A Spell in Provence

by Marie Laval

  He looked at Amy and there was sadness in his eyes.

  ‘He got drunk and committed suicide two days later. Frédéric is right. It was my fault his father died, and the least I can do now is make amends by providing my cousin with a job and a home.’

  He sighed.

  ‘I’d better check that he’s not creating any more havoc. Will you be all right on your own for a little while?’

  ‘Of course. Don’t worry about me.’

  He gave her a tight smile and went after his cousin.

  So she’d had the relationship between Fabien and Frédéric all wrong too … She had been aware of the tension between them before, but had always felt sorry for Frédéric and annoyed at the way Fabien was treating him. Frédéric wasn’t the fun, charming and harmless character she once thought, and she would from now on do her very best to avoid him. The way he had talked about her, the way he’d looked at her and the touch of his sweaty palm on her skin had been revolting.

  ‘Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Carter.’

  Amy turned, startled. She hadn’t heard Serena Chevalier approach.

  Serena looked striking in a dark green dress with a low décolleté and a plain black ribbon that curled around her neck. It reminded Amy of something she’d seen before, though she couldn’t remember where and when.

  ‘I’d like to offer you some advice,’ Serena carried on.

  ‘Leave Bellefontaine. Now. Before things become unpleasant, or dangerous. You were never meant to live there. The place is mine.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, Madame Chevalier?’

  Serena didn’t answer but the hatred in her eyes made Amy's heart beat faster.

  ‘You are wrong about Bellefontaine,’ she said, trying to stop her voice shaking. There was no way she would show Serena how deeply her hostility affected her. ‘It’s mine now, and nothing you can do or say will change that.’

  Aware of the woman's gaze following her every move, Amy took her glass from the table, stood as tall as she could, and walked towards the ballroom.

  Pausing a moment on the doorway of the ballroom, she drained her orange juice and left the glass on a nearby table. As her eyes swept over the crowd, she spotted Monsieur Garnier talking to Claudine on the other side of the room. Loud dance music played through the speakers, the rhythm of drums and bass guitar echoed inside her body, beating in unison with her heart. Faster and faster, harder and harder. Her body felt warm, her skin clammy. Dizzy suddenly, she swayed and bumped into someone.

  What was happening? She couldn’t even walk straight any more.

  The man turned, surprised.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not feeling very well.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Enjoyed too much champagne, have you?’

  What champagne? She'd only had orange juice. A waiter walked past her and she grabbed hold of his arm.

  ‘Please, could you take me somewhere quiet? I fear I’m going to faint.’

  ‘Of course, madame. We’ll go to the drawing room. There’s no one there.’

  She was aware of people’s eyes staring at her as the waiter helped her across the room, but their faces and the room soon became a blur.

  Claudine laughed as she walked past her and Monsieur Garnier.

  ‘It looks like your landlady is a little bit worse for wear, I don’t think she’ll be able to give you a lift back to Bellefontaine tonight.’

  Amy held onto the waiter’s arm more tightly. Everybody thought she was drunk. She didn’t care. She was too busy trying to reach the drawing room before passing out. Thankfully the Petit Salon was empty. The waiter helped her sit down on a sofa, stuck a couple of cushions behind her head.

  ‘Would you like a glass of water, Madame?’ he asked.

  ‘Please.’

  The room spun so badly she had to close her eyes. She must have fainted for a few moments. The next thing she knew she heard the faint tapping of footsteps on the parquet flooring, and felt the weight of someone sitting on the sofa next to her.

  The waiter must be back with her water.

  ‘Good evening, my lovely.’

  Even though it was only a raspy whisper, Amy could make out it was a man's voice.

  Who was this? She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt too heavy.

  ‘Do you remember me? Do you remember when I touched you there … and there?’

  A hand tickled the side of her throat, slid down onto her breast, then glided over her stomach to touch between her legs. In a panic, Amy tried to move away. Her body didn’t respond. She parted her lips to shout for help. No sound came out.

  The man breathed heavily against her ear.

  ‘He can say what he wants, but you're mine, and next time, I'll finish what we started. Don't worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy it too.’

  There was a movement against her as whoever had been there stood up.

  Then there was silence.

  ‘Your water, Madame.’

  This time she recognised the waiter's voice.

  ‘I think I’d better call Monsieur Coste. You really don’t look well,’ he added.

  The next thing she knew, Fabien was talking to her, urging her to wake up and speak to him, but she was a prisoner in her own body. She couldn’t speak or move. All she wanted to do was to drift away and sleep.

  Fabien scooped her into his arms, held her tightly against him.

  ‘I’m taking you to a room,’ he said as he carried her into the lobby. Amy heard him ask the receptionist which room was free.

  ‘Chambre 12, Monsieur. ‘I’ll open it for you’.

  She was dimly aware of Fabien settling her on a soft bed, of her shoes being taken off. The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was Fabien ordering a member of his staff to ring an emergency doctor.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘How are you, darling?’ Céline asked, sitting on the bed.

