay!” Ovide said.

 

“I think you’re running after more grief by returning,” added Martha.

 

Paul got up from his seat and slowly walked to the edge of the bar and turned his back to it. He faced everybody like he used to face the twelve members of the jury when he was pleading a case, delivering his closing statement.

 

“I can’t live this way anymore, in fear and shame. I am ashamed that I abused my position and have tarnished the profession. As soon as we arrive back home, I’ll do everything in my power to rectify some of the wrongs I’ve done. I intend to expose all the judges that have unscrupulously taken bribes from me. They also have a debt to pay. I know of some young attorneys and judges that have never touched dirty money. They will jump on this rare opportunity to make a name for themselves, by creating an investigating commission. Both Grace and I are aware of the risks. I know she’s with me and that she understands how important it is for me to regain my honour and self-respect.”

 

Nothing more could have been said that could have made Paul changed his mind. No one insisted further, now that they understood his motives.

_____________________

 

“Grace, wake up. We’ve just landed,” Paul said, gently nudging his sleeping wife.

 

“What? Already? That was a short flight!”  

_____________________

Paul and Grace were standing in front of the baggage carrousel of the airport. The flight may have appeared short, but unloading their baggage took nearly an hour. Clearing customs was their next step.

 

“How long will we be staying at the hotel?” Grace asked.

 

“No longer than necessary. I thought we’d take a room at the hotel for tonight, but I’ve been thinking of another possible long-term solution. You must remember Pierre, my childhood buddy. I think I have spoken to you about him. We spent many summer vacations at his parents’ cottage when I was in High School. I believe I still have his phone number somewhere in my luggage. If my memory serves me well, it was about five years ago when I last heard from him. Apparently, his father had a fatal car accident. Pierre was with him at the time. Pierre survived, but now he’s permanently confined to a wheelchair.”

 

Paul reached over the carrousel to grab their luggage off, as it passed in front of them. He stacked the heavy suitcases onto a cart, and then proceeded towards the Customs’ counter.

 

“I’ll give Pierre a call as soon as we clear Customs.” 

____________________

 

“Pierre? Pierre Martin? It’s Paul, that’s right, Paul Montreuil!  How are you? Yes, I heard about your accident and your Dad. I’m terribly sorry. We haven’t talked to each other for quite some time. Listen, my friend Pierre! I’m presently in a bit of a bind… financially that is. I’m looking for a place where my wife and I can stay for a short time. I’d thought of your father’s cottage where we used to go in the summer. Is it vacant? I mean…  if you still have it?”

 

Pierre was happy to hear from Paul. He said that he still had the cottage. But, because he had not been back since his accident, he had no idea what condition it would be in.  He told Paul that it was his for as long as he needed it. He reminded Paul that the key was in the same place, in a small jar, under the porch.

 

Pierre hung up without adding another word. Only the noise of the coin falling through the pay phone mechanism indicated to Paul that the conversation ended.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 17

Martine’s Dilemma

 

Martine was again sitting at Rodrigue’s table. Curiously, no one else had dared to sit at this table since the day the old man died. It was understandable. The same person had occupied that seat for over fifty years, making it almost a sacred spot. Since Martine had vowed to continue writing in his journal, she felt no compunctions, nor disrespect to Rodrigue’s memory, by occupying his chair.

 

An entire month had gone by since her last entry in the old book and this entry would not be easy. The return of her in-laws to Canada had left a void in her life. She could not foresee the day when they would be reunited again.

 

Business at the bistro was doing fairly well, but had not increased in activity during the holiday season. It was obvious that this year’s Christmas spirit had been dampened by the death of old Rodrigue in the fall.

 

Ovide had thought that it would not be appropriate to organize his traditional New Year’s Eve dinner this year. Many patrons of the bistro were disappointed, but most understood and respected his decision. It was the first time they did not get together on New Year’s Eve, for as long as anyone could remember.

 

Martine feared she would find nothing worth recording for this month, but sitting in Rodrigue’s chair always inspired her.

 

 

 

Monday, June 1st, 1981

 

I believe I can better understand why Rodrigue wrote only once a year. I find it difficult to extract the happy events, from all the events of this month.

 

If happy events were to impact our lives with the same force as unhappy ones do, I think that our lives would be far more pleasant. There would be equilibrium.

 

The sooner we develop a method to manage this balancing act, our outlook on life will be more meaningful. In all, happiness is simply a question of reaching, and maintaining this equilibrium. However, I am learning that it also means making compromises.

