The Empty Nest Pt. 01

"I have organized Bistro Delia to bring dinner to us tonight so you don't have to cook. We have something to celebrate!" I said brightly.

"You need not think you're getting back into the bedroom tonight." she replied, taking the wine and flowers into the kitchen.

Dinner was nice and after we had finished the mains, I got our dessert. Also on the tray, I placed the deposit slip for the bank account with the account numbers on it. On top of that was two brand new credit cards linked to the account.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" she asked bitterly, holding up the cards.

"No. I can assure you they are very real."

"What did you do, rob a bank?" Sarcasm dripped from her tongue.

"Actually, I won the lottery!"

"You won ten million dollars in the lottery?" Rachel's mood rapidly improved.

"No!" Her face dropped, "I won twenty million dollars!"

Rachel jumped to her feet screaming. "Oh my god! Oh my god! We are rich! Arrrghh!"

She ran around the room then came towards me, jumping on my lap and knocking us both onto the floor.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! France here we come! We won't have to rent a villa we could buy one!"

This was what I had been afraid of, and the reason for my reluctance to tell Rachel the full amount.

"You can do what you want with your money, dear," I said.

She sat up like a snake that had been cornered. Her eyes bored into mine.

"You do know the old saying about marriage, honey." Sarcasm dripped from the "honey". "What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine."

I had thought about how to bring Rachel gently back to reality on this. Could I keep the beast under control?

"That's such an old fashion notion," I replied through gritted teeth.

I didn't have to worry, Rachel was off in a dream world with a whimsical smile on her face.

"I can't wait to tell Audrey we are going to France! Oh my god! Marjorie will be so jealous!" She rolled on the floor hugging herself.

I righted my chair and sat down again to enjoy my dessert. Rachel got up and grabbed the cordless phone before sitting down opposite. She immediately called her sister and talked between mouthfuls of dessert.

The next couple of weeks were great. With my debts a thing of the past, I was a lot happier. I found I enjoyed getting up and going to work! It's weird, I didn't need to work, but now it seemed less of a chore.

Rachel was in her element, organizing a holiday for us. She was on the internet checking flights, accommodation, and tours. She got her hair done, legs waxed, eyebrows tinted, nails manicured - any excuse to get into the high street and tell people of her stroke of luck.

With Rachel's loose lips, we did receive some unwanted attention from some unsavory characters with tales of woe or unbelievable business opportunities. All had one thing in common, the need for us to give them money. I politely declined.

I did help out some friends, though they all told me they didn't need it. I assured them it wasn't a gift, merely a loan; I just wasn't going to charge them interest. They were happy with that. I also gave the girls 500,000 each, on the proviso that it was invested in something solid and not just blown on frivolous things.

Our marriage was back on track, well back on the same track as before. We were sleeping in the same room again, and our improved moods had even led to some vigorous make up sex. Had we turned a corner? I loved Rachel. Maybe I didn't lust after her like I did, but I could picture us sitting on our back deck watching our grandchildren splashing in the pool. We had been through a lot together, and I knew she hadn't deserved the things I had said in the month before.

My good mood was disturbed when one night we had just finished dinner and Rachel presented me a folder containing our holiday itinerary. It was a weighty tome and had obviously taken a lot of work. However, I was reading the summary at the front and I struck the first snag.

"We are going to be busy fitting all this in." was my first comment on the three A4 pages full of activities.

"Don't worry, I've left plenty of rest days so we have plenty of energy," she replied.

Then I checked the dates. "Rachel? This holiday goes for seven months!"

"Yes! Won't that be fantastic?" Rachel gushed.

"I can't take that much time off! It will be the end of the financial year in four months and we are always swamped before that!" I said, more abruptly than I should have.

"We're rich! You don't have to work! Just sell the business, or employ some more associates!"

Sensing things were getting heated again, I tried to defuse things and keep my tone conciliatory.

"I like my job. I built the business up from nothing. I am looking for extra staff, but I want to get the right people. Why don't we split this up and do two months now then another two early next year and so on."

It didn't work.

"You don't like me anymore do you! You go to work to avoid having to talk to me." Rachel's face was flushed as she stood.

