traumatic moment when she had realized his brandy droop was terminal and that for the past ten minutes she had been having coition with nothing more responsive than a corpse with a strangulated hernia, the Countess had come to an accommodation with the family.
'You want me out, you buy me out,' she told the relatives after the funeral, 'and that means a million.'
'Francs?' asked ancient Uncle Rene hopefully.
'Dollars.'
'Impossible. Impossible. Where would we get such a fantastic sum?'
'By selling this dump.'
'Only a madman would pay...'
'Not as it stands,' said Deirdre, 'We turn it into a Chateau de luxe. Best food in France, the finest wines, get top ratings in the Guide Bleu. We climb on the cuisine gravy train and charge through the nose.'
The relatives had looked at one another thoughtfully. Money talked, but they had their family pride to consider.
'Are you expecting us to become restaurateurs?'
'Leave it to me,' Deirdre told them, 'I run the joint and '
'The name Montcon means something still in France. We are not petit bourgeois,' said one of the sisters.
'So we don't muddy the name. I'll take the flak. You can keep your hands clean and inside five years we put it on the market and scoop the pool.'
After a great deal of argument, the family had agreed and the Countess, now plain Deirdre, had set to work only to discover that she had been taken for a sucker yet again. The family had no intention of ever selling. She could have her cut of the profits but that was all. Even her threat to drag the name of Montcon through the mud of the courts had backfired. The family no longer existed and the sisters and nieces were content with their husband's names and the income they drew from Deirdre's efforts. Worse still, the youngest sister of the late Count had married Dr Grenoy, the Cultural Attache to the Embassy in Washington, who had used his position to look a little more closely into Deirdre's background. From that moment, Deirdre had become a dependant. Dr Grenoy had made that clear enough. 'There are...how shall I say?...certain gentlemen in a town renowned for gambling and violence who have long memories. It would interest them to know where their money has been invested.' Deirdre's eyes had hardened and Dr Grenoy continued. 'However that need not concern us. In France we are more civilized. Naturally we will have to readjust your percentage to prepare for any unfortunate contingencies...'
'Hold it there,' said Deirdre, 'I work my butt off and you tell me...'
'Madame,' interrupted Dr Grenoy, 'there are additional advantages I have yet to mention. I need not stress your understandable desire for anonymity but I have something to offer. Conferences funded by international corporations', UNESCO, the World Wildlife Conservation. I am in a position to influence the venue and with the service you provide...Need I say more?'
'And the cut off my percentage goes to you?'
Dr Grenoy nodded. Deirdre had agreed, with the private reservation that she'd keep meticulous records of Dr Grenoy's new source of income. Two could play that game. And one of these days she would skip France and resume her original identity in her bungalow at Bognor Regis. Constance Sugg was not a name she'd have chosen for herself but it had the great advantage of being on her birth certificate.
Now as she drove the little van back from Boosat her mind was concerned with a new problem. Once it had been impossible to get money out of Britain and easy to shift it from France. The situation had changed and the little gold bars she had slowly accumulated over the years, while they had appreciated enormously in value, made the matter even more difficult. Perhaps if she
