Episode 77 | Farewell to Nirvana

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First Transmission | The Heart

| PART TWO |

Vice City, 2008

Laurent & Carlo

"Sir, will you please drive safely?" I told the driver, who grimaced. "There are too many people who drive drunk in Vice City, especially at this hour in the night." I explained to my father. "They all cross the red lights, and I don't think we should be doing the same." Every once in a while I would learn about someone I knew dying in a terrible car accident.

The taxi driver slowed down a little bit and I relaxed, drifting back to my own reflections about what I had just heard from Carlo.

*****

I had cried a lot, upon learning how Carlo and Catherine had cheated and abandoned Armand. 

Mostly because I had also been left behind, just like that, by Angelo and Laura. Like Carlo and Catherine had made love on Armand's bed, so had Angelo and Laura on the bed I shared with Angelo. And I could well imagine the pain my uncle had felt -- when Angelo had left me for a woman, the worst feeling was the doubt that he might never have liked me. I seemed to have been just a period of doubt in his life, or a mistake -- and the proof to me was that, as far as I knew, Angelo and that woman remained married.

Not that I had been the only man in Angelo's sex life. Instead, he had had many, during those eight years of our relationship -- I just had been the first guy. Laura, like me, had been the first woman -- but unlike me, she had been and remained being the only one, as far as I knew it.

The excuse that Angelo had used so often when I had accused him of cheating on me -- "It's just sex, Laurent!" He must have been talking about the other guys, but it could also have applied to me.  With all men, as well as with me, it had been just sex for him, Angelo seemed to imply with his comment. Only with Laura, the one who had 'straightened' him, was it love. Was it?

"Why did you hide my uncle from me, Carlo?" I finally asked, when I stopped crying.

"Your mother..." Carlo paused, pondering on how to continue. "She has never wanted you to go through the same shame she has suffered a lifetime... that of being a bastard child, begging for a family name... She's been fighting for the Montbelle surname, and until she gets it, I think she wouldn't have told you..."

That was indeed a serious revelation. My mother's confident and even imposing attitudes, and a certain snobbish arrogance -- were shields? During that discussion with Armand at the Île du Blanchomme, as retold by Carlo, feeling inferior to her half-brother, my mother had proved clearly vindictive. It was a completely new way of regarding and understanding her, and I would have to make adjustments to the image I held of Catherine.

I had barely started with this process, when Carlo dropped a new information.

"Celeste, neither, wanted to have complications with Gaston de Montbelle... She had other plans, and couldn't care less about Catherine's issues about being an 'illegitimate child'."

"And you decided to obey them, Carlo, was it?" I shot, being purposely rude. "Simple like that! And very convenient, too, right? Okay, I think I can understand their reasons, but why did you also hide all this from me?" Not posed as a question, it was an accusation.

I could not have predicted my father's response. I figured out he would strongly react, yell at me, swear at me, order me to shut up.

"Yes, Laurent... I obeyed them.", he agreed, humiliated. "Don't mess with this. It's not your family", Catherine had told me. "And remember who's paying the bills in this house." Catherine often reminded me of Celeste's financial aid, that we received in Punaouilo. In fact, Catherine felt more humiliated than me, for being still and totally dependent of her mother. Held hostage, that's how she felt in that situation. She tried to constantly humiliate me, to see whether I would react and take hold of our little family... And of course I tried, as best as I could, but with the painting and gardening services around the island I couldn't really provide for us..." It was somewhat sad to see my dad so humbly defeated, knowing that he was currently one of the most respected contemporary painters. "I also felt shame, because of Armand..."

"Shame, Carlo?" I was outraged. "'Because he's gay?" I had raised my voice. Those were sensitive matters to me. "Maybe that's also why you left home? Ashamed of having a gay son, were you?" I almost spit the words on him.

"Laurent!" My father almost yelled my name, sharply. Embarrassed, like a boy who'd been scolded in public, I looked over at Gabriel... But he was no longer paying attention to us, while preparing to close the bar. He had loosened his ponytail, and he looked even sexier. I would yet see Gabriel with many haircuts, and that style was for a Conan type of movie for which he would do a screening test. "What a tremendous nonsense, Laurent!" Carlo continued. His hands were shaking, so nervous was he. "I've never been ashamed of Armand being gay. And much less of you being gay... Do you think that is the reason why I left?"

"Yeah, sometimes I think so!" I lamented, finally expressing a grief that had consumed me for the last twenty years. "But how could you know, isn't it, Carlo?" I changed to an ironically cheerful tone. "You were not there when I decided to come out."

