A Spell in Provence

by Marie Laval

  ‘So?’ Chris asked, arching her eyebrows.

  ‘So maybe the point where their eyes meet is the location of our temple, just like the statues in Rome.’ Laurent turned to Amy and Chris with a triumphant smile.

  Amy pulled a face.

  ‘It sounds a little complicated.’

  ‘I made some calculations on the map and now I want to check my theory out. Who is coming with me? I know it’s raining but …’

  ‘I’ll come, and Peter too.’ Chris got up. ‘We both need exercise and a bit of rain isn’t going to stop us, we’re Brits!’

  Laurent beamed at her, as if it was exactly the response he had hoped for. Chris called Peter and the three of them geared up with boots and cagoules.

  ‘I’ll start cooking a hot meal for this evening,’ Amy promised as she waved them goodbye.

  She prepared a chicken casserole and a potato gratin and put everything in the oven. She tidied up downstairs, then decided to tackle her sister’s room.

  Chris had only unpacked one of her suitcases. The other remained shut and Amy lifted it out of the way to vacuum clean. Heavens, what did her sister keep inside? It was so heavy she had to use both hands to lift it.

  The rain had stopped by the time she finished cleaning, so she decided to go for a walk. She clipped Michka lead on and started on the main road. A van from the gendarmerie sped past, all sirens blazing. Another road accident, she thought, as she watched it turn at speed around a bend of the road. The road to Bonnieux was notorious for its hairpin bends and its sheer drop down to the plain below. In the few months she’d lived at Bellefontaine there had been several accidents.

  She soon realised that she'd been right. An ambulance and the police van were parked at the side of the road, and a car lay on its side half way down the hill. The paramedics were getting the driver out. Amy could see it was a brown-haired woman wearing a bright red coat, like the one Sophie had on that very morning at Bellefontaine.

  Her legs suddenly weak, a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach, she accosted the gendarme who stood guard next to the van.

  ‘Can you tell me if the lady driver is badly hurt? I think I know her.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry, Mademoiselle. The medics couldn’t do anything for her.’

  ‘You mean she’s dead?’

  'I'm afraid so. You said you knew her?'

  'She looks like Sophie Dessange, from Avignon, who visited me this morning at Bellefontaine.'

  ‘Then I'm sorry, Miss. It was indeed Sophie Dessange.'

  ‘You look like you're about to faint,’ the policeman said in a kind voice. ‘Would you like to sit in the van for a moment?’

  ‘No, thank you. I think I'll go home now.’

  A car stopped by the side of the road. The driver wound her window down and leaned out. It was Armelle Capitelli, the journalist from the local newspaper.

  ‘Good afternoon, officer, I just heard the report of a fatal road accident. Can you help me establish the facts for my article?’

  The gendarme remained impassive.

  ‘A statement will be issued later.’

  ‘Come on, officer, I only need a name, and a basic few facts,’ the reporter said in a cajoling voice.

  ‘I gave you my answer, Madame. Now please leave. The medics are bringing the victim up.’

  Oblivious, the journalist turned to Amy.

  ‘Did you see what happened, Mademoiselle Carter? You look upset. Maybe you knew the victim?’

  ‘Somebody just lost their life. Isn’t that reason enough to be upset?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. By the way, I thought of a few headlines for my article about Bellefontaine. I quite like, “Book a room and meet your doom”, or “Bellefontaine, a room there will give you nightmares”. What do you think?’

  Amy’s voice shook when she answered.

  ‘I think that if you ever dare print any such rubbish, I’ll sue your paper.’

  Pulling on Michka’s lead she walked away before the journalist could see the tears stream down her face.

  She took her time walking back, and when she finally opened the bastide’s front door she was greeted by sounds of Chris, Peter and Laurent laughing.

  She wiped her face, took her jacket off and took a few steadying breaths before making her way to the kitchen.

  ‘Auntie Amy, we had a great time in the forest. Look how muddy we are.’

  Peter’s wet hair was plastered on his head. Water dripped down his coat and trousers to form a puddle on the tiled floor.

