Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

For the next few weeks, Simon felt that his only function (which was the beginning and end of his usefulness) was to write checks.Everyone has a job to do except him. Always in her high heels and glass in hand, Mrs. Pan oversaw the design and fittings of the kitchen, enlisted as sous chef, and established the restaurant's wine list.Two or three times a week, on the old tin table in the unfinished kitchen, she called a meeting, and the hardy brewers or bright young wholesalers would come with their best wines.The meeting is usually followed by a wine tasting and a light three-hour lunch.Mrs. Pan always said that this is really torture, but otherwise, how can you discover the precious local wine?

All of Ennis's time was spent on restaurant profiles, fabric samples, stone and wood samples, potted plant catalogs, blueprints and plans.In his black Provençal hat of broad line, with his bulging briefcase covered in Venetian marbled paper and tied at the ends with moiré silk ribbons, he was almost like an artist looking for a place to paint a mural. up. As for Nicole, when she wasn't checking her nails to see if the waiters and housekeepers were suitable, she and Ennis drove him to the antique dealers, blacksmiths, carpenters' workshops or garden center.Here you can find everything from thyme sprigs to fifty-foot tall cypress logs.They headed home in the evening, exuding the joy of digging and buying, and telling Simon how wise he was not to get bogged down in trivial matters.Ennis said: "Honey, cushions and sanitary products, it's horrible.It was strange, Simon thought, why both he and Mrs. Penn liked to complain about things they thought were funny.

Even that dog has a mission.Mrs. Gibbon appointed herself to be Blank's assistant, and would greet him every morning outside the hotel with a wag of her tail.All day long, it was at his feet.Walking around in the rubble, he gradually became covered in dust and plaster, and sometimes it dragged planks or discarded wires to his feet.The group of plasterers called him architect, and trained him to carry a twenty-kilo bag of plaster by using the remains of his lunch as bait, betting how far he could carry that bag of plaster up the stairs (if he barked too much, they would Take the opposite direction as the subject of betting).Mrs Gibbon was very busy, and very contentedly busy.

Simon, on the other hand, felt that he was starting to lose sleep.Although the money was pouring out every week, it was exciting to see the hotel taking shape, to wander among the empty but elegant stone rooms, and to imagine how it would look when it was finished.And for the first time in years, he has nothing to do, no meetings to make, no calls to make.He made only one phone call to the ad agency, and Jordan was happy and in good spirits.All goes well, the old clients are gradually stabilized under the appeasement of the new management, and there are still several interesting cases going on. Tickety-Boo (just the old guy) was Jordan's nickname for him.When he put down the phone, he felt a pang in his heart.He doesn't matter anymore.

But there is a consolation: he and Nicole are very happy together.Whenever she and Ennis traveled on business, he began to miss her, and sometimes envied Ennis for spending so many days with her.This is really unreasonable, after all, he himself did not want to join their shopping trip.At one point, he did try to go with them, but he became impatient and short-tempered, and after two hours they decided to put him in a pub. He told himself that the work of purchasing would be over soon.At the same time, the days are long and the nights are short, there is a soft breath in the spring air, and the sun in the middle of the day has obvious heat.On the terrace below the hotel, the almond trees were already in bright bloom, a perfect contrast to the dark brown ground and gray bark.The stone bench Simon was sitting on felt very warm.He looked over from the empty swimming pool and saw Mrs Gibbon dozing on the slate, her hind legs twitching uncontrollably when she dreamed of the rabbit and the postman.It raised its face slantly, eyes half closed, and felt the sun as if shining into its bones.

Boss, good morning! Simon blinked, squinting at the figure bowing to him, his hand outstretched in welcome, sunglasses and teeth gleaming.Jean-Louis, the one-man unit against crime, reappeared as usual. His short stature was stylish in oversized trousers and a tiger-skin jacket.He was neatly groomed and exuded a faint fragrance.His short, nimble features reminded Simon of a hare-hunting terrier, nimble and quick-moving, with his head always tilted in vigilance. Have you considered my offer?He didn't give Simon a chance to answer, and immediately took out a stack of newspaper clippings from his handbag. The Montfavi Bank was robbed last Tuesday morning.What do you think will happen when the police leave?

