by Marie Laval
‘Oh? Good evening. I wasn’t expecting you. Claudine said you were too busy to come.’
His eyes narrowed to dark green slits.
‘Claudine was wrong.’
He smiled and handed her the champagne.
‘I hope I’m not late.’
‘Not at all. Please come in.’
She opened the door wider, feeling absurdly happy to see him, and even happier that he was alone.
He followed her into the kitchen where Adèle was busy taking warm plates out of the oven.
She looked surprised.
‘Good evening, Monsieur le Duc.’
‘There’s to be no Monsieur le Duc from now on. Please call me Fabien.’
If Paul and Adèle were a little tense to start with, Fabien soon put them at ease with anecdotes about Manoir Coste’s celebrity guests. He sympathised with Paul about the slump in the building trade, exchanged village gossip with Adèle, and complimented Amy on every single dish she served.
‘That was the best tarte aux pommes I have eaten in a long time,’ he said as he pushed his empty plate away.
Amy laughed.
‘I find that hard to believe. Your chef at Manoir Coste is exceptional.’
‘Actually, I almost forgot …’
Fabien fumbled in his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, which was covered with fine, spidery writing.
‘The recipes for the brioche and the crème brûlée you liked so much,’ he explained, ‘with the compliments of the chef.’
She met Fabien’s gaze. He wasn’t smiling any longer. Like the night of the Hunt Ball, he looked at her as if they were alone in the room, as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world and no one else mattered.
Yet, she knew very well that wasn’t the case. Fabien had a girlfriend, and Claudine was a hundred times more attractive than she could ever be. It was silly, immature and plain wrong of her to get so flustered. The man wasn’t looking at her in any particular way, she was imagining things. And if he was, he had no right to do so. Annoyed with herself, she pushed her chair back and said she would make some coffee.
‘Good idea. I’ll get the fire going in the living room,’ Paul said. ‘I hope you still have some of that chestnut liqueur Verdier gave you.’
Adèle frowned at her husband, whose face was already flushed with too much drink, but she said nothing.
‘How has your season been so far?’ Fabien enquired when Amy brought the tray with the cafetière and cups into the living room.
She couldn’t repress a sigh.
‘Not very good. The only guests I’ve had until now were the archaeologists from Arles and an English couple who left yesterday.’
She didn’t mention Eva’s nightmares. The fewer people knew about them, the better.
‘Don’t worry too much,’ he said. ‘It takes time to establish a business. You have to make yourself known, advertise, plan events, attend trade fairs. The most important is to have a marketing strategy.’
She pulled a face and fiddled with the ties of her dress.
‘I suspect that my marketing strategy so far has been a total flop.’
She told him about the fiasco at the tourist fair and her altercation with the mayor and the reporter.
‘All people are interested in are my anti-hunting views and the fact I ruined your hunt last week.’
He drank some coffee and stared into the fire.
‘You didn’t ruin anything,’ he said softly. ‘By the way, do you know when Orsini and his team are coming back to Bellefontaine?’
‘Laurent won’t be back for a while. He needs to get funding first, which will take longer now the statue and all the other artefacts have been stolen.’
‘Have the gendarmes recovered anything yet?’ Adèle asked.
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘They won’t,’ Fabien said. ‘The antiquities black market is thriving, and anything with any supernatural connotations like La Bonne Dame of Bonnieux will fetch a fortune with collectors. I wouldn’t be surprised if the burglars acted on behalf of an organised gang who found out about the dig at Bellefontaine.’
‘Then they might come back when Laurent finds the temple,’ Amy said.
‘If he finds it.’ Fabien said in a very low voice.
‘He will. Actually, I think I know where it could be.’
She went on to describe how she had found the ancient wood within the cedar forest and what she believed was the sacred spring mentioned on the carved stones.
‘If it is the sacred woodland Laurent talked about, then the ruined fountain and temple can’t be far from there.’
Adèle put down her coffee, a look of alarm on her face.
‘You shouldn’t go into the forest on your own, Amy, and certainly not steer away from the path. I dread to think what would happen if you fell or got lost …’ She lowered her voice. ‘Or if you stumbled into the cult followers.’
‘There are no cult followers,’ Paul snapped. ‘I am sick to death of these stories about that damned temple.’
He poured himself another glass of liqueur.
‘My Aunt Lily isn’t the only one to claim that the cult of La Bonne Dame is still alive today,’ Adèle remarked, ‘and that it's been linked to cases of rape and missing person over the years.’
Amy was shocked.
‘Rapes and missing persons? You mean those terrible stories Marc Chevalier told me could be true after all? I know that Laurent and his team think human sacrifices were carried out here long after they were banned by the Roman Empire, but surely that was a long, long time ago.’
‘Of course it was,’ Fabien said curtly. ‘The good people of Bonnieux made up that tale to rival Lacoste and their stories of the Marquis de Sade. None of it is true and it’s high time people stopped spreading silly rumours.’
‘Then maybe you should allow Laurent to search the forest for the lost temple and put an end to them once and for all,’ Amy suggested.
