Anything Considered by Peter Mayle Read Free Book Online

at any rate.”

4
    “THERE’S an interesting statistic,” said Poe, “that has a bearing on what I’m going to suggest to you. It’s this: something close to forty percent of the French labor force is employed by the state. You’re familiar, I’m sure, from your time in Paris, with what this means to honest workingmen like you and me.”
    Bennett nodded. He remembered the torrents of complicated forms—paper diarrhea, he used to call it—the sullen laziness of self-important bureaucrats, the hours spent in poky offices, disputing the latest fiscal assault on his company’s income. “Yes,” he said. “It was one of the reasons I left; I was being buried in bureaucracy.”
    “Exactly. And all those millions of irritating little paper-shufflers have to be paid, given subsidized medical care, five-week vacations, and index-linked pensions.” Poe tapped the ash from his cigar. “A delightful system if you happen to be one of the beneficiaries, but damned expensive for the rest of us. You’re aware of the French rates of tax if you commit the crime of making a decent income?Sixty, seventy percent. Sometimes more.” He paused to nuzzle his brandy.
    “That’s true,” said Bennett, “but everybody cheats.”
    Poe smiled. “Quite. And with your help, I’m going to join them. Another cognac?” Bennett fetched the decanter, and watched the pale-golden liquid swirl into the bottom of the glasses. The thought of an almost destitute ex–house-sitter being in a position to help a man like Poe was strangely satisfying, and Bennett decided there and then to take the job, whatever it was.
    Poe thanked him for the cognac and continued. “For some years now, I’ve kept a little place in Monaco, where the authorities take a much more intelligent view of income tax. But there are two snags. First, I feel about Monaco very much how you feel about boats—cramped and much too crowded. And second, despite all the bureaucratic nonsense, I love living in France. It’s tiresome and inconvenient to have to limit my time here to six months a year.”
    Bennett’s knowledge of the tax restrictions on the rich was sketchy. “Why six months a year?”
    “Anything over six months—even a day—and you’re assessed as a French resident for tax purposes, whether you like it or not.” Poe took a long draw on his cigar and blew a smoke ring. Bennett noticed, without surprise, that it was perfect. “Which brings me to my harmless little deception. As you know, there’s no official border between Monaco and France—no customs, no passports, no immigration checks. So it’s difficult for the authorities to know exactly how long you spend there.”
    “And they’re not prepared to take your word for it, I suppose.”
    Poe got up, stood with his back to the fire, and looked down at Bennett, shaking his head slowly. “It doesn’t work like that. You see, it’s not up to them to prove you haven’t been living in Monaco; it’s up to you to prove that you have. And in true French fashion, they will always give themselves the benefit of any doubt. You see the problem?”
    “Sure,” said Bennett. “But how do you prove that you’re living there—call in to Prince Rainier? Report to the police station every day?”
    “Luckily, it hasn’t come to that yet. But you do need to lay a fairly conspicuous trail—restaurant bills, parking tickets, receipts from service stations, dry cleaners, wine merchants, that kind of thing—and you need to run up a healthy phone bill. You know how the French authorities love phone bills. In other words, you need to establish a permanent paper presence.”
    “Ah,” said Bennett.
    “I see the penny’s dropped.”
    “I think so. You want me to be you.”
    “On paper. For the next six months, and then we’ll see how we go from there. I’ll pay you in cash every month, which will avoid any tax problems for you. Of course, you’ll live in my apartment in Monaco. You’ll drive my car, set up