  ‘Did you find anything?’ she asked Laurent.

  ‘No but I’ll go back tomorrow,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure that I’m right about this, it’s just a matter of adjusting my calculations.’

  ‘Well, it was fun but I think we’d better get changed or we’ll catch a cold.’

  Chris took Peter’s hand and oblivious to his protests pulled him towards the stairs.

  Amy turned the oven back on to warm up the casserole and the gratin then turned the answering machine on. The first message was an enquiry about booking a double room for the following week. She scribbled the name and contact number on the pad next to the telephone. The red light on the answering machine flickered.

  ‘Tell your bitch of a sister that I’m coming to get her.’

  She dropped the pen onto the floor. She’d recognise that voice anywhere.

  It was Toby’s.

  Deep down, she’d known it was only a question of time before he got in touch, but the tone of his voice was so full of threat it made her blood run cold. She climbed the stairs two by two and opened Chris’ door without knocking.

  ‘I’m afraid I have really bad news.’

  She stopped short, eyes wide open in shock in the doorway. Chris sat on the floor, pulling clothes out of a suitcase. Wedged in between the clothes and the shoes were wads of twenty-pound notes, tied with blue elastic bands.

  Chris’ face turned red. She flicked the lid of her suitcase to close it.

  ‘Whose money is that?’ Amy asked.

  Chris raised her chin defiantly.

  ‘It’s mine now.’

  ‘Oh Chris, what have you done?’ Amy closed the door and walked inside the room.

  ‘Toby left a message on the answering machine. He’s coming after you. He sounds very angry. For all we know he could be here tomorrow, tonight even.’

  ‘Let him come here,’ Chris cried out. ‘The police will get him if he tries anything against me or Peter.’

  ‘And what do you think they’ll think of all this?’ Amy gestured towards the suitcase.

  ‘They won’t find out if we don’t tell them.’

  ‘Is it his money? Drug money?’

  ‘Perhaps. I don't know and I don't care. I found it in the loft. I figured it would compensate me for all his lies, and leaving him the house and everything inside.’

  ‘It may not be his. You said he was mixed up in drug trafficking. His associates might be dangerous criminals who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you, or Peter, to get it back.

  ‘You may be in trouble yourself for taking it. You could even be charged with being an accomplice!’

  ‘So we’ll leave,’ Chris said. ‘Tonight. You could drive me to Marseille airport and I’ll book a flight. We can go anywhere.’

  Amy curled her fists on her hips.

  ‘And then what? I thought you had changed, but all you ever think about is yourself. How long do you think you can live on the run? What about Peter?’

  ‘Then what do you suggest I do?’

  Amy thought for a minute.

  ‘The best thing is to tell the truth. We take the money to the gendarmes, and you tell them what you know so they can get in touch with the Greater Manchester Police.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to go back to England and testify against Toby. I so wanted to get away and never go back.’

  Amy put her hand on her sister’s shoulder.

  ‘It won’t be easy, I know, but you can always come back when it
’s over. I’d love to have you living here, and I think I’m not the only one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way Laurent looks at you.’

  Chris face crumpled.

  ‘Oh, sis, I'm so sorry. I didn’t think. I wanted was to make Toby pay for his lies, and for putting his son and myself at risk. You’re right, of course. Will you take me to the police station tomorrow morning?’

  Amy nodded.

  ‘It’ll be all right, you’ll see,’ she said with more assurance than she felt. It may not be all right at all, Chris might be arrested, thrown into jail, or sent back to England.

  That evening, the mood around the table was sombre. Preoccupied with Toby’s threats and the visit to the police the next day, Amy and Chris hardly spoke.

  ‘I think I’ll put my papers in order and go to bed. Good night,’ Laurent said after several unsuccessful attempts at making conversation. He cast a hurt look in their direction and retreated to his room.

  ‘Let’s have an early night too.’ Amy suggested. ‘We’ll go to the gendarmes first thing tomorrow.’

