The Paris Connection: Pennie Irvine, #3

By Marty Langenberg

Do you believe in coincidences?

All Pennie Irvine wants is to give her friend, Chris Tonkin, the chance to study at the world-famous French school for parfumiers. So, why does her arch enemy, mob-boss Joe Luca, turn up in Paris at the same time?

What is his connection with the Corsican Mafia, Albania and LAVA?

Pennie hasn't seen Steph Laskarina since they both escaped from the insane Reverend Williams and his besotted wife, Beth. So, why is Steph suddenly appearing around Paris tourist attractions before she finally seeks Pennie out at the bar where she works, but doesn't have time to explain?

We know by now that Pennie is no shrinking violet. When one of Joe Luca's henchmen tries to use her as a shield, she deals with him, of course! And, when she walks away from the murder and mayhem of Paris, why does she suddenly return to Sydney to embrace a new career and to build a business in a, perhaps not altogether unexpected, field?

And, what about her son, Daniel's, father?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marty Langenberg
• Release date: Dec 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386140061

Marty Langenberg

Marty Langenberg is a retired teacher and administrator. His first book was published on Amazon in October 2017. The Pennie Irvine Series currently consists of 3 books, namely: Pennie, The Baby Farm, and The Paris Connection. His latest book Learning, By Degrees, is the first book in the Dan Irvine Series. Several other books are currently in various stages of completion. He has also written a number of poems in the Australian Bush Poetry style.

Book preview

Chapter 1

As the three of them relaxed in their economy-class seats on the French Boeing 747, headed for their refuelling stop-over in the Middle East, Pennie Irvine closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her almost five-year-old son Daniel was in the window seat, right next to her, happily colouring-in the picture he was working on. Her long-time gay friend, Chris Tindon, sat on the other side. It was largely her fault that the three of them were sitting here, although Chris had been just as excited after she had finally convinced him this really was possible. They could go to France to study perfumery, they could save enough in just eighteen months to afford their airfares, and they could get cheap accommodation near Versailles, even if it was not exactly within walking distance of ISIPCA.

They were headed for La Celle-Saint-Cloud where Pennie had found a two-bed ‘house’ at a price that had seemed much too low. After exchanging several letters with the owner, Monsieur Pierre Boulanger, Pennie had finally screwed up her courage to make telephone contact. She was relieved and delighted to find Pierre had an excellent grasp of English.

You’ll have to accept the place as it is. I don’t have time to look after it because I spend most of my time in London. My mother died in the house about ten weeks ago; don’t worry, she was ninety-three. But nothing has been done in the house for years.

But it is liveable? Pennie had asked.

"Mother lived there until she died, right? Whatever furniture she had in there should all be still there. Use whatever you want. There are no antiques so, there’s nothing that’s worth keeping. If you want to move your own stuff in, just dispose of what you don’t want. Personally, I haven’t been in the place at all during the last five years. The local agent wanted me to refurbish it but I can’t be bothered and I’m not allowed to just knock it down. It’s in the middle of a whole row, what we call a maison mitoyenne, like a terrace-house. If you pay the rent you can stay until the place collapses. Just don’t ring me every time there’s a leak or the chimney gets blocked."

It still sounded too good to be true but they would see for themselves soon enough. As near as Pennie had been able to calculate from a large-scale map of the environs of Paris, their new home would be less than eight kilometres from Versailles and about seventeen kilometres from the Eifel Tower. More importantly, it was just five kilometres from ISIPCA (Institut Supérieur International du Parfum), the world-famous school for people looking for a career in Perfume, Cosmetics and Food Flavours, the school where Chris was enrolled to start studying in less than four weeks’ time. Who would have thought, that first book, ‘The History of Perfume’, would have led to this trip! Yet, that was where it had all started, where she had become addicted to knowing everything there was to know about perfume and developing a ‘nose’. Although, she had to admit, Chris’ enthusiasm had also played a large part.