 

The analogy that best represents this equilibrium is like looking at a simple scale with a center fulcrum and two pans. If it were possible to place in the left pan, all the positive events of the day, and in the right pan, the negative events, ideally, one would certainly hope that the left pan would be heavier. Or, at least, that both balance against each other… equilibrium.

 

However, it is never like that; one pan always seems to be heavier than the other. To me, that is the core of the problem. What can we do to re-establish this equilibrium or better still, how can we make the positive side, heavier?

 

Which pan is heavier, is only a question of weight. In our particular case, happy events versus unhappy events, the weight as I see it, is the amount of importance we award to the positive and negative events. Except for the great tragedies of life, most are simple events and it is we that make them more, or less bearable.

 

“The Hidden Face of Happiness” that has revealed itself to me this month, weighs a lot in the left pan of the balance. My father-in-law, Paul Montreuil has recovered his sense of justice and honour. In the weeks to come, he will be pleading the most important case of his career.

He will try to restore the respect of our judicial system that he has tarnished. His courage to engage in such a battle honours him and impresses me enormously!

 

Martine

__________________

 

“Martine!” Frederic called from the bar, “…it’s getting late. If you’ve finished with your journal, I’d like to lock up and go home. It has been a long day and I’m totally exhausted.”

 

“I’m coming, Frederic. I’m also quite tired.  Since you brought it up, let me say that lately, I’ve had more difficulties completing my chores. I seem to tire so easily these days. Our schedules are much too demanding. From seven in the morning to sometimes, past midnight… and this, seven days a week… and never a day off, except the odd weekend… it’s just too much for anybody. We hardly ever get to see our daughter. This kind of life is not normal for a young couple like us. Maybe we should hire some help for a while. I could use a break.”

 

“You’re right, Martine. We’re working ourselves to death. The business is relatively prosperous. I think that we can afford hiring help for three to four days a week. I’ll look into it in the morning.”

 

Martine was relieved that Frederic agreed with her. She embraced him tenderly.

 

“You’re such a good man, Frederic and I love you so very much. You must know by now that it’s not my habit to complain for nothing. It’s probably because of this overwhelming fatigue that I’ve been late for the last two months. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

 

Frederic was stunned. Holding her by the shoulders, he pushed her back and held her at arm’s length.

“What! You’re late, and you’re just telling me now! Have you forgotten what your doctor told you? Don’t you realize the consequences of another pregnancy?” Frederic raised his voice, visibly upset with the news.

 

“You knew the consequences, too. I’m not the only one responsible, you know!” she turned her back to him and crossed her arms over her chest like a spoiled child who’s been refused permission.

 

Frederic came up to her, stood close to her back and put his arms around her waist, gently caressed her, to show her that he welcomed the good news.

 

“Please forgive me, Martine. It was the shock that made me say those stupid things. Hurting you is the farthest thing from my mind. I’m also exhausted and stressed out.”

 

“I’ll see my gynaecologist tomorrow. I’ll make my decision then,” she responded without turning around, still peeved by her husband’s initial reaction.

_________________

 

Doctor Leblanc’s waiting room was full. All available chairs were occupied.  Martine had to wait standing up, until finally, the receptionist called out the name of the next patient scheduled to see the doctor. Martine quickly took the empty seat.

 

Martine came to see her doctor as she had said she would do the very next morning after telling her husband of her suspected condition. Because she had just walked in without an appointment, she had to wait over an hour.

 

“Is it your first one?” asked the only woman who was still waiting to be seen by the doctor, “…this is my fourth!  My husband would like me to have a couple more yet!” she chuckled.

 

“No, it’s my second. I mean… I think so… I’m not sure yet. It’s my first consultation.” Martine said, and then went to take a seat next to the nice lady. She wanted to ask her a few pertinent questions, “…your fourth! You seem delighted. I’m happy for you. How do you manage with three others at home?”

 

“Yes, my dear. I’m expecting to give birth any day now and if it’s like the others, it’ll be quick,” she answered with a radiant smile, “…how do I manage, you ask? This is a difficult question. Frankly, I don’t know, I really don’t have an answer, but what I do know is, that each day comes with its little and not so little problems. Somewhere, somehow, a solution appears as if there was somebody watching over us. I’m fortunate to have a good man for a husband and the children are old enough to understand, and help me out. Something magical happens to women that are blessed with children, like me. We see life very differently, nothing is dramatic. As for myself, I’m never more serene as when I’m expecting.”   

 

“Is that so?” Martine responded.