  Amy blinked and looked around the spacious room decorated in shades of cream and aubergine. Muslin and brocade curtains partly obscured two large French windows and fell in gracious drapes from the moulded ceiling down on to the parquet floor. Her fingers brushed over the bedclothes. The sheets were of the softest Egyptian cotton. She was in one of Manoir Coste's luxury suites. But what was she doing in there, and why did her head hurt so much?

  ‘You gave us such a fright,’ Céline carried on. ‘The doctor said that there was nothing he could do and that we should let you sleep. He said your symptoms were consistent with your drink being spiked with some drug called gamma … something, I forgot the name. It’s commonly called the date-rape drug.’

  Amy tried to sit up. Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. Sketchy memories of the previous evening spun in her head like a kaleidoscope.

  ‘A drug? But who …? I don’t remember anything after Fabien’s argument with Frédéric, talking to Serena Chevalier, and feeling dizzy. People were looking at me as though I was drunk.’

  She lifted a glass from the bedside table with a shaky hand, drank a long sip of cold water, then massaged her forehead, but she knew it would take a lot more than that for the migraine to go away.

  ‘I’ll leave you to rest,’ Céline said, rising to her feet.

  Amy started to protest. What about Bellefontaine, and Michka? And what about her guests? Monsieur Garnier must have been furious with her, especially if along with everybody else, he believed that she had overindulged on champagne.

  Tears welled up in her eyes.

  ‘I have to go back, yet I don’t think I can move.’

  ‘Everything is being taken care of. Don’t worry.’ Céline patted her hand.

  Too exhausted to ask Céline what she meant, Amy leaned back on the pillow and drifted into sleep.

  The next time she woke up, she was alone. Her migraine had eased off, and she didn't feel quite so dizzy. She pulled the bedclothes down and, sat up. She only had her underwear on, but some of her clothes were on a chair near the bed. Somebody had been to
Bellefontaine and brought back a white T-shirt, a grey jogging suit, some underwear and a pair of trainers. Slowly, she swung her feet over to one side of the bed, got up, and walked to the bathroom.

  The steaming hot water revived her. She wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe and looked through the toiletries placed at the side of the sink. As she brushed her teeth and rubbed some lemon-scented cream into her skin, questions swirled in her mind. What happened last night? Had somebody really spiked her drink, and if so, why? Was it deliberate or a mistake?

  She put her clothes on, slipped her feet into her trainers, and glanced at her watch on the bedside table. It was already two in the afternoon. Time to leave.

  There was a knock on the door, and Céline walked in.

  ‘What a relief it is to see you're awake! Poor darling, you still look dreadfully pale. How are you feeling?’

  Amy combed her damp hair away from her face with her fingers and smiled tentatively.

  ‘Better, thanks. I really must go. It’s late.’

  ‘Not before you have something to eat. I don’t want you fainting on your way back to Bellefontaine.’

  Céline decreed that Amy would have some lunch in the garden and without leaving her time to object, she slipped her arm under hers and led her outside. It was a warm, sunny afternoon. Deckchairs scattered the lawn and hotel guests were making the most of the garden, swimming pool and tennis courts. They walked to a small table under the shade of a lime tree, near the mossy old fountain.

  ‘Are the clothes all right?’ Fabien’s mother asked. ‘I wasn’t sure which ones to choose, but I thought that you would prefer something comfortable.’

  ‘They are perfect, thank you. I gave you a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Céline waved her hand dismissively. ‘Fabien and I were very concerned about you. Actually, he reported the incident to the gendarmes last night, straight after the doctor’s visit. He blames himself for what happened.’

  ‘He shouldn’t. It’s not his fault someone put some drug in my drink.’

  She couldn’t think of who would have done that, and why, and could only hope the gendarmes soon caught the culprit. A waitress put plates of sandwiches and a bowl of mixed salad in front of them, as well as a pitcher of fresh water.

  ‘I fear my reputation took a serious setback last night,’ Amy said as she poured water into her glass.

  Ice cubes tinkled against the sides of the crystal tumbler.

  ‘I remember people said I had drunk too much champagne.’

  She tried to smile, but anxiety tightened her stomach in a knot.

  ‘What happened to Monsieur Garnier?’

  Céline snorted.

  ‘Him? What an unpleasant character! It's fortunate you won’t have to suffer his sour mood when you get home. According to Maurice, he left Bellefontaine early this morning.’

  Amy looked up.

  ‘Who is Maurice?’

  ‘Maurice is one of the managers here. Fabien sent him to look after your guests last night.’

  So Bellefontaine hadn’t been abandoned after all.

  ‘It was very kind of him,’ she said, her voice a little shaky. ‘Please thank him for me.’

  ‘You can do that by all yourself right now. Here he is.’

  Céline turned towards the terrace and waved at Fabien.

  His face lit up when he saw Amy and he walked across the lawn in long strides.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re up at last,’ he said, pulling a chair next to her. He looked at her with searching eyes for what felt like a long time, then relaxed into a smile.

  ‘You look a lot better.’

  He, on the other hand, was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He had a nick on the side of his throat, probably where he had cut himself whilst shaving. He looked tired, exhausted even. Overwhelmed by a rush of tenderness, Amy yearned to lean closer, touch his cheek, and kiss the line by the side of his mouth. She swallowed hard and gripped her glass of water more tightly.