That was painfully close to the truth some days, and the realization made me feel guiltier.

"Please dear, we can work something out. This is the first time I have seen what you have planned. Just sit down and let's talk his through." Again, my calmness didn't have the effect I wanted.

Rachel grabbed the folder out of my hands. "I'm going for seven months! You can do whatever you want!"

With that, she stormed off and I heard the bedroom door slam.

Obviously, things were a little rough again for the next couple of days. Eventually, I worked out a compromise. I would leave with Rachel, but would only stay two and a half months. Then I would come home and her sister would fly out to travel with Rachel for the rest of the trip. At my expense.

Holiday time came quickly and we were off on the first leg of our journey. In spite of all that had happened before, we really had a great time. I got caught up in Rachel's enthusiasm and was swept along as we hopped through North Africa. Starting in Morocco, Algeria, Egypt, and then Turkey. We took a cruise on the Aegean Sea to Greece, then on the Mediterranean again to Italy. Starting at the "toe," we worked our way up until I flew back home from Geneva, Switzerland. I was tempted to stay longer, but Rachel's sister flew in to meet us in Milan and after two days of me being the third wheel on their shopping trips, I was relieved to be heading home.

Once at home, I was straight to work. A backlog had built up in my absence, so with Rachel away, I put in long hours to get caught up. I rang every second day to catch up with the news from the travelers. The weeks flew by in a blur of work and sleep. In no time, it was almost time for the tourists to return. For their last two weeks, they were in the south of France crisscrossing Provence in search of markets and bargains.

It was late on Sunday afternoon and I had been at home preparing to slap a steak on the BBQ when the phone rang. It was Rachel.

"Good morning dear, it is morning isn't it?" I asked.

"Yes it's almost eight am."

"Where are you today?"

"In Avignon, we arrived last night and had a lovely dinner in a little restaurant near our hotel."

"Ready for more sightseeing?" I asked.

I was a little unsure as to why Rachel was ringing. Usually I rang first up in the morning so I caught them at the end of their day so they could tell me of their adventures.

"No, something different today. Ahh..Last night at dinner we met up with a local, and we got to talking about real estate."

"Oh," I responded. I think I knew then where this was heading.

"Everything is so cheap here at the moment! Jacques runs a small agency that deal exclusively with up market properties. He has offered to show us a couple of his better listings," Rachel gushed.

"Be careful dear, you didn't tell him you had won some money did you?"

"No! Do you really have to be so suspicious of everybody?" she replied defensively.

"Sorry, it's just I thought that they had rules to stop foreigners buying land in Europe."

"No, you don't know as much as you think you do. Anyone can buy a house in France! Anyway, you said it's my money and I can do what I want with it!" Rachel had built up a head of steam so I backed off.

"Alright dear, just be careful. Don't make any rash decisions."

"I never make rash decisions! I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Rachel ended the call abruptly.

And so our marriage took another step towards oblivion. The next week, Audrey came home but my wife stayed on. She was in negotiation to buy a villa near a little place called St Remy. It was massive, a tastefully renovated old stone house from the 1850s, sleeps 8 with large grounds and pool. In our phone conversations Jacques featured prominently. It was Jacques did this or Jacques said that. I hated him already without meeting or even seeing him.

Three weeks later, Rachel was the proud owner of a villa in St Remy de Provence called La Mas Bleus. This meant her return was further delayed as she had to buy furniture and organize some "minor" renovations. It was her money so she could do what she wanted with it, but I was concerned about this Jacques character.

Later in the week at work, I jumped online to look for private investigation agencies in the UK. I thought it would be best to be dealing with someone who spoke the same language.

I picked one out that had a professional looking website and stated that they worked all over Europe. I sent through an e-mail giving a rough outline of my desire to check into the personal and business background of a person my wife was dealing with in France. Also, I wanted a rundown of their fees and some idea of what the eventual cost might be.

I got a polite e-mail back suggesting I call to discuss it further. They didn't like to give even rough quotes as each inquiry was very different. They ranged from basic Internet searches to surveillance. I was given a number for one of the partners and a suggested Australian time to call of 10 pm.