 

“What about yourself, young lady! You believe that you’re expecting for a second time, if I understood correctly. Is that what you want? Would you be happy if you are pregnant?” she asked.

 

 

“I honestly don’t know anymore. When Françoise was born, about five years ago, my doctor told me that another pregnancy could be fatal for the baby, and me. I would like so much to have another one, but I’m afraid, I fear the worst.”

 

“Poor you! Don’t you know that the best doctors make mistakes sometimes? I only had my first child four years after my marriage. The doctors had sworn that I would never have children. I guess their crystal ball was a little foggy. Personally, I leave the important decisions to destiny. Maybe I’m a bit gullible. Nevertheless, I firmly believe that what is meant to happen will happen, whether we want it to, or not. And we’re not likely to ever find out why, either.”

 

Martine remained silent and contemplated what the woman had said. She recalled Frederic saying the same thing when they first met.

“Madame Montreuil! Please follow me!” called the receptionist…

 

Martine got up from her seat. She gave her conversation partner a warm handshake and wished her well. Then, she picked up her purse and followed the receptionist to the examining room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 18

The New Life

 

It was a glorious afternoon. The hot rays of the sun were reflecting on the ripples in the lake directly in front of the cottage that Paul and Grace now occupied.

 

Initially, they were disappointed when they first arrived at the cottage.  It was in poor condition. Soon they realized that it was nothing that a few nails and screws, some paint, and a good cleaning could not fix.

 

No one had lived in the cottage during the last few years, so a good cleaning and some repairs were to be expected. At least, they had a roof over their heads.

 

They did not waste a single minute. They went to work to make it liveable. Grace took charge of the cleaning. She washed the floors, took down the all the cobwebs that hung in every corner of every room, washed out the cupboards, and bathroom.

 

The old antique furniture revealed its true beauty when it was rid of the layers of dust. Paul took care of the exterior. He prepared a list of what required his immediate attention. There were a few lose boards on the porch that needed to be nailed down. A couple of shutters were hanging off their hinges. The house needed to be painted, the grass needed cutting and the bushes needed to be trimmed.  He remembered that Pierre’s mother used to have beautiful flowers, but there weren’t any now. He made a note to restore the flower garden.

 

Paul remembered that the small tool shed, next to the cottage, had all the equipment he needed for the minor repairs.

 

After a week, the cottage had taken on a refreshing new look. Grace had found some canvas in an old linen chest in the attic. She used it to repair the garden swing on the porch. Paul had cleaned and painted the rusty old metal frame of the swing.

 

They sat, side by side, on the squeaky garden swing, relaxing and enjoying their newly painted porch. As they swung, they gazed out over the lake in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

 

Both had adapted to the new lifestyle. Grace had discovered talents she never imagined she had. Repairing the canvas swing was the first time she had ever held a needle. Both her knees were blistered from kneeling to scrub the floors with a brush. The sweet, lingering scent of the expensive imported perfume she once wore was replaced with the heady, natural aroma of the fresh country air.

 

Paul was surprised by his ability as a handyman. He had always insisted, jokingly, that he did not know which end of the hammer to grasp. He was proud of what they had accomplished in restoring the cottage and grounds to their former beauty.

 

Hard physical labour was a new experience for both of them, and they were learning to appreciate its rewarding benefits. They were grateful to have been given a second chance.

 

Paul and Grace had traveled the personal avenues that they thought led to happiness.  Insidiously, these avenues had led them in opposite directions. However, during the chain of events that followed Paul’s disbarment, and the ensuing hardships, they both did a lot of soul-searching, and had re-evaluated their quest for happiness.

 

Today, they were delighted with their new lives, which allowed their respective avenues to converge. They were as happy as young lovers. They realized that they had wasted so many years. But, now they were in the process of once again, discovering each other more intimately than they ever had before.

 

In the past, the real face of their happiness had been hidden from them by the overwhelming power of fame, fortune, and their opulent lifestyle.  Now, together, they were gradually unveiling the many hidden faces of happiness, and were evaluating what each one meant to them.

 

 

“Tomorrow, I’m meeting with a member of the policing committee of the Barreau du Quebec,” Paul calmly announced, “…I’ll walk up to the main highway, then take the bus to the village. That’s where we’ve agreed to meet… I don’t want anyone to find out exactly where we live.

_______________

 

Paul and the representative from the Barreau, Maurice Dumont, had agreed to meet at the restaurant in the village. By reputation, Paul knew the young attorney he was speaking with, to be an honourable man, and knew he had knocked on the right door. It was he, who had served Paul the subpoena, advising him of his impeachment.

