Le chic, le chèque et le choc – (The chic the check and the shock) - serialized adultery for the free of heart
Chapter 1 - The voyage begins
Madame Madeleine Clotilde Alice Couve de Murville knows all about the time-honored tradition for French women of le chic, le chèque et le choc.
At least she thought she did. An aristocrat by birth, married to another. Bluer blood than theirs was not to be found in France. Early thirties, two adorable children, a Swedish nanny, country estate, horses, Paris pad in the 8-eme arrondissement, country clubs, Caribbean getaways. Childhood sweethearts who their common heritage moulded together with unshakeable bonds of mutual understanding, respect and love. Everything seemed as good as it gets. . .
Until one day, opening a letter in a plain envelope addressed to her was the beginning of a journey which ended in a small apartment with a view over the rooftops of Paris from bohemian Montmartre. And the discovery that after looking at clouds, life and fooling around outside her marriage bed from both sides, she really didn’t know chic, chèques or chocs at all.
It was all her favorite great aunt Maud's fault.
Not that Madeleine knew nothing about infidelity, all her friends had affairs regularly. And when they weren’t romantically ‘distracted’ they thought of nothing else. Madeleine’s rude awakening began with a lawyer's letter inviting her to their offices in a less than salubrious part of Paris, where the mystery thickened fast.
The building was time-worn Belle Epoque. The creaking ancient birdcage lift did not inspire confidence. But Madeleine pressed on. A door down the dimly-lit musty hallway opened and an ancient Moroccan stepped out and smiled.
He bowed his head slightly as she approached.
"As-Salaam-Alaikum. Maître Abdel Othmane Seddiki, at your service, madame."
She shook his bony hand and was guided into a surprisingly modern outer office where a stunningly beautiful young Moroccan woman was surrounded by monitors and keyboards.
Sandalwood scented the air.
Seddiki's office was a voyage into discerning Art Deco.
Mint tea was served in small guilded glasses.
Madeleine was spellbound. She hoped she wasn't blushing as the old man seemed to stare at her, as if his eyesight was failing.
"When I see you, madame," he finally said, his voice thick and cracking with emotion, "It is as if your great aunt is in front of me. Is still with us. . . She was a friend of many years. And her loss pains me greatly."
It was then Madeleine understood. "Now I remember. You were at her funeral."
The old lawyer nodded sadly. "I was."
Madeleine suddenly recalled a number of very distinguished older men grieving. And some surprisingly younger ones, none of them widowers, mingled in with the mourners.
"Madame, you great aunt married very well. But she also inherited a considerable fortune from her mother, which under the séparation de biens marriage contract has nothing to do with her public estate which other lawyers are handling. . . I have always looked after her private business."
He picked up a key off the top of two folders on his desk.
"This key opens a safety deposit box at the BNP rue Saint-Honoré. There are only two signatories: your great aunt. And yours."
"But I've never signed anything."
The old man smiled sagely and waved an arthritic hand dismissively.
"It was arranged many years ago. As far as her private business affairs go you are her sole beneficiary. May I suggest you go there today and acquaint yourself with the contents. You great aunt had exquisite taste in jewellery. And was given many extraordinary pieces during her lifetime."
"I don't know what to say, maître. I feel I'm in a dream."
The old man laughed, his withered form suddenly springing to life. "You are. You are, madame. If only you knew what you will discover," he cried. waving his hands about excitedly. "But even I can not tell you all your great aunt's secrets. . . And there are many."
He pushed one of the folders across.
"You will also need to go to Geneva to see her lawyers there. That will be trickier to explain to your husband, but it's essential and I'll make the introductions when you advise me the date you can go."
He pushed the last folder over. And smiled. It was bound on all sides by red tape and sealed with red wax.
"Your great aunt's diaries, madame. They will explain many things. Open many doors you never imagined existed where you will be made welcome. . . And these," he said, holding up a pair of Fichet security keys. "The keys to an apartment in Montmartre."
"I didn't know she had one."
"Neither does anyone else." His voice dropped, so she struggled to hear the fateful words. "It was where she, and generations of women in her family before her, discretely received their lovers, for the past hundred and fifty years."
Madeleine found the nearest bar-tabac, ordered a pastis, poured a little water on it and tossed it back in one hit.
The patrons, for the most part young unemployed French Maghrebis fell silent. Impossibly cute 30-year old blonds with pixie hair cuts, tanned legs, wearing YSL dresses, Jimmy Choo shoes and €1,000 Chanel handbags rarely dropped in for an afternoon apero.
She smiled at the barman and walked out.
One of the wasp-waisted young idlers nursing beers, got up, left his friends and followed her into the street.
"Hey, baby!" he said, with a dashing yet innocent smile which had never failed to melt female resolve since he was fourteen. "Wanna go somewhere and fuck?"
Madeleine turned, smiled and spoke in English which threw him off. "Sunshine! If you'd asked me yesterday I would've smacked you in the face. And today, baby, you're still shit outta luck, because I gotta go to the bank. But tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow maybe you can come up sometime and see my etchings."
Karim stared gobsmacked as Madeleine's eyes suddenly opened wide in shock and she turned, stumbled and promptly threw up into the gutter between two parked cars: salade niçoise, tarte tatin and pastis.
Thinking on his feet, Madeleine's gallant of the moment quickly saved the day, hailed a passing cab and bundled her into the back seat. Trouble with the cops over crazy American tourists was the last thing the neighbourhood needed.
Madeleine wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and gave bemused driver precise instructions in French to great aunt Maud's bank. She quickly gave her neck and dress a refresher blast of Obsession. It would be an unpardonable start to the relationship if her new bankers smelt vomit and pastis on her breath.
Leaving lunch in a Paris gutter hadn't been in her plans. But it cleared her head fast. And she realized for the first time in her life a randy teen had just tried to pick her up. Things like that just didn't happen where she came from. Even when she was holidaying on St. Tropez topless beaches
Now after throwing up from all the excitement, the experience left her feeling alarmingly horny for previously unthinkable liasons.
A pleasing new sensation she realized would not go away in a hurry.
She began thinking up scenarios for the trip to Geneva.
Intermingled with graphic speculation what it would be like to fuck the kid.
It also occurred just how long it had been since she'd fantasized about fucking teenage boys.
She ended up marrying the only one she'd ever obsessed about.
But she'd never felt wet with desire in a Paris taxi before - over anyone. Especially a handsome chancer she’d barely laid eyes on for twenty seconds.
She briefly wondered how many other happily married women riding in Paris taxis at that moment were feeling wet with desire over young men whose only objective was to lead them astray.
Maybe it was the pastis. . .
Later that night when the kids were asleep Monsieur Couve de Murville discovered passion in his beloved wife neither even dared dream existed. She indecently excited him beyond measure. He simply couldn’t get enough of her.
Madame was equally shocked. And she loved it.
It never occurred to her husband to wonder why or how.
Madeleine knew. She had found the first choc in her life. An experience which seriously turned her on.
Perversely she figured she owed it to her husband to discover more.
And she knew just how she was going to do it.
Aunt Maud would surely approve.
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