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The Well
by Mike Briley
a novel set in south West France

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Charles Porterbury had settled somewhere in the same general region. Charles had one day just upped and sold his company, one of the biggest privately owned publishers in Europe, and moved to deepest France. No one had openly accused him of being responsible for the five million euro debt of his company. Apparently everything was legal and transparent. The due diligence investigation of the multinational group that bought him out was simply not diligent enough because they noticed nothing and the problems only came to light six months later. The multinational did not pursue Charles into deepest France but Peter had heard that he would be advised not to come back to the UK.

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Peter and Charles had met from time to time on the publishing circuit but the first time Peter really had a long chat with him was in Moscow a few years earlier when they were both stranded in the same hotel when their flight was cancelled. Over a drink Charles had told him that he had bought an old farm that he was converting. Since then every time they met, Charles would pull out a pocket album of photos to show Peter the progress of the renovations. After moving down there, he sent Peter photos by e-mail from time to time and each time insisted that he must come and visit him. This would be a good opportunity. A few days with Jean and a few days with Charles would make a pleasant break and give him a chance to get his ideas in order and to get the sour taste of this business out of his mouth before starting the next phase of his life.

The sending of personal e-mails from the office was forbidden but Peter felt he had nothing to lose and sent each of his would-be hosts an e-mail announcing that he was taking them up on their long standing invitations.

By the time Peter had battled halfway round the M40 London ring road in the drizzle, he was thinking that working at home might have its advantages. When he got home he found that there was nothing in the fridge so he wandered round to the pub on the corner and ordered a pie and a pint and took it to a corner table with a copy of the evening paper.

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