02_Coyote in Provence (15 page)

“Yes, but they were in good health. Papa was a well-known hunting guide and worked almost every day. I think it kept him healthy. Maman was busy watching over the pigs, the sheep and the chickens. Then Papa had a bad hunting accident and never could guide again. By then I had formed a new life in San Francisco. I had friends, a wonderful job, and I loved the United States,” he said. He was clearly agitated, making little circles with his thumb on his pants. “It was very hard for me to stay in the United States. I decided to send them as much money as I could and visit them often. That is exactly what I have been doing.”

“Do you ever regret your decision?” Darya asked, looking him straight in the eye.

“No. If I had stayed here I wouldn’t be able to spend much time with them and I don’t think they would have understood it. Chefs work late hours and sleep in the early part of the day and then return to the restaurant almost as soon as they wake up. I still have some friends here, but not many. I don’t regret my decision, but I question it every time I visit them. It is very hard.

She put her hand on his. “I can see that it is. Why don’t we stop and get some groceries for your parents when we get to Travaillan?”

He smiled, the pain visibly lifting. “That would be very nice. They never complain, but going to the market is getting harder and harder for them. Maman has a friend who drives her once a week, but my mother is going blind, so it is not easy. Papa is in so much pain that it is out of the question for him to drive. Thank you. There is a very nice market not too far up the road.”

In a few minutes he gave the driver directions and as they pulled into the parking lot they were conscious of being the center of attention. Not many limousines were seen in this small rural village.

They got a shopping cart and Pierre began putting groceries in it, things that required little preparation. It was overflowing as they made their way to the check stand. Darya went ahead of him and handed the cashier her Visa card.

“Miss R, thank you, but I can pay for these groceries. You don’t need to do this.

“I know I don’t need to do it, but I want to.”

“Well, if you insist, but again, thank you.”

They loaded the groceries in the trunk as Pierre gave the driver instructions on how to get to his parents’ home. After a few moments, Pierre said, “
Ici, ici,”
to the driver who stopped the car in front of an old farmhouse. Darya and Lou stared in amazement at the rusted junk, chickens, and weeds in the area surrounding a dilapidated old house which was clearly in need of numerous repairs.

Pierre told the driver and Lou to get the grocery bags out of the trunk and take them around to the back of the house. As they made their way towards the house, Pierre held Darya’s arm so she wouldn’t trip because of the cracks in the sidewalk. The wooden steps leading up to the house were canted at an awkward angle and the porch sagged. A blue framed door surrounded glass that was thick with dust and cobwebs. He knocked on the door and opened it while Darya stood in the background. “Maman, Papa,
bon jour
!”

Darya could see an old man and woman standing just inside the door. Pierre hugged the woman and kissed her on each check, “Ahh, Maman, it so good to see you.”

He turned to the old man and put his hand on his shoulder. “Papa, you look well. I am so glad I could come even though it’s just for a little while. We brought you some groceries. Let me open the back door so the driver can bring them in.”

The old man looked out at the gravel road and saw the limousine. When Pierre returned his father said, “What is that? Why don’t you have a taxi or a rental car like you usually do when you come to visit us? And I see a woman. Have you brought a special woman that you want us to meet?”

Pierre laughed inwardly.
No, Papa. Why do you think I’m living in West Hollywood? 
“No, this is my employer. Remember I told you I travel with her and cook for her. We’ll only be in France for a few hours and she uses a limousine when she travels. She has a big staff and it’s easier than trying to arrange for a lot of taxis.” He motioned for Darya to join him. “Maman, Papa, I want you to meet
Mademoiselle
Rahimi. She is my employer.”

“Welcome to our home,”
Madam
e Yount said. “Any friend of Pierre’s is a friend of ours. Please, come in and be seated,” she said as she led them into the living room.

As Darya looked around the old house, she knew why Pierre had wanted to go to the United States. Everywhere she looked, there were signs of neglect. It was as if the soul of the house had died and nothing new had taken its place.

“Thank you. Whenever we come to Marseilles, Pierre is quick to leave and come here. I am glad that he is able to do this. It is a silly thing, I know, but the limousine saves me time. If you would like, I could have my driver take us for a little drive. I would like to see some of the countryside. Would that be of interest to you?

“
Oui
,” the Younts said in chorus, thinking who they could tell about this wonderful experience they were about to undergo. Darya helped
Madame
Yount to the limo and was followed by Pierre and his father. Lou and the driver held the doors open for them. When they were seated, Pierre gave instructions to the driver while Lou took a seat in front with the driver.

It was a part of France Darya had never seen. Although she’d visited Paris and Marseilles many times, the rural experience was completely new to her. She was awestruck at the beautiful acres and acres of lavender, grape vines and sunflowers. The bright Provence sun made the colors jump off of the land. It was glorious. After traveling nearly ten miles, they turned around and made their way back to the Younts’ home. As they approached the Younts’ home, Darya noticed a large barn several yards behind the house.

“Do you keep horses?” she asked.

“
Non
, Mademoiselle,” Pierre’s father said. “When I was hunting I always had two, but we had to sell them after my accident. I could not take care of them. The barn is vacant now. Someday Pierre will have to decide what to do with this property. I don’t think he wants to come back.”

”Papa, don’t talk like that. I know you and Maman have health problems, but you’re a long way from leaving this property. It’s been in the family for generations before us. And it will probably be here for generations after us.”

“But who would live here? There is only you and some of our nieces and nephews.” He brightened for a moment, “Maybe one of them would want it.”

“Maybe they would, but it’s not something we need to worry about today. Another time,” he said as the car stopped in front of the rusty gate leading to the house.

“I’ll stay in the car, Pierre,” Darya said. You see your parents in.
Madame,
Monsieur,
I am very happy that I had this chance to spend time with you. Your son is a wonderful chef and a fine man. You should be very proud of him.”

