Finding Margo

by Susanne O'Leary

  “Un ange passe,” Jacques said softly.

  “What?”

  “An angel is passing through. That’s what we say in France when there is this kind of silence that is full of unspoken words.”

  “Oh.”

  “Where were you going to walk?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The woods, maybe. I thought I might go and sit by the stream and read.”

  “That’s my favourite place; the woods by the stream,” Jacques said. “There is a lot of wildlife there, have you noticed?”

  “Not really. What kind of wildlife?”

  “There are a lot of birds nesting there,” Jacques said. “Rare birds you don’t see in other parts of France. This area has no industries nearby, and the motorway is quite far away. If you go there late in the evening or early morning, you will see the birds feeding. Early June is the best time, of course, because they are nesting then, but even now they are quite easy to spot if you know what to look for.”

  “And what’s that?” Margo asked, intrigued.

  “There is a pair of kingfishers that have been there for years. If you stay still and try not to make a sound, you will see a flash of brilliant blue when the birds fly along the river. They follow the line of the water looking for small fish, and their flight is like a fighter plane: straight, silent and very fast. It is a beautiful sight.”

  “I must look out for that. Thank you for telling me.”

  “Most people walk around completely blind to the magic of nature, you know,” Jacques said with slight regret in his voice. “If they could learn to open their eyes and see all the wonderful things there are, the world might be a better place.”

  “Maybe it would. But most people never get a chance to get away from their city lives.”

  “I know. I’m very lucky in that respect, I suppose. You know,” Jacques said with a faraway look in his eyes, “early in the morning, when the sun has just risen and I go out to check the stock, is the best part of my day.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Yes.”

  They were quiet once more. Margo cleared her throat.

  Jacques’ eyes focused on her again. He looked at her as if he had momentarily forgotten her presence and was surprised to see her there.

  “Would you like to come with me some morning?” he asked. “To ride out and check the cattle and ride along the stream and watch the birds?”

  “Ride? I don’t know,” Margo said. “I haven’t sat on a horse since I was a child. And then it was only a pony.”

  “I have an old mare. Very quiet. I could put my grandmother on her. If I had a grandmother,” he added. “So how about it? Will you come with me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tomorrow morning?”

  “Why not? What time?”

  “Six o’clock. I’ll wait for you at the stables.”

  “If I manage to wake up,” Margo said.

  “If you were Groania, or whatever her name is, you’d be getting up at that hour every morning.”

  “Well, I’m not her, so I don’t have to,” Margo said, feeling irritated by his teasing.

  Jacques studied her for a while. “As you took the job under false pretences,” he remarked, “you owe me some sacrifice.”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” Margo snapped.

  “Are you coming or not?”

  Margo hesitated. “OK, I will.”

  “Good. And by the way, she has just arrived and is camping by the stream.”

  “Who?”

  “Your—girlfriend.”

  ***

  “What have you got yourself into?” Margo muttered to herself as she hurried down the path to find Gráinne. “You should stay away from him, you fool. He seems so harmless, but I know he’s trouble. Pull yourself together and act your age,” she ordered herself. Still muttering under her breath, she walked on, through the woods, and down the hill toward the weir. There wasn’t even a faint breeze and nothing moved, not even the tiniest blade of grass. It was as if the whole landscape was holding its breath, pressed down by the relentless sun. Margo shaded her eyes with her hand and looked toward the weir. The water level was lower, and the gushing of the stream had slowed to a soft gurgle. The grass was yellow rather than green, and there were even bare patches in the meadow. Then she spotted something bright green among the pine trees: Gráinne’s tent. She set off through the wood and peeked into the tent.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Gráinne?”

  A voice behind her made Margo jump. “Shit, if it isn’t Maggie! Jesus, you gave me a hell of a fright.”

  Margo turned around. “Gráinne! Why are you sneaking up on me like this?”

  “The world is full of creeps. You have to be able to defend yourself these days,” Gráinne replied.

