by Jane Holland
‘But you slept with him.’
There’s no point lying to cover my stupidity. ‘I thought he was you.’
Robin closes his eyes. ‘Hell.’
‘I should have seen through his smooth routine. I should have known from the start that he wasn’t you. But like you said, Jean-Luc can be very convincing.’
‘He should get an Oscar.’
‘Only now I’m down here in the cellar with you.’
‘Yes.’
‘So I guess that means romance is off the table, and I get to die too.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘I expect that’s his plan. God, what a bastard.’
‘Literally.’
I cup his cheek, stroking the beard he’s been forced to grow down here. The dark bristles are surprisingly soft. ‘Oh, Robin.’ I smile, loving that he can still make jokes at this dark moment. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m glad I’ve got you back.’
‘Not much of a bargain though, am I?’ He pulls away. ‘I was Robin Halifax, once upon a time. I don’t know who I am anymore. He’s taken my place.’
‘No,’ I tell him urgently. ‘You can’t think like that. You can’t let him win. You’re still Robin. The real Robin Halifax.’
‘Nobody knows that.’
‘You know it, and now I know it.’
Robin smiles, but shakes his head. ‘That’s not enough though, is it? Not unless one of us can get the hell out of here. Otherwise he wins the Super Bowl.’ When I raise my eyebrows, he adds, ‘If there are no living relatives left, your aunt’s entire estate goes to her faithful housekeeper.’
‘Lucille.’
‘And her loving son after her,’ he points out drily. ‘How long do you think dearest Maman will survive that inheritance? Jean-Luc already has this place and my dad’s estate to play with. Your aunt was no longer fabulously wealthy, so I doubt there’s more than a million cash in the estate, if that. But he wants the chateau most of all. That’s worth more than everything else put together. And he needs his revenge to be total.’
I shudder.
Robin nods, understanding my horror. ‘Jean-Luc wants to own the house where he grew up as an outsider, a nobody. He wants to be lord and master there.’ He looks at me significantly. ‘Lord of all he surveys. If he does spare you, Caitlin, it’ll be so he can keep you hidden away like this for the rest of your life. Up in the attic at the chateau, perhaps. His play-thing forever.’
I swallow the sick taste in my mouth, recalling the things Jean-Luc did to me in bed. His tastes certainly run to sexual dominance, I can’t deny it.
‘Then we’d better make sure we stop him.’ I look about the place for makeshift weapons, anything we could use against our captors. ‘You’ve been here nearly a year, you said. You must have tried to get out before.’
‘Are you kidding?’
He flicks back his long hair and shows me a scar on his shoulder. It looks ugly, the skin puckered where it didn’t heal properly.
‘This was my third time of trying to escape,’ he tells me drily. ‘They started using the Taser after that. Though that didn’t stop me. First time Jean-Luc forgot to bring it with him, I punched him in the head and got as far as the back yard before Serge wrestled me. Broke a few ribs that time too, getting kicked back down the stairs.’
‘Shit.’
‘We have two major problems. There are no houses close enough for shouting to make any difference, and there’s no way out of this cellar except through that door.’ He points to the door at the top of the stairs. ‘And when they bring food down, they’re always armed with a Taser.
‘Which one comes most often? Serge or Jean-Luc?’
‘They tend to take turns. Sometimes Jean-Luc goes away for a few days, and then it’s Serge on his own. Why, what are you planning?’
‘I’m not sure.’ I study the stairs thoughtfully. ‘But things are different now, aren’t they?’
He looks mystified.
‘There are two of us,’ I point out. ‘Not one.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Later, I hear the door creak open at the top of the cellar steps.
‘Don’t move yet,’ Robin whispers in my ear. ‘Remember what we discussed?’
I nod, listening to the heavy tread on the stairs.
One man, coming down alone.
I turn my head. Robin locks gazes with me, suddenly intent. ‘What do you have to do?’ His voice is barely audible.
‘Survive,’ I whisper back.
‘That’s right. You have to survive. Promise me, Caitlin.’
