by Marie Laval
She turned to the inside page. The headline jumped at her. So this was why the café patrons had been staring.
‘I hate that woman!’ she hissed.
‘What woman?’ Chris looked at her as if she’d gone mad.
‘That journalist – Armelle Capitelli. She was threatening to write a story about Bellefontaine’s mysteries … well, now she’s done it. Listen to this. “Hotel Bellefontaine, will you get out of there alive?”’
Amy started reading the article and translating for Chris. The journalist recalled Amy’s sleepwalking episode in the forest and her rescue by Fabien. She then declared that staying even one night at Bellefontaine could seriously affect one’s mental health, giving Eva’s nightmares in example – ‘the young woman suffered nightmares so severe that she had to cut short her honeymoon and be admitted into a mental hospital in England.’
To finish the reporter mentioned Sophie Dessange, who had ‘experienced a mental breakdown while camping with her boyfriend in Bellefontaine’s gardens years before’ and who had visited Bellefontaine the very morning of her accident and ended up dead when her car skidded off the road. Then followed a brief summary of the gendarmes’ statement about the accident. It was likely that the poor lady was too upset by her visit to Bellefontaine to pay close attention to the road. The traces of red paint on the side and back of Sophie’s car were dismissed as irrelevant, since Lieutenant Bijard had confirmed he had seen them on the car before the accident.
To finish, Armelle Capitelli warned readers about Bellefontaine’s negative aura. ‘ Beware, booking a room at Bellefontaine could be the last thing you ever do.’
‘What a lot of rubbish! The newspaper shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.’ Chris exclaimed, slamming her hand on the small table’s marble top.
‘It sounds like she has something personal against you, and she wants to ruin your reputation and your business or something. Maybe she’s getting paid by a rival hotelier, someone who wants you to fail.’
Amy folded the newspaper and put it down as the waiter came to place their cups of coffee and a basket of warm croissants, small pots of jam, and a dish with a lump of butter on the table.
What if her sister had a point? As well as the dead rabbit nailed to the front door, the slashed tyres of her car, the aborted fire or her appliances being switched on at night, there had been other incidents she had blamed purely on bad luck. The breakdown of the butcher’s delivery van the morning of her garden party, for example. The mix up at the tourist fair at Apt. Bellefontaine’s bookings that kept going wrong at Bonnieux Tourist Office. And Monsieur Garnier refusing to grant Bellefontaine even one star on the grounds that she was a drunk.
‘Wow, so much back luck is spooky,’ Chris said before biting whole-heartedly in a croissant smothered with jam and butter.
‘Unless it’s no bad luck at all …’
Thoughtful, Amy drank a sip of her hot black coffee.
‘The link between the butcher's and the Tourist Office is Jacques, a young man who also works for Manoir Coste.’
She pictured the young man’s sullen face as he stood behind the counter at the Tourist Office – the Tourist Office with its bright red painted walls. The red paint was the same colour as the paint splattered on her car bonnet. What if … Surely Jacques wasn’t the one who had slashed her tyres, spread paint all over her bonnet and killed that poor bird! What motive could he possibly have to want to scare her? Then she remembered something else Monsieur Verdier had told her about Jacques.
‘Amy, what’s the matter?’
‘Apparently Jacques is so besotted with Claudine Loubier he’d do anything she asked him to.’
‘You think Claudine asked him to fake the breakdown of Monsieur Lefèvre’s van to ruin your garden party, and mess up Bellefontaine’s bookings? Why would she want to do that?’
Amy pulled a face.
‘I have no idea but her mother owns an antique shop in the village and I am convinced she gave poor Eva Barlow the fluorite crystal, filled her head with tales of secret ceremonies and human sacrifice, then alerted the reporter about Eva being in a mental hospital. Maybe she is a friend of Serena Chevalier who wants me out of Bellefontaine so badly.’
