by Marie Laval
‘Are you happy at Bellefontaine?’ Sophie asked suddenly.
Amy nodded.
‘I am. Bellefontaine is a wonderful old house. It’s a new start for me … a new life. You said you’d been there. When was that?’
Sophie leaned against the stone wall and gazed at the fast flowing waters of the Rhône.
‘It was in 1983. I was a student teacher here in Avignon, and decided to travel to the seaside during the Easter holidays. I went to Cannes, Nice and Hyères, and ended up in Marseille where I met an English boy. He was called Mike and was on the last leg of a journey around Europe. He was kind, funny … and gorgeous.’
She paused and turned to Amy.
‘We decided to hitch-hike our way back to Avignon where I had a flat. I told Mike he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted.’
Her cheeks coloured.
‘I had only just met him but I already was very much in love with him and I didn’t want him to return to England – at least not straight away.
‘We stopped in Bonnieux one night. It was warm, so we thought it would be fun to sleep under the stars. We found an empty farmhouse – Bellefontaine – made a fire, had a few beers and something to eat, then we fell asleep.’
Sophie’s face crumpled, her voice shook.
‘I had the most horrid nightmare that night. I was in some kind of cave, or a temple. People wearing masks and long white robes surrounded me. They seemed to be performing a ceremony. They were … doing things to me. I couldn’t fight them off. I couldn’t move, I couldn't even scream.’
Amy gasped, her fingers gripping the rough edges of the stone wall. It sounded disturbingly like her dream. How could two people have the same dream, over thirty years apart?
‘Before I lost consciousness completely, I heard the most terrifying scream. It was Mike, I’m sure of it.’
‘When I woke up in the early hours of the morning, I was alone in the forest. My clothes were torn, I was bleeding and in pain. I managed to find my way back to the garden of the old house. Mike had left, all his things had gone. I knew straight away something dreadful had happened, so I changed into clean clothes and walked to the gendarmerie in Bonnieux.’
She paused, took a deep breath.
‘The gendarmes listened to my story, but I could feel they didn’t believe me. One gendarme even said that we’d been drinking or taking drugs, and implied I was … easy, since I was travelling and sleeping with a boy I knew nothing about.’
She bent her head.
‘It was true, the only thing I knew about Mike was his surname. I didn’t even know where he was from in England, or if he had any family. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. One of the gendarmes made fun of me, said I’d better leave before he charged me for trespassing on a private property and wasting police time.’
Her eyes shone with tears and anger.
‘I’ll never forget his name. Bijard.’
Amy remembered the stocky, grey-haired gendarme who had come to Bellefontaine the morning of the garden party. He hadn’t been particularly sympathetic to her either.
‘He still works in Bonnieux,’ she said. ‘I met him just a few weeks ago.’
‘He said that Bellefontaine’s landlady had died recently and that nobody lived there any more. He told me to go home and forget about the whole thing. Mike had left me, moved on, that was all. He more of less bundled me in a police van and drove me to the train station.’
She looked at Amy and her face was hard.
‘I was young, scared and alone. I was hurt. I did what he said and I will forever regret it. I was raped that night. And that scream I heard … I know it was Mike, and that he was murdered.’
Amy was chilled to the core.
‘Did you tell anybody else about this?’
Sophie shook her head.
‘What was the point if the police didn’t believe me? I couldn’t talk to my parents, I was too ashamed. After a while, it seemed as if it had just been a dream, I convinced myself that Mike had really left me behind.’
She looked at Amy.
‘Now would you mind telling me what happened to you? The reporter mentioned that you were sleepwalking and woke up in the forest.’
However reluctant she was about talking about her own experience, Amy felt she owed the woman the truth, so she told her about the long corridor, the room lit by torches, the stone table in the middle of the geometric figure of a triangle painted white on the ground. It seemed that the more she talked, the more she remembered.
