| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 6 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Saturday, October 23, 02:25:41pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Michael stood calmly before his father in the study of their mansion in Sydney. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him, his face a blank mask. He was ready to take whatever punishment was meted out.
“Expelled!” the ambassador exclaimed again. “My son. From one of the finest schools in England. And all for the sake of a practical joke!” He stared at Michael in disbelief, his face red with anger. “Pourquoi dans l'enfer feriez-vous que vous avez fait? What the hell were you thinking?”
“It was just a prank, Father. No harm was meant,” Michael answered calmly. He knew when his father lapsed into his native French that he was beyond furious.
Trembling with rage, Jacques watched his son. No reaction. None at all. Michel truly didn’t care that he had brought such dishonor to the Samuelle name. The ambassador made up his mind.
“I wash my hands of you,” he pronounced. “You are going back to Marseilles to live with your Aunt Josephine and Uncle René. I will make the necessary arrangements. Hopefully, when you are sixteen, I can still pull some strings and get you into a decent university.”
Michael continued to appraise him calmly. Jacques was surprised to notice how much Michel had grown—they stood nearly eye-to-eye now.
“You are to remain at the embassy until further notice. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That will be all,” his father said, dismissing him.
Michael blinked, turned abruptly on his heel executing a perfect about-face, and exited the room.
* * *
It was ten o’clock when Michael met the taxi outside the gate at the foot of the driveway. He gave the driver directions to the beach (he hoped he remembered them correctly), and sat back in the seat to wait. He was gratified to find that his memory served him true, and he jumped out of the taxi and started jogging toward Nikita’s house. Then he stopped. The house was gone. All of the houses were gone. He ran to the spot were he thought they had been. Yes, this was the right place. The eucalyptus grove was still there, as were the foundations of several of the houses. But the houses themselves, and their inhabitants, had disappeared.
Michael walked slowly back to the waiting taxi. He was too late. He had been gone too long. Oh, this was ridiculous. Nikita was just a kid when he left. She probably didn’t even remember him. A gravelly voice startled him out of his rêverie. “Looking for someone special, kid?”
“Walter!” he exclaimed, turning around. “It’s Nikita. Her house is gone.”
“They’re all gone, kid. But Nikita wasn’t living there when they got torn down.”
“She moved?” Michael asked, heart sinking. “Do you know where?”
“No idea. Child Protective Services came and took her away one day. She never came back.”
“So she’s a ward of the state?”
“Dunno. May be living in a kids’ home, maybe fostered, may be back with the bitch who birthed her. Think she moved to the States, though.”
“What was here mother’s name?”
Walter considered Michael a few minutes before answering. “Roberta Wirth.”
“And her father?” Michael persisted.
Walter shrugged.
Michael was devastated. Finding Nikita would be like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. In desperation, he pulled a pencil and piece of paper out of his pocket. “If you find out where she is, please let me know at this address,” he said, writing down Josephine’s address in Marseilles. He handed the paper to Walter, who glanced at it carelessly before slipping it in his pocket.
“Sure, kid,” he responded. “No problemo.”
“Thank you, Walter,” Michael said, not feeling reassured in the least.
Michael climbed back into the taxi and headed back to the embassy with an odd feeling in his gut that he would see Nikita again.
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