A Spell in Provence

by Marie Laval

  Her throat was tight when she hung up, and not for the first time she wished she and Chris were closer. It was nobody’s fault if they were often at odds. They were too different. Chris was impulsive and dramatic, whereas Amy was quiet – or as Chris said, aloof, cold and boring – and hated being the centre of attention.

  She closed the shutters, locked the front door, and made her way up to her room. Eva and Justin had a key so she didn’t need to stay up to let them in. She read in bed until she heard them come back some time after midnight, then switched her bedside lamp off and fell asleep.

  A blood-curdling scream woke her up in the early hours. Heart thumping, she jumped out of bed and ran out of her room into in the corridor. Light showed under Eva and Justin’s door. She heard Eva cry out and knocked on the door.

  ‘Eva, are you hurt?’

  ‘No, it’s just another bloody nightmare,’ Justin’s grumpy voice answered. ‘Sorry, Amy, we’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  Justin declined her offer of a hot drink and she went back to bed heavy-hearted. Something was definitely wrong with Eva. Having so many nightmares night after night wasn’t normal.

  It was just before seven when Amy left for Apt the following morning. The hospitality fair was being held in the town hall. Amy parked her paint-splattered car, piled up her boxes filled with brochures and postcards, biscuits and jam, and tottered across the square into the building.

  ‘I’m sorry but there isn’t any booking in your name,’ the receptionist said after she’d put her boxes on the counter and introduced herself.

  ‘Please look again, I booked a stall weeks ago,’ Amy insisted.

  The young woman flicked the pages of her register, and frowned as she pointed a finger to her list.

  ‘Carter, you said? Now that’s odd. Your name was crossed out and your pitch reallocated. I don’t know what happened. Anyway, you’re in luck. There are still a few stalls left over there.’

  She gestured to the back of the hall.

  ‘But I paid for a good pitch at the front, not a stall hidden at the back.’

  The young woman shrugged.

  ‘I’m sorry but there’s nothing else I can do. You will probably be able to get a refund if you write to the Tourist Board in Bonnieux and complain. They’re the ones who handled your booking.’

  Arguing further was pointless, so Amy picked up her boxes and carried them across the hall, past the elegant stalls of restaurants, shops and local hotels, including Manoir Coste. There was no mix up with their booking, she fumed as she caught a glimpse of a couple of smartly dressed hostesses arranging displays of complimentary chocolates and luxury toiletries, with large, glossy black and white photographs of Manoir Coste as backdrop.

  She found a vacant stall and started to set up. Not bad, she thought when she stepped back an hour later. The tins of biscuits and miniature jam jars made the stall homely and welcoming, and if her own photos of Bellefontaine in the sunset were too amateurish to compete with Manoir Coste’s stunning display, they perfectly captured the mysterious atmosphere of the place.

  As church bells rang nine o’clock, Monsieur le Maire officially opened the fair. Wearing his tricolour ribbon across his chest, he proceeded to visit every stall and exchange a handshake with exhibitors.

  ‘Ah, Bellefontaine in Bonnieux,’ he bellowed after glancing at Amy’s brochures. He didn’t offer Amy his hand.

  ‘You must be the infamous Mademoiselle Carter. I read all about your exploits in the newspaper. I can only hope you’re not planning another of your silly protests to ruin Monsieur Coste’s next hunt.’

  There were a few sniggers from the mayor’s entourage. Amy fought to control her breathing.

  ‘The newspaper article was wrong, monsieur,’ she replied in a shaky voice. ‘I may not agree with hunting but I never set out to sabotage Monsieur Coste’s hunt.’

  The mayor snorted and walked away.

  An attractive blonde woman in a smart navy suit approached.

  ‘May I ask what you're planning to do to stop the Coste hunt on Thursday?’ she asked, her small, inquisitive dark brown eyes gleaming.

  ‘I have no plans to stop anything,’ Amy snapped.