 

“Maître Montreuil… I’m sorry, Monsieur Montreuil. Why did you ask me to meet you here, in this remote village?”

 

Before answering, Paul glanced furtively around the restaurant to make sure that they were not being observed. He moved in closer to the young lawyer.

 

“I want to let you in on some alarming revelations that will shock you, I’m sure! And when they become public, they’ll create an uproar the likes of which this province has never witnessed before,” Paul began, “… but let me straighten out one thing first, if you will. There’s a point that must be very well understood. I admit that I deserved to be stricken from the Barreau du Quebec. So, what you’re about to learn must not be interpreted as an act of vengeance. I made a mockery of our judicial system in my time, however, I did not operate alone, yet, I was the only one who was made to pay. The reprehensible, unconscionable acts for which I was condemned are more prevalent in the halls of justice, than you may know. I realize now, that this malignancy must be stopped before our judicial system is completely destroyed.”

 

Paul was aware that he had Maurice Dumont’s complete attention.  He carried on as he used to do, when he was pleading a difficult criminal case.

 

“Many unscrupulous attorneys do what I did in resorting to dishonest, unorthodox methods to defend their clients. Amongst other ways, they bribe judges. I know what I’m talking about. I have personally dealt with a lot of them.”

 

Paul remembered when Maurice Dumont had served him his impeachment papers, just over a year ago. He remembered the disgust on Maurice’s face. Paul knew that at one time, Maurice had held him in great esteem, which made it so much harder for both men when they met under those extraneous circumstances. Maurice had made no attempt to hide his bitterness and contempt for Paul.

Paul had taken a calculated risk in asking Maurice Dumont to meet him, but he knew of no one else he could entrust with the task of undertaking a public inquest. Paul reasoned that the best man for the job would be the one who despised him the most. Besides, a case such as this would catapult the young Dumont’s career. Paul felt he owed him that much.

 

 “So, what do you want from me?” Dumont asked with an edge to his voice.

 

“I want you to start a public inquiry!” 

 

“Why me?  Surely you know someone else who would be more qualified that I am.”

 

“But no one who detests me as much as you do,” Paul retorted.

 

“What?”

 

“Your contempt for me will make you more motivated than anyone else. Will you do it?”

 

“I would have to work with you, wouldn’t I?”

 

“If you agree to do it… yes. Think you can handle that, Maurice?”

 

Maurice Dumont agreed. Paul pulled his chair a little closer to Maurice. With his foot, he slid a briefcase across the floor towards the leg of Maurice Dumont’s chair. Then, in a muted tone, explained the contents to him.

 

“Inside the briefcase, at the foot of your chair, are some documents and a cassette that I have prepared for you. First, listen attentively to every detail on the cassette. Then compare the references on the tape with the supporting documentation. It’s all there! Once you’ve gone through all this information, make up your mind if you want to continue working with me on this dangerous venture. If you refuse, I’ll understand.”

 

“Where can I reach you, Monsieur Montreuil?”

 

 “I’ll get back to you in a week’s time for your answer. If you accept, we will meet again somewhere other than here. We’ll have to be extremely careful. We must avoid being seen together too often. You’ll understand the magnitude of the situation, once you’ve gone through the material I’ve given you. You won’t be alone, we’ll work together.  You must expect to be under a lot of pressure from your peers. You’ll discover that the underworld has long tentacles and will stop at nothing, if it suspects that it’s under investigation.”

 

Paul hesitated for a moment.

 

“Perhaps, I’m asking too much from you, Maurice. I’m not sure that you’ll want to risk your career… and maybe even your life? I urge you to analyze all the information in your possession, so you’ll understand what you’re getting into.”

 

“Monsieur Montreuil…”

 

“Please, Maurice, call me Paul.”

 

“Okay. Paul, I don’t need to listen to any cassettes, nor read the documentation before making my decision. I’m with you. In spite of what you did in the past, I appreciate that you are now trying to set things right.”

 

“That is fine, Maurice. I’ll remain in the background to avoid suspicion. No one must make the connection between you and me. The element of surprise is our greatest weapon. Apart from the information in the briefcase, you will need to gather evidence to build a solid case without any loopholes. That’s where it could get dangerous. The stakes are high. The people involved are powerful and have a lot of influence. They’ll fight back with all their might if they even suspect they are under investigation. Be careful! Very, very, careful!”

 

Paul reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulled out a two-dollar bill, and tossed it on the table to pay for the coffee. They both rose and shook hands. The young lawyer scooped up the briefcase, and both left the restaurant without saying another word.

