The Fall of France Follies

Adam Dumphy

Description

Little known to this day is the fact that the fate of France in the Phony War of 1939-40 was fought out as much in the salons of the ‘Faubourg’ as in the Chamber of Deputies or on the battlefields where there were no battles.

Two women who could be called the mistresses of the most powerful men in the French government waged a savage war, jousting for power and position to the degree that the German menace was at times secondary. A pout might remove a minister from office; a smile determine his replacement; a tear determine national policy.

These things are fact. In a from here on fictionalized account an elderly American experimenter in advanced wireless telegraphy is asked by British Intelligence to determine who is giving the Head of the French Government a great deal of bad information. With the aide of a renowned beauty of the haut monde, now however a convicted felon, he determines that the grandson of one of the mistresses is held captive by the Abwehr to force her to influence her man as they wish.

In the attempt to rescue the child and get him out of the country the old man proves that even in this chaos of corruption, graft and outright treason there can also be follies in both senses of the word.

 

Sujets

• Humor

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 28 mars 2005
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781463458676
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE FALL OF FRANCE FOLLIES
BY ADAM DUMPHY

© 2005 ADAM DUMPHY. All Rights Reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
First published by AuthorHouse 03/22/05
 
ISBN: 1-4184-9157-8 (sc)
ISBN: 9781463458676 (ebk)
 
Printed in the United States of America
Bloomington, Indiana
CONTENTS
The Hall Of Justice, Paris, France, May 1940. Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About The Author
 
For
 
 
Irene
 
And
 
Mair,
 
so like her.
 
 
  The Hall Of Justice, Paris, France, May 1940.   Chapter 1
She was a tall for a French woman, bone thin, and in any surroundings would have been noticed as striking, elegant. In these surroundings she sparkled like the Kohinoor diamond set on a background of grey and brown burlap. The grey walls and flooring, brown disfigured rails and desks, the somber atmosphere was oppressive. The only answering sparkle in the room was off the badges of the several marshals about the periphery holding back the spectators.
Even in a simple sheath of black with black hose and heels, practically no make up and a single strand of pearls, a huge bouffant hair style her only chic affectation, she still glittered.
Not handsome exactly, her features in repose were regular and pleasing. Her oft remarked beauty was in a spontaneity, a gayety that was not noticeable today.
Her attention was totally on the black robed figure behind the high bench at the head of the room.
“Madame Ariadne de Evre, a jury of your peers have found you guilty on two counts of conspiring to the sale or disposal of stolen goods. Inspector Renaurd here, has implied that these two are only a trifling few of many such. But still he requests leniency.”
At the name the woman might have stiffened slightly but her glance did not waver.
The high judge continued. “I see no cause for leniency since you refuse still to reveal the name of the man with whom you conspired. I then hereby sentence you to not less than two years and not more than five years on each charge to the Woman’s Prison at Entierre.”
At that the woman who had been silent throughout most of the last three day’s proceedings gasped slightly. It was the first time the multitude of observers had noted any emotion.
The judge continued. “The sentence to be begin immediately only if the Rehabilitation Petition which was presented to me in Chambers this morning is followed to fruition. I doubt that it will. Case dismissed.”
The sentencing had been at 11:15 AM but the woman was not taken back to the holding cell but in the company of a woman Marshal allowed a luncheon that she could not eat and sat apparently unaware of the passing time until 4:00 PM. Then she found herself in a cubby-hole office facing an obese, untidy woman who was, she vaguely understood, her Probation Officer.
Obese woman did not like her generally and this one was no exception. The woman glanced at her over heavy rimmed glasses, read interminably from papers on her desk and then began.
“I have no faith in this. I did my utmost to abort it. I was overruled. You are released on your own cognizance overnight. Tomorrow at 9:00 AM sharp you will report to 131 Rue Avierne, Apartment 42. If you do not appear or are even late you will be picked up by the local police and remitted to the woman’s prison.”
Stunned, unable to comprehend any of this, the tall woman was led out of the grey building to a cab. A few watchers on the street recognized her and while some cheered others shouted boos and cat calls.
Then at last she was home in the flat which her father and grandfather and his grandfather had occupied before her. Berthold was undoing her frock and running a hot bath, Philomen coming with her tisane and the neck rub to attempt to prevent the inevitable headache which was already starting.
 