  ‘Yet it would be a good publicity coup for Bellefontaine if you did,’ the woman went on. ‘I can just picture it. You in a flimsy nightdress once again, throwing yourself across the path of Fabien Coste. He scooping you into his arms…’

  ‘For the last time, I have no intention of protesting against anything, and certainly not against Monsieur Coste. He has been very good to me.’

  The woman’s thin lips stretched into a slow smile.

  ‘Has he really? So you are his protégée then? How interesting.’

  Amy gasped as if she’d been slapped

  ‘I am nobody’s protégée,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t believe we have been introduced. Who are you?’

  The woman pulled a business card out of her handbag.

  ‘My name is Armelle Capitelli, I’m a reporter for the Journal du Luberon. Call me any time.’

  Amy let the card drop on to the table and folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘I won’t call you, and I suggest you check your facts before you print anything next time, Mademoiselle Capitelli, or I might sue your paper for libel.’

  The journalist shrugged.

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first one to try – and fail. I’m sure we’ll talk again before long,’ she said.

  The morning wasn’t starting at all well, Amy thought as she picked out a shortbread biscuit and bit into it. Not only was she relegated to the back of the hall because of some unfortunate mix-up, but she had been singled out by the mayor and made an enemy of Armelle Capitelli when she desperately needed good coverage in the local press.

  Biscuit crumbs fell on to the front of her blue silk dress.

  ‘I almost didn’t see you back there … Was this the only stall you could afford?’

  This time it was Claudine who stood in front of her, stunning today in a cream trouser suit and black silk shirt. Amy flicked the biscuit crumbs off her dress impatiently. As usual, Claudine made her feel frumpy and gauche – and extremely bad-tempered.

  ‘There was a mix-up with the booking, and this was the only place left,’ she replied.

  ‘Really? That’s a shame. Oh, by the way, Fabien and I won’t be able to come to your little dinner party tomorrow night. We’re far too busy. Fabien’s mother is arriving from Paris in the morning, then there’s the hunt to organise for next Thursday.’

  She leaned towards Amy, as if she wanted to tell her a secret.

  ‘Between you and me, I don’t think Fabien wants to be seen in your company at the moment … He was furious about the article in the paper yesterday. He hates having his name mixed up with sordid stories in the press.’

  Before Amy could speak, she pointed to the display of jam pots and biscuits.

  ‘Did you make those? How … quaint.’

  And she walked away, leaving Amy in an even worse mood.

  As the hours ticked by and the hall filled in with visitors, Amy forgot about Claudine, the mayor and the reporter. The sun shone through the hall’s high windows and made the place hot and stuffy, and by the end of the afternoon, her head ached and she yearned for a breath of fresh air.

  Thankfully packing up didn’t take long, since all her biscuits and jam jars – quaint or not – had been snapped up. On the drive home she rolled the window down and enjoyed the breeze playing with her hair, and she felt better by the time she got back to Bellefontaine.

  ‘Hi everybody, I’m back.’

  Michka ran towards her and leapt against her legs, with Eva close behind.

  ‘Hello, sweetie.’

  Amy crouched in the hall and scratched the Poitevin’s head.

  ‘How did it go?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Fine. Apart from a mix-up with my booking and an argument with the mayor and a journalist about my anti-hunting sympathies.’

  She look
ed up. Eva bit her lip. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.

  ‘Is there anything the matter?’

  Eva nodded.

  ‘I don’t know how to say this … our bags are packed. We’re leaving tonight. I’m so sorry. I know we booked our room until next Tuesday, but we can’t stay. I can’t stay …’

  The young woman burst out crying.

  Amy stood up and put her arms around Eva’s shoulders.

  ‘Don’t cry. Come on. Let’s sit down.’

  ‘It’s the nightmares,’ Eva explained once she sat at the kitchen table and the tears had stopped. ‘I just want to go home. I want to sleep, and forget all about those horrid dreams I’ve had every night since we arrived.’

  She bowed her head.

  ‘They feel so real, and they’re getting worse. I’m sure they’ll stop once I leave Bellefontaine.’

