A Spell in Provence

by Marie Laval

  Compassion filled her eyes and she touched his face with the tip of her fingers. He took hold of her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed the inside of her wrist.

  ‘I made a promise to myself then,’ he carried on. ‘To protect my mother, make sure she’d never find out. And to protect Manoir Coste. If I was unpleasant, hostile even, towards you at first, it’s because I wanted Bellefontaine to remain empty and disappear into overgrown thorns and weeds. It was where my father would meet Serena, where he betrayed my mother time and time again. And where there might still be proof of their affair. I was afraid you’d find something and …’

  ‘I did … There was an old photo of Serena and your father in the barn, but I would never had told your mother, or anyone else. I would never have caused her, or you, any pain.’

  ‘I know that now. I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you before. It’s been eating at me. I was determined not to let any scandal break out, compromise my family name, and Manoir Coste of course.’

  He let out a bitter laugh.

  ‘And look how it all turned out. The scandal is far worse than I could ever have imagined.’

  He held her tightly, kissed her lips, aroused once again by her warmth, her softness, and the irresistible scents of vanilla and woman lingering on her skin.

  ‘I love you, mon Aimée.’

  ‘I love you too, more than words can say. But for now, you must go to the fête.’

  He shook his head. ‘I told you, I’m not going anywhere.’

  She pulled a face.

  ‘What if I want to go? I heard so much about it, I want to enjoy the lights and the fireworks too.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it? There’ll be journalists, people will stare at you …’

  ‘You’ll be there. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘In that case, I suppose I’d better get ready.’

  He kissed her and got up. She heard him turn the shower on, hum a French song. This past week was a blur. The torrential rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started, the weather had turned warm and sunny again. Fabien had taken her for rides to secluded calanques on the coast where they sat on small rocky beaches, gazed at the turquoise blue sea, and tried to forget the terror of the night spent in the underground temple.

  Bellefontaine was sealed off by the gendarmes as their investigation carried on. Amy had only been allowed back to get some clothes and personal effects. Chris and Peter had gathered their belongings too before checking into Manoir Coste, courtesy of Fabien. They were joined most evenings by Laurent, who rented a house nearby with Ben, Patricia and other archaeologists from Arles.

  Laurent expected to stay in Bonnieux for the foreseeable future to catalogue the treasure which had thankfully been saved from the flooding and explore the tunnels and secret chambers of the Gallic Goddess and map out the network of underground passages which criss-crossed the hill underneath the forest.

  ‘I found the missing link between the two most important goddesses of the ancient world,’ he had told Amy and Fabien earlier. ‘Cybèle, the Magna Mater of the east, and the Gallic Goddess of Bonnieux who was the Magna Mater from the west and was here in Provence all along.’

  The interest from the national and international press had been extraordinary since the story first broke out. All the hotels and guesthouses in Bonnieux and surrounding villages were full of journalists, television crews, historians, and researchers hoping to catch glimpses of the cave, the treasure, or of Bellefontaine, which was still cordoned off by police.

  Amy was glad to be staying with Fabien at the cottage. She had temporarily closed her business and cancelled the few reservations she’d taken for the summer. She had no idea when she would be allowed to re-open Bellefontaine as a guesthouse. More to the point, she had no idea whether she ever wanted to live there again.

  Fabien came out of the bathroom and proceeded to get dressed in a crisp white shirt, black trousers, and black smoking jacket. He fastened his bow tie in front of the full-length mirror against his wall, turned round and smiled. And her heart missed a bit. He might look tall, dark, and powerful, a worthy descendant of the proud warrior line of Costes, but he was only a man and she had come very close to losing him.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked.

  ‘Positive. I’ll be with you very shortly.’

  He bent down over her and kissed her slowly, his fingers trailing along her arms, then up and down her back.

  ‘You’d better go,’ she said, putting her hands on his chest and pushing him away gently.