"Laurent... My son..." Carlo murmured and timidly tried to place his shaky hand over mine, that I gently withheld.My hand was shaking, too, and I placed it on my lap, securely out of his reach and far from his sight. I did not want to show any more signs of weakness. Carlo had hurt me enough for a lifetime. And I wanted to take control of that whole conversation and put it back on track.

I had a plan. "I think we need to go, Carlo." I said abruptly, and he startled. "Gabriel is willing to close."  I pointed out the bar, where the beautiful bartender stand just waiting, with nothing else to do.

"Okay, Laurent..." Carlo mumbled. "But I wouldn't like for our conversation to end like that, my son..."

Actually, neither would I, I thought. But I could not bear to sit at that table with my father any longer. I was almost feeling nauseated, and the fancy restaurant seemed like a prison now. I had to breathe fresh air. And I had just had an idea. For hours Carlo had kidnapped me into his past -- now my turn has arrived!

"Shall we go, Carlo? Can we go to another place?"

"At this time, Laurent?" Genuinely surprised, he slowly blinked, and I thought me might be sleepy.

"Are you tired, Carlo?" Just then, did I realize he might have been suffering from jet lag. He had flown in from Italy just for my vernissage. Quite a long trip, and yet I had not yet thanked him. Somehow, I felt it was his obligation, and somewhat an obligatory diplomatic attitude from his part, after an absence of twenty years.

"Oh no! I've told you, I love the night time to work on my paintings. And since I have arrived a few days earlier, I'm not tired at all...But do you think other places will still be open at this hour?"

A few days earlier? My father had been in a town for a few days, but still had arrived late to our appointment? I felt sick, too sick even to argue with my father. I just wanted to flee.

"In Vice City? All the worst places will be open!" I laughed. Didn't I know them all? "Or the best, depending on what you are looking for..." It depends on whether you want to keep your pants on, I wanted to tell my father. I was feeling aggressive, willing to shock him. "Have you ever been to a nightclub with a dark room, Carlo?"

"I went to some nightclubs in London, Laurent..." Carlo seemed ashamed to tell me that, "but I  don't think they had that room specifically... You want to take me to Vice City's night life, is it, son?"

He was simply too naive to be teased. "Let us go, Carlo?" I prompted him, without answering his silly question.

We bid Gabriel goodbye, and my father was quite warm as he embraced the barman. I hadn't received a hug like that from him when we had met, some hours ago. He even wanted to give a special tip to Gabriel who, however, refused.

"Young man, you need to think about getting another job..." He sounded so fatherly, and it brought echos of a distant past to me. "This restaurant will not last long, seeing the frequency we had today. It's a shame, but..."

I stared at Gabriel, and he glanced at me. I could not help laughing loud. We had held that secret between us for a whole evening, and it no longer mattered, actually.

"What is it, boys?" Carlo asked suspiciously. "What's the catch here?"

"This restaurant is closed on Mondays, Carlo!" My father's surprised, confused look was amusing. "Yes, the restaurant has opened tonight just for us, so that we could talk quietly..." I laughed again. "Have you enjoyed your private night at one of the fanciest restaurants in the country, Carlo? Of course we owe our meeting to Gabriel, who agreed to work today, and also to the second chef... I believe she's gone, right?"

Carlo stood motionless and speechless for some time, digesting the new information, as I hugged the beautiful bartender. It must be fate, I thought, that another Angel, named after an archangel, is coming into my life. But may Gabriel be not like Angelo, I wished, as I hugged him. We brushed our faces, and our bodies seemed to perfectly fit in an embrace, foreshadowing how great sex between us would be. "Thank you, Gabriel..." I whispered in his ear. We were so close, and the energy flowing between us so intense, that if my father had not been present, we would surely have kissed.

"Thank you, Laurent..." Gabriel corresponded to my hug with his whole body, and I felt he was as aroused as me. "Will we ever see each other again?"

"Of course we will! Here, take this." I drew from my pocket the envelope with the invitation for my vernissage at Vice's Contemporary Art Museum, for that same day, in the evening. But I handed him the invitation only. Since I had written Carlo's name on the envelope, I just crumpled and threw it in the trash. "There will be a VIP cocktail before the show opens to the public. I would love to see you there, among the VIP!" Again, we hugged. His beautiful blonde hair felt so soft under my hand, while his chest was so firm and broad against mine. I had goosebumps when I let go of his body, and found myself longing for another embrace of his strong arms.