  ‘Why should they? I mean, what do they have to do with Bellefontaine?’

  Eva let out a shaky sigh.

  ‘I can’t explain. It's something to do with this place.

  She shuddered.

  'The nightmares always start the same way. I am in the garden, it’s getting dark, I see lights flickering in the forest.’

  Amy stifled a gasp.

  ‘What kind of lights?’

  ‘Flames, candles. I don’t know.’ Eva shrugged. ‘I follow them, it’s like a force drawing me in. I walk deeper into the forest until they come and take me.’

  Her whole body shook and she whimpered.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘They’re evil, they hurt and kill people, right there in front of me and I can’t do anything to help. There’s blood – blood everywhere.’

  She put her face in her hands.

  Amy tried to think. Eva’s dreams sounded like the stories about the goddess and her cult Marc Chevalier had told her the day she first visited Bellefontaine. How could Eva know about them?

  ‘Has anyone spoken to you about a goddess that used to be worshipped around here, a long, long time ago?’ she asked.

  Eva nodded.

  ‘Yes, actually, there was a woman in the village antique shop we talked to the day we arrived.’

  'An antique shop?'

  Justin walked into the kitchen and stood behind Eva.

  ‘It was a quirky little shop. We told the lady there that we were spending our honeymoon at Bellefontaine and she started talking about a lost temple in the forest and what used to go on there in the old days.’

  Eva shivered.

  ‘I know these are only old stories and the nightmares are caused by my vivid imagination, but I can’t help the way I feel.’

  ‘That lady was quite nice, if a bit intense,’ Justin added. ‘Before we left, she gave us a crystal to wish us luck because we were newly-wed.’

  ‘What kind of crystal?’

  ‘I can’t remember its name, but it made me think about toothpaste.’

  Eva smiled at last.

  ‘It’s fluorite, silly!’

  Fluorite? Wasn’t that the name of the crystal Serena Chevalier had given her?

  ‘Hang on a minute.’

  Amy jumped to her feet and rushed to her bedroom upstairs. The crystal was lit by the last of the sunset pouring through the open window. She took it downstairs and put it on the kitchen table.

  ‘Is this like the stone you were given?’

  Eva nodded, touching the shimmering white and purple stone.

  ‘Almost the exact same one. Ours is already packed up in my case in the boot of the car. The lady said it would give Justin vigour for … you know …’

  Her face coloured.

  ‘She said I had to put it under my pillow every night of our honeymoon.’

  Justin let out a chuckle.

  ‘At least we can now confirm that crystals don’t work. Even with that fluorite thingy under the pillow, we’ve both been far too tired for any kinky stuff.’

  Justin turned to Amy.

  ‘We’d better leave before it gets too late. I’m so sorry, Amy. I find this place amazing but …’

  ‘I understand.’

  Amy went into the study to print the couple’s invoice. Justin offered to pay for the full week but Amy wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘I’m so sorry your honeymoon was such a disappointment,’ she said, giving Eva a hug. ‘Have a safe journey back and take care of yourself.’

  The young woman looked back with haunted eyes.

  ‘It’s you who should take care,’ she whispered.

  After they’d left, Amy sat down to think. If word got out that guests had to leave Bellefontaine because of terrifying nightmares, nobody would ever want to come and stay – nobody except lunatics in search of thrills.

  So she had failed already. She might as well forget about the guesthouse business, get in touch with translating agencies and ask for freelance jobs or she’d never be able to pay her bills and keep this place. Hadn’t Chris predicted that she would fail before the year was over? She heard again a deep, cutting French male voice, calling her naive and ill-prepared.

  Pride made her stiffen her spine. She wouldn’t wallow in self-pity and give up her dream, not yet anyway. She would show her sister, Fabien and everybody else who believed she should pack up and leave that she was a fighter.

  She took a large slice of leek and onion tart out of the fridge, reached for a bottle of white wine, and poured herself a glass.

