A Spell in Provence

by Marie Laval

  He put his pen down, leaned back on his chair, and linked his fingers at the back of his neck.

  ‘You said you didn't believe in the stories of young men being killed and mutilated by having their head cut off and of young women being raped in the temple,’ Amy said.

  Laurent didn’t answer straight away.

  ‘Well, I only said I didn't believe that there were ritual killings and rapes as late as the nineteenth century, but the beheading of enemies or heroes was certainly a typically Gallic custom. Heads were embalmed and displayed in special niches, on hooks in temples or in private homes as a mark of respect and to ensure the power and strength of these special people would be preserved for ever.’

  ‘Wait a minute … This reminds of something I saw at Manoir Coste.’

  She took her mobile out of her bag and showed Laurent the photos she’d taken of the old fountain.

  ‘Look at the carvings of warriors. ’

  Laurent scrutinized the photos.

  ‘Yep, you’re right … This is a depiction of a Salyen ceremony. I really do think what we have here at Bellefontaine is the original Gallic, or Salyen, goddess, the one the Romans watered down with Bona Dea and Fauna everywhere else in their empire – everywhere else but here. Somehow the original cult survived in Bonnieux.’

  ‘And may still carry on to this day,’ Amy finished.

  ‘That is unlikely.’

  ‘What if I told you that I found a reference to a murder and mutilation in a local newspaper from the 1830s,' she insisted. ‘Who knows how many more I would find if I dug deeper?’

  Laurent got up.

  ‘I’d say I need to go to the library at Apt and do a bit of research myself. In the meantime, I’ll get my equipment out of the van and do a GPR survey in your cellar since you said you were worried about that trap door. Do you think your nephew could give me a hand? I’m sure he’ll be interested in all my gear.’

  They called Peter who squealed with delight at the prospect of helping Laurent.

  ‘You do geo-phiz, like on the television programme? Cool!’

  Laurent smiled. Although he didn’t speak much English he still managed to explain the basics of his GPR equipment to Peter. Together they pulled the chest in front of the cellar door and went down into the basement. Once they’d removed the shelves and crates Amy had piled on top of the trap door, Laurent knelt down and examined the floor.

  ‘This is indeed a door. However, for all we know it could just be an old coal or grain storage box.’

  He connected his GPR to a laptop, switched the computer on, and asked Peter to keep an eye on the screen before methodically scanning the whole surface of the cellar.

  ‘It’ll take a while to process the results,’ he said an hour later as he tidied his instruments away. ‘Let’s put the crates back.’

  ‘What are you doing, Aunt Amy?’ Peter scratched his head, a puzzled look in his big blue eyes as he watched her pile up boxes on top of the trap door all over again.

  ‘I’m only making sure no spider can come up from the cellar,’ Amy lied. ‘You know how I hate creepy crawlies.’

  The three of them were gathering Laurent’s equipment when Chris appeared at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Two gentlemen from the police would like to speak to you,’ she said, her voice tight. ‘I asked them to wait in your office.’

  Amy ran up the stairs, wondering if the gendarmes found out who had drugged her at Manoir Coste, or if they knew who had abducted Brice. Perhaps they had news about the burglary …

  ‘We’re here to ask you about a woman called Sophie Dessange,’ Capitaine Ferri started.

  Amy opened her eyes wide.

  ‘Sophie Dessange? Has anything happened to her?’

  ‘Do you know the woman?’ Bijard asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t say I know her. I only met her once. What is this about?’

  ‘On Thursday, Madame Dessange made a statement at the commissariat in Avignon to report a rape and the disappearance of a young English man, here at Bellefontaine almost thirty years ago.’

  Capitaine Ferri spoke slowly, as if he wanted to make sure she understood his every word.

  ‘In her statement, the lady claimed you suffered a similar assault on your person a few weeks ago,’ Lieutenant Bijard interrupted. ‘Is this true? And if so, why didn’t you report it?’

  Capitaine Ferri frowned at him but said nothing.