"Rather impressive, Laurent!" Carlo commented, while we waited for a taxi downstairs. "I wonder how you did that... Such an exclusive and expensive restaurant just to ourselves? Have you sold a painting for a million, too?" Carlo giggled. "Gabriel is your friend, right? Is he the owner, by chance?"

"Oh no, Carlo!" I smirked, sounding like a naughty child. "I had never seen Gabriel before, not until this evening!" Though I think I'm going to see him more often, I thought, but did not tell my father. I paused for effect. "Dan." I proclaimed, quite simply.

"Charmand?!?" I acquiesced, enjoying Carlo's shock. "What have you got to do with him, Laurent? Is he the owner of that restaurant? Because Charmand has his tricks, for making money..." Carlo looked sick with the possibility of having dined Charmand's food, ready to vomit it if I  had said yes.

"No, of course not!" I replied, amused on seeing my father so upset. "Dan made ​​the selection of artworks for the restaurant. Those portraits. He is friends to the owner. But it was him who asked the owner to open just for us, tonight."

"And why would he do that for you, Laurent?" Carlo was suspicious. And probably jealous, too. I think Carlo had already noticed how Dan Charmand had taken the place he had left vacant in my life. Dan had been the major male elder figure in my life... sometimes, I guess, like a father to me.

"Because he likes me!" I replied emphatically, and made another pause, savoring Carlo's annoyance. "Or maybe because we were just a few French expats living in Vice City, at that time?" Carlo seemed to doubt my justifications. "Okay, Dan is not fond of many people, and almost no one likes him. But he likes me, and I also like him. I enjoy his company and conversations, I listen to his advice, I trust him. He might be obnoxious and rude to many, as well as snobby and arrogant... but just until chapter five, do you understand it? And I read further into his story. He has always aided me here in Vice City." I could not help but think that, at first, it had been out of guilt for betraying me with Angelo, but now I wanted to believe it was for my talent as a painter. "And then I moved to Samsara Heights, at his suggestion, and he continued helping me there... And maybe, Carlo, he is also doing it to please you. I think he would like to invite you to set an exhibition of your works at VI/CAM..." 

Dan had asked me one favor in exchange for that exclusive evening at the Nirvana Lounge. And it had been to deliver that invitation to my father, "But only if the conversation between you goes well!", he had conditioned.

"What a hypocrite!" Carlo snorted, and falling silent, took a few steps to the side. Giving his back to me, he pretended to glance at the city and its tremendous high-rises artfully illuminated. 

He must have been hurt -- and I'm afraid I was glad. After all, I had planned so many different times, by so many distinct means, how to take revenge on my father. I demanded atonement. Maybe he could justify why he had ran out on me, why he hadn't made contact for two decades. Still, I longed for his apologies. At least emotionally, I could not help but still try -- and rejoice, if I did hurt him.

I hadn't known, and it would still take me a couple of years to discover, that for a long period Dan Charmand had been a fierce critic to my father's paintings, that he had classified as "outdated and repetitive", when Carlo was still a relatively young painter, having just moved to London, shortly after leaving France, already a commercial hit, but still struggling to be taken as a serious painter, and not just fashionable or decorative. 

If Carlo had gained success and recognition, it wasn't thanks to Dan Charmand. Hitting the father and caressing the son -- but I could not have known that, and neither did I have a chance to ask, because our taxi arrived shortly thereafter. 

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Episode 49 | Who is this woman?

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That night at the Nirvana Lounge, I don't know exactly how, I sensed Carlo was lying to me. Maybe it were the pauses in his narration, as if he was pondering his next words, while premeditating what to tell -- or not tell me.

That whole story about the Île du Blanchomme that Catherine had never mentioned... About a great friend, a true love -- that adored ex-roommate whom I had never heard of before. Not the slightest mention about him in our home nor any furtive conversations, not a single surreptitious letter, ever. In Vice City, I had by myself become acquainted with De Montbelle's -- a.k.a. Purlux Drurien -- very original work as an architect. I even smiled when I read he had deservedly won the Pritzker Prize. Without ever guessing he had reunited my father and mother -- and maybe, years later, separated them again?

It seemed unlikely that Catherine, who was always ready to experiment with a good story, making her family and friends a laboratory for her books, had never mentioned that tropical episode... Perhaps because it had never existed?