‘I’m not going to give him the opportunity.’ Fabien’s voice was suddenly hard. ‘I’ve already said. If there is anything worth finding, I’ll find it myself.’
‘He said he would apply for an injunction to grant him access to the site whether you agreed or not.’
Fabien’s jaw clenched, then relaxed and his lips stretched into a tight smile.
‘He can always try.’
Amy realised that Fabien would fight against the injunction with all the power he possessed.
Adèle drained her cup of coffee and rose to her feet.
‘It’s time to go home, Paul. I don’t want to leave Stéphane alone for too long.’
Paul staggered as he walked across the room, and cursed under this breath as he bumped against the dresser.
Adèle put a steadying hand on his arm.
‘Give me your car keys, I’ll drive.’
Amy showed her friends out. When she came back, Fabien was standing in front of the fire, his back to her, his hands in his trouser pockets.
‘I hope Paul doesn’t have a sore head tomorrow morning or he won’t be able to attend the Palm Sunday procession,’ she said as she started to gather empty coffee cups.
Fabien said nothing so she carried on talking about the celebrations planned in Bonnieux for the following morning, aware of her voice sounding increasingly breathless in the quiet room. When he turned around, shadows played across his face and her empty words died on her lips.
‘You really do talk a lot. Not that I mind. I love the sound of your voice.’
He stepped towards and took the tray from her.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked in a whisper.
He didn’t answer but touched his finger lightly to her cheek. Lifting his hand to her hair, he curled a strand around his finger.
‘It’s just as silky as it looks – and so is your skin.’
His fingers stroked the sides of her throat, slow and light, and so warm they made her body shiver.
She had to step bac
k, push him away or she was lost.
Instead she tilted her head back to look at him, and her breath caught in her throat. Never had a man looked at her like that before.
Her heart drummed hard and loud, her chest was so tight it hurt. He held her in his gaze as he bent his head towards her. The light dimmed, the room blurred and she only saw his eyes. They were dark, and as mysterious as the cedar forest.
She shuddered when his lips touched hers. His hands slid to her waist, then down to her hips. His chest rubbed against her breasts. His scent made her dizzy. She wanted to get closer, she had to get closer. She arched against him, digging her nails into his shoulders, parting her lips.
He let out a soft growl, his hands cupped her hips and pulled her closer. This time when his mouth claimed hers, his kiss was deep and urgent. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing, the drumming of her heart, the rustling of their clothing as they moved against each other.
Her body sizzled, vibrant and alive in his arms. Her fingers clasped the back of his neck, tangled into his hair, traced feverish patterns on his back where she could feel the ripple of hard muscles under his shirt. More. She was burning for more. She’d never felt like that before.
As if he knew exactly what she yearned for, his hands glided along hers and he pulled up the hem of her dress. The contact on his fingers on her bare skin gave her a jolt of pleasure so sharp she cried out and gripped his shoulders tightly. Slowly his hands trailed along the back of her thighs, cupped her buttocks over the lace of her panties, and pressed her closer still against him.
She wanted to touch him. Wanted him to touch her. To take her. Here. Now.
She could forget the world, forget Claudine…
But - she forced her mind to work - this wasn’t right. Fabien wasn’t hers to touch, to kiss. However unpleasant she was, Claudine didn’t deserve to be cheated on. Fabien was probably toying with her – and she was stupid enough to fall straight into his arms.
She put her hands flat on his chest and summoned what was left of her pride to push him away.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I think you’d better leave,’ she said, breathless.
‘Leave? Now?’
‘Yes. I don’t want … this. I don’t want you.’
Anger flashed in his eyes.
‘Is that right? You could have fooled me.’
She crossed her arms and took another step back.
‘I want you to leave.’
He didn’t budge.
‘Is this some kind of game you’re playing?’
‘No, it's not. I don’t play games. Please leave now, and we’ll pretend nothing happened.’
He frowned.
‘Nothing bloody well did happen.’
‘Please go now.’
Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as she almost ran to the hall. She had to unlock the door, show him out, forget that moment of madness and the temptation she’d almost succumbed to. She managed to put the key into the lock but her hand shook too much to turn it.
‘Let me do this.’
He reached from behind to unlock the door and she caught his scent again. For a second her desire for him came rushing back.
He pulled the door open, stepped out and turned to look at her. This time there was only puzzlement in his eyes. Raking his fingers into his dark hair, he let out a long breath.
‘Listen, I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark. I would never have taken the liberty to … I mean I really thought you and I both wanted the same thing.’
‘You were wrong, now please go,’ she said, quickly pushing the door closed behind him.
She leaned against it, her heart pounding hard and blood roaring in her veins until she heard him start his car and drive away.
Her lips were still swollen from his kisses. She could still taste him, feel the heat of his hands on her body. She was seized with a longing so strong it took her breath away and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to fight back the tears.
An overwhelming feeling of shame washed over her. How pathetic to be attracted to a man like him – a man who had no qualms about cheating on his girlfriend, a man who probably collected one night stands. No wonder he had tried to get her into bed. She had been so naive and transparent. She blushed, babbled and stammered like a teenage girl every time he was near. Tonight he only had to look at her for her to throw herself at him.