__________________

 

Back at the cottage with his wife, Paul was elated. With excited gesturing, he described every detail of his meeting with the young attorney.

 

Grace did not share her husband’s enthusiasm.

 

“What’s the matter, Grace? I thought you understood how important this is to me… to both of us.”

 

“I do understand. It’s just that I’m afraid that this crusade of yours will end up causing us more grief,” Grace replied, “…I thought you were happy here, away from all the ghosts of the past. No sooner has the dust settled, and there they are again, coming back to haunt us. Why dredge it all up again and disturb the tranquil life we have found here? When will it ever end, Paul? When?”

 

“Grace, please!”

 

“Are you really convinced that we will not be caught in the backlash, as you say? Let me tell you, Paul, I’m not prepared to relive the fear and anguish of possible reprisals all over again!”

 

“Don’t worry, Grace,” he answered with assurance, “…I’ve been preparing this move for a long time and with more precaution than for any of the criminal cases I ever had to plead. I’ve calculated every possible angle. I haven’t neglected a single detail, and I’ve left absolutely nothing to chance.”

 

“Maybe you have looked after every detail, but why go to all this trouble? What will you get out of it? There will be a public inquest. The media across the country will cover it. Many heads will roll. It won’t do any good, as far as I can see. The whole pattern will start over again, once the dust settles. So what’s the point?”  Grace said, “…in the meantime, our lives could be in peril.”

 

“You cannot imagine how important this inquest is for me. It’s the only way I know of, to recover my self-respect. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a monster. I’m ashamed of myself. I think of you, wondering if you have regretted your decision to stand by me. Wondering also how else I could redeem myself in your eyes. If, by proxy, I succeed in excising the malignancies from the judicial system, then I’ll be able to live with myself, knowing that I’ve done all that I could to repair some of the damage I have caused. Even if it’s only for a short time, others will not be tempted to do what I did. It’s my way of compensating for my crimes against society.”

 

“Please, Paul, don’t get me wrong, I understand more than you think.  Believe me; I’m proud of your noble intentions. I just hope that you haven’t endangered your well being, as well as mine. Don’t forget that you risk losing more than you may gain. I’ll repeat what I have said before, it’s your decision and I trust your good judgement.”

 

Paul walked up to Grace, and embraced her tenderly, something he had not done for a long time.

 

“I’m preparing to engage in battle, the most important one of my life, and I’m aware of what’s involved. But, what I’m trying to accomplish through this endeavour has a more meaningful purpose than to just regain my reputation, and satisfy my ego.”

 

Paul pulled his wife closer still, as if he wanted both of them to melt together as one. He whispered in her ear.

 

“I know this may sound a bit pretentious, but I’m doing it for you, and for me, so that you’ll find it easier to forgive me for all the wasted years. I want a new start for both of us, just like the one we had thirty years ago. I want to love you the same way I did when we first fell in love. I want to listen to what you have to say, to better understand the true meaning of happiness. If I can, I want to make up for lost time.”

 

Paul kissed his wife tenderly.

 

“All this could be possible, but only if I fight this battle. Grace, please, bear with me one more time. Help me defend my last case.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 19

The Return to the Island

 

The summer of 1981 was nearing its end. Martine and Frederic were planning to go back to the island one more time and wanted to bring young Françoise along for her first boat ride. This last week of August was the last of her vacation. School was to start soon.

 

The hot weather contributing, it had been a good business season at the bistro. The day following their brief argument at the bistro, Frederic and Martine had hired an inexperienced young woman to be a waitress. It would be less costly than hiring a professional, and Martine would look after her training.

 

Training Lucy was not an easy task. Lucy was an attractive girl, but heedless. She was willing to please, but had no flair in dealing with people, which was an essential element. Nevertheless, Martine took pity on her and kept her around. She devoted more time than she intended on Lucy’s training.

 

Martine and Frederic desperately wanted a short vacation before the good weather ended. However, Frederic felt that it was not wise to leave Lucy in charge of the bistro, so he had asked Ovide to supervise the new waitress for this one weekend.

 

Martine’s waistline had taken on a bit of volume and her five-month pregnancy was becoming prominent. She had decided to carry on with her pregnancy following the conversation she had a few months ago, with the lady she met in her doctor’s office. Ignoring the gynaecologist’s advice, she had brushed aside the possibility of an abortion. Martine had pondered over the philosophical words the woman had spoken, and her opinions regarding destiny.