  “Well, you’re asking for it, walking around with nothing on.”

  Gráinne looked down at herself as if she had just noticed her lack of clothing. “Yeah, right,” she muttered. “I was just having a dip in the weir. I’ll throw something on.” She sidled awkwardly into the tent, closed the flap, and after having rustled around for a bit, came out moments later dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. She towelled her hair dry, sat down on a tree stump, and stuck a cigarette in her mouth. Smiling at Margo, she lit the cigarette shakily. “Sorry, but you did scare the shit out of me. I didn’t recognise you with that hairdo.”

  Margo sank down on the ground beside her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “A woman alone is an easy target for all kinds of creeps. Sorry about creeping up on you like that.”

  “But you don’t really have anything that anyone would like to steal, do you?” Margo said. “And I was only looking into your tent to see who was there. Just out of curiosity, you know?”

  “Well, you know what curiosity did to the cat,” Gráinne mumbled, blowing out a plume of smoke. “And it wouldn’t be money he would be after.”

  “He? Who?”

  Gráinne shrugged. “Anyone. Any man on the prowl. They’re all the same. If they find you alone and vulnerable, they’ll just—well, you know.”

  “Oh,” Margo said as it dawned on her what Gráinne meant. “I see. Well, I suppose you’re right. Women are attacked all the time these days.”

  “You’re right. Camping on your own is not really safe anymore. Especially around here.”

  “Around here?”

  “Yeah. I know that pervert from the castle likes to prowl around and take a peep when I’m not looking.”

  “Who are you talking about? Jacques?”

  “Yeah, Jacques. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice he was sneaking around when we were here last? Didn’t you get the stink of those French fags?”

  “Oh,” Margo mumbled. “Yes, well, I suppose I did. But I mean, he wouldn’t really—and in that case, you shouldn’t be walking around in the buff.”

  “Yeah, I know. I usually only take a dip in the dark. But today, as it was so hot, I just thought I might get away with it if I just had a quick splash.”

  “I see.”

  “You better be careful too, love,” Gráinne said. “You’re quite good-looking even if you are a bit skinny. Very good-looking, actually.”

  “No, I’m not,” Margo protested.

  “No, really. You are. Great tits and ass.”

  “Oh, eh, thanks.” Margo moved a little further away.

  Gráinne lit another cigarette. “But what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were swanning around being the assistant to some rich and famous executive. I thought you’d be in the Bahamas or wherever those people go in the summer.”

  Margo wrapped her arms around her knees. “Well, I have to admit I told you a fib or two.”

  Gráinne stared at her. “You didn’t get yourself that job then?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I did. I got a job, but it wasn’t as fancy as I told you on the phone. And it was you who got me the job, actually.”

  “Me? What are you raving about now?”
<
br />   “Well you see, I—well, I found myself completely alone and without any money, and I didn’t know what to do. And then, as if by some kind of miracle, I found this letter in my bag. A letter from, eh, Jacques Coligny de la Bourdonnière offering you a job here.”

  “Me? What? In your bag?”

  “Yes, it was that bit of paper with your number you gave me, remember?”

  “Oh. I didn’t realise. I remember that letter all right. But I thought I had thrown it away. I didn’t want that job. I wasn’t going to work for that. Go on.”

  “Well, to cut a long story short, I went to their apartment in Paris and pretended to be you and said I would like to take the position.”

  “Jesus, you didn’t!’ Gráinne squealed. “You pretended to be me! You told them you were a dab hand with horses as well? I bet they thought that was a real laugh.”

  “No, they didn’t, because they had never met you. Jacques wasn’t in Paris. It was his mother who received me.”

  “Yeah? She received you? How bloody posh. What’s she like?”

  “She’s—well, I’m not sure you would ever have met anyone like her, actually.”

  “An old dragon, is she?”

  “No, not really, just a little, well, a real lady and very—”

  “Stuck up?”