There was something inaccurate about that whole story, something missing... I was about to find out what it was, I just needed to ask the right question to unmask Carlo... Would he be able to lie so completely to win my sympathy and cool off the affection that I still felt for my mother? During the entire years their relationship lasted, he had begged for her feelings, and he might have never succeeded in obtaining them. I myself had felt this way for quite some time, but I had finally understood that if I did not receive tenderness nor affection from Catherine, it was simply because she had none to give. On the other hand, she would never fail in her support and protection, since she had them in abundance and handed them in overdoses.

"That young god won't stop staring at us..." Carlo had suddenly changed the subject, returning to the Nirvana Lounge. "Actually, he's been watching you, Laurent, the whole evening..." And I recalled how Catherine was angry when my father pointed a finger at the things that he referred to, and I too was ashamed.

Gabriel was indeed looking in our direction at that moment, and instead of looking away or being embarrassed to be caught on spot, he took the chance that he had been noticed to approach our table.

"Gentlemen, our kitchen should be closing soon... Would you care for anything else?" Gabriel was being incredibly polite in my father's presence. I almost expected a bow from him.

"Yes, I want another glass of wine..." Carlo said. Where I to find out that both my parents had given in to drinking after their separation? "...something sweeter for this time of the night..." Catherine, now and then, reached the point of getting drunk, and just like Carlo she never missed the sophistication of intoxicating herself with the best liquor only, and the most appropriate for each occasion. At least, they tried remaining elegant in their decay. "Until what time do you stay open, young man?"

"Do not worry about that, sir." And although the handsome waiter might have been a bit bored and even sleepy, his beautiful smile disguised everything, and he answered accordingly, as he had been briefed about the occasion. "I can serve you wine for as long as you desire, sir."

"Che meraviglia! This Ganymede is making me feel like Zeus on the top of this building! This place should be called Olympus Lounge, instead!" Zeus and Ganymede? I gasped. Was my father making passes on Gabriel? As the waiter did not seem to understand the analogy, nor the allusion to his divine beauty, Carlo simply changed the subject. "Does the bathroom close with the kitchen, haha? Anyway, I need to use it now!" Carlo gave me a meaningful look of complicity, and passing by Gabriel, patted his shoulder. "Behave yourselves, young men..." he said, suggesting that something naughty could happen in his absence, walking away and leaving a trail of embarrassment behind.

"At what time do you close the restaurant, Gabriel?" I asked, to break that awkward silence. But the question sounded more like the old 'At what time do you leave?' Probably because I was actually interested in him, and I blushed.

"I am here at your service, sir, for as long as you need it." Did I see him wink? Despite his being perfectly professional, not yet calling me Laurent, he was still charming and seductive, and even in his working costume, looking so gorgeous. "The instructions were clear... Do not call it a night until the conversation between you and your father doesn't finish."

I wondered who would have given him these instructions, if the Nirvana Lounge's owner or Charmand himself. The only one who knew that I'd be talking to my father was Charmand.

"Please do not call me sir... My name is Laurent!" He was only a few years younger than me, but that formal treatment made ​​me feel so much older. "I am very grateful that you made yourself ​​available and provided us this night, Gabriel." I was sure that he was being handsomely compensated to open the restaurant all on his won, on his night off... and I began to think if I could compensate him myself, somehow. His beauty was stunning, with his blonde long hair, blonde eyes and blonde skin, all about him shining in beautiful shades of golden... Certainly an excellent model for my next painting. "This is an historic night in my life, Gabriel..." I felt I could trust him, after all, he looked like an angel. "I am very grateful for your presence and for your help here, and if I can reciprocate in any way..." Though 'angel' was closer to Angelo as a name, making me wonder if could actually trust any angel.

"I'm glad I could help you with that, Laurent." He smiled charmingly, while elaborating to pronounce my name, which sounded a bit comical, as always when an American tried to imitate the French accent. "I'm sorry if I intrude... I read that you will open an exhibition tomorrow, and I would be delighted to visit it... in the company of the artist himself?"

So he knew who I was! I was flattered. Had he volunteered to work because he had seen pictures of me, perhaps? Nevertheless, that was elegant and charming from him, I thought, to show interest in my art, and invite himself to visit the museum with me. Instead of inviting himself to my studio, or even to my bed, like so many others before him had done. Even though I actually wanted him in my studio -- and in my bed -- and not just at the museum.

"Am I interrupting something, young men?" Carlo asked on his return to the table. The way he said 'young men' sounded like we were two horny adolescents, and I winked at Gabriel, who smiled.

"I'll bring your wine in a moment, sir." Gabriel retreated with light, gracious steps and even a slight bow, but not before having addressed me an inquiring stare. And indeed, he was quick to bring us new drinks, my father's wine and my aromatic water, and I took the opportunity to return his glance, reassuring him that our private conversation would continue.