‘There was music, ancient music,’ she said, ‘lute, zithers and drums. One of the masked men undressed me and … touched me. Thankfully it didn’t go any further. I hope.’
She would have known if like Sophie she’d been sexually assaulted. Wouldn’t she?
‘Then you were lucky,’ Sophie said. ‘Now I’ve told you about me, are you going to report what happened to you to the gendarmes? They’re bound to reopen the case of Mike’s disappearance.’
Amy put her hand to her forehead, took a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry for what happened to you and your friend, but I’m not ready to believe that anything actually took place the other night. As far as I’m concerned, I had a nightmare, a very vivid and unpleasant nightmare and nothing more.’
She saw the hurt and disappointment in Sophie’s eyes.
‘I understand,’ Sophie said in a soft voice. ‘It’s a lot for you to take in, but maybe one day you’ll remember more and …’
Amy let out an impatient breath.
‘To tell you the truth, what I really want is to forget about the whole thing.’
Suddenly in a hurry to be back at Bellefontaine, far away from Sophie and her bizarre memories, she opened her handbag and dug out her car keys. The similarities between Sophie’s experience and her own nightmare were troubling, but for all she knew, the woman could have made the whole thing up after reading Armelle Capitelli’s article, and Mike never even existed.
Sophie nodded.
‘Of course. Well, thank you for coming and for listening to me. It can’t have been easy.’
The two women agreed to keep in touch, but deep down Amy hoped that she’d never hear of Sophie Dessange ever again.
She grew increasingly uneasy on her way back to Bellefontaine. Was her home the safe haven she loved or did it hide a dark and sinister secret?
It was just after seven in the morning but already over a hundred people had gathered in the grounds of Manoir Coste to watch riders and hounds depart for the last hunt of the season.
The dogs could be heard yelping and barking from the kennels. On the lawn, long tables held urns, stacks of cups, and plates with cakes and sandwiches. Hotel staff in smart navy and white livery served coffee laced with brandy, tea with lemon and rum, or mulled wine to the hunters and to the crowd of onlookers and villagers.
The morning was cool and crisp. The rising sun bathed the chateau in a hazy, golden light which softened its lines and gave it a dreamlike quality. Amy stood apart from the crowd, a cup of hot tea in her hand. She kept checking her watch and wondering when she would be able to make her escape.
‘You don’t look as if you want to be here, my dear,’ a man said behind her.
Amy turned round to face Monsieur Verdier and his wife, both holding plates piled high with sandwiches and cakes.
She smiled.
‘You’re right. I’d much rather be at home.’
The couple staying at Bellefontaine had been desperate to attend the hunt that morning but their car wouldn’t start, so they asked Amy to drive them to Manoir Coste. The Ducros had now disappeared into the crowd and she was waiting for them.
‘You are not planning a grand gesture of protest, are you?’ Monsieur Verdier asked. ‘Something like throwing yourself under Monsieur le Duc’s horse, or waving anti-hunting banners?’
Amy shook her head.
‘No, don’t worry. I keep my opinions about hunting to myself.’
‘Good
.... Actually, I’m glad I bumped into you.’ Monsieur Verdier was serious now. ‘We’ve had a few computer problems at the Tourist Office and I noticed yesterday that Bellefontaine’s details had been erased from our database. We have sorted it out now of course but it might have cost you a few bookings. I don’t understand what happened and I do apologize. The database is Jacques’ responsibility and he promised to be more vigilant from now on.’
Amy almost replied that mishaps would be unavoidable with lazy Jacques in charge.
‘Look! The scouts are back.’
Madame Verdier pointed to a couple of men striding out the forest with dogs on a lead.
‘It’s time for the hunt report.’
Fabien walked out of the chateau and on to the terrace. Imposing in his black riding jacket, cream breeches and leather boots, he spoke to the scouts before shaking hands with both of them.
‘Good morning all.’
His deep voice could be heard across the lawn.
‘We’re riding towards Lacoste where the dogs picked up the scent of a boar. We are setting off in a few minutes, but feel free to stay behind and enjoy the refreshments provided.’