  Even though she fastened all the shutters, locked the patio doors and closed the windows securely before going to bed, she was under no illusions. She’d never be able to fall asleep tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Not only was it still raining heavily the next morning, but the wind had picked up too. It blew and howled and made the cedar forest move like a wild, angry green sea. Cold raindrops pricked Amy’s face and arms as she opened her window and hooked her shutters securely onto the wall. She stared at the sky where dark grey clouds churned and swirled. The weeks of heat and drought were well and truly over.

  After a quick shower, she got dressed in a pair of jeans and a red jumper, tied her hair in a ponytail with a red silk scarf, and slipped a pair of trainers on. She knocked on Chris’ door to wake her up. It was only seven but the earlier they reported Toby to the gendarmes, the sooner he would be arrested and they would be free of him. Or at least that’s what she hoped.

  Chris was up and ready. She had dressed in a black skirt suit and a white shirt. She had done her make up, and smoothed her blonde hair into a sleek bob.

  ‘I don’t want the police to think I’m some junkie or drug trafficker,’ Chris explained said in a tense voice. ‘How do I look?’

  Amy hugged her sister. ‘You look very respectable.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep a wink,’ her sister carried on. ‘I’ve been so stupid. What was I thinking of, taking the money? What if they arrest me and take Peter into care?’

  ‘We can only hope they realise you’re not involved. Where’s the money?’

  Silently, Chris pointed to a sturdy green plastic bag on the bed.

  ‘Come on then,’ Amy said. ‘Let’s have some breakfast.’

  But neither sister was hungry. They stood in the kitchen to drink a hurried cup of tea in silence.

  ’I’ll ask Laurent if he can babysit Peter while we go to Bonnieux,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll make something up. I don’t want to tell him what I’ve done … I’m too ashamed.’

  The road to the village was partly flooded, with some sections covered with a layer of mud and scattered with rocks and broken branches. The windscreen wipers struggled to keep up with the torrential downpour and Amy had to focus hard to zigzag between the obstacles. When they reached the spot where Sophie Dessange had lost her life the previous day, she told Chris about the accident.

  ‘Poor woman.’ Chris sighed. ‘When I think she was with us yesterday morning...’

  ‘By the way,’ she started again after a moment of silence, ‘your friend the builder has quite a temper. He had a massive argument with one of the gendarmes yesterday.’

  ‘Really? Which one, Bijard or Ferri?’

  ‘The older one with the nasty smirk and the grey moustache,’ Chris answered.

  ‘He told your friend he’d better sort things out, or else. They were both growling at each other so much I thought they were going to have a fight.’

  ‘I wonder what they were arguing about.’

  As they reached the outskirts of Bonnieux, Paul arguing with Bijard didn’t seem important any more. Her chest tight with apprehension, Amy parked the car and led her sister into the gendarmerie.

  ‘I’ll do the talking for now.’

  She walked to the desk officer, explained that her sister had important information about a dangerous English criminal, and they were shown into a small room.

  A young gendarme came in to take their statement.

  ‘Now it's your turn, Chris,’ Amy urged. ‘Tell him everything.’

  The gendarme listened in sombre silence as Chris explained about Toby’s trafficking in her hesitant French, with Amy stepping in now and again when her sister struggled to find the correct word. When Chris opened the plastic bag to show him the money, he dropped his pen onto the floor in surprise.

  Chris pushed the bag across the table.

  ‘Here it is. There’s just under five thousand pounds. I counted.’

  He didn’t take the bag. Instead he rose to his feet, said he was calling his superior officer, and left.

  ‘What happens now?’ Chris asked.

  Amy smiled encouragingly.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll understand that you had nothing to do with the drug trafficking.’

  In fact, there was nothing less certain, but she didn’t want to alarm her sister. The door opened and Capitaine Ferri came in. He gave Amy a curt nod and sat down behind the desk.

  ‘Madame,’ he started, staring at Chris with his cold, pale blue eyes. ‘The facts you have reported are extremely serious. We have contacted the offices of Interpol in Lyon, and they confirmed that Toby Dickinson was known to the English and Spanish authorities. The question now is how much you knew about him and his activities.’