 
  Chapter 2
131 Rue Avierne was in an old, old part of the city which had been rebuilt in the last fifteen years into modest apartment complexes. 131 had over one hundred apartments alone in one ugly, square, cement-block building with half a dozen entrances not including the garage.
Arriving at #42 she realized it was four minutes before 9:00 AM and so she waited before she rang.
There was no immediate response and her heart began again its pounding in apprehension before the door was finally opened.
It was an older man who opened it. How old she could not tell as his hair was still naturally dark but there were grey sideburns. His features were hawk like, his cheeks so closely shaven as to appear epilated, and he was wearing a curious outfit of shirt, pants and coat of corduroy.
“Madame de Evre.” He spoke without question but did not step back, just stood before her appearing to be waiting for a reaction.
“What ever…” she wondered and then it dawned on her. “Why… why I have seen you before. You are the kindly, old man who loaned me an umbrella and disentangled a maple leaf from my hair at the Ashee Mall.”
“Yes.” He still waited.
“What now.” she wondered. She was too nervous just now to play games and then a thought came, “I see. You were not kindly old man at all and perhaps there was not even a maple leaf.”
“There was not. Come in.”
She entered a tiny apartment only two and a half rooms, one extending each way from a very dowdy sitting room.
He gestured her to a chair and spoke, “Mme. Bernard who comes in by the day is supposed to be here by 8:30 AM but she is addicted to a radio program at 11:00 PM so usually sleeps late. I cannot offer you anything hot, but I do have some freshly ground carrot, lettuce, celery, chive juice which I believe is all you allow yourself at this time of day.”
“But how could you know that?”
“I have spent some time with you, with you and your friends in the last six weeks. Very distressful times I might add.”
He gestured her in and departed for the juice.
The juice was cold and blended as she liked it half and a quarter and an eighth, with just a touch of chive. It was the only thing she allowed herself in unlimited quantities to maintain her figure and keep up her strength.
The old man started to sit. “Oh of course you smoke. I don’t believe there is an ash tray in the place. Would a plate do?”
Somehow she did not feel like smoking this morning.
He sat down now to cross one bony knee over the other and continued.
“Very, very distressful.” he repeated.
When she did not answer he continued unasked. “You see in just six weeks I have come to know and like Inspector Renaurd a great deal. A good man, a simple man, a kindly man, you must admit. Rare in these days, and in someone of the police quite unknown. I hated to hear of his hurt approaching.”
The lady looked away. This was a very unwelcome subject just now. Well aware of this the old man continued. “And I grew to like the girl who privately called herself Kiki. As day after day I heard her fighting her fight with every weapon in her disposal, even long after she must have given up any hope of winning.”
“I do not understand.”
“You are well rid of that arrogant little bull Marcel, Madame. He was not worthy of you. You could never have loved him. And you must not grieve over his desertion and the revelations.”
“Revelations?”
“The wife at Amier, the mistress at Montemar came as revelations, I believe.”
“Yes. Who are you?”
“As you must have already decided I am not of the French police nor any other police organization at all. I am simply and old, tired, disillusioned, ah.. moralist. But I do have some influence on the French judicial system otherwise you would not be here.”
“Yes that is quite obvious. Are you then my Rehabilitation Person?”
“Hardly that. Perhaps I can best explain what I am by telling you what I am not. I am neither a fool nor a gambler, terms I consider synonymous. I have, it is true, done many foolish things in my life and more often than not taken the long chance rather than the easy one. Usually I have three good reasons for everything I do. In this instance I am about to break my pattern for in this case I have only one reason and that a very weak one.”
“Mouthy old kink.” she thought “What’s his racket?”
But she did sit back and start to relax enough to wonder.
The door opened behind her. “Oh there you are Mme. Bernard. Our guest is here. Is there coffee and apricot croissants?” turning to the girl “You usually allow yourself that as breakfast about now do you not?”
“Why yes. Thank you.”
He continued. “Enough about me, who are you? Let me see if I am right. Born of a noble family and given far more wealth than you possibly could spend. Altogether too handsome for your own good with a quick and incisive mind, you found nothing stimulating enough for your tastes in the University milieu like your Papa, or in politics like your Grandpapa. So you took to the social crowd and still bored allowed a bully with the facade of a naughty little boy use you. By your own considerable merits you became the most successful courier/negotiator the underground had ever produced. And you played the game simply for the excitement did you not? For the thrills, the satisfaction of outwitting, and outmaneuvering everyone, even the poor police, the poor fools of the world and most especially the unfortunate Inspector Renaurd, your fiancée.”
“I… I tried to l