  ‘I think I’ve earned it after the day I’ve had, don’t you?’ she winked at Michka and drank a sip of wine. The dog wagged its tail in response.

  She carried her meal into the sitting room. Turning on the television, her appetite disappeared when she recognised the face of the blond boy that flashed on to the screen. It was one of Stéphane’s friends who had helped at Bellefontaine’s garden party.

  She put the tray on the table and turned up the volume.

  ‘ A teenager is missing from a local children’s home. Brice Moulin, fifteen years old, was last seen on Tuesday evening outside the cinema in Bonnieux. Soeur Michèle, the home’s manager, is urging him to come back, or at least to let her know that he is safe .’

  Amy tried to remember what Brice had been like at the party. He had seemed happy enough, laughing and joking with his friends, helping with the buffet. Whatever had caused him to run away, she hoped he would see sense and return to the home.

  Poor boy, it wasn't easy going through adolescence, but it must be even harder without the love and support of close family members.

  She switched the television off, nibbled at her food, then picked up her history book, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words or the illustrations tonight. The accounts of Eva’s nightmares and the news of Brice going missing preyed on her mind and made her restless.

  Outside night was falling. It felt like darkness was closing in on Bellefontaine.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘You should have let them pay for the full week,’ Paul muttered as he poured himself another pastis. ‘I never heard such rubbish in my life. Cancelling a holiday because of bad dreams.’

  Adèle frowned as she watched her husband drain his third apéritif of the evening.

  ‘I must say it does sound a little far-fetched,’ she said, turning to Amy. ‘Maybe they just wanted an excuse to go home.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Poor Eva was genuinely terrified. I can only hope no one else hears about this, especially not that newspaper reporter, or I’ll never have any more guests.’

  It was nice to have her friends around tonight, even though Paul seemed short-tempered and jumpy. He kept drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa and darting nervous glances around the room. Adèle too seemed preoccupied.

  ‘Stéphane is very upset about Brice,’ she explained. ‘He's been spending all his free time looking for him.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll help,’ Amy offered. ‘I have nothing to do in the next few days now the Barlows have left, so I can drive him around if he wants. It’s so sad to think
that Brice is probably sleeping rough tonight.’

  Adèle nodded and toyed absent-mindedly with her long pearl necklace. She had dressed in a smart blue dress, probably because she knew Fabien and Claudine had been invited. She and Paul had looked relieved when Amy had announced that the couple weren’t coming and it would just be the three of them for dinner after all.

  ‘I have nothing against Monsieur le Duc,’ Paul had remarked, ‘he’s all right, I suppose, even if I don’t know what we could possibly talk about over dinner. Mademoiselle Loubier, however, is another matter. Between you and me, I think she fancies herself as the next duchess.’

  Probably because she would soon be, Amy thought.

  Michka ran in from the garden, yelping and barking.

  ‘You never said you’d bought a dog,’ Paul said as he bent down to stroke her.

  ‘She’s a present from Fabien,’ Amy explained. ‘He brought her over the day after the burglary.’

  Paul whistled through his teeth.

  ‘He gave you one of his prize-winning hounds? Well, well … That was mighty nice of him. The dog will keep you company. You must be a little worried out here on you own, especially after the break in and that sleepwalking incident.’

  Amy shook her head and let out a sigh.

  ‘I made such a fool of myself that day.’

  ‘Of course you didn't. It wasn’t your fault you were sleepwalking,’ Adèle said, kindly.

  ‘I take it you’re not planning a repeat performance for the hunt on Thursday?’

  ‘I hope not. It’s so scary to think that I opened the front door, walked into the forest at night and I don’t remember any of it.’

  Thoughtful, Amy bent down to scratch Michka’s head.

  ‘I can only hope that this little dog here will wake me up if it happens again.’

  The noise of a car engine in the courtyard, followed by a door slamming caused Michka to bark and run out of the room. Who could it be at this time, Amy wondered as she followed the puppy into the hallway.

  It was Fabien, dressed in dark grey chinos and a white shirt, and holding a bottle of champagne.