With a smile on her face, Pennie recalled the surprise send-off they had enjoyed two evenings before. Bob and Bernie, owners of the Burlston Hotel where Pennie had lived and worked for the last five years, had organised the event and it had been a very big night. Some of the regulars at The Burlston had started off the ‘party’ even before closing time and it had been great to be there, together with their closest friends. Charlie, the cook, provided what seemed like unlimited quantities of finger-food and Bernie made sure everyone’s drink of choice kept coming. When even Detective Senior Sergeant Patrick Steele had joined them, their group was complete.

Pat and Pennie had become good friends since she had helped him with a major case just before Daniel was born. Heather, who had also been involved in the case, had given birth to her daughter Jessie, just a fortnight after that. She and Pennie had become very close friends.

When Pennie had asked Heather and Pat to be godparents to Daniel, they had both eagerly agreed. Since then, for the past four years, both had taken their responsibilities very seriously by spoiling their godson at every opportunity. It also meant Pat Steele was now a very regular visitor to Pennie and Daniel and to the rest of their group. Their final goodbyes had seen many shed tears although everyone present was proud of the adventure they were about to embrace.

They were due to land at Orly Airport at six-thirty on Monday morning but the last leg of their trip had been helped along by a tail-wind that delivered them onto the tarmac well before six a.m. They strolled through the South Terminal but none of the shops or cafes were open yet so they moved on towards the baggage area. After the inevitable delay at the baggage carousel, they found it easy to secure a taxi. They had very limited finances but Pennie had convinced Chris that this luxury would be worth it, for they would be delivered right to the front door of their home.  And, indeed, the driver unloaded them and their cases just thirty minutes later at their La Celle-Saint-Cloud front door.

Chapter 2

There was no front yard, so no front gate either. Their front door was literally on the street. No more than a footpath separated them from the traffic. Ah, home sweet home, said Chris. I’ll see if our neighbours are awake yet so I can get the key. Monsieur Boulanger had arranged for the agent to leave keys with their neighbour, Madame Yvette Bisset.

Before he could knock on her door, it opened and a wrinkled old lady, key in hand, smiled at them. "Bonjour, Monsieur Irvine?"

Chris’ French was nowhere near good enough to explain that he was not Mr Irvine so he just smiled back and managed to say, "Bonjour, Madame Bisset. Merci." He backed away, still smiling, before handing the large brass key to Pennie, to allow her the honour of being first to enter the house.

Pennie carried Daniel on one hip as she pushed in through her front door. Chris followed close behind as they inspected their new premises. Neither said a word as they stepped straight from the street into what was, obviously, a living area. The sofa and two chairs looked well-worn but appeared to be solid. An old television set was in one corner. A door led to a kitchen that was barely large enough to accommodate the small table and four chairs. There was a basic electric cooker and a simple benchtop over a three-door cabinet. The sink was free-standing in a cupboard of its own with enough room on either side for a drain-board. Pennie was relieved there were two taps, suggesting they would find a hot-water system of some sort. Someone had, thoughtfully, left open the door of the small refrigerator which had been turned off. The old fashioned gas-fired cooker stood next to the sink.

An outer door led to a tiny backyard that had clearly, until recently, been a vegetable patch. Stepping back into the kitchen and through another door they found themselves in a small box-room that had half-a-dozen shelves of different sizes attached to one wall. Could be used as a pantry, perhaps? The room also featured a very steep staircase with no banister or handrail of any kind. Gingerly, they made their way up to what turned out to be an attic converted into two small bedrooms. Between the bedrooms, on the landing at the top of the stairs, there was a cupboard which turned out to be the only storage space in the entire attic.  There was a small double bed in the larger room along with a dresser and a chair. Pennie estimated she could rearrange things to squeeze in a small bed for Daniel. The smaller room contained a single bed, plus a chest of drawers and a chair. Both had dormer windows set into the roof-line. They looked out onto the street from which they had just entered.

