Rough Cut by Owen Carey Jones Page A

moment.
       “OUT!” shouted Gilles coming round from his desk and manhandling Jacques out of the office. “And don’t come back here wasting my time again!”
       Outside the office, Jacques found himself in the midst of a throng of tourists. He wanted to make himself invisible; his face was stinging red with embarrassment and the people in the square were staring at him, some with pitying smiles on their faces, some tut-tutting and shaking their heads sagely. He wanted to shout at them, to tell them that it was true, that he did have a boat and that Gilles was wrong to throw him out. Instead, he shook his fist impotently at Gilles and walked off.      
       When Jacques got back to the apartment, his neck and ears were still warm from the humiliating experience. He recounted to his mother what had happened.
       “Why didn’t you show him the ownership document,” she said. “It proves the boat is yours.”
       Jacques slapped his forehead. “Idiot!” he said to himself, “Why didn’t I think of that.” He swept into his room and hunted for the shorts he had been wearing the day he had got the boat. They weren’t where he had left them.
       “Have you seen my blue shorts?” he called.
       “I washed them this morning. They’re drying on the balcony in my room,” said Claudine.
       A look of consternation came over Jacques’ face. What if she had washed them with the document still in the pocket? It might be ruined. Then he would never be able to prove anything to Gilles. He edged into the living room, hardly daring to ask the question. “Did you check the pockets first?”
       “Of course I did! I always check your pockets. Never know what I might find.” Claudine glanced up from her ironing and smiled. “There was an envelope. I put it over there, by the coffee pot.”
       Jacques stopped holding his breath and exhaled a long, relieved sigh. He retrieved the envelope and checked inside to make sure the document was there. Clutching the envelope, he kissed his mother and dashed out of the apartment.
       As Jacques re-entered the charter office, Gilles stood up behind his desk and a look of barely restrained rage spread across his face.
       “Jacques, I warned you…” he said through clenched teeth as he came round in front of his desk to confront Jacques.
       He reached out to take hold of Jacques but Jacques, made bold by the document in his possession, held up his hands to fend him off.
       “Hold it! Hold it !” he said, as Gilles knocked his arms out of the way and moved closer.
       “Why? Why shouldn’t I throw you out again you mangy little rat?”
       Monique, Gilles’ tiny secretary, had come down the stairs from her office on the next floor and was watching open mouthed, as was Gilles’ assistant, who was still sitting at his desk.
       “Because I really do own a boat. Look !” Jacques held out the envelope, inviting Gilles to take it and examine the contents.
       Still poised to carry through his action, Gilles took the envelope from Jacques and extracted the legal form inside it. As he read the document, he moved back behind his desk and flopped into his chair. The hand holding the document fell onto his desk and he looked up at Jacques. Jacques detected a different demeanour now, not exactly respectful but not hostile either.
       “What can I say?” said Gilles, the businessman side of his personality now in control, “I’m sorry. I just never saw you as a boat owner.”
       Jacques grinned cockily. “You believe me now, then?”
       “I do. Sit down, please. Monique!” Gilles looked towards the stairs and saw Monique standing there, “Two coffees. And I think I could do with a Cognac as well. This has been a bit of a shock. What about you, Jacques?” Jacques nodded enthusiastically and Monique scuttled back up the stairs.
       Half an hour later, Gilles was examining the Esprit from top to bottom as Jacques followed him