April 2010 Paris France

The young woman’s firm breasts moved with a gentle, harmonious bounce as she walked down rue de Rivoli looking for a mark. Ileana was a twenty-four-year-old, slimly built, average height brunette with short hair who didn’t stand out readily in the Parisian crowds.  Her features were Romany and her olive skin contrasted with the cream dress she wore.  Her greatest assets were her hands.  They were slender and well groomed and she’d developed a delicate touch, so gentle and soft as if a butterfly were landing on the back of your hand.  Impossible to detect when it started and when it finished.

She’d come to France three years previously to find a better life and earn some money.  Her relatives who lived in Paris told her what to expect, so she wasn’t surprised when she was taken to a brothel and put to work.

Popular enough, being young and fresh, she soon learned to hate men and during her sessions with them she took to checking what they had in their pockets.  Being initially clumsy she was regularly rumbled and many complaints were made against her. 

Her excuse that she was only trying new things to arouse them was wearing thin. Soon she became so adept at it they didn’t notice and the complaints stopped. 

She then moved on to watches, developing the skill of removing a watch, totally undetected, while the man was having sex with her. If discovered, she dropped the watch on the ground and said it must have come unfastened with the exertions. 

She soon found the best position to put her clients in to relieve them of their possessions. She made a joke of them being relieved whilst they were being relieved.

Her pimp spotted her unique talent and realised she could be more beneficial to him on the street than on the bed. He took her out himself to check her skills on the Parisian public and was impressed with how she operated.  He put her in a small team.

She had two accomplices, her younger sister and a man in his thirties.  He was called Nicolae, of medium height, dark skinned, black straight hair combed back over his head, dressed in a dark suit with an open neck red shirt. 

They were in the rue de Rivoli which runs parallel to the Jardin Tuileries. The pavements, with their usual buzz of locals and tourists, were their hunting ground.  She chose her mark and indicated him to her companions. 

He was a middle aged man who appeared to be a tourist and he was on his own.  The younger girl made her way to be near him and jostled him as many others were jostling each other and when she was clear, she indicated to Ileana her right hand thigh. 

Even though the man was wearing a jacket, Ileana now knew that it was probable he had his wallet in the right pocket of his trousers. 

She gradually closed in on him and Nicolae walked quickly ahead and then turned round and started walking towards them.  The two men bumped into each other and Ileana made her move. Stealthily but speedily she put her hand in the man’s pocket at the moment of impact to retrieve his wallet. 

This was something she’d done numerous times without a hitch.  In fact, this was their third mark of the day. Her delicate fingers were on the edge of his leather wallet when suddenly her wrist was caught in a vice. 

She looked at the man’s face and he was staring at her but didn’t let go of her wrist. She’d been caught.  Her male companion moved away and joined the younger girl in a shop doorway, wondering what had gone wrong. 

Their mark was too quick for them to see exactly what was happening. Ileana felt her hand being withdrawn from the pocket. While he held it firmly by the wrist with one hand he brought the palm of his other hand down heavily on the ends of her fingers. 

Her profession dictated that her finger nails were kept relatively short but even so, he hit her fingers so hard that they dug into his palm, drawing blood. 

Her scream of pain was delayed by the incomprehension of what had just happened and the shock she was feeling.  In the meantime, the man had pushed her fingers into a clenched fist position with his free hand and now he squeezed them.

He had incredible strength in his hands and she knew that her already dislocated fingers had now been broken.  She screamed now as he let her wrist go and he quickly disappeared amongst the crowd striding up the rue de Rivoli. 

The male companion set out after him and the younger girl went to her sister’s aid.  As soon as the Parisians saw them for what they were, they ignored Ileana’s cries.

He spotted the tourist ahead. He appeared to be with another man and they were hurrying.  Nicolae crossed to the less crowded pavement on the other side of the road and soon he was level with the culprit who’d taken his income from him. 

He moved quickly so that he was ahead of the two men. He pulled out his phone and took a series of photographs. He then went back to find his female companions.  The trio made their way to the nearest hospital so that Ileana could have her badly damaged hand repaired.

Once her fingers had been reset at the hospital, Nicolae turned to the younger girl and told her she would have to take over Ileana’s position.

“Do you think I’m ready?” She asked.

 “We have no choice,” he told her. “Rest assured though, I’ll make sure we get the bastard that did this.”

Ileana was still crying and moaning with the pain that her mark had inflicted on her hand, and it was beginning to dawn on her that her greatest asset had been ruined.

