Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Odd,’ said Joan, ‘we haven’t seen our lovely friend, the red-headed woman, for several days, have we?’ – ‘no indeed,’ as Scatty looked up for a moment, as she laid down all her cards, and shouted, ‘Rummy!’ as she grinned happily, ‘all out, again,’ as she gathered the cards together, then began to shuffle them again.

Meanwhile, on the next table, Francis and The Old One were concentrating playing poker, while outside, Mr Cushing was busy cleaning his gorgeous limousine, he had just finished polishing the car, when he looked up to see the red-headed woman standing near him.

‘Fancy a drive, my dear?’ said Mr Cushing, ‘I think I know where you want to go,’ as he stared at her, while she gripped her bag more tightly, then nodded.

‘Can I come too?’ as The Old One appeared outside, ‘I lost again, poker is not my strong suit you see, my pride has been injured yet again, but never mind, it seems we have a job to do.’

So off they went, the three of them, it was such a lovely day, and soon they arrived at that particular farm, and even from there, they could all see the poor farmer was clearly still brooding over life’s injustices, well wouldn’t he?

The red-headed woman jumped out, trotting to the farmer, the two of them began to walk in step together; then they popped inside the farm house, then a moment later, the red-headed woman appeared again, and said, ‘all done.’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The two gargoyles, who were still on that belfry, while on they smartphones, they relayed a message from Reena, to the red-headed woman and Monsieur Bourbon; it was all about the diamonds – so many useful facts continued to flow – as the red-headed woman and Monsieur looked rather amazed, as they read what Reena said.

The two gargoyles shut their phones then put them in their satchels, they had already ditched their hats and coats, and as the red-headed woman looked up, the two gargoyles were about to fly off, as both of them gave a little wave to her.

She wondered where they were going, since it seemed that they were no longer interested about those gems; all that effort, and nothing now, as the red-headed woman grimaced.

‘Well,’ said Monsieur Bourbon, ‘the brutal truth is those synthetic diamonds are not very valuable, or at least what I thought that very clever lady, called Reena, had explained, is that right?’

‘Indeed, it seems so,’ as the red-headed woman had managed to grasp much of what Reena said, as she read again while scrolling down and back again, then she looked to Monsieur Bourbon, as she said, ‘the blunt truth is there’s no point to keep those gems,’ as she put her phone down then pushed her knuckles on her jaw.

‘So what should I do,’ she muttered to herself; then she said, ‘okay, this is the best idea, I’ll give back those stupid diamonds to the farmer, I guess.’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Oh, this is a blow,’ muttered the red-headed woman, as she wondered to herself, while she tried to put her shattered thoughts into some semblance of order.

She looked to Monsieur Bourbon, and then to the gargoyles, as she said this: ‘no, quiet… we need to put our thinking caps on, don’t we; but meantime, we will need some sustenance, at least for me and Monsieur – some hot chocolate and some croissants for dunking would be best.’

So those synthetic diamonds were put in that strong safe, just in case, as they all adjourned to a little café, a good place where no one would be nosy, and certainly not near a certain Inspector Clouseau, or at least she thought so.

‘Okay, tell me more,’ she said, as the two gargoyles leapt up to the nearest very tall building, in fact, a church with a belfry, as they both grinned, ‘so what, Monsieur Bourbon, shall we do now?’

‘Well, my dear, it’s quite true, those gems are not completely worthless, although not great, and of course, the real problem is these have been nicked, obviously, come on, we know each other pretty well,’ as the red-headed woman, raised an eyebrow, ‘but we are not quitting, are we?’ as Monsieur Bourbon finished he second croissant.

Meanwhile, the two gargoyles had been both busy on their smartphones and right by that gorgeous belfry; after a few minutes there were a few beeps, including Reena, as the two of them grinned a lot.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman had responded to Monsieur Bourbon, although not quite so enthusiastically as she quickly kissed his cheeks two times, then righted her beret, while those two gargoyles looked on, as they wondered whether they might have a go as well.

However, Monsieur Bourbon had other plans as he spied those small satchels around their chests, as he looked and wondered as he said: ‘do tell what’s in there, since you two have been on a bit of a jaunt, am I right?’

The two gargoyles then mention those beautiful gems as they were about to remove them, but meanwhile the red-headed woman peered out from the shop window, while Monsieur Bourbon turned the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, as he said: ‘let’s go into the backroom.’

‘Ah ha, diamonds,’ smiled Monsieur Bourbon, as he took his loupe and gently fixed it into his eye socket, as he began to analyse those gemstones and there were many of them to look at.

The red-headed woman began to pace, and soon, since it was taking such a long time, she started to march around, even though it was a rather small backroom, but the two gargoyles continued to watch the magnificent Monsieur – mesmerising – they both felt.

Then Monsieur Bourbon removed his loupe and said: ‘they’re not real, none of them… they are synthetic,’ – the red-headed woman said, ‘you mean they’re just junk and no real value?’ as she put up her head and jutted out her chin with grumpiness.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Well, this is a stroke of luck,’ muttered the red-headed woman to the two gargoyles, ‘see that Inspector Clouseau, he’s still walking around that busy boulevard, still walking briskly along, while swinging his truncheon happily, and taking no notice about anything at all, and that’s perfect, don’t you think,’ as she grinned.

‘Still,’ said the red-headed woman, ‘we’re not quite there yet, but I do remember exactly where that small shop is, and I’m sure he’ll still be there, also I’ll never forget his name, Monsieur Bourbon, so let’s get moving, as the two gargoyles agreed, while they continued to hold their small satchels very tightly.