I don't know, Jean-Louis.Does everyone go out to lunch? Forget it, you're kidding!But this is serious business.For emphasis, he took off his sunglasses and waved them at Simon.In the afternoon, the robbers left and returned.Twice a day!This is Vaucluse's gift to you.Nothing is safe, my friends, not at all.They're driving sports cars with pistols, from Marseilles How do you know they are from Marseilles? ah!Jean-Louis put on his glasses and looked around to make sure no one was overhearing.I have pipes.He nodded to Simon, mainly because of his connections from the underworld in the past.

Simon raised his eyebrows.The old days of Jean-Louis were not mentioned in the previous dialogue.you used to be Jean-Louis put a finger to his lips.Simon could feel his eyes winking under the sunglasses.Corsica, Italy.Secret work, have you heard of the Unione Corsica? So which side are you on? The police over there.Jean-Louis shrugged and said with a smile: Most of the time! Tell me, why did you come to a small hotel like ours?It shouldn't be a big deal, since no one steals an ashtray. Here's to meeting people, my friend.The guests here are from Paris, English, German, they bought a second home here, all they need is security.do you know?The security industry is getting harder and harder to do.Many circuit operators compete for security business at low prices.They can also catch customers with lower prices, such as villa residents.My target was the elite German rich, who possessed countless works of art, and wives and concubines would travel to Bulgaria to buy jewelry that would come in handy for the Gould festival.Where can I meet these people?It's out of the question for the local messy bar in Cavillon.He compared the buildings behind him with his arm, and I can meet them here.And, you will have complete protection.This is a win-win for us.He looked up at Simon, waving the gold medal around his neck.Think it over, my friend!I will give you a special price.

Jean-Louis squeezed Simon's hand and went elsewhere to promote his crime prevention plan, leaving the faint smell of shaving water in the air.You wouldn't buy a used car, or even a brand new safe, from someone like that, Simon thought.But he might be helpful, and Nicole seems quite fond of him. Ten kilometers away, Nicole and Ennis were admiring an olive tree that the owner claimed was no less than 250 years old and could live for 750 years.Such a figure was sworn by the operator on his grandmother.The operator himself, with his weathered face, looks as old as the olive tree.Forty years ago, he started from a lavender field, worked hard with his hardworking wife, and worked hard all the way to today's situation. He has several hectares of land full of potted plants, shrubs and trees, as well as two houses and a Mercedes-Benz. and four televisions.

He said: Look, it's so beautiful!Pat the knots and twists of the curved trunk.The breeze came and moved between the leaves, turning their color from green to silver gray.Over the centuries, the tree has been well pruned, with a forked central trunk that allows the sunlight to filter in and make the foliage lush and beautiful.The old man said that a bird should be able to fly over the top branches without getting tangled in its wings. Ennis said: Great!Can you still transplant such an old tree? Nicole threw the question to the old man. He smiled and bent over to push away the sand at the bottom of the tree trunk until the edge of the big wooden basin was exposed.He said that the old tree grew from Bohm 20 years ago.De.Venice (Note: Located in the Rhone Valley of France.) Brought over and replanted in pots.Of course, it could afford another short trip.In fact, he could personally vouch (waving his crooked fingers at them) that, with proper care, the old tree's health was unquestionable.He pointed to a smear of green paint on the bark.This side must face south, because the tree has always faced south in this direction, after all, it is no longer a small tree.If all goes well, it can adapt to a new environment right away.If you don't do this, then in two or three years, its growth will be very limited, because it has to adapt to the new orientation.The old man nodded.Here's the minimum you should know before you invest in a tree like this.