She would be sent back to the brothel.  Long after the pain from her fingers had subsided, however, she would never forget how she’d felt when she’d looked into those cold, pitiless, unforgiving  eyes staring back at her.

Sydney Australia three weeks earlier.

Temporarily blinded by the reflection of the sun off the water, he was just putting on a pair of sunglasses when his friend Ben appeared out of the dazzling light, easing his Riviera fifteen metre luxury cruiser into the wharf and securing it with an expert throw over the capstan.

“All aboard,” he shouted enthusiastically.  Ben was full of life. Arthur climbed aboard. “Do you want to cast off the front end?” Ben said.  He was aware that Arthur knew the difference between bow and stern but he liked to tease him. 

Arthur didn’t own a boat and had never expressed any desire to do so. He did enjoy going out with Ben on his. He unhitched the rope from the bollard and Ben eased the craft away from the jetty. Ben was dressed in his customary boating gear, white shorts, yellow tee shirt and blue sailing shoes.

He was tall, 190cm, and slim. His weight being controlled by his natural shape plus the active life he led in the construction industry. His normally light brown hair had been bleached by the sun and sea air to a much lighter shade, almost blond.

Arthur didn’t like wearing shorts so he stuck with his tried and tested white jeans with a pale blue short-sleeved Polo shirt and brown leather sailing shoes. He was a little shorter than Ben but thicker set, without being fat, and had a mass of dark hair which always looked as if it was ready for a cut.

 They set off, each keeping his own counsel, lost in his own thoughts.  They were cruising through the beautiful, blue waters of Pittwater when Ben spotted a cove ahead.  “Shall we pull over there for a bit?” 

“Looks fine to me,” Arthur said as he glanced around for a convenient buoy.  “What about that one?”  He reached for the gaff and leaned over the side as they approached the buoy. 

“Got it” he said as the hook engaged with the loop in the rope on the buoy.  He pulled it aboard and secured it to a capstan.  Ben cut the engines and the boat started to swing around to be in harmony with the tide and wind. They sat down in the picnic area at the back of the boat. 

“Got a nice little Chablis in the fridge, fancy some?” With that Ben got up and fetched the wine and brought out some cold meats, cheese and a baguette. 

Ben proceeded to half fill Arthur’s glass while Arthur cut sections off the baguette.  This was one of Ben’s French habits as Ben was convinced that the French were number one for style and class. He’d spent six months over there ‘absorbing their culture’ as he liked to put it.

“They only ever half fill a glass with wine” he commented one day, “not like Australians who’d rather fill a tumbler because they believe it saves them getting up for a refill”. 

Ben often forgot that Arthur had lived in France for three years, spoke fluent French and was familiar with French habits. Those three years remained a mystery. Ben knew nothing of the events that had happened to reshape Arthur’s life. 

Arthur had never spoken about his time there and even though Ben had raised the topic on several occasions, Arthur was not forthcoming and he didn’t push it. 

You didn’t push anything with Arthur.  Ben thought he was a wily old soul, a bit deep and mysterious, but he was fond of him and he also respected his experience and judgement, something that would manifest itself as time went on.

“Santé,” said Ben.

“Good health,” Arthur replied.

“How are your thought exercises going? Still searching for the meaning of life?” 

Arthur paused for a moment.  “I’ve moved on from that. I now believe there are no general rules about the meaning of life.  So I’m working on understanding peace of mind. I’ve also come to the conclusion that my search is a journey not a destination and whatever I am looking for is also looking for me.”

Arthur was good company once you got to know him, albeit he was a bit of an enigma.  Ben never thought he really knew what made Arthur tick.  Arthur thinks a lot, analyses things before he comments on them and then what he says is never personal.  Ben often wondered if Arthur had something to hide but then dismissed the idea immediately as ridiculous.  He was not far wrong, though. Arthur was hiding something.

“I can’t say I’ve ever really thought much about peace of mind,” Ben said.  “Tend to just take things as they come.  I like the ups and downs and if that’s the price I have to pay, then so be it.  What got you started on this anyway?”

 “It all started when someone once said to me how good it was that they went to bed thankful and satisfied with the day, and woke up looking forward to what the new day would bring.  When I thought about that I realised that it would be a good place to be, but my emotions were getting in the way.”

“Don’t emotions get in everyone’s way?” said Ben taking another sip of his wine.  “Isn’t that what sets us apart from everybody else?”

“Exactly,” said Arthur, “but there are some people who question whether some emotions are affecting their quality of life and can they do anything to change it?”

“Like keep the happiness and dump the sadness?”

