Date: Fri, 7 May 2010 08:56:49 +0200
From: A.K. <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Montsabot Charterhouse 06/15 (highschool/historical)

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MONTSABOT CHARTERHOUSE
By Andrej Koymasky © 2010
Written on June 29, 2002
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by Brian

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USUAL DISCLAIMER

"MONTSABOT CHARTERHOUSE" is a gay story, with some parts containing
graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion,
family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better
not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't
care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my
welcomed guest.

-----------------------------

Chapter 6 - SECOND PART

6 - The Charterhouse project

It had been two years since Roland was married and he was happy. Having
to take care of his new family, besides the work with his father, made
him feel fulfilled. At times he could feel desire awaken, but managed to
always keep it in check, as all summed up he had an agreeable and full
life. Mainly seeing the children grow up, caring for them, devoting to
them all his free time, enjoying their deep affection, was extremely
gratifying.

Jean-Marie and Michel, who were now seven years old and starting to
attend school, called him Dad. Serge instead, who was thirteen, even
though incredibly affectionate to Roland, called him by name. It was all
right with the young man. Between Serge and him there was a great
confidence, at times also some kind of complicity as seldom exists
between real fathers and sons.

His relationship with Madeleine was like that between a brother and a
sister, they were fond of each other and supported each other in all
matters. Roland's father had accepted his son's new family without
suspecting that between he and Madeleine there wasn't any sexual
relationship. In fact at times, while they both were at work, Monsieur
Laforest asked his son why they were waiting to give him a grandchild...

It was the beginning of 1921. One day Roland's father asked him to take
his car and to give him a ride.

"Where should I take you, Dad?" the young man asked as they leaved.

"Go straight. I'll tell you when you have to turn." the man said with a
mysterious smile.

"All right, but where are we going? And to do what?" Roland insisted.

"You will see... I have in my hands a golden opportunity... Something
really interesting."

Roland resigned himself not to get more information for the moment. On
one side the mystery air of his father amused him. Anyway, if the man
said it was a golden opportunity, as he had a remarkable flair for
business, it should really be something special.

Guided by his father, Roland drove for about one hundred and fifty
kilometres, until they were in a wide woody area at the foot of the
Massif Central. They passed through a small town, then the father told
him to stop.

"Look!" he said, looking in front of him. "What do you see?"

Roland looked in the direction where his father was looking. There was
the mountain, covered with woods, and at its foot a rocky formation
gently sloping down, on which were standing the ruins of an ancient
church and other buildings.

"What is it?" the young man asked, curious.

"Montsabot Charterhouse. You see, the rocky formation where it stands
has the shape of a clog, of a sabot, from which it takes its name."

"Yes... I see... So, then?"

"It stands in a splendid location, from up there, there is a unique
panorama. Here the climate is good and at the back of the Charterhouse
there is a spring of abundant water low in mineral content. The
Charterhouse hs been abandoned for more than a hundred years... It was
attacked and sacked during the revolution. It became state property, but
during the war, out of need of money, the government sold it to Monsieur
Albin, the Paris publisher. But at the death of old Albin, his
inheritors decided to get rid of it... and they are ready to sell it for
a song, as they don't know what to do with it."

"And you decided to buy it?" Roland asked, rather surprised, not
understanding where was the golden opportunity, how little could it
cost, what could his father do with a charterhouse in ruin, in that
place?

"For sure!" the man answered with a pleased expression.

"But... to do what?" the young man then asked.

"A luxury hotel for rich people wanting to do the waters treatment. It
is becoming fashionable, the rich middle class is hunting for thermal
hotels in splendid place like this."

"A hotel? Are you planning to pull down everything and have build one of
those horrible hotel complexes?"

"No, no, absolutely not. Take that road and let's go up there, so I can
explain to you the fantastic idea I had..."

Roland drove, taking the narrow dirty track that with some hairpin bends
ended in a square in front of the church. They got out of the car.