  ‘I hear you sent someone to look after my guests,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It was the least I could do. I only wish I could lay my hands on the bast –’

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘I mean the person who drugged you last night. It was terrible to see you so ill. Can you remember anything at all?’

  ‘Only that I spoke to Serena Chevalier on the terrace after you left.’

  Amy paused.

  ‘She was very hostile, as usual.’

  ‘Serena? What did she say?’

  He glanced at his mother, but Céline was eating and didn’t seem to be listening.

  ‘She warned me that things were about to get unpleasant for me, and that Bellefontaine was hers.’

  ‘I can’t see Serena slipping some drug in your glass, but then I can’t imagine anyone who would do such a thing. And you don’t remember anything after that?’

  ‘No, it’s like a kaleidoscope of distorted images and sounds.’

  Shivers crawled all over her skin. She was cold suddenly, cold and frightened.

  ‘I never want to feel that way again. All I want is to forget about it.’

  She finished her glass of water and stood up.

  ‘I really must go back.’

  Fabien rose to his feet too.

  ‘Then I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘There’s no need. My car is still here, and I’m feeling much better. Once again, thank you, for everything.’

  Céline kissed her cheek and said she was taking the train back to Paris later in the afternoon but would be back soon.

  ‘We’ll meet up and have a good, long, girly chat, shall we?’

  Amy nodded uneasily and glanced at Fabien. Although she liked Céline very much, she wasn’t sure getting too close to her was such a good idea. She had the distinct impression that Céline could see right through her where Fabien was concerned.

  ‘The offer of looking at my grandfather’s papers and Renaud Coste’s journals still stands, if you’re interested,’ Fabien said a few moments later as they reached the car park where Amy had left her Clio the previous evening.

  She took a deep breath. However fascinating it would be to delve into Manoir Coste’s and Bellefontaine’s past and find out at last what happened to the temple, she wasn’t sure it was worth the torment of being in Fabien’s presence.

  As if sensing her hesitation, he added. ‘It would mean a lot to me to have your input.’

  ‘Then I will help you,’ she said before letting herself into the car. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

  She closed the door and started the engine. When she checked her rear view mirror, Fabien hadn’t moved. He was still standing in the car park, watching her.

  Once Amy’s car had turned onto the main road, he walked back to the Manoir, stopping to exchange a few words with hotel guests or members of staff when all he wanted was to be on his own.

  ‘I’m not taking any calls – unless it’s the gendarmes or Mademoiselle Carter,’ he told the receptionist before going into his study and closing the door.

  He sank into the black leather chair behind his desk, and stared blindly at the computer screen in front of him but the words and the figures didn’t make any sense. He raked his fingers in his hair and let out a deep sigh.

  He’d hardly slept, had been unable to concentrate that morning or take any decisions, even the most trivial and mundane ones. His thoughts kept going back to Amy and the puzzling events of the night before. Once again, as he remembered how lost and scared she had looked, anger made a cold, hard, tight fist inside him and he had the urge to punch something – anything. Or anyone.

  Another memory pushed its way into his mind, tormenting him again. The feel of her soft body in his arms, and the sweet, intoxicating vanilla scent he could breathe on her skin and hair as he took her upstairs.

  He let out a ragged breath. That evening at Bellefontaine, she had responded to him, she had yielded under his touch, his kisses. She may
deny it but she was attracted to him, and he found it more and more difficult to stop thinking about her. To stop imagining how it would feel to kiss her again, explore her body, caress her with his hands and mouth, and taste every inch of her skin.

  But he was completely out of order! The woman had just been poisoned while under his roof – with a date-rape drug, of all things – and all he could think of was taking her clothes off and making love to her instead of finding the bastard who'd drugged her!

  At least she had agreed to look through his family papers with him. He may not like the idea of getting her involved any more than she already was, but he needed to keep an eye on her, to keep her close – not to mention controlling her access to certain places, people and documents – and what better way to do so than suggest they worked together? This way too, if Orsini got in touch with her, or found anything worthwhile when he came back to Bellefontaine, he would know about it straight away.

  For the hundredth time, he wondered if he should change his mind and grant the archaeologist and his team access to the forest. Orsini was a professional. He knew how to decipher clues, follow trails, translate Latin or Greek or any other ancient inscriptions. If anyone could find the fountain and the lost temple, it was probably him.

  Fabien got up and looked out of the patio door and on to the park. Orsini may be the man he so desperately needed. On the other hand, he couldn’t risk him, or anyone, exposing his family’s dirty secrets.

  Maurice had the most beautiful moustache she’d ever seen. Long and bushy, it curled at the tips and gave Fabien’s manager the air a warrior right out of an Asterix comic.

  ‘Monsieur Garnier left just after nine,’ Maurice said as he wiped the cooker and the work surfaces in the kitchen, despite Amy’s protests that he'd done enough already.

  ‘He complained about just about everything, from the scented soaps in the bathroom to the colour of the bedclothes – he even criticised the tomato and red pepper omelette I made for breakfast.’