Writer's Notebook

Apart from the usual and in my opinion, deliberate, British Airways problems of minor delays and difficulty locating luggage our journey home went well. Had we known what was awaiting us, we may have wished for further delays. By the time we got back to my flat, we were both tired and hungry - the meal on the plane having had little effect in nourishing our bodies - so without much thought, we decided to go out for dinner and then an early night. Morgana was just freshening herself up, when the doorbell rang. I opened the door only to be confronted by a policeman, not our local officer, but someone from the judicial police in the city. At the same time the phone rang and I called out to Morgana to get it.

"Excuse me, Sir, but are you Mr. Simon Brightwell."

"Yes officer. What can I do to help you?"

"And are you the director of the Espace Loisirs cultural centre in this town?"

"Yes, I am!" I replied, beginning to wonder where all this was going to lead. Just at that moment, Morgana came out.

"Simon! It's Guillaume on the... Oh..., I see I'm too late."

I looked from her to the police officer and back to Morgana. "Would someone please tell me what's going on here. And what did Guillaume want?"

"He wanted to..."

"I regret to inform you, Sir that I have here a warrant for your arrest on suspicion of fraud. I shall have to ask you to accompany me to the station, if you please."

"What! I... I..."

"If you'll kindly come with me Sir, we can go to the station and continue this interview there. I need hardly remind you, that should you fail to comply we have ways of enforcing the warrant. And I should also inform you of your right to have a lawyer or other person of confidence present at the interview."

"Morgana, you stay here. But get back to Guillaume and tell him what's going on. Ask him to come down to the police station. He's got to intervene; urgently."