Chapter 6

The tour was still going on. I joined in to warm hugs and kisses. It seems the girls, and I included Giselle having found out she was only 32. Jacque had told them that the portion of the chateau we were in had been modernized, somewhat. We had electric heat in most rooms in addition; each firepot had been fitted with a closing glass screen. There were two working loos and a half dozen bedrooms, two nurseries and separate living quarters for a live-in nanny.

Common areas were just that, common. There were things like offices, libraries, conference rooms, several kitchens and pantries and three terraces or patios. It was obvious the place was built at a time when a numerous number of staff were in place. As it was Jacques said those we already met were what were the staff today. There were a dozen people tending the grounds and at times doing handiwork, but they were villagers that would come and go on no set schedule.

There was a fairly new Bellier (A very small) car and a year old Renault(Not the Alpine) garaged on the right side of the house.

Everything in our section was freshly painted, the rooms large but simply decorated. Jacques said that during the week a buffet type breakfast was served and a seated dinner at 8 or 9 pm, in keeping with the customs in this part of France. We could, of course change that if we wished.

I got the impression that what we had was more a house within a house, more like a set of rooms in a hotel. The girls seemed happy so who was I to rock the boat. Marcel obviously had a reason for putting us here. It just was more than what I was expecting.

Our things, what there were, came from Rouen. We spent the weekend just walking around. There was a section set aside for various animals; pigs, goats, cows, chickens and several horses seemed to have clearly defined areas. Sunday we went riding. Marie had said a picnic would be laid out about a mile away at the lake. I got the idea the land here was much more than I at first thought. I found out the staff used the Bellier. Fresh fruit in season, greens and an assortment of fresh bread, cheeses and wines were brought in from the village almost daily now. We ate well.

Monday morning came and we were all a bit apprehensive. Why, I think it was all the unknown. The car arrived a little after 8am. The driver explained that we started earlier than most places to avoid the traffic. In extreme cases we had access to helicopters but ... He left the rest unsaid. After seeing the flying wing Marcel had I suspected there was more to be told about that option.

We took the A14 to the N13 and intended to exit onto Avenue Charles-de-Gaul. Pablo, our driver started cursing French drivers in general, as an accident ahead slowed traffic. He said his computer showed more than a dozen incidents already around this part of Paris. He obviously was not an admirer of the traffic here.

We finally drove into an underground car park. It was guarded and even though Pablo had his papers and Id cards, we all had to identify ourselves. The guards now were on each side of the car plus one in front, mirrors on sticks passing under the car. The one in back had looked into the trunk when Pablo popped it, in front another lifted the bonnet as some questions were asked of Pablo on his side. With his answers one gate rose, we pulled ahead, one closed before the one in front was raised.

This was not simple security since I saw a dozen cameras trained on us. The car pulled up to a lift where two people stood waiting, for us, obviously. The man and woman were dressed in similar colours, dark blue and seemed impatient with having to wait for us.

We were escorted up, 2nd floor the marker showed. Frick and Frak, our grumpy escorts took us into a room, took pictures, prints, blood samples and just injected something into our arms without asking. Some sort of screen was shoved into our faces, we were told to look at the light, a tablet had us place each hand on it to be scanned and we were told to repeat a simple phase into a microphone. On the way out an Id badge was provided and we went back to the lift.

By now I heard, Giselle I thought, say; “So this is what the Bastille is like I suppose?”

We went to the 5th floor, at least it was marked that way. When the door opened Marcel was standing there to greet us.

“Sorry for the ‘James Bond’ stuff but now you can go right to this floor from the underground. Your offices are all on this floor although the one for Jean Paul is in a section your badges do not access.”