Nicole wondered how much money must be invested in such an old tree? Three thousand francs, madam. What about cash? The old man smiled and said: Three thousand francs. They kept telling themselves, as they drove back to Basilles, that this was a good deal, an antique of nature with lush green leaves all year round, its branches spreading enough to provide shade for a table and several chairs, truly Provence symbol of. As soon as they got back to the hotel, they saw a disheveled Simon sucking on his bloody knuckles.His clothes were covered in dust and moss, and there was a gash on his cheek.When he saw the look on Nicole's face, he immediately raised a hand. It's fine.I won. What happened? Ennis' surprise delivered.I helped them move to the patio, slipped on the steps, bumped my hand against the wall and got poked in the cheek.You are right that we should have brutally circumcised that statue.He is a real danger. Nicole started laughing, you mean I don't believe it.Sorry I laughed. Simon grinned and put his hand over the wound, hurt by the angel's bump, do I get the medal? Ennis listened to their conversation in silence, bewildered.My dear, first we must sterilize, and then we will talk about the medal.I just need less than a minute. While they waited, Nicole dusted Simon off, afraid to touch his injured hand.She apologizes again: I'm sorry, this isn't funny at all. He said: I just need someone to care for me.You should put me to bed and take my temperature.Come on, let me tell you how to take your body temperature without a thermometer. Um.Nicole said after a while, I think you'll survive. They parted only after Ennis brought some cotton balls and antiseptic solution.Nicole gently applied the disinfectant to the wound. Simon cringed in pain.Well, I hope you are prepared.This is what Nicole is looking for for you.As long as you can make it behave, you will absolutely love it. They went downstairs to the restaurant.On the terrace outside, Manneken Pis, who has been temporarily removed from the pedestal and water supply, is leaning against the stone basin, staring at the green mountains and valleys.Mrs. Gibbon tentatively bit the boy's brass pipe to see if he could eat it. Ennis said: Oh dear, what a sweet little boy!Jiben, don't touch it.He walked around the little boy with joy on his face. You say you want a fountain. Does this holy little angel really have functions? He's like a guy who just drank ten pints of beer (absolutely pissing a lot), eh.Do you think he is too rude? of course not.He is well worth watching, and full of leisurely joy.I can't describe my excitement.He came over and hugged Nicole.It's so kind of you.I can imagine him playing there.I know where to put him, under that tree.He stopped suddenly, put one hand to his mouth, looked at Simon, and said, Oops!How come I didn't give you a glass of wine!I'll tell you the story of that tree. Mrs. Penn spit gracefully into a tin basin and jotted down her thoughts on the restaurant's wine list in a notebook.She sat in the tiny, mud-covered wine cellar, unlabeled bottles lined the table in front of her, the chill coming through tiny holes in her shoes.The dim light of the forty-watt bulb cast a distinct shadow on the focused face of the man opposite her. Well, then what?Mr. Constance is one of the few well-known local winemakers who are willing to take the risk of making their own wine rather than selling grapes to cooperatives.If the wine is good, the profits are high.Just as Mrs. Pan said, if the big restaurant buys dozens of cases from them, the reputation of the wine will spread far and wide, and the price will naturally rise. Then Mr. Constance can buy the two hectares of land next door, which will make the wine more popular. The neighbors next door pale in comparison.So he had to impress this tall woman on himself. A glass of local wine is good!The polite but expressionless Mrs. Pan looked at him, is there anything else to add? Constance laughed.This is precious wine, madam, real wine!It's a pity that she didn't eat the cheese he gave her. Eating this kind of strong cheese can even make vinegar delicious, which shows that she is really an expert.He poured the rich, rich wine into two glasses and swirled it.See its color?He picked up the wine glass, closed his eyes, inhaled the rich aroma of the wine vigorously, and shook his head to show his appreciation for the fruits of his hard work.He took a sip, chewed and swallowed, shaking his head again.What a flavor!awesome! Mrs. Pan had seen similar performances many times in many wine cellars, she was unmoved, she picked up her wine glass with a smile, and performed a wine tasting ceremony without haste.Except that the wine slipped silently from Mrs. Pan's lips to her back teeth, and was swallowed with the breath she inhaled.good!She nodded