  He sighed. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  She heard his footsteps descending the staircase and the front door closing. She wanted to go to the fête tonight. She couldn’t hide in the cottage forever. Besides, if she was with Fabien, she could face anything and anyone. Chris and Peter would be there too and she looked forward to spending some time with them before they left for Manchester. Chris wanted to sell her house and organise her move to Provence as soon as possible. Her eyes shining happiness and excitement, she had told Amy that Laurent had asked her and Peter to move in with him in Arles.

  She ran a bath and poured some vanilla essence in the hot water. In the bath she placed her hands onto her stomach, remembered Serena’s words, and smiled. It was still too soon to know if she was indeed pregnant, but something inside her whispered that, as strange as it may seem, the woman had been right.

  It didn’t take long to get ready. She slipped into her black evening dress and a pair of slingback shoes, brushed her hair, and put a little make up on.

  Glancing out of the window she drew in an astounded breath. Hundreds of glittering lights turned the garden into a fairy tale, tea lights in coloured glass containers shimmered on every windowsill of the three-storey castle. Strings of fairy lights hung in the trees in the walled garden and the park.

  Amy felt a twinge of sadness as she thought about Adèle and Stéphane. They should have been here tonight, together with Paul. Amy had gone to Adèle’s house earlier on in the week to offer her support but her friend hadn’t invited her in.

  Poor Adèle. She wasn’t only grieving the loss of her husband. She was also reeling from the horror of discovering he’d been involved in a criminal organisation for almost as long as she had known him. In his statement to the police, Bijard had confirmed that Paul had taken part in the rape of Sophie Dessange in the underground temple years before, but admitted that Paul had been high on drugs at the time. He had looked on, as Serena and Marc Chevalier had carried out the bloody ritual of killing and mutilating Sophie’s boyfriend as a rite of passage for Serena to be ordained the new priestess.

  Paul had then tried to sever his links with his former group of friends, but they hadn’t let him, calling onto him for various favours over the years, reminding him that whether he liked it or not, he was one of them and threatening to hurt his family if he refused to help or tried to expose them. When Amy had purchased Bellefontaine, Marc Chevalier had asked Paul to make sure the trap door in the cellar would be left intact so that it would still be possible to gain access to the bastide from the tunnels.

  Amy could not even begin to understand how Adèle and Stéphane would manage to reconcile the memories they had of Paul with the revelations about his past. She could only hope time would heal their pain.

  She turned away from the window and was about to go down when she heard the front door open. Fabien must have forgotten something, or maybe he was coming back for her. Michka barked, then yelped in pain. Heavy footsteps climbed the staircase. Her blood froze, her heart started beating fast and wild.

  Whoever was coming up the stairs wasn’t Fabien.

  A tall silhouette shadowed the doorway to the bedroom.

  ‘Frédéric.’

  ‘Surprise, my lovely!’ he said in a throaty voice. ‘We have some unfinished business, you and I.’

  His lips stretched into a thin smile, a malicious glint shone in his eyes. He was wearing dark blue trousers and a whit
e shirt, probably the uniform of the mental hospital he had been admitted to a few days before.

  ‘What are you doing here? How did you get out of hospital?’

  He laughed.

  ‘Bijard wasn’t the only gendarme who enjoyed Serena’s kinky sessions in the temple. You upset a lot of people when you wrecked our little sex club, you know. It used to provide a most enjoyable way of passing an evening. Drugs, sex, and a show with Serena performing her loony priestess’s act. And now it’s all over, thanks to you.’

  He was blocking the doorway so Amy moved towards the window, grabbed hold of the latch and frantically tried to pull it down. She had to open it, shout for help.

  ‘Move away from the window and come here.’

  He walked to the unmade bed and patted the sheets.

  ‘This time, nobody will come between us.’

  Amy pressed her back against the wardrobe.

  ‘I said come here!’ he said, his voice edgy now as he produced a knife from his trouser pocket. Amy didn’t move.

  ‘Don’t force me to do unpleasant things, Amy,’ he warned. ‘At least, not just yet.’