That night I rang and got Mandy. Thinking she was a receptionist I asked to speak to her boss, but was soon put straight on who was the boss.

"Sorry, I'm ringing from Australia, I sent you an e-mail inquiring about your services in regards to doing a background check on somebody in France."

"Yes, Jeffery, wasn't it. I read what you sent, but we need some more specifics before we can let you know what it will cost. Who is the person? Where are they? And what do they do?" Her accent was definitely English, but it wasn't one of the pronounced ones like cockney or northern.

"The name I have is Jacques Legrand. He lives in Avignon France and he is supposed to be in real estate, but I can't seem to find him on the net as being involved with real estate in the area."

She asked for the spelling of the name and I gave it.

"What information do you want and why?"

"I want to know if he is dodgy in either his private or business life as my wife is presently in France spending large amounts of money on his advice."

"Do you suspect he may be having an intimate relationship with your wife?"

"Well... I... I hadn't really thought about that...I...that is my wife...well...she isn't young.

We have grown up children, you know," I spluttered.

"I'm sorry, Jeff, but I had to ask. If you suspect infidelity then we would definitely have to do some surveillance and price our quote accordingly. With what you have given me then, I think someone will have to go across the channel to do some local legwork. I'll ring you back tomorrow night same time with what we propose to do and an estimate of our costs"

"That would be great."

We disconnected after saying our goodbyes. I was left to ponder the possibility of Rachel and Jacques being lovers. She was a little overweight but not unattractive, but I just couldn't see it happening.

The next night, right on time, the phone rang.

"Mr. Jeffrey Waters?" a male voice asked with a clipped, English, private school tone.

"Yes."

"I'll just put you through to Ms. Waite."

There was a short interlude of elevator music.

"Jeffrey, its Mandy."

"Hi, how did you get on?"

"Well, we drew a blank with the usual Internet searches, which makes us believe the name may be false or has been recently changed."

"Oh.. So what's your plan, and what's the damage going to be?"

"I'm sure it will still be straight forward, but we will have to send someone to France to do some chasing up. If worse comes to worst, we will get his fingerprints from a glass at a cafe or something and get his identity that way. It will mean probably a week's work in France, and maybe a trip to Brussels if he turns out not to be a French national. So you should be prepared for a bill of five thousand pounds. It may not cost that much, but if we start to get near that figure then we would call and get further guidance."

"I see..," that was a little more than I thought but seemed fair.

"Do you want us to proceed, Jeff?"

"Yes, I think it would be best, it might put my mind at rest."

"Right! I have a few more questions for you, and before we start, we require a deposit of twenty five percent."

"Sure, how would you like that done."

"A direct bank deposit would be best. We will e-mail you a contract to sign with the bank details on it. Sign it, and send us back a copy, then when the money hits our account we will get cracking!"

"Great!"

"Just one more thing, Jeff, er...while we are over there, do you want us to check on your wife?"

"No, only her business dealings with Jacques. We have been married close to thirty years! I trust her, Mandy." In my head I was thinking that I would be the only one that could put up with her.

She asked some more questions about the villa Rachel had purchased and where Rachel was staying. Mandy said she would give me a verbal update in seven days and the final written report would probably take two weeks.

I would have forgotten about it except every time I spoke to Rachel his name popped up. It appeared he wasn't just a real estate expert but he was also knowledgeable about architecture and French provincial furniture. Is there anything this man can't do?

It seemed not.

Six days later, I was speaking to Rachel. She seemed distracted or preoccupied, so we didn't speak for long. When she put the phone down she mustn't have pressed the end button. I was about to hang up when I heard Rachel speak.

"Oh you are a naughty boy! Do you know who I was speaking to?"

A muffled voice replied and Rachel giggled.

"No, don't you stop! Oh yes, keep kissing me there!"

I had been wrong. Strangely, while upset, I'm not sure I was jealous. Maybe this was my way out. If I was being truthful, I had started this off when I won the money and decided to split it up. It couldn't get righteous about trust, but it still hurt.

