Trail of Greed: Fighting Fraud and Corruption... A Dangerous Game Read Free

I’ll bet Dad wasn’t the only one.
    It was perfectly understandable that such circumstances could have happened. I knew Dad had spent a year in France but knew no details. We kids had assumed that it must have been very dangerous. Whether his relationship with Pierre’s mother had been love or simply an intense friendship between two people living on the edge I would never know but, knowing Dad, I figured that I understood how it could have happened. He had come back to my mother and they had had a very happy marriage so I felt no need to criticise him. He had never known about the pregnancy, how could he?
    I noticed that the wine bottle was almost empty. “So, as it seems that I’ve just discovered I’ve got an older half-brother – and he’s paying for the dinner – I reckon you’d better order another bottle.”
    Pierre’s face relaxed into a contented smile. He clearly had hoped that I would not be too shocked by the news and he made appropriate signs to the waiter who appeared shortly with another of the same.
    Conversation after that was naturally a little slow as we both adjusted to the fact that the news was out. I would occasionally stop in mid-sentence and shake my head in surprise.
    We both were intensely curious to explore each other’s experiences of the last sixty-odd years. He was clearly desperate to know about his father but didn’t push too hard while I took my time to get used to the idea. I was fascinated to learn about his upbringing in Normandy and what he had done with his life and conversation started to flow more and more smoothly in direct correlation to the diminishing level of the wine in the bottle.
    The manager eventually threw us out – or politely asked us to vacate the restaurant – at about half-past eleven. By then I was in no fit state to drive so he kindly offered to drive me home. Pierre and I parted at the door, agreeing that we should give ourselves a day to get used to our new relationship.
    Just before parting company one of my habitual off-piste thoughts came into my mind.
    “Pierre, you don’t by any chance play golf, do you?” “Where did that question come from? Yes, actually, I do.”
    “Good or average?” “I used to play to eleven or twelve, but that was a good few years ago.”
    I smiled. “Right. It must be Dad’s genes. Day after tomorrow I’ll take you to my club. It’s very near here and he was a member there for as long as I can remember.”
    Pierre said he’d be more than happy and I was levered into the car to be escorted home.
    Next morning I awoke rather late. Although it was May, the night had been very cold and there was still rime on the grass at ten o’clock. But the sky was clear and the air was fresh, which was more than could be said for my head. I was getting past it, I said to myself. A whisky before dinner, a full bottle of Bordeaux and a couple of brandies after. There was a day when I would have taken that in my stride. Not now.
    The state of my head reminded me of the discoveries of the previous evening. I decided to go for a brisk walk up to the post office to get some milk, in the hope that the exercise would bring me more or less back to normal. Why did Mrs McLachlan‘s voice sound twice as loud as usual? I made it back home and headed off into the kitchen to make myself a cup of strong coffee.
    I walked past Dad’s photograph on the wall. It was a larger, framed version of the one that Pierre carried around in his wallet. I stopped and looked at it with an affectionate smile. I’d walked past that photograph hundreds of times but from now on it was going to be with an added piece of knowledge.
    “Well, Dad, how are you this morning?” I asked him. “I’ve just found out something about you!”
    The expression on his face didn’t change – if it had I would have thought I was in Harry Potter country – but the eyes looked out at me, smiling. His silence about that year in France now took on another meaning. We had