The church had a Latin cross plan, with three naves and three apses; all
the walls and the dome were still standing, and only part of the roof
towards the facade was partly collapsed. All the doors and the lancet
arch windows were empty. At the left of the church there was an elegant
tower-house, in gothic style like the church, that should have had bells
in the top floor; then there were other three story buildings that, with
the church, enclosed the square on three sides, so shaping a rectangular
space with colonnades, open towards the valley.

"Do you see? That tower-house was the Abbott's residence. The building
at the side was the scriptorium and the library, and at this side of the
gate there was the herbalist's shop with his laboratory. On the other
side of the church, at the right, there was the important guests'
quarters and here towards the belvedere, the pilgrims' guesthouse. On
the other side of the other gate, there was another shop, where they
sold various handicrafts, like pottery... but I don't know..."

"How did you get to know all this?" Roland asked, made curious and in
part fascinated by those buildings.

"I got copies of all the old maps from the land registry office. This
entire rock spur down to the valley and for a good stretch up to the
mountain, is part of the Charterhouse estate."

"And you are planning to change these buildings into a hotel? But how
would you use the church?"

"No, this part will be only the reception, the offices and the services,
the medical surgeries, restaurants, bars and so on. The church, once
restored, will become a gym with the most modern equipment, including a
pool. And in the crypt there will be the boilers..."

"But... and the rooms?"

"This is the best part of the plan. Come!" the man said, his voice
filled with enthusiasm.

Passing through the rusty and half demolished gate between the library
and the herbalist's shop, they clambered up a path. They crossed a stone
small bridge.

"The water of this brook comes from a small lake that is up there, feed
by the spring of the curative waters... we will partly enclose the brook
to feed the pool in the church..." the man went on to explain.

Just beyond the bridge the path divided in three almost parallel lanes,
each at a higher level. Along these lanes, exactly at the back of the
church, were standing rows of two storied small houses, all perfectly
identical, built in stone, some still in a good shape and others partly
crumbled.

"The monks lived here. Each of these small houses contained four
apartments, two in front and two in the back, you see, there are the
access stairs. Now, each floor will contain a suite for the hotel
guests, therefore at the beginning there will be twenty-two suites, as
in total there are nineteen houses but only eleven are still easily
restorable. The other eight houses will be restored in a second phase,
and there is enough room to eventually build seven more of these houses,
in the same style, so bringing the total capacity to fifty suites, which
means we can host between fifty and one hundred and fifty guests... What
do you think?"

They entered one of the small houses. Each floor was a rectangle
surrounded outside by columns at two meters from each other, for a total
of five on the shorter side, including those at the corners, and seven
on the long side. Therefore inside were visible three columns for five,
as the ends were used for the front and back stairways.

"It's fascinating... and the suites would be quite nice... But all the
amenities are missing; water, electricity, heating, sewage..."

"Yes, but all will be installed. Thanks to heaven, as the whole complex
is almost in ruins, there aren't any obligations from the Fine Arts and
Monuments Office. Therefore, maintaining the ancient external aspect,
all the interiors will be very modern, functional and fitted with the
most modern accomodations. We will also get telephone service, of
course... But now come, there are still a couple things I want to show
you."

They clambered up to the higher lane and, going from there towards the
east, they reached the small lake. Beyond it, in a clearing, was
standing an octagonal chapel, also in stone, on top of a big rock.

"That is the chapel in honour of Saint Bruno, the founder of the
Carthusians. Restoring it we can get an elegant bar, possibly with a
small orchestra and a dance floor... What do you think?"

"Yes... all this will cost not so little..."

"Of course, but much less than building a new hotel and anyway,
preserving as much as possible of the Charterhouse's original aspect, we
will get a very, very original and elegant hotel. And as all the land
with the woods and these ruins will cost me less than a normal plot of
land in the plains where we could build a hotel, we will get something
extremely luxurious, spending relatively little money..."

"Do you have any idea about the time it will take to do all the work?"

