The Moving Times Of Caroline Proudly

52 Rue Cuvier

After a long week in a very small hotel suite, the four of us moved into an apartment on Rue Cuvier in the 5th arrondissement. It was in a fairly good state but was unfurnished. The first night we ate a Chinese sitting in the middle of the sitting room floor and then retired to our respective makeshift beds. Day one, two and three were completely filled with urgent shopping and before looking at items Hélène ensured that a fast delivery could be made. To maximise our time and energy at the end of the day of choosing and making the delivery arrangement, Hélène would buy clothes for the children and we would all go home exhausted and laden with bags.

The beds and large items arrived with impressive speed and quickly Hélène and I become proficient furniture assemblers. By the end of week two we had painted the children's rooms, put up sort of straight freezes on the walls and had hung the curtains. The only room that remained nearly untouched was the sitting room. Apart from my single bed against one wall and a television, it was empty. After the essentials were in place, life started to resemble normality again. Situations, like having cooked a roast and discovering that we hadn't bought a carving knife, meant that there was an ongoing need to go out and buy little, but fundamental, items.

A little studio became available in the building, and Hélène took it for me. Between the children and my looming end of placement assignment, I was kept very busy. I found a small bar around the corner from Rue Cuvier and I frequented it every night after work. With a half of Stella that I dragged out for as long as I could, I sat in the corner of Le Soleil and worked away on my assignment. Quickly, I was met by a friendly smile and my usual tipple. My official social life basically revolved around the solitary nights in Le Soleil.

Although Hélène had taken on a new identity whilst we were still at the hotel, extreme discretion and caution were still required. No one except Hélène's immediate family had the apartment address or telephone number. Hélène had enforced a routine of me calling my parents on a daily basis. The way she saw it, was that whilst I had made the choice to stay around, my parents would be worried and the least I could do was to allay their fears. The phone number was withheld, and Hélène was happy for me to call whoever I liked. However, apart from my calls home and the odd call to Guillaume, I didn't have anything I could say to anyone.

Whilst we had, to all intents and purposes, vanished without a word, Pierre wasn't left to worry that we had been abducted or kidnapped. Hélène's lawyer had clarified the situation the day that he had got home from racing and found everyone gone. Information from various sources confirmed our suspicion that Pierre hadn't accepted the situation and that he was in fact determined to find his wife and their children.

Phase one of his search revolved around me. Resourcefully, he used an itemised phone bill from La Petite Maison like it was a section of the yellow pages. He systematically called all the numbers. His strategic pitch was based around his concern for me as I had gone to work one day, and he had found me and my things gone the next. He apparently didn't want to alarm anyone, but as I hadn't seemed myself, he was fairly sure that I was still in France and all he wanted to do was ensure that I was safe. His concern over my mental state was so great that he advised people that if I did get in contact with them, it was probably better to find out as much as they could about where I was, but not to mention that he had spoken to them. They should then call him back and let him know where I was and that I was all right. As a result of him calling all of the people I had called in the previous couple of months, Rose Cottage became a missing friend hotline. My parents had the job of dispelling the created myth that I was in a basket and was roaming France in a deranged mental state.

Poor Guillaume and his parents were subjected to a personal visit from Pierre. His accusation that I was Hélène's lesbian lover and was an accomplice in the kidnapping of his children was backed up a few days later by a visit from the police investigating the claims. Pierre's call to my parents was particularly unpleasant, the same accusations were made and were followed by the assurance that the police and Interpol were looking for me and that if he found me first, the next time my parents saw me, I would be in a body bag. When I called that evening my mother was still in the state of nervous excitement that the call had caused. 'Honestly, who does he think he is with his lies and threats! I told him straight that I had never heard anything so ridiculous in my life! A lesbian indeed! I'm afraid in your defence I rather made you out to be a bit of a whore! Anyway, I told him that if he called any more of your friends or us again that I would get the police on to him for his slander and nuisance calls, and then I hung up on him.'