Amy stared out of the window. The rain was still falling in sheets. People ran in between the shops, their umbrellas offering little protection.
‘This weather reminds me of Manchester.’
Chris picked another croissant.
‘You were right, sis. I feel a lot better for having told the gendarmes. I hope the police get hold of Toby before he gets here.’
Amy finished her coffee.
‘Come on. I want to get back.’
She glanced at the bill, left a handful of euros on the table, and stood up.
‘Sweets dreams, ladies of Bellefontaine,’ a man called as she pushed the door to get out, ‘or should it be sweet nightmares?’
A chorus of laughs filled the small café. Startled, she turned round. The men stopped laughing, but not one would meet her eyes.
They drove back to the hotel in silence, looking in dismay at the destruction the rain and wind had already caused. The plain, with its neat rows of orchard trees, was submerged in places under the combined waters of the Calavon and Durance rivers. Sections of the road were flooded, forcing cars to drive slowly as water reached up to the top of their wheels.
‘The road will be cut off before long.’
Amy’s fingers gripped the wheel tightly, and she heaved a sigh of relief when they finally arrived at Bellefontaine.
Laurent and Peter were playing cards on the kitchen table.
‘Care to join us for a game?’ Laurent asked Chris.
‘Nobody’s playing any more. Put the cards away,’ Amy replied. ‘I want the three of you out of here for the day. Go to Arles, or Aix … anywhere, but don’t come back until I tell you to.’
Laurent looked up at her, surprised. ‘What’s up?’
‘A feeling I have. Call it a premonition. Please do as I ask.’
Maybe it was the threat of Toby’s coming to Bellefontaine, Sophie Dessange’s car accident, or Fabien’s fall. Or maybe the events of the last few weeks and the discoveries about the entangled pasts of Bellefontaine and Manoir Coste preyed on her mind, but she couldn’t help the feeling that something was about to happen, here, today, and she wanted her sister and nephew out of harm’s way. As for her, she had no choice but to stay at home. She didn't want to miss Capitaine Ferri's when he called to tell her that the Interpol agents had arrived, and Céline had promised to phone as soon as Fabien was out of hospital.
‘Let’s to go Arles,’ Chris told Laurent. ‘You said it was a wonderful city. You can show us round.’
The archaeologist got up. He seemed troubled.
‘There's something you’re not telling me, and I don't like it.’
‘Chris will explain everything on the way to Arles.’
Amy nodded to her sister. It was only fair to let Laurent know about the situation with Toby.
So Laurent, Chris, and Peter climbed into Laurent’s van and drove off, and Amy remained alone with Michka. She stood for a while in front of the window and watched the rain and the wind beat down the flowers and bushes in the garden.
Even though she wasn’t hungry, she made a cheese sandwich and some coffee for lunch, and ate at her desk while working on her accounts, updating her website, and replying to enquiries. By two o’clock, the sky was so dark she had to switch on the lights.
The wind rattled the shutters of the study so hard they banged against the outside wall. She opened the window to hook them up, but then the window lock got stuck and she had to leave the window ajar on the latch.
It was quiet in the house. Too quiet. She realised it had been a while since she’d last seen or heard Michka. She called, walked around the house, but the puppy was nowhere to be found. Where was she? Not in the garden since the patio doors and the kitchen door were locked. The dog must be asleep on
the bed in her room, as usual. Amy walked into the hallway to get to the stairs and gasped.
The cellar door was ajar.
She had been too distracted by Sophie’s accident, then Toby’s threatening message and Chris’ revelations about the stolen money to make sure that Paul had locked the door. She stood on the threshold, and called Michka. Sure enough, the puppy barked in reply. She called again, and waited, but the puppy didn't come. She would have to go down and get her. With great reluctance, she switched on the light and climbed down the staircase.
An icy hand gripped her heart when she reached the bottom of the stairs and saw that the trap door was open onto a deep, black hole. Another bark echoed in the cellar. This time it sounded more distant.