No bathroom? said Pennie. They both spun around on the landing between the two bedrooms before Chris said, Well, it’s not hidden up here. There simply isn’t room for it. We better check again downstairs.

Back in the box-room, they both looked carefully, searching for another door. Chris made the discovery. A very narrow door, set so carefully into the wood paneling below the staircase that it was almost impossible to see, revealed a tiny bathroom. The entry door, which was no more than sixty centimetres wide, had to swing outwards for it could not possibly swing inwards. They had to take turns to look into the room.

Standing in the narrow doorway, Pennie could see the room was no more than six feet wide and three and a half feet deep. Its sloping ceiling followed the angle of the staircase above. The area was fully covered in some kind of plastic panelling and just as well, too, as this was obviously a wet-room. At its highest point, a shower-rose barely cleared the ceiling. Opposite the shower-rose was a toilet bowl with a plastic seat and lid. A tiny, triangular hand-basin was pushed into the back left-hand corner under the shower-rose. Clearly, this entire ‘room’ would get wet all over whenever the shower was used. She noticed then that the floor sloped slightly towards the back where a small drain was set into the floor.

What an ingenious use of space, said Pennie. She was determined to put a positive spin on what they had seen.

What about the rest of the place? asked Chris. Is this going to work? We’ll probably be here for two years, remember.

Pennie knew it was a rhetorical question. This was what they had signed up for and they simply had to make it work. She said, I’m going to put Daniel to bed. He’s like a dead-weight at the moment. Poor kid must be so tired. With that, she once again climbed the steep stairs. Once at the top, she called down to Chris. This could be a bit dangerous. I don’t think I can leave him up here on his own. Any ideas about that?

There’s no bedroom downstairs, unless you want to convert the front room?

I’ll have to think about that. For now, I think I’ll lie down with him and keep the door closed. Hopefully, he can’t open the door himself. Lucky the handles are up so high. I suspect I’ll probably drift off myself. Will you be alright on your own for a while?

Chris stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at Pennie. I’m a big boy. Maybe I’ll practice my French a bit with Yvette next door. Better take the phrasebook along, huh?

Good luck with that! she called as she re-entered the bedroom.

Chapter 3

Sometime later, she was awakened by a very light tapping on her door. Come in, she called. When the door opened, she was delighted to see Chris carrying a tray filled with cups, a teapot, and a tiny vase with a single red geranium in it.

Good afternoon, ma’am, he smiled. Room service for you. Which, by the way, will only be available on day one of your stay.

How did you manage that, Chris? Did you find old teabags, left behind by the last occupant? I hope not? She had a sudden flashback to the time when she and Steve had briefly shared a caravan and where he made tea for her from very stale teabags. She was grateful that Chris kept talking.

"No, I took my phrase book and walked around until I found a nice young lady who was walking her dog. Lucky that we practiced a couple of phrases. I managed to say, ‘Bonjour, Je suis l’Australie’, I think. She said, ‘Oui’, and some other stuff. She was keen to help and I already had the phrasebook open so I could point out, ‘I want to buy groceries’."

Let me try to remember, Pennie said. "Je veux acheter de la nourriture, I think. Am I right?

I wouldn’t know. I just pointed to the English side of the page and she read the other side. I know we practiced a bit of French before we left but it all sounds so different now that we’re here. I think we’ll need to learn the accent as well as the words.

"You’re right, I’m sure. And, we’re certainly going to get lots of chances to practice. So, what did you buy at the ‘Epecier’?"

"Right, the grocer. I got teabags. And coffee, sugar and milk, plus bread and cornflakes for breakfast. Maybe, they call them cornflakes here, too! At least, that’s what it says on the box! Lucky for me, it was self-service in the shop. I just wandered around until I found things. I remembered the word for ‘sorry’ was ‘desole’, but they seemed to understand ‘sorry’ just as well. Especially when I trotted out ‘Je suis l’Australie’, the shopkeepers just said ‘Abien’. I think we’ll manage okay here."