twice very lightly, very good, very good.When she reached for the cheese, Constance filled her glass again, wondering if he could fetch a good price. The group of mates threw away the leggings and celebrated the arrival of spring.The general inspected them in their new black shorts that fitted them well.He paid a little extra for a model to sit in the back of his car, with the autograph of a former cycling champion scribbled on the front.While the boys' legs were starting to look professional, with solid muscle in the thighs and calves, they were still too pale.But that's okay, as long as a few weeks, the problem will be resolved.He also noticed that they remembered to shave their legs, and was deeply satisfied.Hairy legs are the worst thing to do if you fall and get badly bruised. To the general's amazement, they were all able to adapt to the discipline and pain of training and fitness, and they were proud of being able to ride mountain roads that they could not do a few weeks ago.He thought to himself, the sense of accomplishment really has a magical effect, especially related to money.That's why he finds crime satisfying. very good.He unfolded a map and spread it out on the hood of the car and rode seventy-five kilometers this morning, returning via Sog Island, which is the route we were going to take the day of the crime.When passing a bank, don't look too intently. While they were studying the marked route, the general got his bag out of the car and pulled out a few things: seven pairs of sunglasses, seven brightly colored cotton hats. Ok, one last thing.He took out this gear, and that's the camouflage.Wear these and you'll look like five thousand other cyclists on the road.No one can describe the color of your hair, or the color of your eyeballs.You will disappear without a trace. Not bad at all, is it?Joey put on his glasses and pulled his hat down over his forehead.how do you feel? Sean looked him up and down.Charming!Especially the legs! The general said: Let's go!This is no fashion show.Do you know the way out of town?I'd get caught in traffic.The seven cotton hats nodded together, and the general also nodded in response.Such a simple disguise should work.Even if they passed his eyes quickly, he would not recognize them. Simon and Ennis stood outside the hotel, looking up at the exterior of the hotel.Standing beside them was the painter Pat, who had come specially from London, rolling a cigarette.He said: I will spend a few weeks, still bright strokes, but with the sun and wind, it will have the luster of history.That will be the effect we want. Pat is an artist who specializes in painting works that show signs of time. Whether it is drag painting, rag rolling, or painting with a sponge, as long as he uses the belongings in his van, he can achieve quite popular paint effects or Fake smoke-stained ceiling.His car was parked in the parking lot behind them, an old guy on wheels.On both sides of the car, a detail in a religious chapel is painted, and the finger of God points to a legend: Albert.Huadi the effect you want.This sentence is as attractive as the car. Pat's latest masterpiece is the hotel sign.The two-foot-high letters were shaded, faded yellow letters, faded blue background, and thin red lines.It looked like it was about to fall off after fifty years of age, an impression reinforced by the falling of many pieces over the past two days. Pat, that's amazing!This is exactly the effect we want, um, don't you think so? Ennis nodded eagerly.Dear Pat, that's been great.You know what, I was wondering if I could do something with that wall in the dining room. Is it similar to the mural effect? Yes, that's it.When will the others come over? Three of Pat's helpers are coming to assist him with the upholstery and the plasterer's work is now nearing completion. Pat played with the cigarette thoughtfully, of course, this is your wall.While the jokers say they're done, the walls must be dry.I will never paint on a wet wall.And it won't achieve the effect you want. Simon said: Why don't we take a look?All the windows were open and the heat was on full blast, so the downstairs should be dry.They went inside and Pat stopped at one of the windows.I really feel sorry for those mountains. They block the good view, don't they? Franseva walked up the stairs slowly and came to Nicole's front door. She looked a little uncomfortable because of the tight skirt and the high heels she was not used to.These shoes were bought when she went to Cavillon to have her hair done for this interview.If things went well today, she would be able to leave the café, away from the endless days of washing glasses and the raids of her father's poker pals.She can wear high heels every day, meet people from Paris and London, maybe a young man driving a red Ferrari will