"Do you want to continue listening to my story tonight, Laurent?" Carlo asked me when Gabriel had left. "Its actually your story...  I do not feel tired at this late hour because I usually paint at night, a habit that makes me happy, for it reminds me of the old abandoned factory in Paris... How are you feeling, my son?"

"I'm just fine, Carlo." I had slept so many nights during those two decades of my father's absence, I thought, that I did not mind losing a single night's sleep for his presence. And for his story. Although it was full of lies, or it might be a hoax in its entirety, but I decided to not share my suspicion with him, not yet. "I'm all ears."

"I could only calm down..." Carlo took us back to the Île du Blanchomme on the night of the reunion with his dear friend. "...when we entered Armand's room and I made sure that Catherine was no longer on the bed... but I still feared she was hiding under the bed, from where she would emerge naked, as soon as she realized that we weren't in danger."

"I've missed you so much..." Armand whispered softly in my ear. "I like your shaved face..." I immediately separated from his embrace before it became another kiss, when I  finally realized Catherine was sitting on the railing in the veranda in front of Armand's room. She wore a white dress that lit up her whole figure under the moonlight, even more sophisticated in it's simplicity than her everyday fancy dresses, probably another creation by her beloved Yves Saint-Laurent. It wasn't so completely misplaced in that little island because of the new clothes Armand was wearing; despite being crumpled from the trip, they were of impeccable quality and cut. Armand and Catherine matched each other beautifully, I thought, as I made a grotesque contrast in my rags, my coarse skin and my peasant looks.

"I have... something... to tell you..." I didn't know whether to use adjectives like 'serious' or 'important' and warn Armand of what was to come. "We have a guest." I said, simply. Perhaps my difficulty with the French language was revealed in those delicate moments when the subtlety in choosing the right words would have given the right tone to the message.

"A guest!" Armand was surprised. "We haven't yet opened our guesthouse and we have a guest, already!" Contrary to what I had imagined, he seemed happy, even delighted, and not at all worried about this unexpected event. His generosity indeed welcomed and embraced everyone. "And where is he? How did he hear about us?"

"There is no he..." I interrupted him, "It's a she..." Armand's open attitude and interest did not change with this revelation. "I think she's right there on the veranda, waiting for us... She... learned it from other travelers who knew you..."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Armand was happy to have returned, happy to have met me again, happy to have a surprise guest... I seemed unable to stop the escalation of his happiness, and I wondered how our kiss would have contributed to make him even more elated. "Such good auspices, to have a guest even before we open!" Armand was genuinely pleased with the news, but all his exuberance faded when he ran into Catherine. 

"What is she" he hissed it, "doing here?" He asked me in a low voice, having turned in my direction to hide a grimace of distaste.

"She? She is our guest!" I replied, shocked at the disgust he demonstrated.

"This... woman..." his voice began to rise and tremble, "...is not a guest!" I had never seen Armand so angry, nor being openly rude. "It cannot be!" he exclaimed, visibly annoyed. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked, in a tone much louder than normal, turning towards Catherine, no longer trying to hide his displeasure. I wasn't sure, but I thought his hands were shaking.

"Good night, Armand." Catherine gave one of her artificial smiles, not the least empathetic, that actually spoiled her beauty, which had been so enhanced by the impeccable cut dress, elegant and sensual, dramatically illuminated by the moonlight and the lantern she had lit on the porch.

I shivered, and suddenly a thought crossed my mind... I thought I understood what was going on... all the time, Catherine had lied to me! Clearly, she and Armand knew each other, and by the apparent intimacy of their enmity, quite well. I searched my memory for the names of his ex-girlfriends.

"You said you didn't know Armand!" My voice was shaky. I was taken aback. One of Armand's ex-girlfriends, one of the turned down, neglected girls... and what a revenge she had prepared, going to bed with me... Dio mio! Although she could not have known Armand's feelings for me... Or had she? What was the name of Max's sister, the diplomat he had had a crush on? The way she had applied make-up and dressed, making herself just as elegant as my princely friend, making in fact a beautiful and sophisticated couple with him, as I stood there, the ragged peasant, to suddenly find myself excluded...

"I never said that!" Catherine replied, dryly.  "I said I had never met him, not that I hadn't known him!" Catherine was keen to that accuracy with words; however, she found no counterpart in everyday life, and much less in me and my French that just sufficed. She said this without looking in my direction, haughtily holding Armand's look, who stared at her angrily.

