Monique reached out and clasped his hand with a smile. 'Thank you.' She was deeply appreciative of the help, but had put up a bit of a fight that she should pay him something straightaway before seeing how strongly he was resolved. He wouldn't hear of accepting anything the first year. Dominic flinched a little at the electricity of her touch, felt his face flush slightly.
She was excited by the proposition: not only was the farmer paying a good rent, for the first two years he would share thirty percent of the profits on the fields already fully planted and cultivated. She could cover the bank payments and start getting her life back in order; a new house would also remove some of the memories and emotional burden. But she wanted to sleep on it overnight and speak briefly with the Fievets. Could they meet again the next day at the same time and place?
It took another two meetings to arrange everything: the loan details were complex and although the rent would easily cover the fresh payments, the back payments would need re-scheduling. Dominic showed her a couple of rescheduling options, but still Monique looked slightly lost and awkward. 'Jean-Luc always dealt with the accounts.' She asked Dominic if he would mind coming to the bank with her to help explain everything to the manager. So much of it had been his plan anyway, and he would be better equipped to propose the rescheduling options. She might fumble or leave out something vital.
Dominic was eager to help, contemplating a diary busy with reasons to see Monique stretching out ahead. By the next day, he had an appointment arranged with the manager at Banque Agricole du Vars, Bertrand Entienne. Monique gripped his hand again and this time kissed him on both cheeks.
A handful of meetings and already his feelings for her were running strong. Not only was she beautiful, but warm and compassionate, sincere. He hadn't met a woman like her before. He wondered if she had any of the same feelings for him — then quickly shook his head. He was being ridiculous. He hardly knew her, nor she him. It was a relationship so far based entirely on reliance and help. If he failed with the bank manager and his little scheme evaporated, there would hardly be any reason for her to see him again, he reminded himself soberly.
Bertrand Entienne was in his early forties with dark brown hair greased back and a rounded, slightly ruddied face. He smoked a pipe and his gestures were curt and formal as he showed them into his office. But at least he was smiling, looked eager to help, Dominic thought hopefully.
It didn't take long for the smile to disappear as Dominic explained the proposition.
'I'm sorry, we appear to be at crossed purposes,' Entienne commented. 'I thought you were here with a proposition to clear the loan in full. Some sort of sale or other arrangement going through. I would have thought my last letters were quite clear that that is all the bank would be able to accept at this stage.'
Dominic ignored the rebuff and pressed on, explaining politely that Monique Rosselot had tried for four months to sell the property with no success. The market was severely depressed, it could be many months before a buyer was found, if at all. 'Surely it's better to get something secure now, get a rescheduled loan on track with the secure knowledge that all the future repayments will be met.'
Entienne rested his pipe in an ashtray to one side. He opened his hands out. 'I would if I could, but it's impossible. The papers went through to the judiciaire department a few weeks ago. My last letter I thought explained very clearly that this action was impending. Once the papers are with them, there's nothing I can do. It's out of my hands.' Arms folded again, hands inter-clasped. A closed gesture.
Dominic was sure it was still just an opening gambit. That Entienne would soften his stance once he'd seen some figures. 'I managed to work everything out.' Dominic passed across the folder he'd worked on earlier. 'As you will see, all of the fresh payments are covered, plus the back payments are amortized in either three or four years. I suppose that could be adjusted to two years in the bank's favour if need be.' But Dominic could tell that Entienne was paying scant attention as he pointed out the key figures on the schedule.
Entienne shook his head. 'I'm sorry, but the intervention by the judiciaire department makes consideration of this sort of suggestion out of the question. Once the file is with them, the loan is due in full as part of the preparation for court action. Also, there's far higher interest accruing to cover the extra costs of the legal department's action. So these figures are already inaccurate, I'm afraid.'
Dominic asked what sort of levels of interest. Entienne opened a file before him and perched some glasses on the end of his nose as he scanned down the columns. He picked up his pipe for another few pulls as he read out some figures.
Dominic added them together and felt his stomach sink. It was outrageous: 42 % per annum. Almost as bad as a Marseille loan shark. 'And what other options are there, apart from paying the loan in full before the papers are passed through for court action?'
'Hardly any, I'm afraid. If all the back money and accrued higher interest are cleared straightaway, a continuance on the existing schedule might be possible. But it will still have to go before the bank's loan committee, with no guarantees. And a week or so from now, even that option will probably be gone. The papers will be too far advanced. You see, in any court papers the bank is obliged to press for the full amount.'
Dominic was outraged. But he remained outwardly calm, explained that it would be virtually impossible for Madame Rosselot to find that sort of money at such short notice. He tried yet again to sell the virtue of the rental and a rescheduled loan. 'The tenant is extremely reliable. It would give the bank a firm schedule now, she could probably clear two back payments straightaway from the deposit as a gesture of good faith, and everything would roll forward cleanly from that point.'
Entienne wouldn't budge. Clearly he wasn't bluffing. 'I'm really sorry. But there's nothing I can do. Perhaps if you'd come here one or two months back, things would have been different.'
Dominic felt deflated. Monique was glancing down at the floor, embarrassed at the exchange. He'd let her down. He tried one last desperate plea. 'Surely even from the bank's point of view, what I am suggesting is far better than waiting on for a sale in such an uncertain market. There would be no guarantee at all of a buyer materializing before the due court date.'
Entienne's face flushed slightly, impatient now at Dominic's persistence. His hands unfolded and quickly back again. 'That, I'm afraid, will be a problem to be resolved between Madame Rosselot and the bank's judiciaire department. As I've explained to you already, Monsieur Fornier, quite clearly I thought, it really is all out of my hands now.'
Dominic saw red. Entienne's smug attitude. The pipe, the glasses, the hands folded over the folder — all defences against confrontation with real life and humanity. How to ruin lives without getting involved. He felt like leaping across and burying his fist in the middle of Entienne's smug little face.
Dominic took a long breath. 'Let me explain something to you, Monsieur Entienne — hopefully equally as clearly. Probably you know of the Rosselots, or at least as much as your little folder will tell you. What you might or might not know is that two years ago Monique Rosselot lost her only son — victim of a murder. I was one of the investigating officers. Then, just a few months ago, she lost her husband to suicide. Either he couldn't face life without his beloved son, or perhaps the demand letters you kept sending him pushed him over the brink.'