 

However, Martha did not agree. Martha’s own brush with death taught her that one should not provoke fate. She was distraught by Martine’s decision to carry on with her pregnancy.

 

“You’re being stubborn, and you’re behaving irresponsibly!” Martha admonished her, “…obviously, Martine you haven’t thought of the possible consequences. Have you imagined for one instant that you might lose your life, and leave an orphan, and a widowed husband behind?”

 

Martha’s arguments were futile. Martine had made up her mind and with four months to go, it was too late to reconsider.

__________________

 

Martine had prepared enough food for the three of them to spend their three-day expedition on the island. They left early in the morning on Ovide’s small sail craft.      Françoise was very excited. This was her first time being out on the open sea. Little did she know that she was returning to the place where most likely, she was conceived.

 

The sailboat was loaded to its waterline limit with all of the equipment, food, Frederic, Martine, and Françoise. It was thoughtless and risky to undertake a voyage at this time. Ovide knew that, during this time of year, the weather was fickle in this part of the country. He had warned Frederic and Martine of the possible dangers.

 

“Don’t worry, Dad, we’re only sailing to the island,” Martine said reassuringly.

 

“I’m concerned about the load in the boat. It may be too much. It’s not that far, Martine, why don’t you make it in two trips? Let Frederic transport the supplies and food first, and then he can take you and Françoise on the second trip,” Ovide tried to insist.

 

Martine and Frederic had chosen to ignore his warning. Nevertheless, Frederic had evenly spread out the load in the small boat. Martine sat in the center of the craft, close to the mast, Françoise, in front for a better view, and Frederic at the helm. The sea was not calm, but neither was it overly agitated. However, they all had put on their life jackets.

 

As the small craft pulled further away from the shore, the winds became stronger, the waves, rougher. The further out they went, the stronger the intensity of the wind, and the higher the swell of the waves. Waves battered the sides of the small craft, sending up sprays of salty seawater, drenching the occupants of the sailboat. They were being tossed about mercilessly. The wind had filled the sails, and the boat had picked up considerable speed… too much speed, in Frederic’s opinion.

 

“Mama, I’m scared!” Françoise yelled over the roar of the wind and waves.

 

Martine was trying to quell her daughter’s fear, and told her to hang on tight to keep her from being tossed overboard into the raging sea.

 

What was meant to be a pleasant journey was turning out to be a traumatic nightmare. Martine had problems enduring the rocking from all sides. She was desperately trying to control a rising nausea that was amplifying with every swell and drop of the sea.

 

“Frederic!” she shouted loudly, against the howling winds, “…please turn back! I’m afraid!”

 

“We can’t go back! We’re too far out. I’m afraid we’ll capsize if I try to turn around. We’ll have to ride it out.”

“Grab the anchor rope and tie yourselves securely to the mast,” Frederic bellowed above the whistle of the wind through the sails, and the pounding of the sea.

 

Martine, a little less agile than before, held onto the mast with one hand and reached over to grab the anchor’s rope, while trying valiantly to reach for her daughter’s arm. She couldn’t make it, she was too far, and Françoise would not let go the end of the sail’s rope. Though Martine begged, the child was petrified. She was frozen in a crouched position within inches from Martine’s reach.

 

From where he was stationed at the helm, trying to keep control of the boat, and also of himself, Frederic was helpless. In desperation, he cried out a loud command to his daughter to move over to the center of the boat.

 

“Françoise! Let go the rope and go to your mother. Crawl on your belly on the bottom of the boat. Come on, girl! Do it now!” Frederic bellowed, leaving her no choice, but to obey.

 

Françoise finally abandoned her grasp on the rope and crawled right into her mother’s outstretched arms. Martine helped the girl up and secured the anchor rope around the foot of the mast, and around Francoise’s waist, as well as around her own.

 

At last, over the horizon, the silhouette of the island began to loom before them. Frederic breathed a little easier. He was scared, as sacred as Martine and Françoise were, but managed to hide his fear.

 

“Just a few hundred yards more!”  Frederic shouted.

 

The landing on the sandy beach was brutal. The speed of the sailboat was too high. Frederic wanted to lower the sails, but could not afford to leave the rudder unattended, and Martine was in no shape to help, tied as she was, to the mast.

 

Thanks to the rope wrapped around them and the mast, they avoided being propelled on the beach by the sudden and abrupt stop. Frederic was not as lucky; he could not hold onto the rudder, and flew over both his wife and daughter. In his flight, he smashed his head on the metal moorings of the mast and landed on the beach, inches from a very large rock that was half buried in the sand.