“Something like that.”  The boat started to swing with the wind and Arthur instinctively looked over the side to ensure they weren’t going to hit anything.  When he saw that the boat was just swinging on its mooring he looked across the table at Ben.

“How’s the development business?” he said changing the subject.

“Not much going on at the moment.  Property’s not selling and the banks want an arm and a leg as security before they’ll consider financing a deal, so it doesn’t stack up most of the time.  I was thinking of taking a break and going over to France for a while.  Do you fancy coming with me?”

This would be the first time Arthur had returned to France since his friend Pierre had been murdered.  He didn’t realise at the time that if he accepted the invitation, his life would take a new direction.  Things would never be the same again, just as they never were after he had met Pierre. Only the impact on his life this time would take an entirely different form.

“Is this another culture trip?  When were you thinking of going?”

“I haven’t made any definite plans yet. It only occurred to me the other day that I haven’t had a break for a while, so I thought I might leave over the next few days.”

“I’ll let you know” Arthur said.  “I’ll see if I can tie things up that quickly.  Are you sure you want someone else tagging along?”

“Of course,” said Ben. “For one reason it would be good to have your company.  Besides, you speak fluent French and that’ll be a great asset to me as I’m hopeless at it. I’d like to be able to but just can’t get the hang of it.  Even when I think I know what to say, the French can’t understand me.” 

The flight was due to leave at noon and they planned to be there the scheduled three hours prior. As they were entering the terminal Ben’s phone started to ring. 

“I’d better get this”, he said.  Ben didn’t say much during the call but his change of expression suggested it wasn’t good news. 

When Ben had finished Arthur asked him if it was trouble.  “Might be,” said Ben. “That was Judy in the office saying she thought our builder was having difficulty and that the bank was getting concerned.” 

“Can’t you just find a new builder?”

“Not really. He probably hasn’t paid his subcontractors up fully and the unions won’t let anyone else on the site until the current workers have been paid and termination of their contracts sorted out. It’s a developer’s worst nightmare.”

“What do you want to do about the trip? Do you want to cancel it?”

“No, there’s nothing much going to happen inside a month, so we’d just as well make the most of it.”

“Shall we go to the lounge? It’s a bit quieter there?”  The two friends found the barista and took their cups over to seats in the corner overlooking the runway.  Ben looked concerned and Arthur was not sure whether or not he should interfere.

Arthur had known Ben for ten years.  He’d known him before he went to France and the two had become closer since Arthur had retired from the construction industry and had become more time rich. 

Ben Mitchell was born in Sydney and went to Sydney University where he completed a Bachelor of Business degree and on graduation found a job in real estate.  He worked and learned for four years and then he unearthed his first opportunity.  He was driving through Homebush, a suburb of Sydney, one day and saw an empty factory with a ‘For Sale’ sign. 

He made some enquiries and with the small amount of money he’d managed to save he raised a mortgage and bought it. Things were tight for a while but he persuaded an architect friend to help him apply for development approval to knock down the factory and build home units.  The architect didn’t think he stood much chance but Ben knew that Councils were looking to increase the number of dwellings available and this factory was adjacent to residential areas. 

He was proved right. With the huge profit he made when he sold the site with the development approval, he bought other properties, rebadged them and sold them on. 

By the time he was 33 years old he was a multi millionaire and he was developing the sites himself instead of selling them.  He’d been very lucky and all of his projects had made super profits until the Global Financial Crisis hit.

He now owned a number of properties and sites that he thought one day he could develop but he only had one live project and that was a block of units at Potts Point, an affluent suburb near the centre of Sydney.  This was the one that was now causing him a headache.

“Not feeling on top of things?”

“I could do with a dose of your peace of mind,” Ben said.

“If you’re serious, we could give it a go and I could tell you how I’ve managed so far.”

“We’ve got an hour, so why not.”

“The thing is,” Arthur said. “Can you identify the single most important thing that’s bothering you about this current situation?”

Ben was silent for a while and then said, “It’s everything.  It’s all going round in my head what could happen, what might happen, the steps I may have to take to repair the situation.”

Arthur looked at his friend empathically. He’d experienced exactly what Ben was going through now and had mastered it.  It was time to pass on some of this experience.

“I think I know what you mean. The key word is ‘might’.  You’re concerned about things that might happen without giving the same consideration to the fact that they might not happen.  Something quite different may happen. You just don’t know. In fact, you could be imagining that things are worse than they actually are.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Ben said. “But my problem is I like to feel in control of my business and I have to know what I’ll do if a certain set of circumstances arises.  A plan B if you like.”