‘I promise.’
He presses me. ‘No heroics?’
‘No heroics.’
Robin seems satisfied. He lets me go, then scrambles to his feet, turning to face our captor.
I get up more slowly, gathering my strength. I don’t want to make it look too suspicious though, so force myself to look up at Jean-Luc, who has stopped halfway down the stairs. I’m so psyched-up, I can feel blood beating in my temples, the rush of adrenalin almost overwhelming my nervous system.
To my disappointment, it’s not Jean-Luc.
It’s the man with dreadlocks.
Serge.
As Robin told me would happen, he’s come down with a bowl of food in one hand and a Taser in the other. His expression is ugly. ‘Stay right where you are,’ he tells Robin in thickly accented French, and takes another step down, pointing the Taser at his bare chest. ‘You don’t want me to hurt you. Or the woman.’
I watch him come almost to the bottom of the stairs.
Robin shifts away from me, a strange, deep noise emanating from the centre of his chest. It sounds like he’s growling.
‘Let her go home,’ he tells Serge in French. ‘You hear me? It’s me he wants, not her.’
‘Not your call, American.’
I turn my head, eyeing a wooden chair leg on the floor, half-hidden beside the mattress. It has a jagged edge where Robin broke it off the chair earlier.
Robin straightens, putting his shoulders back. He may be in poor condition after a year’s captivity, but he’s still taller than the other man I realise. ‘I said, let her go.’ His tone is suddenly aggressive.
Serge shakes back his dreadlocks. His eyes have narrowed on Robin’s face. ‘And I told you, stay where you are.’
‘Or what?’
‘Or I’ll hurt you again. You don’t want that.’ His grin is unpleasant. ‘Remember last time you got the Taser? It hurt so bad you cried like a little girl for hours afterwards. You don’t want to cry in front of your …’
Before he’s even finished speaking, Robin rushes him.
Serge swears, fumbling with the Taser. He’s too late though. With a violent shove, Robin pushes past him, charging up the stairs to the open cellar door.
Staggering back against the wall, Serge recovers quickly. He turns and lunges after him, shooting Robin in the back with the Taser. With a sharp cry, Robin drops at once, like he’s been hit with an axe. His long body twitches uncontrollably several times, then he lies rigid, face-down on the wooden stairs.
Serge grunts with satisfaction, watching him. He lowers the Taser. ‘Told you it would hurt,’ he says in a growl. ‘Now stay down, you prick.’
Standing behind him, I bring down the thick wooden chair leg across the back of his head with as much force as I can manage, exactly as Robin demonstrated.
Without a sound, the man with dreadlocks crumples sideways. His body topples off the unguarded stairs, falling to the rough stone floor several feet below. Even in the pale, flickering light from the ceiling strip light, I can see blood beginning to spread from a wound in the back of his skull.
The chair leg drops from my numb fingers.
‘Shit.’
I look at Robin.
He’s not moving either.
The cellar door is still open. It must be late evening, but I can see the yellow glow of electric light up there. He told me to run. Not to wait for him to recover. You mus
t survive. I have to get out of the villa. Get help, call the police. To try and bring Robin with me would be suicidal.
Jean-Luc nearly always goes out in the evenings. Sometimes they both go out. Sometimes he leaves Serge to watch me on his own.
‘Robin?’
He doesn’t respond, lying still. For one terrible moment, I fear Serge has killed him. That I’ve lost him so soon after finding him again.
I stoop and check his pulse, touching his neck with trembling fingers. He’s still alive. But he doesn’t seem to be conscious. Can I drag him up the stairs? I slip my hands under his arms and try to lift him, but it’s ridiculously hard. I could lift him a step at a time, and then rest. But it would take ages to get him all the way to the top. And every second I’m standing here increases the odds that Jean-Luc will come back and find us.
If you get the chance to escape, you must take it.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, then step past Robin’s prone body and make my way up to the cellar door as quietly as I can.
I feel relatively safe. If Jean-Luc was still in the house, he would have heard the noise and surely made an appearance by now.