"I have to contact a good contractor and a skilled architect... but I
think that in a couple years, at most three, we can open the hotel.
First of all I want the whole estate surrounded by a wall. Did you
notice the small house down there, at the beginning of the dirty track
leading here? That also is part of the estate. There we will have the
reception. Of course we will have the dirt road paved in asphalt, the
church square and the lanes paved in granite, and there I will have a
nice stone stairway connecting the three paths and leading towards the
church-sports centre... Yes... I already can see it... it will be
fantastic!"

Roland smiled at his father's enthusiasm - it had been years since he
had seen him so excited about something.

"And what will you call this hotel?"

"Oh, simply Montsabot Charterhouse Hotel. So, then? What do you think?"

"Dad, you have an excellent nose for business, if you say it's
worthwhile, it surely will be worthwhile. I think that in a short time
you will abundantly get back the money you are investing on it..."

"We are investing, my son. All that belongs to me one day will be yours,
as you know. And anyway, to start, I will buy this estate in your name,
and also the hotel will be recorded in your name. At least on this you
will have not to pay the inheritance tax. You agree, don't you?"

"Of course, Dad; what you decide is good for me, you know it."

"You don't seem really enthusiastic..."

"Yes, Dad... it's just that you took me unawares. From steelworks to
hotels... I simply didn't expect it. But I think it's a brilliant
idea..."

So, Monsieur Laforest found a building firm able to do a careful
restoration-modernisation job, hired a good architect to design the
project, and started to build the surrounding wall and to asphalt the
road...

He got all the needed authorizations, so he also started the work to
have installed at the Charterhouse water, electricity, telephone, and to
build also a perfect sewage system.

Roland was going forth and back to supervise the work. Around the end of
the year, back from one of his periodical visits to the building site,
he found Serge sitting on the villa's entrance stairs, in tears.

"Hey, Serge! What happened?" Roland asked, sitting on the stairs near
him.

"Mum... she got a high fever... the doctors... she is ill... she is
dying..."

"No way... It happens to get fever, you should not worry, Serge..."

"No, they said... I've heard them... they said... that the drug they are
giving her... not always is... not always does..."

"Serge, my darling, you possibly misunderstood..." Roland tried to
console him, moved by the deep dejection of the boy. "Come in, I will go
and talk with the doctors and you will see that..." he said.

He went in and Serge followed him, dejected. While they were climbing
the wide stairway leading to the first floor, Roland's father was going
downstairs. The young man looked in his eyes with a questioning
expression.

"I immediately called the physicians, as soon as I knew... as soon as I
got back home..." the man murmured in a flat tone.

"What do they say?" then Roland asked worried, noticing the tense
expression of his father.

"Blackwater Fever, it seems. They gave her quinine, but..." then he
stopped looking at Serge. "Come with me, Serge, we have to go to the
kitchen to take some wet cloths for your Mum... Come..."

The boy looked at Roland, who nodded in assent.

"Yes, Serge, give my dad a hand..." he said, gently pushing him towards
his father.

The boy turned round and followed Roland's father to the kitchens.
Roland continued climbing the stairs and when he was about to enter
Madeleine's room, a doctor came out.

"Are you Madame's husband?" the man asked him.

"Yes... tell me... what has Madeleine got?"

"Malaria... and we are afraid of the malignant kind..."

"But... will you succeed in..."

"We still can't say but... but we doubt we can."

"Is it infectious?"

"No. It's caused by a mosquito's sting... you just need to burn
fumigators in all the villa to avoid other people being infected."

Roland went in the room. Near Madeleine's bed were standing two more
doctors.

"Can I talk with her? Is she conscious?" Roland asked in a low voice,
looking towards the pale figure lying on the bed.

"Yes... you are..."

"Her husband. Can you leave us alone for a few minutes?"

"Surely. But be careful not to weary her, Madame is very weak."

Roland went near Madeleine's bed and took her hand in his hands. She was
burning. The young woman opened her eyes and as she recognised him gave
a faint smile.

"You are here..." she whispered.

"Yes... how are you feeling?"

"Do you remember... what you said... about HervŽ... just before he... he
left us?"