This was a very familiar pattern to Arthur and he was now sure he could do something to help his friend. “OK” said Arthur. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

“That’s easy.  The builder could go belly up.”

“What would that mean to you?”

“The job stops.  I can’t sell any more of the units.  The contracts on those that I have sold may fall through. The purchasers may back out and want their money back which will cause me to lose a lot of money.”

“Can you afford to take the hit?”

“Not sure,” said Ben. “I’ve sunk millions into this one.”

“So you have to keep the job going, is that it?”

“Yes, but I can’t if the builder goes smack.” Ben was starting to feel better about the situation. Even just talking about it seemed to help. 

He knew that Arthur had been involved in the money markets, still was, he thought, because Arthur had talked about his investments and options he was looking at.  For about half the time Ben had known him, Arthur had worked for himself. 

Before that he knew he’d been in construction because that was how they’d met. It wasn’t that Ben didn’t have an interest in Arthur’s past, it was more that Arthur rarely spoke about himself. Nor did he encourage any questions. 

Even now he wasn’t talking about himself. Sometimes Ben wondered why. What had Arthur been doing in France for three years?  Arthur knew that Ben was fascinated by France and everything to do with that country but he’d never offered to share any of his experiences. 

This seemed really odd to Ben. Maybe when they were in France Arthur would open up.

“Whatever happens, it looks like it’s going to cost you if the builder has a money problem.  The strategy, therefore, is to discover a solution that will cost you the least. So, instead of worrying about what may or may not happen you can concentrate on the least costly solution to you if the builder does go out of business.  Then you have it covered and you have regained control of the situation.”

“I hope you’re right. Is that all there is to it?”

“The builder either goes bust or he doesn’t.  No middle ground, no bailing him out temporarily. To avoid the confusion that you were experiencing just now, why don’t you nail it down to just one problem with one solution? 

“You’re then in total control, doubt has been removed because whatever happens, you have a course of action and this may lead to peace of mind.  I honestly believe that any problem leads to a new opportunity.  Something better than you had before will come out of this.”

An attendant came over and told them their flight was boarding so they took their hand luggage and made their way to the departure gate. 

As they moved down the aisle towards their seats they could see the hostess waiting for them with their glasses of champagne, the customary greeting in Business Class.  They stowed their hand luggage, sat down and took their drinks.

“I usually drink champers to celebrate,” Ben said.

“Maybe we are celebrating.” Arthur was smiling encouragingly.  “We’ve got a glass of cold champagne and we’re off on a trip.  How much better can it get?”

“But...” Ben started to say.

“No buts,” Arthur interrupted him. “The here and now, that’s what’s important.  Think of the here and now.  This is what’s real.  All the rest is hypothetical.  Relax and enjoy your champagne.”

They’d just finished their drinks when the hostess came round to collect their glasses and the plane started to edge backwards. It manoeuvred its way around the airport circuits and came to a stop at the end of the runway. 

The pilot revved the engines to full power, released the brakes and they were screaming down the runway picking up speed all time until they felt the nose lift, the wheels leave the ground and the plane start its steep ascent.

Arthur liked flying.  It gave him time to think. Something he did a lot of, probably because he enjoyed the experience and found it fulfilling.  He really wanted to help his friend but had difficulty with assisting anyone whose business it was to take risks. 

Property development was risky. The rewards were, of course, commensurate with the risk. Arthur used to take risks when he was younger, when he had the capacity to absorb them, and he’d been extremely lucky in his life. 

Even the unfortunate incident in France had turned out for the best in the end. Arthur believed that his double crown at the rear of his skull was a symbol of his good fortune and whatever happened to him, he reassured himself, it was for the best. This had moulded his thinking to always look on the positive side.

Looking back to his early teens, Arthur reflected that a friend of his once quoted Emile Coué: ‘day by day in every way things are getting better and better.’ 

That struck a chord because Arthur always had faith in the future.  Ever since then he’d been interested in the power of the mind. Could it actually change reality?  His life had been a series of opportunities causing him to change direction several times.   It had not always been easy but each change had benefited him. 

What, at times, had seemed like bad luck, had in fact become a new opportunity.  His life may have been erratic, but it certainly hadn’t been dull.

Even though some might claim that Arthur had been unlucky at times, particularly when stock market crashes hit his investments, he didn’t see it that way.  Although he wouldn’t claim to be happy he certainly would say he was contented. 

It was only recently he’d asked himself if that was enough. Was there more than this to life? He thought back again to France and how that particular problem had changed everything.