But I’m not taking any chances.
There’s no sound from the house as I peer out of the cellar door, glad that Robin prepped me on the layout of the villa. The kitchen is to my left. There’s a light on in there but the large front room further along the hall lies in darkness. The only other light is from a storm lantern-style lamp sitting on the floor in the hallway.
The villa’s electricity is powered by a small generator in an outbuilding, Robin told me, as the house hasn’t been rewired properly since the fire. When Jean-Luc first locked him in the basement, taking his place in the world outside, he stopped work on the renovations and phoned the builders to tell them not to bother coming back. Ever since then, he’s been living here with Serge, using Robin’s own savings to survive, having hacked his computer for all his passwords.
That’s how he managed to access his Facebook account too, and to start living Robin’s life for him. Like the parasitical creature he is.
I have to reach a telephone as quickly as possible, and call both the police and an ambulance for Robin. That was what we agreed in the dark cellar. The chateau may be the nearest telephone. Less than ten minutes’ walk. But what if Jean-Luc has gone there too?
My heart thumping, I creep to the front door and try it. To my relief, it’s not locked.
‘Going somewhere, Caitlin?’
I spin round.
It’s Jean-Luc, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. There’s a halo of light behind his head, his eyes narrowed and malevolent. Bizarrely, he’s wearing a large topaz brooch on his chest, pinned to his black V-neck sweater, and a single pearl earring. The pearl earring is large and flawless, with another massive teardrop-shaped pearl hanging down beneath the lobe.
‘Serge? Where are you?’ he calls out in French.
There’s no reply.
Jean-Luc takes three swift strides to the open door to the cellar, then stops dead. He clutches at the door frame, staring down into the cellar, wide-eyed, his mouth slightly open. The smooth, pearlescent drop quivers against his tanned neck as though with fury.
I turn and scrabble with the front door, desperate to get out.
A second later Jean-Luc is right on top of me. He drags me back by the hair, spinning me round behind him and yanking a fistful of hair loose in the process. ‘You little bitch,’ he snarls in French. ‘What have you done to my friend?’
I gasp, unable to speak. My eyes are watering with pain.
He slams the door shut, then turns to deal with me. I try to push him away, but it’s useless. He’s far too strong. He slaps my hands away, and then grabs me by the throat.
Oh Christ. I can’t breathe. His fingers are choking the life out of me, and his eyes are evil. It feels like he’s planning to kill me.
With the last of my strength, I bring my knee up into his groin.
‘Fuck.’
Jean-Luc groans, staggering backwards. He doubles over in apparent agony, both hands nursing his groin.
I stumble down the hall towards the kitchen. There’s a back door. I saw it while exploring the outside of the villa. It’s probably locked but maybe not. The front door wasn’t locked. They weren’t expecting us to be able to escape the cellar. Perhaps I can still escape and get help for Robin …
The kitchen surfaces are glittering under the makeshift bulb they’ve rigged up above the stove. Glittering beautifully, like the inside of a diamond mine.
The kitchen surface is covered with jewellery.
I manage only a quick glance in passing, but I recognise some of the larger pieces on display. There are diamonds there. But that’s also Aunt Tamsin’s favourite topaz necklace, the one that matches the brooch Jean-Luc is wearing. And Emily’s other pearl earring, from the pair she inherited from her grandmother. My cousin was so proud of those earrings when we were kids. Heavy, old-fashioned clip-ons, Emily used to put them on for us some evenings and parade about her bedroom like a princess, a silver tiara on her head, fanning herself with an ostrich feather.
I sob out loud, suddenly disgusted by the thought of Jean-Luc doing the same, playing with my cousin’s most precious belongings. One of three women he’s murdered now.
He’s not going to make it four, though. Not if I have any bloody say in the matter.
‘Get back here, English.’ Jean-Luc is close behind me, cursing in French. In his haste, he crashes into a kitchen chair and sends it skidding into his own path. Briefly, I glance back, hoping this will slow him up. But he hurdles the fallen chair and staggers after me again. ‘I should have listened to Serge. He said you were trouble.’