"What?" Roland asked, feeling his heart break.

"That he knew... that he was going... So am I..."

"No..." Roland moaned. "You cannot... your children..."

"They have you, now. Swear... you will go on... caring for... them..."

"Of course, but..."

"You didn't want... with HervŽ... to surrender... And you don't want...
to surrender... also now... isn't it so? But in a... short while... I
will be with him... and from up there... we will wait for you..."

"Madeleine..."

"Thank you... for everything... everything... everythingÉ"

After a few days of intermittent fever, Madeleine fell into a coma and
soon left this world.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Roland was terribly shaken by Madeleine's death. She was just
thirty-two. When Serge and the twins asked to see their dead mother,
Roland's father opposed. But Roland remembered what HervŽ told him - the
most cruel thing had been that he was not allowed to see for the last
time his dead parents and little sister.

Therefore, after checking that Madeleine had been laid in the proper way
on her bed, he took the hands of Michel and Jean-Marie and with Serge,
entered their mother's bedroom.

"Here... see how beautiful she is? She seems to be just asleep, doesn't
she?" Roland whispered trying to restrain the pain and the grief he was
feeling.

"She is so pale..." Michel murmured.

"But she is really beautiful... she seems like an angel..." Jean-Marie
said.

"Yes, now she really is an angel... and she is looking at us... and she
will protect us..." Serge said drawing nearer the bed and caressed his
mother's hand.

This reminded Roland of when he caressed the lifeless hand of HervŽ,
there on the battle field, and he had to exert a great effort not to
burst in tears. Serge turned, looked at him and from his expression
understood what Roland was feeling.

"If you feel like crying... just do it, Roland. So we too can cry
without worrying."

"Why did Mum go away?" Jean-Marie asked.

"Why so soon?" said Michel.

"Because the good Lord called her. And because she knows that Roland
will take care of us. Because she knows we are not alone." Serge
murmured.

"Dad... you will not go away, will you?" Michel asked.

"You will not leave us, will you?" Jean-Marie insisted.

"For what depends on me, my darlings, I will never leave you. Also your
Mum didn't want to leave you, but unhappily... unhappily... she fell ill
and... and nobody could help her..."

Later, Serge went near Roland who was alone, sitting in the studio room
sofa, and sat near him.

"Roland?"

"Tell me, Serge."

"You were near Dad when he died, there in the war, weren't you?"

"Yes, sure, to his last breath."

"And also near Mum when she died, right?"

"Sure, also near to her."

"And you too feel a great pain as we do... if not even more, right?"

"Of course. I would have died in place of your Dad... and would like to
have been able to do something for your Mum..."

"Yes, Mum told me. She told me you really loved Dad. And you also did
love our Mum very much, I saw it."

"And I love you three very, very much also."

"I know. I would be glad if I still had my Dad here... but even if I am
not able to call you Dad, because I remember him too well, I am glad
having you here, near me. I wanted to tell you this. Also if I cannot
call you Dad... I love you so much... at least as much as I loved my
Dad."

"I know, Serge, and we don't really need you to call me Dad, it's rather
right you can't. For your little brothers it's different, as they didn't
know him..."

"Yes, of course, I know. We are lucky having you..."

"Do you know that you resemble your Dad very much? And not only
physically, but also in character. I met him when he was older than you
now, but I can bet that when he was your age, he was exactly as you
are."

"He too lost his Dad and his Mum, right?"

"And a little sister... yes... when he was just ten years old."

"But he didn't have someone like you to take care of him..."

"There was an old aunt..."

Serge had a light smile, "I like you better, a thousand times, than an
old aunt." he sweetly said, looking in his eyes.

Roland tenderly hugged him. Serge curled himself up against him and
emitted a soft sigh. Roland caressed his hair. They remained so for a
long time, giving each other comfort just with their closeness, with
that contact filled with tenderness.