  “A bit, maybe. Anyway,” Margo breezed on, “she saw through my little game at once, but that didn’t knock a stir out of her. She offered me this job as personal assistant instead. And a room in the attic.”

  “So there was no penthouse apartment?”

  “Well, no. I’m sorry to disappoint you. But the room is very nice actually, not what you would call luxurious, but kind of cute.”

  Gráinne smoked the last of her cigarette in silence, looking very thoughtful. “That’s a shame,” she said after a while.

  “What is?”

  “Well, here I was thinking you had this great job and the luxury pad. It was cheering me up, thinking about you. And now you turn out to be a skivvy just like the rest of us.”

  “Sorry about that,” Margo said.

  “Weird,” Gráinne said. “Really weird.”

  They were quiet for a while, each lost in thought while the stream gurgled softly over the rocks and the shadows lengthened across the meadow.

  “But what about you?” Margo suddenly asked. “What are you doing here? Are you taking a load of horses somewhere?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m on my way to pick up two horses down south. My boss has just bought two young showjumpers. So I thought I’d spend the night here and then head off early tomorrow morning. I have a new truck,” Gráinne said proudly. “It’s parked over by the barn. You’d like it. Brand new, with air-conditioning, and a jacks and everything.”

  “Sounds great. Your boss must be very nice.”

  “Nice?” Gráinne laughed raucously. “You think he got it for me? Nah, it was for these fancy French horses. They’re used to being pampered. My boss wouldn’t give a shit if I was dying from the heat. He even told me not to waste fuel by having the air conditioning on when I’m on my own. That’s why I’m sleeping in the tent. Thought it would be cooler here under the trees.”

  “I see.”

  “But I’m feeling a bit hungry,” Gráinne announced. “I’m going over to the truck to get my tea. Want to join me? I have pork chops and potatoes and some great soda bread. And I put a couple of cans of lager into the stream to cool earlier.”

  “Sounds fabulous,” Margo replied, thinking it seemed a lot more inviting than Agnès and Bernard’s boiled food. “But I better go back to the château and see if I’m needed first. I’ll be back in about half an hour or so. I could bring back some raspberry tart that was left over from lunch. I saw a big piece in the fridge.” She got to her feet, brushed off the back of her trousers, and picked up the book from the ground. “See you in a little while, then?”

  “Make it an hour,” Gráinne said. “It’ll be a bit cooler then, and I’ll have had a chance to tidy up and get the stove going.”

  “Right.” Margo walked back the way she had come with a feeling of happy anticipation. But, as she approached the château, she saw something that made her forget all about Gráinne and the evening ahead. Her heart sank as she spotted two police cars outside the main entrance of the château. Fiona, Margo thought, the bitch. She told Alan.

  ***

  Margo went in through the back door, through the kitchen, and opened the door to the hall. She listened for a while. The sound of voices was coming from upstairs. She tiptoed through the hall and started up the stairs, afraid to breathe, her brain on high alert for any mention of her name. When she was nearly on the landing, she heard a man’s voice saying something about ‘un cambriolage’. A break-in, Margo thought. So they’re not here about me, then. Relieved, she let out her breath and continued upstairs and in through the open door.

  Milady was standing in the middle of her bedroom which looked as if it had been hit by a bomb. Clothes, shoes, and jewellery were spread over the bed, chairs, and floor. Milady looked equally dishevelled, her hair messy and her dressing gown wrinkly. Two policemen were walking around the room trying to assess the damage.

  “Are you all right, Milady?” Margo asked as she stepped into the room.

  “All right?” Milady exclaimed. “Yes, I’m fine. Of course. It’s just that we have been broken into, and a very valuable piece has been stolen.”

  “What happened, Madame?” one of the policemen asked. “When did you discover—” He gestured around the room, “this?”

  “This?” Milady stared at him. “What do you mean, this?”

