Everyday that the racers showed up to ride, Campy was there too. On Sunday Girlymann rode with the old men and made friends among them. He made sure Gaston saw him though and would give him a hand salute and smile that at first wasn't returned. But as the weeks went on, Gaston warmed and asked Campy to ride with them to the cafe by the river on the Sunday ride. Campy was feeling good about the developments and was looking forward to Sunday and the ride as he sat at the bar in the Chat Noir Cafe.
The rain started its pitter-pat on the cobblestones outside. A warm summer afternoon, the front door was open for a breath of fresh cool air moistened by an afternoon shower. Campy felt an arm fall on his shoulder and when he turn to see who's arm it was, Bernard winked.
"You are a bad boy, Girlymann," he said and sat down next to Campy.
"I was wondering how long I could keep it from you," Campy said a bit embarrassed and with a quick look to see who else was in the cafe.
"I knew it was you the first time you rode Sunday. No one has legs like yours. But I will keep your secret."
"That's what I'm counting on, Thanks Bernard."
"Oh, it is Ricky, hot headed Cuban that he is would strangle me if I told anyone."
"Then tell Ricky thanks." Campy said and in a louder voice, "Thanks mate for the tip on what to see in Paris first. Always wanted to go there."
Ricky winked and said, "Anytime Aussie, anytime."
Girlymann turned back to his coffee and guide book. With Bernard knowing, he wondered who else knew and how much talk there was about him. He decided that later that night, after closing, he would talk to Pierre if he has heard anything of his secret.
When the last customer left and Campy had helped with the cleanup, the two retired to the small garden in back. To sit and talk over a glass of port. The moon was shining bright above with the shadow of clouds passing below it. The night jasmine full in bloom made the night air heady with its Asian perfume.
"There is talk." Pierre played with his port, swirling the warm colored wine in the bowl of his glass. "There is always talk in a town of this size but, monsieur Campy, it is not about you."
"That's a relief." Campy didn't swirl his, but shot the whole glass of port down before he poured another.
Pierre waited until his friend had settled down. When the night became silent and clouds blocked the moon's silver glow, he said, "There is something evil at the Estate Du Claude." Pierre looked around as if someone might be listening before he leaned toward Campy and said, "They fired the head gardener who had worked there as a boy when his own father cared for the estate. His wife pregnant with a child." Pierre voice raised a bit, showing his disgust.
"Terrible, " Campy said.
"He has work now, at another estate in the next village but he talked of what he heard from the estates servants. All, to the last, hate the Contesta du Claude and her son Jean."
"I have tried to talk with Gaston, hoping I might get in with him and be introduce to Jean Claude but he's a bit leery of me, I think."
Pierre laughed and said, "Leery? He is terrified that you will beat him in front of all his friends." Another laugh from Pierre and then he said, "He wishes you will disappear like the Belgian domestic."
"What do you suppose happened to that guy?"
Pierre looked at Campy in a dumbfounded way. "That's what the villagers are talking about my friend. They say he is locked up in the old dungeons of the Estate du Claude. That Jean Claude has made him his slave."
Campy looked astonished at what Pierre had said, "They can't do that can they?"
"I'm afraid the Contesta has money and connections. They can do whatever they want. If they send the police, it would be easy to pay to have them not look everywhere. After all if you can pay for your son to win the Yellow Jersey then you can pay for anything. " Pierre grabbed Campy's shoulder and pulled him a bit. "Do you know why you don't see Jean Claude with the team?'
"I was wondering why he hasn't ridden."
"He doesn't need to. He won the jersey and that is all that mattered to him, now he is onto something else."
"This changes things, Pierre, I have to get into the Estate du Claude."
"Good luck my friend, for you will need all the luck you can get. It would be easier, how you say, to break into Fort Knox."
"I got that Belgian into this and I'm going to get him out."
Pierre held up his glass to the night sky and said, "To your success!"
Campy smiled and tip his glass toward Pierre before both men took a sip of their port.
They looked at the night sky, sipped their port and wondered of the future as the night clouds rolled above them.
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