The following year, at the beginning of Spring, a new loss hit the
villa. Roland's father, who was sixty-six years old, while working in
his presidential office at the Laforest Industries, during the morning
was cut short by a heart attack. His secretary found him collapsed on
his desk. The woman at once called Roland, who was in the storehouse
talking with the chief-storeman and informed him that his father seemed
unconscious. Roland ran upstairs... and understood that his father in
reality was dead.

Even though he never had a very close relationship with him, and never
very affectionate, Roland was deeply shaken. He asked the secretary to
call a doctor to certify his father death and to do all that was needed.
He then called the villa giving the news to the butler, asking him to
inform all the personnel, and to tell the family chauffeur not to go to
fetch the children at school as he personally would go.

He went to the parking lot to get his car. The news had already spread
throughout the factory and many of the employees offered him their
condolences.

He arrived in front of the primary school just before the boys came out.
He waited and took the twins on board, who were really happy that Roland
came to fetch them. He then drove to Serge's School, as he was coming
out half an hour later, and they waited for him too.

When the boy saw Roland, he opened up in a bright and wide smile.

"How great! Today you came to get us!" he merrily exclaimed. "How could
you? Your Dad let you free, today?"

"Serge, Jean-Marie, Michel... my father this morning... has died. I
wanted to be the one to tell you."

The three boys fell silent.

Then Serge said, "I'm so sorry, Roland... I'm really so sorry..."

"But grandfather was so old?" Michel asked.

"No... he was rather aged but... quite likely his heart stopped...
possibly his heart was older than his body..." Roland tried to explain.
"How can the heart be older than the body?" Jean-Marie asked.

"In a car, some parts become older than others and stop working before.
And our body is somewhat like a car." Serge explained to him.

"But a car, one can repair it, it's enough to change the part that
doesn't work..." Jean-Marie objected.

"Who knows that one day it may be possible to also change the parts of a
human body that don't work... But for the moment this is not possible.
The doctors are not yet able to do everything..." Serge said.

"Yes, like they weren't able to help Mum, isn't it?" Michel then said.

"Exactly so. Life and death are two things about which we still know
very little, yes, very little..." Roland said.

A great crowd of people took part in Roland's father's funeral; he had
been an important name in the field of French finance and industry, and
an important member of the community of the town where he had his villa.
Politicians, soldiers, financiers and industrialists, the mayor with all
the town council, and also commoners...

The newspapers published plenty of articles, and bags of condolence
letters and telegrams came. Roland charged his father's secretary to
answer everybody on his behalf.

He then took the woman aside and asked her, "Josiane, I think that my
father had a mistress... even though he never told me so. If you know
something about her, I would like you to tell me who she is... I
wouldn't like her to suddenly find herself in financial straits, now
that my Dad is dead..."

The secretary looked at him somewhat puzzled then, hesitantly, said,
"Yes, Monsieur Roland, you are not wrong... You really want to know who
she is?"

"Oh, my god, Josiane... I didn't want to... I should have been more
cautious, more careful..."

The woman smiled, shaking her head, "No, Monsieur Roland, even though it
is often thought that a secretary is also... no, it's not me."

The young man sighed, "Luckily; I feared to have embarrassed you...
Forgive me. So, then, why are you so hesitant to tell me?"

"No... if you want to know... Your father demanded that I keep silent...
but as I see the reason why you want to know, and as he is no longer
with us... Well, here is her name and address..." the woman said writing
them down on a sheet of paper, with her elegant calligraphy, and handing
it to the young man.

Roland threw a glance at it. "Do you know who she is, what she does, how
she lives?"

"No, monsieur Roland. All I know is what I wrote, as your father often
charged me to buy some things and to have them delivered at that
address."

"Buy things? Presents? What kind of things?"

"Rolls of cloth, food, wines... at times also something for the house,
like... like a piece of furniture, or a pendulum clock... a set of
glasses..."

"Thank you, Josiane. I have to go and meet her... and see if I can do
something for her."

"You have a heart of gold, Monsieur Roland..." the woman commented. Then
added, "Ah, your father's attorney called and asked when you have time
to see him."

"Ah... tell him to arrange a meeting, just look on the calendar when I
have some free time."