  Amy remained silent as anger and embarrassment swelled inside her. Sophie had no right to tell anyone about her and her dream, no right at all.

  ‘Mademoiselle Carter, is Sophie Dessange speaking the truth or not?’ Capitaine Ferri asked.

  ‘I don’t wish to talk about it,’ Amy answered at last. She wasn’t ready to make accusations about Fabien or a mysterious cult. She needed proof. Tangible proof.

  Capitaine Ferri coughed to clear his throat.

  ‘Very well. There is something else. We are expecting Madame Dessange later in the week and will require access to Bellefontaine and the garden. In the meantime, if you remember any detail which might be important, please get in touch either with me or with Lieutenant Bijard at the gendarmerie in Bonnieux.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Amy walked the gendarmes to the front door and watched them climb into their blue van and drive away.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Why don’t you sit on the terrace, order us a drink, and enjoy the sunset?’ Laurent suggested. ‘I’ll take a look at the fountain and join you in a few minutes.’

  He walked across the village square, which was a lot busier that evening than when Amy had been there first. Men played pétanque, girls practised their skipping and boys passed a football around. A group of teenagers stood near the fountain, smoking, talking loudly and listening to pop music on the radio.

  Amy found a table on the terrace of the café overlooking the square. A young woman came to take her order. Tonight there was no sign of Papi, the elderly man who had served her last time she came. Amy ordered a kir for herself and a pastis for Laurent, and watched the archaeologist kneel down to examine the fountain, oblivious to the teenagers making fun of him.

  She took a sip of her drink, enjoying the blend of fruity blackcurrant liqueur and cool white wine.

  ‘Aimée? What are you doing here?’

  The glass almost slipped from her fingers onto the zinc table.

  Fabien was dressed in a long-sleeved grey T-shirt which clung to his chest and tight black running pants which stretched over his muscular thighs. Next to him, a couple of teenage boys wearing sports clothes carried shopping bags full of sweets and biscuits, chocolate and cans of pop.

  She pointed to the archaeologist across the square.

  ‘I came with Laurent. What about you?’ She tried to keep her voice cool but she was shaking inside.

  ‘I’ve been rock climbing with a group of kids from Maison Espérance. We just bought a few supplies to keep everyone happy tonight at the youth hostel.’

  He turned to the boys and told them to go to the minibus.

  ‘Tell Frédéric to drive to the Bergerie without me. I’ll make my own way back.’

  Before she could protest, he pulled a chair out to sit down, waved to the waitress, and ordered a demi of lager.

  Amy looked to Laurent across the square but he was still engrossed in his examination of the fountain and wasn’t about to rescue Amy.

  ‘We need to talk,’ Fabien said in a quiet voice.

  'No, we don't.'

  She stood up.

  His gaze was so intense it made her heart thump.

  'Yes, we do. You owe me an explanation, don't you think?'

  The waitress arrived with Fabien's beer. She looked at Amy, a quizzical expression on her face, and pointed to the almost full kir and the untouched pastis.

  ‘Is there a problem with your drinks, Madame? Would you like something else instead?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘No, thank you, it's very nice.’


  ‘Then sit down,’ Fabien said.

  Unwilling to cause a scene on the crowded terrace, Amy complied. With luck it wouldn't be long before Laurent finished his survey of the fountain and joined them.

  Fabien drank some of his beer and turned to her.

  ‘I want to know what I've done to make you so scared of me, and why you reacted the way you did in the Manoir’s cellars. I saw fear in your eyes that night. No, more than fear. Terror. And those words you said. That it was me in the temple. You spoke of a ceremony. What the hell were you talking about?’

  His eyes were so earnest, his voice so sincere she didn’t know what to believe any more. Was he innocent or a consummate actor? Was he telling the truth or did he just want to check what she had discovered about him and his associates? He leaned forward. Their arms brushed against each other, the contact sending heat all over her body.

  ‘Aimée, what is it? Speak to me.’

  ‘You said the blue and gold ring was yours,’ she started in a shaky voice. ‘How do you explain its presence down in the castle’s cellars, next to the entrance to the underground passage?’