He surveyed the crowd, and his eyes became fixed on Amy. Heat spread across her face. Her body tensed. Her chest hurt. Once again, the strength of her response to the man took her by surprise.
‘I’ll try and find my guests now,’ she told the Verdiers, more than ever eager to leave.
‘Wait, my dear. Monsieur Coste is coming this way,’ Madame Verdier said. ‘I think he wants to speak to us – to you.’
Amy’s heart fluttered in panic as Fabien strode across the lawn towards her. She didn't want to speak to him, or even to be anywhere near him.
He was by her side already and exchanged a few words with the Verdiers before turning to her.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
She explained once again about the Ducros’ car failing to start. Looking preoccupied, he asked if he could speak to her alone.
‘This way.’
He took hold of her elbow and led her towards the old fountain.
‘I wanted to thank you for persuading Stéphane to speak up about Brice and that so-called brother of his,’ he said.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ she protested. ‘He came out with the story on his own.’
‘Still, if you hadn’t been with him, he might never have told anyone about it. This man, this imposter, needs to be caught as soon as possible. I hate the idea of someone deliberately targeting children at Maison Espérance. They’re all so young and vulnerable. You must promise to tell me or the gendarmes straight away if Stéphane remembers anything else about him.’
‘Of course.’
‘You still have my mobile number, don’t you? Call me directly if there is any news.’
She nodded.
‘Good. And please be careful.’
He put a hand on her shoulder, bent down slowly towards her.
She stiffened, held her breath. Surely he wasn’t going to kiss her now, in front of the whole village?
‘Fabien chéri, are you ready? Everybody’s waiting for you.’
Claudine’s sharp voice startled them both.
Amy stepped back. Claudine didn’t acknowledge her but tapped the lash of her whip to the side of her black leather boots. Tall and slim in her riding outfit she looked the perfect match for Fabien – the perfect new duchess.
Fabien let out a sigh.
‘I’m coming.’
He looked down. The light of the rising sun played on his face and made his green eyes seem deep and warm. Time slowed down. The noise from the crowd became muffled and distant, and all she could hear was the crystalline spring water trickling in the old fountain. The spring that ran through the forest between Manoir Coste and Bellefontaine and bound hearts and lives together, or so the spell said … Her heartbeat slowed, or maybe it stopped altogether. It was as if Fabien and she were alone. Desire, fear and another feeling she didn’t recognise overwhelmed her and made her dizzy.
‘Well then, goodbye,’ he said in a low voice.
And he was gone, striding alongside Claudine to the stable lads who held the horses. Most hunters already sat in the saddle. Dog handlers brought the hounds over from the kennels and took their place at the front of the hunting party. Fabien and Claudine mounted their horses and the hunt lined up behind them. A man blew into some kind of horn, Fabien raised his arm in the air, pointed towards the forest and said something she didn’t hear.
‘Bonne chasse, Monsieur le Duc!’
People all around shouted their good wishes for the hunt. It was a scene from bygone days. The lord of the manor leading his men through the forest, and despite herself she felt a stir as the riders disappeared into the forest in a thunder of hooves.
Suddenly all she wanted was solitude, quiet and peace of mind. Or rather peace of heart, if there was such a thing. The realisation of what she felt for Fabien hit her. It wasn’t a crush, not even a strong physical attraction. It was a million times more potent, overwhelming and devastating. She was in love with him.
She closed her eyes for a moment, but all she could see was Fabien. She could almost breathe in his scent, feel the heat of his touch, the strength of his body against hers.
Her eyes flew open. This was all wrong. How could she be in love with him when there were so many things she disliked about him? Nothing good could ever come out of it. She had to fight it. She would fight it. And anyway, it wasn’t love she felt for him. It couldn’t be. It was infatuation. Chris was right. She was an old maid indeed – an old maid who’d been lonely for so long she was prepared to throw herself at the first attractive man who’d show her a crumb of interest and believe herself in love.