Amy knelt down and stared into the dark pit.
‘Michka! Are you in there? Come back.’
A long way down, the dog barked in response.
‘Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m coming to get you,’ she said, forcing a note of confidence in her voice – confidence she was far from feeling.
The hair at the back of her neck prickled, and she shivered. Someone was standing behind her. Watching her.
She tried to scramble to her feet but hands grabbed her from behind. A wet cloth smelling of chemicals was pushed against her mouth, making her retch. She remembered that smell – that feeling against her face. She had first experienced it the night of the break-in.
She tried waving her arms about to wrestle out of her attacker's grasp but she soon couldn’t breathe. All the strength slipped out of her body, leaving her as weak as a rag doll, and she fell to the ground.
Helpless, she heard the man walk to the entrance of the cellar and switch the light off. He came back and eased himself into the hole. When he was down to his shoulders, he grabbed Amy’s legs and pulled her downwards so that she rested against him.
‘There you are, my lovely. Now we can begin,’ he said before closing the trap door.
Chapter Twenty-five
She was hot, so hot. Her heart drummed and her head throbbed. Her mouth was parched, her body felt heavy and numb. Even opening her eyes was an effort, and then all she could see were shadows and hazy lights.
She was sitting on a hard stone floor, her back against a rough wall. She tried to focus on her surroundings. She was in a cave, lit by dozens of tiny flickering flames. In the thick shadows around the cave, dark and silent figures stood guard.
She squinted – even though her vision was still blurry, she could make out that the candles reflected into pure white crystals at the centre of the chamber, and that it wasn’t people staring at her from the shadows, but statues. On either side of the chamber were two darker openings, no doubt leading to underground passages.
So they had taken her again, drugged her. The goddess’ followers, the cult – whoever they were. How long had she been down there? She looked at her watch but the numbers were too blurred for her to see the time. She let out a sigh of despair. If only she didn’t feel so tired …
Her eyes closed again and she drifted back to sleep.
When she next woke, her brain was less fuzzy, her sight a little sharper. She tried moving her arms and this time managed to lift them off the ground. Her legs however still felt as heavy as blocks of concrete.
Men’s voices echoed into the chamber from one of the tunnels, coming her way. Amy recoiled against the uneven stone wall as two ghostlike figures wearing masks and long white robes glided towards her.
‘She’s awake,’ one of them said.
He knelt down next to her, slid his fingers along Amy’s face and throat, brushed against her breasts. She tried to raise her arms but was powerless to fend him off.
‘See, lovely Amy? You can’t resist me,’ he whispered. She knew that voice, even if it was distorted by the mask but she couldn't quite place it.
‘Enough!’
The other man ordered in a curt voice.
‘We don’t have time for any of that. You can do whatever you want with her after the ceremony. For now, we must bring the boy in here and prepare. It’s getting late and the others will be here soon.’
They left. When the returned they were carrying the body of a young man they dropped unceremoniously onto the ground. Amy couldn't see his face, only that he had brown hair and was tall and slim.
‘Give them both more draught and meet me in the temple in five minutes,’ the man who appeared to be in charge instructed.
The other waited until he’d gone out to produce a vial and force some liquid into the boy’s mouth. He then lifted Amy’s head.
She clenched her teeth and tried to turn her face away.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t give you much. I want you awake. I want you to enjoy everything I do to you.’
She shook her head and pressed her lips together.
‘Damn you! Will you open your mouth?’ he growled.
He pulled on her pony tail to yank her face upward, pinched her nose until she gasped for breath. Swiftly he then inserted the vial into her mouth. A bitter, salty liquid trickled down her throat, making her cough.
Immediately the room started spinning and she was sucked into the shadows again.
Next thing she knew, someone was giving her shoulder a shake.
‘Amy, wake up. Please, wake up.’
A hard slap stung her cheek. She cried out in shock, her eyes flung open and she stared in disbelief at the boy sitting next to her.