  ‘I’m not involved in anything,’ Chris cried out. ‘I swear I didn’t know about the drugs until a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Then why did you take the money instead of reporting Mr Dickinson to the British police?’

  Chris bent her head and let out a heavy sigh.

  ‘I was scared and I wanted to teach him a lesson. Above all, I didn’t want to have to testify against him. It was wrong, stupid and cowardly of me, I understand that now.’

  Capitaine Ferri wrote something down.

  ‘I won’t press any charges for the time being. You must however remain at the disposal of the French and English police and mustn’t leave Bellefontaine. Is that clear?’

  ‘Of course, Capitaine, anything you say,’ Chris mumbled.

  ‘Will you wait in the reception area while I talk to your sister?’ Capitaine Ferri asked her. ‘One of my men is going to take a formal statement from you.’

  ‘Please sit down,’ he told Amy, pointing to the chair in front of him.

  ‘It’s about Stéphane Michon and his friend Brice. I want you to remember word for word what the young man told you on the phone, and how you found him up at the old stone village.’

  ‘I already told you all that,’ Amy said, surprised by Capitaine Ferri’s stern voice.

  The gendarme leaned across the table. ‘Please. It’s important.’

  Amy gathered her thoughts.

  ‘Very well … Stéphane was talking very fast. He said he had found Brice in the old village of bories and asked me to come straight away. I was with Fabien Coste that afternoon so he drove to the old village. We couldn’t see Stéphane at first because was kneeling down, with Brice lying in front of him. He said he got a text earlier on.’

  ‘He didn’t have his phone with him?’ Ferri asked.

  Amy shook her head.

  ‘I don’t remember seeing his phone, no. In fact when we were looking for him I tried to phone him back to ask him where exactly he was, but there was no answer. Stéphane said the text had instructed him to come alone and not to tell anyone.’

  ‘What was left of Stéphane�
��s phone was retrieved from the bottom of a pit about fifty meters from the place you found him. Initial examinations suggest it was crushed underfoot. I am struggling to understand how that happened and how it ended up down there since the boy said he called you as soon as he found Brice, and he didn’t leave his friend for one minute after that.’

  ‘Are you by any chance suggesting that Stéphane is lying, and that he somehow disposed of his phone on purpose?’

  Capitaine Ferri didn’t answer.

  ‘There's something else I wanted to ask you. What can you tell me about Paul Michon, Stéphane’s father?’

  Taken aback by the gendarme’s abrupt question, Amy opened her eyes wide.

  ‘Paul? Why?’

  ‘Please answer the question.’

  ‘He’s been a good friend for the past few months. I trusted him with renovating Bellefontaine and he has done a great job for me. I consider him trustworthy and reliable,’ Amy hesitated.

  ‘Anything else you might want to comment on?’

  ‘I am aware he is under a lot of stress at the moment. Business problems I think.’

  Capitaine Ferri thanked her and opened the door of the interview room. As Chris was still making her formal statement, he promised Amy he’d let her know as soon as the agents from Interpol arrived.

  ‘I need a coffee, preferably laced with brandy. I’m shaking with nerves,’ Chris said when she finally came out.

  As it was still pouring down with rain, they ran to the café across the square. Amy pushed the door open. At once smells of coffee and hot chocolate, warm bread and buttery croissants assailed her and she realised she was hungry.

  ‘The brandy can wait until we're at home,’ she declared as they sat at a small table in the window. ‘We’ll have coffee and croissants.’

  A waiter came to take their order, and she looked around, aware of the sudden silence in the café as people stared in her direction and conversations stopped.

  ‘Why is everybody glaring at us?’ Chris whispered.

  ‘I don’t know. They must have seen us come out of the gendarmerie and they’re wondering what we’ve done …’ Amy tried to smile.

  A copy of the Journal du Lubéron lay folded up on the table. She opened it and glanced at the headlines while they waited for their order. The front page covered the threat of floods in the region. Both the Calavon and the Durance rivers had already burst their banks. The fruit orchards, olive groves, and lavender fields were under threat, and if the rain carried on for much longer, the fruit crops would be ruined.