  The phone rang downstairs, shrill, resonating in the empty cottage. It stopped after about twenty rings, only to start again.

  ‘Shall I answer?’ Amy asked, moving towards the door.

  ‘Leave the damned phone and come to me,’ Fred sat on the bed and stared at her.

  Amy did not move. Her legs shook so badly she feared they might give in under her. She had to gain time. Surely, the hospital staff had noticed that Frédéric was missing. Wasn’t he supposed to be detained in a secure unit?

  ‘Take your dress off,’ he ordered.

  ‘No.’

  Frantic, Amy tried to think of something she could use as a weapon. Behind her on the shelves were some a couple of vases and sculptures, but they were too far for her to reach.

  ‘Fine, I’ll do it for you.’

  He licked his lips, rose to his feet, and walked around her, slowly. Reaching out, he unzipped the dress and pulled it down until it billowed onto the floor.

  ‘Now we’ll take the rest off, won’t we?’ He took her hand, pulled her to the bed, sat down.

  ‘No wonder my bastard of a cousin likes you. You’re beautiful. And very soon, you’ll be mine. All mine.’

  He pointed the blade of the knife onto her stomach and traced a line down to her panties.

  Amy heard the front door open with a crashing noise and footsteps climb the stairs four by four.

  ‘Amy!’

  Frédéric stood up, grabbed hold of her and held her tightly in front of him like a shield. The blade of his knife pushed against her throat.

  ‘Amy!’ Fabien shouted again. 'Ferri just called my mobile. Fred's escaped and … '

  He stopped in the doorway. He had his hunting rifle in his hand.

  ‘Hello, cousin, your girlfriend was showing me how lovely she is …’

  Frédéric sniggered and caressed Amy’s breasts with one hand while pressing the knife even harder to her throat with the other.

  ‘Let her go,’ Fabien ordered calmly. ‘This has always been between you and me.’

  ‘I’ll never let her go. In fact, you’re going to watch me kill her right now.’

  The blade nicked Amy’s skin. A little blood trickled out and dripped onto Frédéric’s shirt.

  Fabien lifted the rifle to his shoulder, took aim.

  ‘This is your last chance. You know I never miss.’

  Frédéric laughed – the high-pitched cackle of a madman – and pulled Amy even further back into the room.

  ‘Say bye bye to his lordship now, Amy.’

  The room spun and darkened, she struggled to breathe. She was going to die. There were so many things she wanted to tell Fabien, but only a whimper escaped from her lips.

  A flash of light blinded her and an explosion thundered inside the room. Frédéric relaxed his grip and dropped to his knees. His body crumpled onto the floor in front of her. Half of his head had been blown away.

  She screamed. Dropping the rifle to the floor, Fabien strode to her and pulled her to him.

  ‘I’m so sorry, mon Aimée. It’s my fault. I should never have left you alone.’

  He held her tight, rocked her like a child in his arms, kissed her forehead, her hair.

  Her teeth clattered, her whole body shook.

  ‘You’re cold.’

  He took his jacket off, wrapped it around her shoulders.

  Suddenly men’s voices shouted downstairs, footsteps echoed inside the cottage and half a dozen gendarmes burst out into the bedroom.

  ‘How is she?’ A gendarme asked.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Fabien answered, holding her against him. ‘I shot him,’ he added in a tight voice. ‘I shot my cousin.’

  ‘So I see. You’ll have to come with us, monsieur le duc.’ One of the gendarmes said. ‘We’re going to need a statement from you. And you, Mademoiselle, but we’ll get a doctor to take a look at you first.’

  Amy wiped the tears from her face. Her hair felt wet and sticky too so she ran her fingers through it, then looked down at her hand. It was covered was blood, as well as grey and pink speckles. Frédéric’s brain …

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she mumbled. Her hand clamped on her mouth, she rushed to the bathroom.

  When she came out again, Fabien reached out for her.

  ‘It’s over now,’ he said. ‘This time, the whole thing is over…’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  One year later

  ‘Is Clémence asleep?’ Fabien took Amy’s hand and brought it to his lips.