The back door is down a narrow corridor past the kitchen. I reach it and try the handle.
It’s locked.
I turn, trapped. ‘Why are you doing this?’ I ask, only partly to distract him.
‘As if you don’t know.’
‘I don’t.’
‘I was going to let you live,’ he hisses in English.
To my surprise, he still has the fake American accent that made his impersonation of Robin so pitch-perfect. But since he spent years in the States himself, first at college and then working on films, I suppose it’s not entirely faked. It’s part of him, just like Robin’s looks. The vicious, twisted personality is entirely his though.
‘You hear me, Caitlin? I was still thinking I could let you share my inheritance, if you promised to be good. Whatever money is left in your aunt’s estate, the chateau, all of it … But not after this betrayal.’ His voice becomes a snarl. ‘Now I’m just going to kill you.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
‘Betrayal?’ I repeat, pushing my chin up. My voice rises with it. ‘You think I betrayed you, Jean-Luc? Are you kidding me?’
Fear has made me angry, I realise. Or maybe I’m just sick of being afraid, and anger is my next best response to the adrenalin flooding my body. Whichever way, I’m not going to make this easy for him. Not going to give in and just become his next victim. Screw that crap. Jean-Luc wants to kill me, he’s going to have to work for it.
His eyes flicker. I’ve surprised him.
I’m backed up against the locked back door to the villa, with Jean-Luc in front of me, staring.
‘Yes, betrayal,’ he agrees. ‘You sent the police round here today, didn’t you? Serge heard them coming and had to hide. But he caught what they were saying. You sent them to search for me. They walked right round the house, looked through all the windows …’
‘And you blame me for that? After what you’ve done to me, you bastard? After your betrayal.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I thought we connected at Les Baux. That you felt something for me.’ Again, his eyes flicker. He doesn’t like that. Wasn’t expecting it. ‘You did, didn’t you? I didn’t imagine it.’
Jean-Luc says nothing.
‘I’m right though,
aren’t I? We were falling in love, you and me.’ My voice turns husky as I search his face. ‘Tell me I’m not wrong.’
He looks down, his expression half-hidden by long lashes. But I can see the sudden calculation in his face. Always trying to work an angle that will get him more for less effort. He knows it will be far easier to achieve what he wants without killing me. Easier and less likely to cause awkward questions now the police are taking an interest in ‘Robin’.
He hesitates, then says softly, ‘You’re not wrong.’
‘So why decide to kill me?’
His head snaps up again, his eyes widening at my aggressive tone. ‘I don’t have to answer any of your questions.’
‘But you’re going to kill me, aren’t you? So why not wait a few extra minutes and satisfy my curiosity first?’ I ask him. ‘Actually, no, wait …’
Daringly, I place my palm flat on his black sweater, almost touching Tamsin’s topaz brooch. He flinches at my touch, but doesn’t knock my hand away.
‘Instead, let me tell you what I think happened that day at Les Baux. You got too close to me, didn’t you, Jean-Luc? The plan was to string me along until I was too deep in love with you to realise what you were up to, then marry me after Tamsin’s death so you could take the chateau legitimately. Only you started to feel something for me at Les Baux, and when I said I was going home to England, it freaked you out.’
Jean-Luc is so still now, his face like a mask, his chest barely moving. But he looks stressed. The veins are standing out on his tanned throat, dark and livid.
‘You couldn’t cope with the emotion. So your twisted brain decided it would be easier to kill Tamsin, and then me, and grab the chateau through your mother. Because once everyone else was dead, Lucille would be the only one left to inherit Tamsin’s estate.’
‘Bullshit.’
He’s beginning to get angry, his focus shifting away from me. I’ll lose him if I’m not careful. I have to keep him talking.
‘But why kill Cleopatra?’
‘What?’
‘Tamsin’s cat.’
He makes a face, dismissing it. ‘Ancient history. Like her name.’