She sighed and turned to look at the fountain. For the first time she noticed something peculiar about the lion heads. They were in fact half man, half lion, and that each looked in a different direction. The portico above the basin displayed carvings of Latin words and Roman numerals. Remembering the Latin inscriptions on Bellefontaine’s stones, she took a piece of paper and a pen from her handbag and scribbled the words down.
Ibant obscuri
Geminae sorores … The rest was too worn to be decipherable.
Pervigilo templum subterras
Oblivione obruere
She walked around the fountain and bent down to examine the carvings on the lower part of the basin. Although very chipped, they featured soldiers kneeling down with their hands tied behind their back, several of them missing their heads.
She took a few pictures with her mobile phone.
‘Are you interested in our fountain, Mademoiselle?’
She looked up. Céline Coste stood in front of her, elegant in tan corduroy trousers, a silk blouse and a cream cardigan. Her blonde hair was held in a ponytail by a Hermes scarf.
‘Yes indeed. I find it fascinating,’ she answered, rising to her feet. ‘Do you know how old it is, or what the inscriptions mean?’
Céline Coste shook her head.
‘I don’t, but there are plenty of records in the library that could give you an answer. My father-in-law, Philippe, developed an obsession with local fountains and gathered an impressive collection of sketches and documents – an obsession I am afraid to say both my late husband and my son seem to share.’
She smiled and extended her hand.
‘I’m Céline, by the way. And you are Amy Carter, Bellefontaine’s new lady. I heard about you.’
Amy’s face heated up.
‘If you are referring to the incident in the forest, I can assure you that I never intended to disrupt the hunt.’
Céline laughed but her eyes were hard.
‘My dear, you can disrupt the hunt any time you want. If I were in charge, I would get rid of that hateful tradition and ban hunting, here at Manoir Coste and everywhere else.’
Of course, Amy remembered. She must be thinking about her late husband’s hunting accident.
&
nbsp; ‘Would you like to come to the library with me and have a look at Philippe’s portfolio?’ Céline asked. ‘We could have coffee and a chat. It’s not every day I get to meet one of Fabien’s friends.’
‘I’m not exactly a friend,’ Amy protested, ‘although Fabien has been very … kind to me since I moved in. He even gave me one of his puppies.’
Céline raised her eyebrows.
‘Then he must consider you a friend indeed. His hunting dogs are his pride and joy.’
The two women walked towards the chateau. People mulled around, drinking and eating, but the Ducros were nowhere to be seen and Amy concluded that they must have made their own way back to Bellefontaine.
Manoir Coste’s library was dark, with shelves stacked up with books all the way up to the ceiling. A massive table at the centre almost disappeared under books, papers and a huge artist’s portfolio.
‘Fabien seems to be spending a lot of time in here at the moment.’ Céline sighed. ‘He had become so protective of these old papers he even forbade me to step into this room!’
She opened the portfolio and flicked through pencil and charcoal drawings of the Coste fountain. ‘These were Philippe’s sketches. As you can see, he was a good artist.’
There were over twenty drawings, most of them of fountains in villages around Bonnieux. The name of each place and the dates were carefully recorded.
The last drawing was different. It was the charcoal portrait of a woman. Amy bent down to look at it. The woman appeared to stare straight back at her with dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her nose was straight, her cheekbones sharp and prominent, and her full lips slightly parted as if waiting to be kissed. Her curly black hair was loose and brushed her naked shoulders, and around her neck a black curl of hair, or a black ribbon, slithered like a snake.
‘Who is she? She’s beautiful.’
‘Rosalie Bruni,’ Céline Coste answered. ‘One of the infamous ladies of Bellefontaine. She and Philippe are said to have had a torrid affair that carried on even when he was married. Then he became obsessed with finding the temple, the fountain and the treasure, and died in a terrible accident shortly before his son Armand – my husband – was born.’