come to the hotel and fall in love with her.She looked down at her blouse, which she had carefully pressed last night, and decided to button it up again, because it was Mrs. Bouvier who was interviewing her.very good.She knocks on the door. Nicole invited her in and asked her to take a chair by the fire.It was the first time she had seen Franseva without jeans, a cotton skirt and flat sandals, and her transformation was indeed quite refreshing, from a country girl to a charming lady.Nicole thinks her makeup is too heavy and her dress is too tight, but these details can be adjusted. Franseva, you look so beautiful.I like your hair. Thank you, ma'am.Franseva wanted to cross her legs gracefully like Madame Bouvier, but immediately realized that her skirt was too short, so she just crossed her ankles. Nicole lit a cigarette.Tell us about your parents.Will they be happy if you come to the hotel?What about working in a cafe?We don't want to piss them off. Franswa shrugged and sucked her lower lip.My cousin will come over.My parents also knew that I didn't want to spend my whole life in a cafe.She sat in front of the chair.You know, I can type.After leaving school, I studied again.I can do liaison work, reservation confirmation, and payment collection, etc. Nicole looked at her face, wide eyes full of longing, and smiled.If this is the first face a hotel guest sees, they have nothing to complain about.Men, especially, will never complain.She stood up and we went to the kitchen and I made some coffee and talked over it. Franseva followed her, watching her silk blouse, the cut of her trousers, which from the back looked to fit perfectly without any small creases.Madame Bouvier was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.She tugged her skirt along her hip. It was last year's skirt. It must have shrunk. It felt clumsy.Her mother never understood why some clothes couldn't be worn even if they didn't disintegrate.Mrs. Bouvier could understand this.Franseva decided to ask her opinion about the clothes, if she got the job. I can come before the hotel opens, you know, just to help out. Crow looked at the screen of the word processor, with a bottle of red wine next to him, feeling a little drunk, so he became bold. The hotel becomes a haunting thing.It symbolized comfort, luxury, money, all the things he publicly despised but privately envied, and it was a daily reminder of his unique situation.His house is small and humid all winter.His contribution fee for Global News has not been adjusted for two years.His editor kept telling him that London was not doing well.Five publishers have turned down his book proposals, and American magazines have stopped buying his articles after he criticized American residents wearing crocodile brand names. He sipped his wine vigorously, lost in thought.If nothing else, just being intimidated into silence by this rich cigar-smoking murderer and clever French mistress left him with a lump in his throat and a lot of pain.He had already done some research on Simon Xiao and made some notes, preparing to write him a long article, but he put it back in the drawer the next morning when the drunkenness subsided.But now, he thought, maybe he could find another way to write about him. His drinking buddies on Fleet Street (Note: Fleet Street, London's Newspaper Street.) agreed to have his name published in a newspaper by Crow.This article must be done with caution, as judges are now cracking down on media involved in defamation cases.Still, it's better than nothing, and he'll still be protected. He filled his wine glass, looked at the title on the screen, and smiled to himself.Who raped the little village!Maybe he'll put his own words in there and pretend he's being interviewed by the author.He decided not to make personal attacks, and he did not use words that could easily cause litigation, but to lament mildly the disappearance of tradition and the pollution of rural life.He started typing on the keyboard, enjoying the pleasure of safely spreading malice. Simon shook his head resignedly as he looked at the bills from the carpenter, plumber, plasterer, and electrician for the week.It's like signing checks for the Italian soccer team for Rogero, Biagchini, Coppa, and probably just as expensive.But they did a good job.He signed the last string of zeros and went out to the terrace behind the house, where Nicole had already sunbathed.It was evening now, and the sky above the mountains had changed from blue to bright red, like lavender pink, which Ennis described as unrealistically beautiful. Before long, the vineyards will be in verdure, the cherry trees will be in full bloom, and tourists will be flocking here for Easter.These are our future guests, Simon thought.He took one last look at the sky and went inside for a glass of wine.