  She nodded. ‘Fast asleep. Your mother ordered me not to come back before midnight. She said she only wants Michka to keep her company tonight.’

  ‘She’s right. Tonight is for us.’ Fabien smiled. ‘You look beautiful. Are you ready to dance and enjoy yourself with your husband?’

  Amy had dressed with great care for her first evening alone since giving birth to her baby daughter, and she knew she looked good, if a little curvier than before. The deep blue dress was the colour of her eyes, and the large oval-shaped sapphire necklace – a wedding present from Fabien – sparkled against her skin. Her hair hung soft and loose on her shoulders. But more than designer clothing and expensive jewellery it was love and happiness which made her eyes glitter and her smile so radiant.

  Fabien got up from behind his desk, and her heart skipped a beat as he walked to her and took her hand.

  ‘Shall we go?’

  She nodded. They walked out of the study and followed the corridor towards the ballroom. It was lit with candles, and already packed. Oblivious to the crowd, Fabien led Amy across the dance floor, encircled her waist with his arms and they started dancing, slowly, as if they were alone.

  Outside, night was falling. Hundreds of tea lights trembled on the windowsills of Manoir Coste and on the balustrades of the terrace. Garlands of coloured lights and lanterns stretched between trees in a magical display. Manoir Coste’s Fête des Lumières had started. This year, however, there would be no fireworks at nightfall. Fabien had announced that he didn’t want the noise to frighten his baby daughter.

  After a few dances, Fabien led Amy out onto the terrace, he wrapped his arm around her waist and they stood, side by side, in the fading daylight.

  ‘Je t’aime, mon Aimée,’ he whispered, staring down at her.

  She leaned on his arm, moved to tears. They had come so close to losing each other, one year ago, engulfed in the madness and violence of Serena Chevalier, Frédéric, and their acolytes, that she would never take happiness for granted ever again.

  She turned her head towards the cedar forest. It was, as always, dark and mysterious. To the west stood Bellefontaine, now abandoned. The bastide would forever be a reminder of the cruelty and delusions of the goddess’ cult. Although she didn’t want to live there ever again, Amy was reluctant to sell it – supposing she found a buyer, which would be surpr
ising given the amount of bad publicity the place had generated during the previous twelve months.

  Six months before, Bijard and Anne Loubier had been tried at the Assizes Court of Lyon, amongst a frenzy of national and international media coverage. As key witnesses for the prosecution, Amy and Fabien stayed a few days in the town, in a hotel in the old quarter where the Palais de Justice stood, overlooking the river Saône.

  There, in the oak-panelled courtroom, Amy had relived in minute details her ordeal when Frédéric had abducted her from Bellefontaine and taken her to the underground temple, and later when he had escaped from hospital and burst into Fabien’s cottage to pursue his revenge.

  She had watched Bijard’s arrogance slowly crumble and Anne Loubier’s lose her haughtiness as the sentence was read out to them – Bijard had been condemned to a life sentence and Anne to twenty-five years in jail. Since neither of them had given away the names of the other members of their group, and the gendarmes had been unable to decipher Serena’s notebook, they would bear sole responsibility for the horrors committed in the name of the ancient Gallic goddess now known as ‘The Bloody Goddess of Bonnieux’.

  There were still mysteries surrounding the goddess and her followers, mysteries which might never be explained. Serena’s knowledge of her pregnancy, for one.

  ‘What are you frowning about?’ Fabien whispered next to her. ‘Tonight is for joy and happiness, not for sombre thoughts.’

  He put his arm around her shoulders when Amy’s attention was drawn once more to the forest.

  ‘What is that?’ she cried out. ‘Can’t you see, over there? There are lights in the forest.’

  But as quickly as they appeared, the lights vanished.

  Fabien shook his head.

  ‘I can’t see anything. Come on, let’s go back inside.’

  Amy peered into the darkness again, but whatever had been there had now gone.

  Women’s Contemporary Fiction