  “This—this disorder,” the policeman explained. “There seems to have been a terrible struggle here.”

  “Maman? Are you all right?” Jacques arrived, breathless, at the door. “I saw the police arrive and—” He paused when he saw the state of the room. “Merde,” he whispered. “What happened here? Who did this? Who tore your room apart?”

  “Why are you all so hung up on the state of the room?” Milady demanded. “I was robbed, do you hear? At first I thought I was mistaken, that I had mislaid it and I would find it, so I had to pull everything out, that’s why there’s a bit of disorder here.”

  “You did this yourself?” the policeman asked.

  “Yes, yes!” Milady snapped. “I did. I had to go through everything to make sure—”

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning,” Jacques suggested. “But I think we should go down to the library and have a drink while you tell us what happened.” He put his arm around his mother and led her out of the room, followed by the policemen and Margo.

  “Alors, Madame,” the policeman said when they had settled Milady in an armchair in the library and given her a large cognac. “Could you please tell us what has been stolen. Is it money? Jewellery? Or perhaps, a work of art?”

  “Yes, that’s it.” Milady said. “A work of art. An original. Worth over ten thousand euros.”

  “Not that little Chagall drawing,” Jacques exclaimed. “I told you not to keep it in the bedroom!’

  “No, not that,” Milady snapped. “This is a lot more serious. It’s the Galliano.”

  There was a brief, puzzled silence.

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of this particular artist,” one of the policemen said. “But if you could describe the item to me?”

  “It’s black,” Milady started. “And it has tiny seed pearls around the neckline. Pure silk, of course. I was going to wear it tonight. A bit extravagant, I know, but it’s a special occasion, so—”

  “Hold on,” Jacques interrupted. “You were going to wear it? Are we talking about a dress?”

  “Yes, of course,” Milady said impatiently. “I told you. A Galliano from this year’s collection. It was in my wardrobe yesterday, but when I looked for it after my shower it was not there anymore. I couldn’t find it anywhere. There are only two like it in the world. So you can imagine how—”

  The policeman snapp
ed his notebook shut and looked sternly at Milady.

  “I’m sorry, Madame la Comtesse,” he said, his voice cold, “but I really don’t think this is a matter for the police. We do not usually deal with missing, uh, items of clothing. When you called, you said this was a matter of utmost urgency. As this is the home of the Comte Coligny de la Bourdonnière, we thought—”

  “By the way, where is François?” Jacques suddenly asked. “Why isn’t he here to sort this out?”

  “Because he is in Paris,” Milady said. “He left early this afternoon for some emergency at the ministry. He’ll be back at the weekend.”

  “Right,” Jacques mumbled. He turned to the policemen. “I’m really sorry, Messieurs. My mother made a mistake. I hope you can forgive her and not press charges for this little incident.”

  “Little incident?” Milady snapped. “A dress of great value has been stolen from my room. If that’s not a major crime, I don’t know what is.”

  But the policemen were already leaving. They bowed and mumbled their farewells.

  “But wait,” Milady exclaimed. “You’re leaving? What about my dress?”

  “I’m sorry, Madame,” the policeman said. “But we cannot—” He backed out of the room. Apologising again, Jacques went out to see them off.

  Milady sighed and took another large gulp of cognac. She looked across the room and suddenly noticed Margo. “You!’ she exclaimed in English. “Where were you when this happened? What have you been doing all afternoon?”

  “I—I went for a walk,” Margo stammered. “You said you didn’t need me, so I—”

  “You should have been here in the house. If you had, this would not have happened.”

  “I’m sorry,” Margo said hotly. “But I really think that’s a little unfair. I worked very hard helping out with your lunch party. I felt I’d earned some time off, actually, and I—”

  She was interrupted by Jacques coming back into the room, his face white and his eyes flashing. “Never mind,” he snapped at Margo. I have to speak to my mother.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Milady, who looked at him coolly over the rim of her brandy snifter.