  ‘The ring? What is it about that blasted ring?’

  ‘Please answer me.’

  ‘The ring was my father’s, and his father’s before that. It passed onto me when he died. It bears our family’s coat of arms. CV for “Coste Vaincra”. I keep it in a trinket box. I haven’t cast my eyes on it for years and had no idea it was missing. Now will you tell me what this is really about?’

  Once again she was struck by the sincerity in his voice.

  Laurent seemed to have finished with the fountain. He stood up, wiped his hands on his jeans and walked towards them.

  ‘Monsieur Coste, this is a nice surprise,’ Laurent said, extending his hand.

  ‘Did you find anything interesting?’ Amy asked him.

  He grinned, excitement twinkling in his eyes.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I see you’re still searching for clues on the fountains,’ Fabien remarked. ‘Are you any nearer to finding the location of the temple?’

  ‘I believe so. Actually I need a favour. I really need access to your estate and the chateau, especially that tunnel Amy said you found on Saturday evening. I’d really appreciate it if you could let me explore it with you.’

  Fabien looked in the distance. He took hold of his glass and swirled the amber liquid inside. Amy held her breath. If he refused now, it would be another proof that he didn’t want the mystery of the fountain and the temple to be solved. A further proof of his involvement in the cult, despite what he’d just told her about the ring.

  He put the glass down.

  ‘All right. I’ll give you and your team free run of the Manoir, the park and the forest. You can search the library, the grounds, dig holes anywhere you want – within reason, of course. I was too arrogant to believe I could figure things out on my own. I was wrong.’

  He gave Amy a long, hard look which made her heart flip.

  ‘I don’t know what you think I've done,’ he said in a low voice meant only for her, ‘but I don't want you to be afraid of me.’

  He finished his beer in one long gulp, stood up, and turned to Laurent.

  ‘I’ll give my staff at the Manoir a ring so that they know to expect you tomorrow. Now, I must set off or I won’t make it for the evening meal. The staff at La Bergerie are very particular about punctuality.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to walk. We’ll give you a lift back. Won’t we, Amy?’ Laurent said.

  She nodded, still torn between hope and doubt.

  Laurent drained his pastis aperitif and the three of them walked back to the Clio.

  ‘I see you still haven’t had time to get your car painted,’ Fabien remarked.

  ‘The red spots are growing on me,’ she replied. ‘I think I might keep it that way.’

  He smiled and she had to make a conscious effort to keep her hands from shaking on the wheel. The road meandered down the hills into the wild vale of the Aiguebrun river. Fabien gestured to the right at a junction. The road became a narrow, bumpy track. Finally, they reached the youth hostel, a one-storey farmhouse standing at the foot of white limestone cliffs that rose to three hundred feet above the valley. A dozen boys were playing football on a patch of grass at the front.

  Laurent whistled through his teeth.

  ‘Do you actually climb up these cliffs?’

  Fabien nodded as he opened the door.

  ‘We do. There are pistes for all abilities so you don’t have to be an expert to go all the way to the top. You should come with us some time. You’d enjoy it.’

  He jumped out and was quickly surrounded by the children.

  ‘Where were you? You promised us a game of football!’

  He laughed, ruffled a little boy’s unruly dark brown hair.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, guys. Keep practising.’

  He leaned into the car to speak to Laurent.

  ‘You can go to Manoir Coste tomorrow. I should be back early afternoon. We’ll explore the tunnel then. Feel free to look at my family papers in the library before that.’

  He turned to Amy, nodded briefly, and without another word he walked away towards the children waiting for him on the makeshift football ground.

  Laurent got out of the car and sat on the passenger seat next to her. They didn’t speak for much of the drive back to Bellefontaine but after a while he coughed to clear his throat.