"I surely will."

Roland went to the address that the secretary wrote down. It was a house
in the town centre, standing on a narrow alley. It was an ancient but
dignified building. He went upstairs and on the second floor he saw her
name on a door, Odette FŽraud. There was no doorbell so he knocked.

Soon a woman, dressed in a simple but elegant way, came to open the
door. At her back there was a kid of about ten years of age, who was
holding on to her skirt.

"Madame FŽraud, I presume..."

"Mademoiselle... yes it's me. What do you desire?"

"My name is Roland Laforest, I am the son of..."

"You? What can I do for you?"

"May I come in, pray?"

"Please... come in..."

Roland went in; the apartment was dignified, not rich, not poor.
Mademoiselle, the woman said. She should be in her forties and was a
rather pleasant woman. And she had a child... can he be the son of my
father? He asked himself.

"Forgive me for coming to disturb you, but... I know that you... were my
father's... companion, therefore..."

"He told me you didn't know about me..." the woman said in a low voice,
looking at the tip of her shoes.

"I didn't, in fact... but I guessed and... after my father's death, I
got your name from his secretary..."

"I see..."

"The reason for my visit... well, I wouldn't seem... tactless... But I
asked myself if by chance, now that my father is dead... if by chance
you... I didn't know you had a son... What's his name?" Roland asked to
gain time, not knowing how to face the subject.

"His name is Edmond..."

"Like my father..." Roland remarked.

"No... I mean, yes, but it is a pure coincidence... He is not your
father's son..."

"Are you sure?" Roland asked, then blushed, "I beg your forgiveness, I
didn't want to..."

The woman shook her head, "Of course I am sure, as I gave birth to him,
didn't I? No, he was born one year before I first met your father. It is
just a chance that he has his same name... Really just chance."

"Therefore... it is about eight, nine years that you and my father..."

"Exactly ten years... in May."

"And... if you will forgive me to ask of you... why didn't he marry you,
as he was with you for such a long time... and as you still are a miss?"

The woman sadly smiled, "He never proposed to me... and it was not up to
me asking him... I knew he had you... it could have been for you that he
didn't, but I don't know..."

"And now you... forgive my daring but... what work do you do?"

"Work? He didn't want me to work... he wanted to find me at home. Any
time he decided to come, do you see?"

"But so, now... how can you continue?"

"I really don't know. I didn't have to pay the apartment rent... the
house belonged to him... therefore now to you. I will look for a job, I
think, even though at my age... possibly as a shop assistant... at least
I hope."

"Listen to me, Mademoiselle FŽraud... if for ten years my father has
been with you, it means that he was affectionate to you... that he was
fitting well with you... and now I don't want you to find yourself
suddenly out of house and home. Therefore, if you allow me... I was
thinking... I will ask the attorney to record this apartment in your
name... Moreover, even though the boy is not my father's son... I would
like you to accept an annuity in his name, at least until he comes of
age and can provide to sustain you..."

The woman looked at him astounded, "And I thought that... feared that...
Why will you do all that for me, for us? After all we are two perfect
strangers to you."

"You weren't so for my father, and this is enough for me. You cared for
him for so many years... I think that what I am offering you is simply
owed to you."

"What can I say? You are really kind and generous... surely your offer
would allow me to live without too many problems... I can anyway really
look for a job and so support my son and myself... You don't need to..."

"No, I don't need to, it's true. But it seems to me just fair and I'm
pleased to do so... at least in the memory of my father. Please, accept
it. If you find a good job, so much the better. But if your child one
day desires to attend a superior school... they are quite expensive...
so you can allow him to do that, don't you think? Accept for him, at
least. I don't intend at all to offend you or to embarrass you."

"I thank you... I accept then. But, wouldn't you like to know how we
met, your father and I? Why I still am unmarried but have a child?"

"If you want to tell me... although you really don't need to."

Odette then told him her story.

-----------------------------

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 7

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In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to
read them, the URL is

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If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English
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please e-mail at

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