‘Stéphane?’
‘Thank God you’re awake at last! Sorry I hurt you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve been trying to wake you up for ages. We must leave before that weirdo Frédéric Coste and his friend come back.’
‘Frédéric Coste? Are you sure it’s him?’
Her voice was slurred, every word an effort.
‘Positive.’
So it had been Frédéric all along. It all made sense. He had access to the manoir, the tunnels and Fabien’s cottage. He must have stolen Fabien’s blue and gold ring. He had been the man who had performed the ceremony.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I got a text from my dad earlier today asking to meet up in the old village. He wrote he had to explain things. When I got there, his van was parked on the path but he was nowhere to be seen. Then I don’t know.’
He rubbed his hand over the back of his head.
‘Someone hit me from behind and knocked me out.’
Amy glanced towards the two tunnel entrances.
‘Can you remember which way you came?’
‘That way,’ Stéphane replied without hesitation. ‘I woke up as Coste and the other guy carried me along but I played dead. And when Coste gave me some of his drug, I pretended to drink and spat it out as soon as he turned his back.’
He pulled on her arm again.
‘Come on now. We must go.’
‘I can’t move.’
There was no way she could stand and walk, let alone run.
‘Listen Stéphane, you’re going to escape alone and raise the alarm.’
He shook his head.
‘I’m not leaving without you.’
‘You must, or we’ll both get caught. Can you see anything I could use as a weapon against Frédéric and his accomplice when they come back?’
Stéphane rose to his feet and walked around the room. He picked a fluorite crystal.
‘Will this do?’
He handed it to her. It was heavy, with a sharp spine down its middle. She could hardly hold it.
‘That’s fine. Now please untie my hair.’
She placed the crystal on the ground next to her and hid it under her red scarf.
‘Before you go, pull one of the statues down, drag it into a darkest corner of the room, and cover it with your sweatshirt so that it looks like you’re still asleep.’
He did as she said, then turned to her.
‘Now what?’
‘Now you run. Hurry.’
For a minute she feared he would change his m
ind and stay.
‘I’ll get help, you’ll be all right, you’ll see,’ he said in a choked voice at last. He pecked a kiss on her cheek, jumped to his feet, and dashed out.
Even though she wanted to stay awake, Amy couldn’t help her eyes closing and she dozed off again. The sound of approaching footsteps woke her up. Terrified, she pressed her back against the wall and put her hand over the crystal.
Frédéric knelt down at her side. He had removed his mask. His face was flushed, his eyes feverish, the pupils black and enormous as if he too had taken drugs.
‘It’s time,’ he said in a fast, breathless voice. ‘Time to take you to the ceremony.’
The man was high. Hopefully this meant he wouldn’t be thinking straight and would fall for what she had planned.
‘Time for what? What are you going to do with me?’
She forced a smile and added in a voice she hoped he would find husky and cajoling, even though it sounded croaky to her own ears, ‘I’d much rather you and I stayed here, on our own.’
Gritting her teeth she put her hand on his knee through the silky fabric of his robe, slid her shaking fingers higher on his thigh, then higher still. She felt him jolt under her touch.
‘They say I have to wait,’ he said, ‘but they’re wrong. What harm will it do if we have a little fun now? I can see you want it as much as I do.’
Repressing a shudder of disgust, she inserted one hand in the folds of his robe and caressed him until she felt him harden, while her other hand gripped the crystal hidden under her scarf. With a growl, he bent down to kiss her, pushed his tongue between her lips.
He pulled her jumper up, dragged her bra down to grope and nip at her breasts. She gripped the crystal harder. She would only have one chance at this. She mustn’t waste it.
He hauled her down onto the ground, fumbled with the zip of her jeans and pulled it down before covering her with his quivering body. His fingers pushed her knickers aside, prodded between her legs, his tongue invaded her mouth again. She could hardly breathe.