"You're not welcome here!" I shivered as I heard the harsh words Armand directed to my... girlfriend?... lover?... and the future mother of my child.

"Oh, I know that, already!" Catherine laughed affectedly. "Your partner made ​​that very clear from the beginning!" She laughed again, while I froze and started trembling at that 'partner' she had uttered. "It's a tradition of this island and hostel, I suppose, that guests are unwelcome..." she added, wryly.

"Partner? Which partner?" And perhaps imagining a different connotation to the word, Armand glanced tenderly in my direction. "Carlo?..." He pronounced my name with so much sweetness in his voice that Catherine was intrigued. She was even more surprised when my friend made a gesture of affection towards me, which I however dodged.

Dio mio! I would be the father to a son of an ex-girlfriend of Armand's... The blow that was about to be unleashed on my friend was even heavier than I had foreseen. And Catherine seemed to enjoy every second of her revenge, although she had not yet realized the true depth and nature of my relationship with Armand, I thought...

She had dressed for the occasion, and for the first time I saw her wearing makeup, looking even more beautiful, and cosmopolitan, sophisticated, wealthy -- typically, one of those Parisian women I had classified as unattainable, one of the heiresses to whom Armand had made the court. Dio mio, who is this woman?

"Didn't you say you were partners?" Catherine looked at me with indignation, full of suspicion. "Aren't you... partners?" She confronted me, giving the word a different tone and meaning.

"Yes, of course we are!" Armand replied with a tender smile, imagining perhaps that I had confided her about the love that existed between him and me. "Although no one has to know about that in France..." Armand suddenly looked worried. "I forbid you to..."

"'It's not what you're thinking, Catherine..." And when, at my first mention of her name Armand did not react, I realized that at least she hadn't used a false name. But what was the name of that girl whom he had endured just because of the great library and readings with which she provided him? I was so nervous that my memory did not help me. Paris and the École seemed so far away from the Île du Blanchomme!

Catherine's inquiring, acute gaze flew back and forth between Armand and me, and I realized that she was beginning to understand the intensity of the connection I had with my friend, and even imagining beyond...

"You lied to me!" she accused me.

I gasped as I heard it. "I... lied to you, Catherine?!" The nerve she had to state that I was the liar stunned me. "Wasn't you who spoke first about our 'society'? And I wouldn't know how to describe any better my... relationship with Armand... we are like brothers, but we are not brothers, so..."

At that moment, Catherine seemed to be the most surprised of us all.

"Then that's why you did not attend my mother's funeral!" Armand exclaimed suddenly, interrupting my explanation. "How long has she been here? What are you ultimately doing here?" Armand had directed the first question to me, and the second at Catherine, but I was worried about the indistinct harshness with which he had addressed us both.

"I came here to discuss business! I'm entitled to half of this island!" Catherine uttered, as she continued peering back and forth between Armand and me, for more clues about our relationship.

"Oh, so that's what you came for!?" Armand laughed. "You're crazy!" He shouted angrily. "I do not own this island. I do not own this house, I do not own anything! Therefore, you are entitled to half of nothing!"

On that instant, I realized that perhaps I hadn't understood everything that was happening -- or had happened -- between Armand and Catherine. Because they seemed to have a partnership. Had Armand ever... married?

"Excuse me, Armand... I did not know she was a former girlfriend of yours..." I aimed at least to erase a part of my guilt in the disaster that stream of events was leading to. It was not enough having betrayed my best friend, I was to be father to a son of an ex-girlfriend... or ex-wife... of his! An heiress, who had taken me for a wealthy heir myself... Dio mio!

"She is what?" My friend looked at me stunned. "Didn't you tell him?" Armand challenged Catherine. "Oh, of course not!" He exploded. "You have been continuously living in a lie... how could you not be a liar yourself..."

"I won't tolerate that from you!" Catherine cried, advancing towards Armand. "You were living in a lie!"

"What is going on here, anyway?" I asked with a shudder, and I had to talk louder to be heard in their quarrel. I was still following the clue that Armand, before leaving France for his one year trip, and without my knowledge, would have married some heiress, like his social duty required. But such a marriage for him would have been a lie... And for her, too, like she was now accusing him. Would he have abandoned his wife, fled to the Indian Ocean -- where he had tried to pair with me?

For a moment, they stood silently staring at each other, gasping loudly. And when Armand was about to speak,  without even looking at me, holding back Armand's enraged gaze, Catherine mouthed:

"He is my brother."

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