French Life – Mr Allen 3

Before committing myself to a jolly in France there were a few things I needed to do.

Clients get tetchy if you charge them for flights when you could make the same enquiry by telephone.

Number one on the the list is making some checks with the British Embassy in Paris, just to make sure Mr A had not turned up dead. As far as they knew, he was still alive and had not come to their attention. “Goodbye  sir” and with that hung up.  To be honest I have never found the Embassy in Paris particularly helpful or friendly, but maybe I have just had some bad experiences.

I did a few other basic enquiries with hospitals in the vicinity. I checked Lourdes, Tarbes, Pau and Lannemezan and although very helpful they all drew a blank.

The next job, was to check out the telephone numbers. In a lot of places you just have to take pot luck and ring the number and see who answers it, but in France you can do a reverse search. I use a service called Quidonc which told me who the numbers belonged to.

One number came back to a branch of the French Bank bookmarked on Mr Allen’s PC which was something. I had half hoped the next one would come back to Mr Allen or maybe some floozy. Nah it came back to a man with a French name. I checked the address and it was in a small place up in the mountains. Although it was in the same department as Lourdes, it was quite a trek to get there. My software reckoned the journey would be about an hour or so.
I then tried ringing the number for the bloke but I got a France Telecom answer phone message cut in. I hung up. The French mobile rang and again there was an answer phone message in French.

In other words I had not got very far.  Mr Allen was till missing and his last known location was Lourdes.  Nothing for it but to go and find him.

I was in the process of sorting out flights to Pau and stuff when it occurred to me that maybe L might want to come along for a bit of a break. I couldn’t see that she would be in the way and I did not anticipate being captured and tortured on this trip.

I mentioned it to her and she didn’t so much say yes, as bounced around a bit, well a lot actually clapping her hands and grinning. She can be a very excitable young thing sometimes. I don’t think I have ever been able to bounce like that. It transpired she had always wanted to go to Lourdes. I wish I could have said the same thing.
I booked us into the SAS Raddisson at Stansted, where Mr A had stayed as I might be able to get some information. I hired a car for a week from the same firm Mr A had used for the self same reason.

We got to Stansted in the middle of the afternoon after a hassle free trip out through East London and Essex on the Stansted express. We booked into the hotel which is pretty smart and right next door to the airport terminal. There is what they call a wine tower which is a 14m high glass tower where they store the wine. When you order a bottle a girl on a trapeze (a wine Angel) goes up and gets it whilst doing acrobatics. L was over awed. Our rooms faced over the airport apron and run ways. It was weird the fact that you could see these jets about 50m away but they were totally silent.

It was tempting to chill out in the room, but I thought I had better earn my money and so left L at the hotel and went to the car parking offices. I told them I I was looking for Mr Allens car and gave them the registration number. They were reluctant to help but eventually let slip that it was not there and never had been. So if his car isn’t here and it isn’t at home where the hell is it?

I went back to the holtel and L and I decided to use the health spa and swimming pool which is in the basement.  As were passing reception I stopped and told a little fib to the girl behind the counter.  I said I was due to meet Mr Allen when he came back to the UK I said he had stayed at the hotel on such and such date. The girl was foreign and efficient but not very helpful.

Then L started talking to her in Estonian. Big smiles yak yak yak yak came from neighbouring towns yak yak yak, how long had she been here blah blah blah. Anyway, It transpired Mr Allen had stayed there but had not booked a room for his return. The receptionist remembered him because his daughter had been to see him. The description fitted Amy to a nipple. She had been miffed at been charged for car parking when she was visiting a guest.

So why had Amy not mentioned that she had been to see her dad at the hotel and where was the bloody car? I was starting to think maybe Mr A never left the UK. We were assuming that just because he had booked a flight and stayed at the airport that he had actually gone to Lourdes.
My brain hurt.

So we took advantage of the facilities on hand and the hotel health spa did me the world of good.  I undid the healthy bit later by having a very agreeable few drinks in the bar followed by a cracking osso bucco at the restaurant accompanied by a stunningly beautiful L and a charming little Burgundy.

Then we had an early night.

Nudge nudge wink wink say no more squire!

2 Responses to “French Life – Mr Allen 3”

  1. Awfully, awfully jealous of your little French fling and literally on the edge of my seat wondering what on earth is up with Mr Allen, not to mention nipplish daughter…

    You tell a cracking tale, Norman xx

  2. Uncle says:

    Minx – Thank you I have to be honest there was a twist thta i just did not expect. Cant tell you too much at this stage.

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