Clearing the dining room and the kitchen used up some of her negative energy, but she was still too unsettled to go to bed, so she made some tea and took her steaming cup to the living room. Michka curled up on the sofa next to her. The white and purple fluorite crystal on the coffee table caught her eye. She took hold of it, stroked the smooth, cool stone and closed her eyes. Outside the mistral had started blowing again. It howled through the forest, rattled the shutters, blew down the chimney and made the flames hiss and shoot up.
There was another sound too – the sound of someone sobbing – and it came from inside the house. Surely she was mistaken. She held her breath, listened again. This time there was no doubt. The crying came from the basement. How odd. Who was down there? And how did they get in? She rose to her feet, walked into the hall and opened the wooden cellar door. Yes, she could hear it clearly now. It sounded like a child. She flicked the electricity switch and started down.
‘Il y a quelqu’un?’ she called when she reached the bottom of the stairs.
There was no answer. The cellar was empty.
The sobbing came from the other side of the wall.
‘Hello? Can you hear me?’
She pushed hard against the wall. It gave way and collapsed revealing a dark, narrow passage.
Unsure, scared, she peered into the darkness. What should she do now? The first thing was to get some light. She kept a toolbox in the cellar with a wind-up torch inside. She wound up the mechanism until a bluish light shone brightly enough for her to venture into the tunnel.
Putting a hand on the wall to steady herself, she recoiled in disgust. It was damp, soft and velvety, as if covered with something organic like moss or fungus.
She knew where she was. She’d been here before. The tunnel slopped down then opened on to a chamber lit by candles and torches, and with a triangle painted white on the stone ground.
A chill ran through her body. A human form lay huddled up on the floor in front of her – a boy wearing blue jeans and white trainers. The hood of his dark sweatshirt was up, covering his head.
‘Don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.’
She approached cautiously. The silhouette seemed to straighten up and turn towards her. Amy’s mouth opened in a silent scream as she stared into the empty eye sockets of a human skull.
Chapter Ten
Mont Ventoux stood out, tall and proud against the cloudless blue sky, its limestone tip shinning like a snow cap in the bright sunshine. Amy walked briskly along the main road, one hand curled around Michka’s lead, her ponytail swinging from side to side. The cold wind that whipped her cheeks helped clear the unpleasant memories from the previous evening – memories of her heated confrontation with Fabien and of her haunting nightmare. If these were the kind of night terrors Eva had suffered at Bellefontaine, it wasn’t surprising she’d been so desperate to leave.
It got busy as she approached Bonnieux, with cars parked on either side of the road, people chatting and laughing excitedly as they bought branches of olive tree and made their way into the centre of the village. She walked down to the church at the bottom of the village, where she had arranged to meet Adèle and where the procession would start before making its way up to the medieval chapel at the top of the hill.
‘Amy!’
Adèle waved. Next to her stood Lily, dressed in black, her face serious as usual. Not for the first time Amy wondered if the elderly French lady ever smiled. She’d never met anyone more solemn. The two women were alone. Paul was nowhere to be seen.
‘He couldn’t get up this morning, I’m afraid
. Too much wine and liqueur.’
Adèle sighed, then looked at Amy.
‘You look tired. What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ Amy lied. ‘I stayed up late.’
Church bells rang, loud, fast and melodic in the clear blue morning and the crowd hushed. The church’s wooden doors opened. A priest dressed in a red and gold cassock over a white alb and holding a golden cross came out, followed by a dozen altar boys. He said a few words in Latin and the procession started up the street.
Adèle and Amy linked arms with Lily and followed at a slow pace. By the time they reached the top of the hill, the service had started. The old chapel was full, so they sat on a bench in the shade of a lime tree and listened to the singing drifting through the open doors.
After the service, the priest came out on to the square, followed by Fabien and an attractive blonde woman who clung to his arm.
‘That’s Fabien’s mother, Céline,’ Adèle said. ‘We don’t often see her around here. She lives in Paris.’
‘Fabien said that his mother didn’t like Bonnieux.’
‘That’s right, which isn’t surprising really, since her husband was killed in the forest only a few weeks before Fabien was born.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He was shot during the hunt. It was a terrible accident and Céline Coste couldn’t bear to stay at Manoir Coste after that. She gave birth to Fabien here but brought him up in Paris.’
‘Who looked after Manoir Coste?’
‘Frédéric’s father. Although it’s fair to say that he didn’t look after the estate so much as ruin it. The man was a notorious gambler. When Fabien took over the family affairs ten years ago, he discovered that the family fortune was almost gone. That’s when he decided to turn the chateau into a hotel. The easy way out would have been to sell up what was left and return to Paris – that’s what people around here expected him to do – but he worked hard and made a success of it.’
So Fabien wasn’t an idle, privileged aristocrat; Amy had got that wrong.
Lily pointed to Fabien’s mother.
‘She doesn’t want him to stay here. She knows that Coste men die young. It’s the curse, the goddess punishing the Ducs de Coste for destroying her temple and leaving it to rot in the forest.’
