Seven
I was never aware of Kwan as a bodyguard. He didn't shadow us the way you see celebrities or politicians covered by burly men in sunglasses with wires behind their ears. When we had gone to the beach, he had disappeared all together. While we were strolling through the streets, building and squares of Carcassone, I glimpsed him once or twice nearby. He didn't seem to be paying particular attention to us and I was quite sure none but the most expert eyes would have connected him with us.
It began to be a game with me--spotting him--but I certainly didn't let on to Tristan. When we chose a café for lunch, we sat at a street-side table and although I subtly scanned the crowd for our stealthy guard, I couldn't pick him out. It was only after Tristan had paid the bill and we headed out to find a particular exhibit that I noticed Kwan casually examining some flowers at a vendor's cart.
After several more sightings, I saw that he kept a particular distance from us in a thin crowd, but moved closer when we were in the midst of a denser group of people. He was methodical, consistent and very subtle.
"If Kwan wanted to hide himself completely from you, he could." Tristan surprised me by catching me at my game.
"Oh . . . I didn't mean . . . I was just . . ." It embarrassed me to get caught, for some odd reason.
"It's okay, a bodyguard takes some getting used to. I know at the beginning, I was constantly checking to see where he was. Now, it seems natural, like Kwan is a part of the landscape of my life."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Can I stop you?" he asked, but he was smiling so I ventured on.
"Why a bodyguard? Does everyone with your kind of . . . wealth, need a bodyguard?"
"Most people with 'my kind of wealth' feel some need to protect themselves. I'm a target in many ways. Scammers--"
"You're too smart for that," I cut him off.
He grinned. "Okay, maybe not scammers, but just plain thieves or people desperate for some financial help can be a nuisance. And, then there's kidnappers."
"Kidnappers? In the U.S. or here, in France? I mean, I can understand if you're traveling to the Middle East or Africa, but . . ."
"You don't have to be in a third world country, evil is everywhere. Human cankers." He sighed heavily. "If I tell you a story, can you leave it alone?"
"Leave it alone?"
"Yes, can you just listen and let it sink in but not question me about it?"
I wanted to hear what he had to say. I agreed.
"Years ago, not long after I made some truly outstanding investment hits, I decided to celebrate by taking a trip with some of the people who'd made that success possible." He rubbed his forehead as if the memory pained him.
"We went to a ski resort in Northern Italy. There were a couple of characters hanging around who seemed out of place, but I wasn't as suspicious then as I am now. One night at the bar, one of the guys struck up a conversation with me. Back then, I was so full of myself and proud of 'making it' that I didn't hold anything back."
Not like you do now. Now you're a master at holding back . . . at least when it comes to some things.
"So, as they say in the movies, I was 'marked'. When my friend and I went out the next day to do some cross-country, the two guys also went. They followed us, but at a distance that didn't raise any alarms. We stopped for a rest in one of the stations on the trail." He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair. "When we came out of the shelter, we were jumped. There was a scuffle at the edge of the trail. All four of us were rolling around in a ball. When the railing gave way, I was the only one who hung on. I grabbed the cable after it snapped and watched the two attackers and my friend fall. I was still hanging on when an avalanche slid past me and buried the valley where they landed. None of the bodies were ever recovered."
I watched him stare off into the distance, knowing he had told me half a story. Of course he was talking about his 'friend' Elsa. Who else could it be? But the rules of the game were the rules of the game.
"I don't know what they were after. All I know is that it wasn't a simple case of trying to steal my watch. I suspect they were planning to kidnap me, or perhaps my friend. There may have been someone waiting to take me away who disappeared when things went south." He put his hand over his mouth and closed his eyes. The sound of him sucking a heavy breath through his nose filled the space around us.
"I do know that by being stupid and casual about personal safety I lost one of the finest people I've ever known."
"I'm so sorry, Tristan." I took his hand and squeezed it. "You've had a lot of loss for a young man. That's got to be tough."
He pulled himself to his full tall height and shook his shoulders. "Well, I've survived," he said matter-of-factly. "The whole point of the story is that I learned the value of having someone like Kwan around." We came to a magnificent church. "Here's St. Nazarius' Basilica. It's one of the highlights. You'll want to give this your complete attention."
No, I want to give you my complete attention. I want you to finish the story, dammit! I didn't want a lesson in the importance of personal security; I wanted some insight into you!
How could the man tell me a story like that with the same emotion he was now investing in relating factoids about an ancient pile of stones? More importantly, how could this man be so utterly satisfying in some ways and so damn frustrating in others?
I'm afraid Tristan's entire lecture on the fascinating history of the Basilica went in one ear and right out the other. It might be easy enough for him to switch gears and describe a church right after he'd given me the circumstances of his fiancé's death, but I was still somewhere out there in the snow looking for answers.
***
True to his word, Tristan instructed Kwan to take a more leisurely route on the way back to the coast. The countryside was a mellow tapestry of vineyards, villages and farms all gilded with the late afternoon sun. Everything seemed ripe. September's early song was rich and sweet in the peaks and valleys of the gentle rolling countryside.
We stopped in a village so that I could sample a wine that Tristan told me was one of his special favorites. "The Languedoc region produces a ton of outstanding wines. We'd have to stay a month just to begin to try them all. But I wanted you to taste a Blanquette de Limoux."
I had gotten over the thousand things I'd never heard of, tasted or done and simply said, "Tell me."
"The locals claim that their sparkling wine predates champagne. That's impossible to prove, but interesting anyway." He led me to a cool case and picked out a bottle . "You'll find it slightly sweet and a little cloudy. That's because the wine is left with the lees after the second fermentation--Methode Ancestrale."