“We are,
Mademoiselle
, we are,” the old rheumy-eyed man said as he shuffled off towards the front door of the house.

A few minutes later, Pierre returned and breathed a sigh of relief. “I know it’s silly, but I always dread what I’m going to find when I come here. They would not trouble me for anything and I worry about their health.”

“I gather from what I heard that you have some relatives here. Are they nearby?”

“Yes. They check on my parents from time to time and there are some village people they have known their whole lives who do as well. But it’s my responsibility and I’m so far away. It’s a burden. They are both used to working hard. That gave them a reason for living. Now they feel useless, as if they were a drain on me and everyone else. I wish there was something I could do.”

And well you might
, thought Darya.
And well you might.

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA   APRIL, 2007

CHAPTER 25

Darya and her staff flew to Paris, then on to Bangor, Maine for refueling and to clear immigration and customs as they entered the United States. During the flight, she feverishly made notes and tried to figure out how she was going to pay for all of the expenses related to the Afghan girls. Her aunt’s inheritance would help in Kabul, but there would be costs for getting the girls into Marseille as well as the United States, plus additional living costs for them in both places. At some point in time, her aunt’s inheritance would run out and if and when there was a downturn in the economy, it would mean cash flow problems for her business.

She tried to get some sleep, but it was fitful at best. It wasn’t just the money; it was trying to figure out what to do with the girls once they got to the United States. If they were discovered by the authorities, would they be handed over to Child Protective Services, and then what, returned to Afghanistan? This was completely new territory.

All she had now was a person who would allow the little girls to leave Kabul and a person who would let them in and out of France. From the way her aunt looked and spoke, she knew she didn’t have much time to come up with a workable plan. She had to figure out a way to get them cared for in France, transferred to the United States, and then housed in the United States until they were adopted.

As the sleek jet touched down at the Santa Monica airport, Darya said, “Thanks, Mike, as usual you’ve made another perfect landing. It feels good to be back in the United States. I don’t think I’ll need you for a few days. I need to take care of some business here. Get some rest. I’ll let you know when our next trip is.”

The bright sun had burned off the early morning fog and as usual, traffic was a nightmare in the west part of Los Angeles. Even though she only lived a couple of miles from the airport, she knew it would take well over an hour to get home.

“Pierre, why don’t you go get some sleep and then I’d like to talk to you. Let’s meet tomorrow morning at ten in my office. I won’t need you tonight. There’s plenty of leftovers in my condo frig.  Tesla, you too. Go home and get some rest. The office doesn’t expect us back until tomorrow anyway. The rest of today is a bonus for all of us. See you both tomorrow.” She stepped into her waiting limousine as Lou held the door open.

Darya lived in a large condominium in Malibu. When she was a young girl she’d spent many a summer at her grandparents’ vacation home in Pakistan on the Arabian Sea. She loved the ocean and at an early age she’d vowed to live near it permanently. The first thing she did when her company became a success was to buy the condominium.

At the time it had been an outrageous expense, but as the years went by, it had turned out to be one of the best investments she’d ever made. Evening walks along the beach with the sand clinging to her feet and the sharp scent of salt air filling her lungs made the pressure and stress of her job worthwhile.

She took a long nap and late in the afternoon, put on a Versace T-shirt, a pair of Robert Cavelli jeans, flip-flops, Gucci sunglasses, and headed for the beach, Lou’s replacement a discreet distance behind her. At the end of two hours, a plan began to form in her mind.  Pierre would be an integral part of it and she was glad she’d scheduled the meeting with him. The stress of the last few days finally caught up with her. She walked up the steps to her condo, entered the glass enclosed indoor/outdoor kitchen and turned to look at the sunset. The last rays of the sun were bleeding into the ocean as the sun seemed to drop over the edge of the ocean. The sight never failed to fill her with awe.

Turning away from the sunset, she opened the refrigerator and saw the bottle of Cristal champagne she kept for special guests at the back of the refrigerator.

Looks good, but I’m too tired and it would just go to waste. Another time. Think I’ll opt for the New Zealand Sauvignon blanc which is already opened. That and a couple of crackers with cheese and I’m through for the night.

She mouthed good night to her bodyguard and walked down the hall to her bedroom. The next thing she knew, the shrill ring of her alarm clock thankfully woke her from a nightmare she was having about little girls trying to escape from a house of horrors. Monsters, zombies, blood, gore, and body parts surrounded them.

Drenched in sweat and with her heart beating so fast she was tempted to call 911, she made her way to the shower. A few minutes later her heart rate had returned to normal and the pulsating water from the shower had washed away the remnants of the nightmare.

This was all new to  her. She was used to being in control of everything in her life and generally one step ahead of it. She was very intelligent and had formed a vast network of resources, so she was never caught off guard by shifts in public buying habits, the economy, or anything else which might affect her life or her business.

Darya’s parents had brought her to the United States when she was sixteen. Even though she’d avoided the worst years of the war in Afghanistan, she was no stranger to the pain caused when loved ones were violently separated by untimely deaths. Her extended family in Afghanistan had seen its share of its members die.

She had few friends. Darya was from a culture where the females of one’s family were a woman’s main support group and when she left Afghanistan, she left her support group. She’d never tried to replace it with female friends in the United States. Intimate female relationships were of little interest to her.

Darya enjoyed men and their company on her terms, usually for very short periods and for very specific reasons. She was a woman with strong desires, but intimate relationships held no interest for her.

The only people she was really close to were her parents, but they lived on the East Coast, on the other side of the continent. Her father was a professor of history at Harvard and her mother spent most of her time drawing attention to the unfair treatment of women in Afghanistan. She saw them several times a year for a couple of days and talked to them, particularly her mother, almost daily.