 

Martine rushed to untie Françoise and herself from the mast, and then ran over to her husband who was bleeding from a nasty looking gash on his forehead. She ran back to the boat for the first aid kit, and then dressed his wound. He got up with great difficulty, and sat on a tree stump for a moment. He was still stunned, and complained of a terrific headache.  They were all shaken up, but thankful to have made it safely to shore.

Frederic returned to the boat in order to secure the anchor rope around the rock that he landed next to when he had been catapulted from the boat.

 

“Lucky I didn’t crack my head on this rock when I landed!”

___________________

 

Everyone had slept surprisingly well that night, in spite of the turbulent beginning to their weekend. Frederic slept on the floor, while Martine and her daughter shared the small bed. However, Frederic had made sure they brought enough blankets, this time.

The wound on Frederic’s forehead had bothered him for a good part of the night. Finally, he had fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, and was still sleeping, while Martine prepared breakfast.

 

Martine had lit a campfire. The aroma of fresh coffee was permeating the area. Young Françoise appeared to be no worse for the tumultuous ride from the previous day. She was concentrating on spearing pieces of bread on the pointy tip of a thin branch, which she then intended to toast over the open fire.

 

“Mama, will the ride back be like yesterday?”

 

“No, Françoise. The return will be a lot easier. Yesterday, we were caught off guard by a few unusual high gusts of wind that were not forecasted,” Marine responded, recalling her father’s warnings, which they had chosen to ignore.

 

“You’ve no reason to worry; try to put yesterday out of your mind, and enjoy today.  Your dad will get up soon. After breakfast, he’ll tour the island with you. And just wait until you see all the nice fancy shells you can find on this beach,” Martine said, remembering the treasures she used to find along the seashore.

 

Almost as she spoke, Frederic emerged from the hut. Still dazed from the blow to his head, he stumbled a little. Whenever he moved his head a little too quickly, he felt dizzy. As he sat by the fire drinking his coffee, Martine cleaned his wound with warm seawater and applied a clean bandage.

 

“I must commend you on you remarkable sailing skills. I thought I was good, but I don’t think I could have navigated us through yesterday’s event. Thank you, Frederic,” Martine said and kissed him.

 

Just as they had hoped, the remainder of their excursion had been wonderful. The return trip had been uneventful, and Françoise had recovered her peace of mind. She was already asking her father when they could go back to the island.

__________________

“Good morning, father!” Martine said cheerfully, as she walked into the bistro.

 

” Morning, Martine! How was your weekend?”

 

“Absolutely marvellous!” she answered.

 

Martine told her father all about their enjoyable holiday, but left out the part about the trip to the island. She didn’t want to hear,  “I told you so”, this morning.

 

Martine had learned a few lessons this past weekend and was looking forward to recording them in the journal. When her father left, she poured herself a mug of coffee and took a seat at Rodrigue’s table.

 

Tuesday, September 1st, 1981

 

Today, I could write about several events, but I will only relate those that are happy, as the spirit of this journal requires.

 

Our young family has just lived through a weekend that ended well, after a frightfully bad start. I believe that luck was with us. We nearly perished at sea.

Fate was on our side. I understood from this horrible nightmare what survival is all about. I experienced the dreadful fright that overcomes us when we are faced with a life-threatening crisis. I realized that we are powerless to confront the forces of nature.

 

However, nobody needs to go sailing, to live through such life threatening experiences, to test his strength. Each day brings on new challenges…challenges that, it is said, are never greater than what we can overcome.

As far as I am concerned, this month, the hidden face of happiness was to have gone through our traumatic voyage to the island, and to have arrived unscathed. Another hidden face of happiness is being capable of believing in destiny and keeping our hopes high, during the worst, and most trying moments.

Martine

 

Martine closed the old journal with great care, got up and walked to the counter. She slid the book into the small drawer where all the important documents of the bistro were kept.

 

Suddenly, the front doorbell rang. It was Frederic coming in a little later than usual. He walked up to her and embraced her tenderly.

 

“Did you sleep well? Is your headache gone?” Martine asked, while gently brushing aside a strand of hair to uncover Frederic’s wound.

 

“It’s healing nicely. There’s no sign of infection, thanks to your nursing skills. My headache is gone, too. Is Lucy in yet?”

 

“She should be in anytime now, she’s always punctual. Why did you ask, Frederic?”

 

“Because I want you to go back home and rest. You have to follow the doctor’s recommendations, you know!”