  ‘I find it hard to believe that Coste is mixed up with the cult, Amy. It’s just a gut feeling, of course, but he seems an OK guy to me. Actually, there are other things I need to tell you, things I found out at the registry office about his family. Your friends Lily and Adèle were right. All the heads of the family since Renaud Coste died relatively young, and all of them before the birth of their sons. That’s actually rather spooky. No wonder there are rumours of a curse. I wouldn’t sleep too soundly if I were Fabien.’

  ‘Did you manage to read Piquot’s travel journal?’

  Amy wanted to ignore the warning in Laurent’s last remark – a warning she had heard before.

  ‘I did. I’ll tell you about it when we get back.’

  ‘You said you found more inscriptions at the fountain in Buoux?’

  Laurent flipped his notebook open.

  ‘There were two inscriptions at the bottom of the pillar, hidden away on the other side of the fountain. The stone was worn, it was no wonder you missed them. Listen to this.’

  He closed his eyes and recited in a slow, dramatic voice.

  “‘Ex matris ut filia

  dea phasmatis mos ago

  dea mos sermo

  per cruor hominum ”

  ‘Which I can roughly translate to, “The goddess will live, from mother to daughter and she will speak through the blood of men.”’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘It’s another reference to the reading of oracles. The goddess demands a blood sacrifice to tell the future. A man’s blood.’

  Laurent must have sensed Amy’s fear because he clapped his hands on his thighs and smiled.

  ‘Anyway, enough about that horrible goddess. I hope your sister is a good cook. She said she was making dinner tonight – spaghetti – and I’m ravenous.’

  Amy drew in a mock shocked breath.

  ‘Oh no. Chris is a disaster in the kitchen. She always cooks her pasta far too long and it ends up a gooey mess.’

  She smiled at the look of genuine horror on Laurent’s face.

  ‘Just joking. If there’s one thing Chris can cook, it’s spaghetti bolognese. She used to cook it all the time …’

  When their parents were alive, she finished silently, and they used to have Sunday lunch together as a family - without Toby, of course, since he was always far too busy, or hungover, to join them. Perhaps her sister was keen to impress Laurent. She had noticed that Chris sat at the kitchen table while Laurent worked through his notes, academic papers and reports of a
rchaeological digs in Provence. She had seen her sister’s sidelong glances, and heard her giggles and Laurent’s patient explanations as they pored over his notebooks and drawings. They may only just have met but it seemed that romance was blooming between the pair, and why not? Laurent was a nice man, a good man, who had become a friend.

  ‘About time you two came back,’ Chris said when she opened the front door, a huge smile on her face.

  An appetizing smell of meat, garlic and tomato sauce drifted through the house from the kitchen. Peter was sitting in front of a generous helping of his mother’s pasta.

  ‘I was too hungry to wait,’ he apologised, shovelling spaghetti into his mouth.

  Amy shook her head when Laurent offered her wine with the meal Chris served. She didn’t want to muddle her thinking as she tried to decide about Fabien.

  She remembered his concern when he’d found her shivering in the forest. How fast he’d jumped down from his horse to cover her with his riding coat. The passionate words he’d whispered as he made love to her. The way he’d made her feel, as if she was the only woman in the world he really wanted.

  She pushed her plate away.

  ‘I know I’m out of practice with my cooking but I didn’t realise it was that bad,’ Chris remarked. ‘What’s the matter, sis? Are you sick?’

  ‘We met Fabien Coste in Buoux,’ Laurent told Chris, and the two exchanged a meaningful glance.

  ‘Oh, I see …’

  Chris took Peter’s empty plate off the table.

  ‘Darling, why don’t you watch the television in the living room? I’ll bring you some ice-cream in a minute.’

  Laurent waited for Peter to be out of earshot before opening his notebook.

  ‘It’s time I told you about my day in Apt at the reference library and the registry office. I’ll start with Denis Piquot’s journal.’

  Outside night was falling. Owls hooted in the forest, dogs barked in the distance. Chris sat next to Laurent, so close their shoulders touched.

  ‘Actually it’s more a fantasy than a real travel journal,’ Laurent started. ‘Piquot wrote three stories about Bonnieux.’

  He looked at his notes.