Let’s see what French tea tastes like.

Chapter 4

During their first week, they explored their new neighbourhood on foot, hoping to find work they would be able to reach without the need for transportation. Even Pennie’s eternal optimism had taken a severe beating by the end of their eighth exhausting day. They didn’t speak French so, no job offers.

In desperation, phrase book in hand, they had approached Yvette, their neighbour. They had already shared coffee together on several occasions but their limited conversation had never led them to discuss job searching. This time, sitting in Yvette’s kitchen after she had made drinks for them, Pennie haltingly explained their problem. Yvette was quick to grasp what she was saying for she picked up the phone and dialled a number. As she waited for an answer, she said, "Je téléphone à mon fils."

She’s calling her son, whispered Chris.

I know, Pennie answered, smiling. It seemed they had picked up something from their limited study at home.

A rapid, one sided, conversation in French ended with Yvette hanging up the phone and saying, "Ce soir. Il viendra." She had to write down ‘viendra’ so they could look it up.

He’s coming, tonight? Pennie was pointing downwards as she looked to Yvette for confirmation.

"Oui, ce soir," their neighbour nodded, smiling brightly.

Her son, Gerard, arrived soon after they finished their evening meal. Pennie guessed he was in his forties. He was tall and had the build of a casual labourer. Most of his hair was gone but the little he had was neatly combed. After the introductions, Gerard said, I work sometime in Manchester. In England? I learn some English. My mother said, you need help for work?

Pennie explained their problem and said their best chance might be to work someplace where they didn’t have to speak at all. Like in a mine, she joked. At least, she hoped it was a joke.

What you did before coming here? asked Gerard.

We worked in a bar, Pennie and Chris said, almost together.

Ah, good! You work in Aussie Pub.

Yes, we did, in Sydney, explained Chris.

Non, non. Not Sydney. Here! Gerard was pointing animatedly out the window. Paris Aussie Pub.

You have an Australian Pub in France?

"Oui, oui. We have many, l’Australien, Écosse ... is Scotie, err ... Scotland, Irlande. English pubs too. All in Paris."

The next day they had gathered their courage and ventured onto the Metro, the French underground railway system. It was just a quick hop into the very centre of Paris. This time, their walking tour soon found multiple English-speaking bars. Pennie, in her inimitable fashion, quickly sussed out several of them and was soon offered a job on a trial basis. She was confident this would mean on-going employment. She was hopeful she would be able to turn one job into two part-time positions, with Chris and herself eventually sharing the work and the wages.

Chapter 5

Pennie opened the ‘diary’ she was determined to keep during their stay in France. She had opted to use a thick exercise book where she wrote in new dates as required. So far, she had made entries on most days as the three of them seemed to be exposed to new experiences every day. Now, as she sat at the small kitchen table, she headed up a new page.

Wednesday, 8 September 1993.

Chris is riding his new (second-hand) bicycle to school for his first day. I cried as he rode away and waved back at us. Both of us are pinning our hopes for the future on this adventure, but I think it’s even more important to me than it is to Chris. But now, it means I’m left alone with Daniel for the first time. It also means it’s now up to me to organise my own schooling to fit in with Daniel’s needs. Thank goodness, we found that Aussie Pub. At least it’s a job to start with.

Daniel called out to her from above. On their very first day they had hunted for a way to block the top of the stairs. Chris had taken the owner of their house at his word and had not bothered to ask for permission. He simply attached the slatted panel they had bought, attaching hinges on the wall on one side and securing it with a ‘child-proof’ catch on the opposite side. The new ‘gate’ was almost five feet high and Pennie had breathed a sigh of relief. Daniel was highly intelligent and even at just four years old understood the danger of the stairs but she suspected that would not stop him from trying to prove he could handle them. Chris had also attached a length of timber to the sidewall of the staircase. It provided at least a semblance of a rail to hang on to as they climbed up or down.