"Ohhh, Jacques! That is so good!" A man of many talents, indeed.

I spied my mobile phone, and remembering its recording app, I grabbed it and started getting a record of her infidelity. It would make no difference to the outcome of any divorce, but it just seemed important at the time. It lasted for six minutes and mostly was just Rachel grunting and screaming yes and Jacques speaking in French.

The next day I called in sick to work and spent the day moping around the house feeling sorry for myself. I spoke to two of my daughters, who were very excited about their mother's purchase. Rachel had invited them all to spend Christmas there. I pretended I knew about it, but I was now wondering if I would even be invited.

At ten that night Mandy rang. We exchanged pleasantries, then it was down to business.

"Jacques Legrand isn't French, he is Belgian. It's not his real name, but he has been involved in real estate in France, just not in the southern part. It appears he left the Calais area in a hurry with a few angry husbands in pursuit but no major debts. He has a real estate brokering business registered in France but no office. He frequents affluent areas and tries to act as a middle man between agents and buyers for a cut of the action."

"I don't want his life story, I just want to know if he is dodgy!" I said curtly.

"Are you all right, Jeff? You seem upset." Mandy inquired.

"Yes! Yes! I'm fine I just want the bottom line!"

"Alright then, he hasn't done anything illegal that we can find, but he does work close to the edge. He was involved in the selling of some coastal land in Spain that wasn't completely kosher, but nothing has ever stuck to him. In this country we would call him a spiv, he does a bit of duckin' an divin' but nofin' to alert the old baily." Mandy put on a very convincing cockney accent for the last bit.

"And his personal life?" I asked gruffly.

"From the sound of your voice you know the answer to that." She left the statement hanging and when I didn't reply she continued,. "He has a thing for married women but he has never been married himself. From what we have gleaned, he is very successful, but after looking at a photo of him I cannot for the life of me see why."

That made me feel a little better; my mind had been placing him somewhere between Olivier Martinez and Jean Reno.

"Are you still there, Jeff?" Mandy's voice roused me from my thoughts.

"Yes, thanks for your work. Will you send me the bill with the report?"

"Bill first; when we get the money, you get the report. It looks like it will come in about three thousand pounds. Umm...do you want the photographs of them together?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Thanks, Mandy."

"Bye, Jeff."

I ended up taking the rest of the week off. Rachel rang a few times, but I let the answering machine take it. Nothing good would have come from us speaking. My daughter rang on the Saturday to check in as her mother hadn't been able to get me. I lied and said I'd been out of town.

I had listened to the recording a few times but was frustrated I didn't understand what he was saying. I don't know why I did it to myself, but I wanted to know what he said. I rang the local high school principal to see if they had a French teacher. They didn't but he thought that one of the geography teachers spoke French. He said he would find out on Monday and let me know. Obviously, he wanted to know why, but I just told him I needed something translated.

I got a text message from him Monday lunchtime telling me that Charlie could do it. When would I like it done? I sent back my place that evening and sent the address. That evening about six, the doorbell rang and I opened the door to find a thirty something woman in gym gear on the door step.

"Can I help you?" I enquired.

"Principal Jones said you needed help translating something in French. I'm Charlie!" She said, holding out her hand.

"Ohhh right..." I said, unable to hide my embarrassment. "Come in...I...er...I just thought when he said Charlie the geography teacher...you know I had a vision of an old beatnix with a leather jacket and well, you know... Not a girl!" I stammered as I led her into the kitchen living area.

"I'm hardly a girl, but thanks for the compliment. James said you were an accountant, and I've got to say you look like an accountant," she replied with a laugh.

I didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or insult.

"Sorry I'm a bit later than I thought I would be. I got caught up in a sparring session at the gym," Charlie said as she looked around taking in her surroundings.

"I'm afraid I am the one who should be sorry as the stuff I wanted translated, well it's probably not for you. I ..."

"Why?" Charlie butted in.

"Umm it's of a...umm - sexual nature." My face must have been bright red, I could feel it burning.

"Come on, I'm not a bashful virgin, you know." She laughed again. "What is it? A dirty book?" She seemed genuinely interested.