The clouds bloomed into the sky that heavy weekend mid-afternoon. There was something rhythmical about the church bell chimes calling the way to weary travellers. Christophe Beladore was one such weary traveller, but his destination was not that of a church. He strolled against the flow, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, and watched as the world rushed by. A jostle at his elbow led him to look up into the face of a young woman.

She was fiercely beautiful, and this was more than noticed by Christophe in the split second he had to lock his piercing blue eyes with her similarly-coloured ones. She was dressed rather behind the times in an ankle-length plum dress, white gloves clutching at an equally-berry-coloured parasol.

The lady blushed when she realised that she had collided with a person. However, deep within her eyes was a hard glance.

“Excusez-moi…” she mumbled, leading herself around Christophe.

As he watched her running away, her rose hat unpinned, letting the lady’s night-coloured hair pour out. Taken along by the wind, the hat floated its way to Christophe. He could do all but stare as he caught the hat; the lady had hurried into the crowd of churchgoers, the chance of returning her property was slim.

Christophe shrugged and continued his journey…

It was not long before he was out of the main stream of churchgoers and into a side street, standing at the door of a house that belonged to George Valentin, a friend of Christophe’s parents, and the man with which he intended to board.

The door of the jagged-roofed house swung opened the instant Christophe knocked and before him stood a short, rather portly, balding gentleman, presumed to be in his forties. At first he narrowed his eyes at the well-travelled stranger on the doorstop, and burbled at him in rapid Flemish.

Christophe raised his eyebrows, startled.

“Pardon?” he said.

“Ah.” The man’s expression changed. “Tu parle francais… You must be Christophe!”

“That is correct,” Christophe bowed his head.

“I didn’t recognise you for a minute,” George Valentin continued to burble in Christophe’s own language this time. “Last time I saw you, you were just a boy, but now you have changed into a grand young man.

“Welcome to Belgium.”

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A Belgium Mystery or Diamonds For the Destitute

What if Christophe was Alexandra's age?
Here he is, as we take a trip into his past, at the solo mission that inspired his love of detective work!

Not the prequel to 'A Game of Murder', nor is that this story's sequel; they are independant and parallel, so can be read how ever.

Set in Bruges, Belgium, in the 1920s.
In actual fact, unless specified otherwise, all the characters, when they talk to Christophe are speaking France French.

Bear in mind that I'm probably not going to get around to much work on 'A Belgium Mystery', as I have work still to do on 'A Game of Murder' and various others (including Agnetha King) before I get round to this on my list of priorities.

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PS. Wonder whatever happened next to the Cartonaise? She can be found here, ten years later, in a game of murder: http://www.protagonize.com/story/a-game-of-murder

updated Aug 9 '11 by SumnerzAngel