After breakfast and a quick clean-up, Pennie took her son by the hand and headed out. He was a good walker and very inquisitive. He already realised people here sounded different and Pennie assured him that soon he too would sound that way.

You’ll soon be my brilliant, bilingual son. When we go back to Sydney, and back to Bob and Bernie, everyone will be amazed at how clever you are.

What’s bilingool, mummy?

It means you can speak two languages, English as well as French. But don’t worry, it will happen, all by itself. Look, we’re here.

Daniel helped her push open the glass door of the Tourist Information Centre, the ‘Centre d’information touristique’, where they had discovered an English-speaking assistant the previous week. Melissa had come from England to France as a backpacker almost ten years ago and had stayed. She recognised Pennie from her previous visit and immediately approached her.

How are you settling in? she asked.

We’re slowly finding our way around. I didn’t realise how hard it would be. I hoped more people would speak English, you know?

"Yes, I remember that was the hardest part for me. Still, like me, you’ll find you learn it because you simply have to."

That’s what we’re hoping. Anyway, my friend started his course at the perfume school today.

Oh, is he at ISIPCA?

That’s right.

Good for him. I’ve heard it’s very difficult to get a place there.

Yes, I think we were quite fortunate. His degree in Chemical Engineering was a prerequisite, just to get accepted! I’m glad he did his Honours, too. Plus, I think because he’s from Australia, it gave him a bit of a ‘leg-up’; the school wants to become more recognised, internationally. We heard they got extra government funding for that.

That’s right. I was reading about that. I wouldn’t have thought they needed more money. Have you seen that beautiful old building that they teach in? Must be worth millions!

Yes, we’ve been for a look. The old part is beautiful but they have some newer buildings too. I’m sure the politicians over here are the same as in Sydney. At home, they’re always handing money out to make sure they get reelected.

Melissa nodded her head in agreement. She went on to say, I guess you didn’t come in to talk about French Politics.

I’m hoping you can point me in the right direction. Ideally, I want to do some study about Perfume for myself as well but, since I haven’t had much schooling, I had no chance of enrolling with Chris. Do you know of any other schools in the area that aren’t quite so demanding?

There are a few, I think, but none that teach in English. Have you considered taking French lessons?

Chapter 6

Monday, 13 September 1993.

Just finished my first afternoon of French lessons. I hate this language already! What’s with all this male and female business? It’s for ever La or Le, or even Les (that’s plural, I remember) but I’ll never remember which is which. I asked the teacher how anyone remembers, and she said: ‘We just know’. But, we, as students, we just have to learn. After class, she told me that even some native French speakers get confused. God help me!!!! This initial course, for beginners, only runs for three months, three afternoons per week. I think I’ll need three years! At least students can bring their kids if necessary. The classes are quite laid back. As usual, Daniel was loved by everyone. Hope he doesn’t get a swelled head. He sure sounded strange when he spoke some of the words we were learning. I did meet some other non-Frenchies, which is why we’re all there, I guess. No-one else from Australia, though. Most seem to be from other countries in Europe, and England, of course.

Tuesday, 14 September 1993.

No French lesson today. Hurrah! Last night, Chris came home at seven o’clock, completely exhausted. They treated him gently during his first couple of days last week but yesterday was full-on. As a basic orientation for his course, he’s going to be tested on his sense of smell! He’s been given thirty-three samples embedded in paper, cotton-wool, and soft woods. He must be able to identify each one in two weeks’ time. We’re going to do it together, testing each other every evening. He’s got to get at least twenty-five out of thirty-three correct! Wow! I wonder if his ‘nose’ will be better than mine?

Pennie hurriedly dressed her son after she had finished updating her diary. They were in urgent need of some basic groceries and she was keen to get back home to prepare some meals for the next few days. Chris hoped to be home by mid-afternoon so that she could