 

Just as he had completed saying this, the front door opened and Lucy walked in with her usual smile.

 

“Good morning, Martine! Good morning, Frederic! It looks like a lovely day in the making,” she said cheerfully.

 

“Good morning Lucy!” they answered in unison.

 

“I’ll work the bar today, and you can work the floor, Lucy. I’m sending Martine back home; she must follow the doctor’s orders, and rest more.”

 

Martine kissed her husband and left. Lucy went directly to the small kitchen behind the bar to slip into her waitress uniform and frilly apron. She came out of the kitchen and sashayed back to the counter with both hands behind her back, fumbling with the ribbon ties on her tiny apron.

 

“Come here, and I’ll tie it for you,” Frederic offered.

 

He stepped behind her and waited for her to hand over the ties, but coyly, she had let them fall. Frederic reached around her slim waist; his face was brushing against Lucy’s silky brown hair. The heady sweet aroma of her perfume was bewitching. Frederic’s hands were still stabbing blindly at Lucy’s thighs, searching for the thin ribbons. Both bodies were in close contact.

Lucy stood motionless, doing nothing to discourage him, she wanted him, and she was fairly sure that he wanted her also.

 

From the time Martine announced her second pregnancy, Frederic had avoided intimate contact with her because he was afraid to do anything that might put Martine at risk of having a miscarriage. It was a sacrifice he felt he had to make.

 

However, he still had needs, and here was Lucy, so pretty, so slim, and just as ready to jump into his embrace, as she thought he was.

 

Frederic had only offered to tie her apron ribbons. Now, that innocent gesture was taking a different turn. Frederic’s heartbeat accelerated at a crazy rhythm when Lucy slid around to face him, an inch away from his mouth. She gazed intensely into his eyes, reading in them, consent. She did not try to conceal the fact that she also wanted him.

Seizing the moment, he brought his hands up and rested them on her hips. He pulled her close. Suddenly, the doorbell was sounded by the arrival of their first customer.

 

They both let out an audible gasp of guilt, and separated quickly. Frederic recovered his composure while Lucy ran into the kitchen. The patron’s arrival was well timed. It stopped Frederic from making a unforgivable error. He was mere moments away from cheating on his wife for the first time.

 

With his passions back in check, he promised himself that it was the first, and last time he would ever allow that to happen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 20

The Lesson

 

The front pages of all the newspapers across the province were covering the scandalous details of the corrupt magistrates’ lives. By proxy, Paul had played a key role in their downfall.

 

Though Paul had hoped that his name would not be mentioned during the inquest, he was remembered as having been involved in the scandal, and was therefore summoned to testify in court. He had contemplated that possibility, but had hoped it would not come to that. His testimony would certainly rile the accused. In exchange for his testimony, he was promised protection.

 

The attorneys representing the accused judges had rapidly deduced that Maurice Dumont was not working alone. He knew far too much. They knew of only one person who was an expert on the underworld, who might have a personal vendetta, and who could have been Maurice Dumont’s source of information. It didn’t take them long to make the connection between Maurice and Paul.

 

The magistrates, whose names had been mentioned on the tapes, held a meeting together. In desperation, they had concocted a series of accusations that were not related to the case at hand. Nevertheless, Paul could not find a way to counter the charges. The corrupt magistrates were out for ultimate revenge.

 

Luckily, the magistrate who presided over the investigating commission was of the old school. He knew Paul too well. He did not approve of what Paul had done in his quest to win cases, but he also knew where Paul drew the line. He never believed the other false accusations that had led to Paul’s ultimate ruin. The presiding magistrate admired the courage of the man who had paid the price for his own involvement. Exposing the corruption meant reliving the anguish for a second time. The judge could not help, but admire Paul.

The inquest was long. With well-documented facts, and incontestable testimonies by numerous witnesses, the presiding judge decided they had more than enough ammunition to impeach those involved, so in the end, Paul’s testimony was not needed. The presiding judge had decided to spare him that grief.

 

When the final verdict came in, seven high profile magistrates had been impeached. Four others resigned.

 

During the inquest, as well as in the aftermath, came the tabloid sensation seekers, and magazine publishers. Paul received many interesting offers for his memoirs. Again, he regained his fame, and his financial situation improved. He was careful not to let the fame go to his head this time, and so maintained his humble lifestyle. He bought the cottage that his school buddy Pierre had so kindly loaned him.

 

Grace and Paul made plans to go to France the moment the publishing contract was completed. Their extenuating journey had finally come to an end. The prospect of a new life could not be any brighter.