Meanwhile, Mr Cushing and The Old One had commandeered the large kitchen – Francis had poked his head around the door to say, ‘be my guest, I’m sure you are both great cooks… sorry, I mean chefs.’

Mr Cushing had explained that he had bought some sirloin from the excellent butcher, ‘looks good, doesn’t it,’ while The Old One said, ‘hmm, very nice and bloody,’ as his fangs appeared for a moment, but then he said, ‘of course, we need to cook this, and nicely.’

‘Okay, let’s get to business,’ said Mr Cushing, ‘we’ll cube the beef since we have been hankering to make some delicious curry – not too hot but really creamy.

Meantime, the red-headed woman pushed open the tingly bell in that shop; Monsieur Bourbon was right next to the door, he cupped her face in his hands and then kissed her forehead.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

All of them were back in Paris, and how lovely they felt now – Joan had a long and relaxing huge bath, she loved to float around it; Scatty had a very hot and quick shower, she was almost buzzing; while the guys had been freshening up.

It seemed that none of them were bothered about those gems anymore, maybe because they don’t need any dosh, since they have oodles of cash around several banks and vaults, and also several countries – old and ancient vampires and other creatures have always looked after their money.

But where was the red-headed woman, and where were those two gargoyles? and maybe you might wonder about that too, so let’s listen in for a while.

The red-headed woman was making a plan and a plot (as often she would); she was not into the territory yet, and at least she wasn’t at the end of her tether, although this was going to be tricky, she glanced at the two gargoyles, ‘well, we have many teachable things, including getting those diamonds to Monsieur Bourbon.’

‘We need to get across several streets, including that busy boulevard, and definitely no talking, taunting or anything else; just keep quiet… remember, mums the word.’

The two of them said, ‘we will try to look as normal as we can, we will wear proper clothes and put on trilby hats; we will blend in as we walk – plus, we won’t talk to that monkey just there… oh gosh, it’s Clouseau… again!’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

There was an announcement from the loudspeaker on the train which said, ‘it will arrive at the station in four minutes’ – ‘that’s our cue,’ grinned the red headed woman, as she looked outside to see the station car park, where she could see that elegant limousine.

The red headed woman could also see those two gargoyles who had been skulking in the car park right by the wall, and now she was certain they would be able to get into the limo as usual, while Mr Cushing would open the rear door, as the two of them trundled to the end of the very long car.

Meanwhile, Mr Cushing and The Old One had been talking about movies, – ‘I did like a meaty role,’ explained Mr Cushing – ‘great actors, like Clouseau and Cato,’ as they both grinned.

‘Come on, we need to get off this train,’ said the red headed woman, as she grabbed her big bag and made her way to the exit doors; she smiled to the little girl who she’d met in the other coach, while saying, ‘thanks mate’, to the dad.

Scatty, Joan and Francis also followed as they all alighted from the train, as they made their way to the station car park; it seemed there was a mass of people around there, but there was no problem to find that gorgeous car.

‘Everyone in,’ smiled Mr Cushing, as he glanced back at all of them, ‘we’ll be flying soon (figuratively speaking, of course).

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

Mr Cushing had continued to drive, as a smallish town appeared; then The Old One said: ‘the signpost, look, that will be the station just down there, and next to it will be the station car park,’ -the Old One was still using his smartphone on GPS as he said, ‘take a left… indicate, now!’

Mr Cushing just raised one eyebrow a little, as he smoothly drove down to the station car park, while carefully looking in his rear mirror – still no gendarmes and no Inspector Clouseau, a small smile appeared.

Meanwhile, the red-headed woman had been using her own smartphone to ping to WhatsApp as another phone pinged back; she grinned as she started an important conversation.

And this is how it went, but using condensed words and useful emojis:-
I’m not sure that faith comes into this – not faith, just practical things, hmm, gems… diamonds – well I know what to do, I know a former jeweller who became a fence, he’s called Monsieur Bourbon, it’s near Montmartre, just a few streets from where I stay, as she winked and used a thumbs-up sign.

The red-headed woman pocketed her smartphone, as Scatty, Joan and Francis all looked at her with various very quizzical questions – who, what and why… and when?

She held up her hands with a radiant smile – ‘all of us, plus Mr Cushing, the Old One, and of course, those two who we know very well, we’ll be back in Paris, very, very soon – mark my words.’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

Meanwhile, The Old One and Mr Cushing had managed to get across all those sheds without being noticed by those many gendarmes around that large farm, and they had a hairy time while that bumbling Inspector Clouseau had been laying across that gorgeous limo.

‘Outrageous,’ muttered Mr Cushing, as he clenched his teeth, while both of them hid in some bushes until Inspector Clouseau somehow or other managed to fall down to the ground from that very expensive car; he stood up rather quickly, as he moved away to catch up to all those gendarmes.

‘Now’s our chance,’ grinned The Old One, as Mr Cushing pulled out his keys; ‘no wishful thinking with this perfect purring car,’ as he gunned into reverse, and very, very quickly, he swung a right, and then put it onto drive, ‘zoom on, we’re on the move,’ as both of them grinned with glee, ‘what wits we are!’

They were racing through the countryside, Mr Cushing drove swiftly, while The Old One used his smartphone: ‘hear we are,’ he said, ‘I’ve the GPS, we can find them near the rails and then to the nearest station, hmm, excellent.’

Then The Old One started a soliloquy, almost like a fourth wall he thought to himself: ‘I think I might be a writer, I feel I should write my memoirs, but only the highlights,’ as he took out his posh pen and beautiful notebook.

Mr Cushing glanced at him, and said: ‘you’re going to be busy then.’

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