Love Lost in Time

by Cathie Dunn

  Whilst her food was cooking, she laid the table and poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle she’d bought – and opened – the night before. Taking a sip, she looked around the room. It was still too quiet. Then she spotted it, half hidden behind a tray on the sideboard.

  A radio!

  “Woo-hoo!” Connecting the plug to the power socket by the door, Maddie let out a loud whistle and searched the channels. Soon, the sound of classical music filled the room. She didn’t recognise the piece, but it didn’t matter. “That’ll do,” she confirmed to the radio, and turned it up a notch. Better! Silence banished.

  Once ready, she mixed the sauce into the pasta and poured the mass onto a plate just as the 8.00 pm news came on. The political announcements passed her by. She wasn’t interested in modern-day Machiavellian shenanigans. Absent-mindedly, she sprinkled small chunks of Camembert over her dish and tucked in. Mmh.

  Eventually, the announcer warned of frosty weather with a risk of snow and frost in lower areas. Snow, this low?

  Despite being fluent in French – like her mother, Maddie held both French and British citizenship – she considered herself to be English after spending all of her adult life in Britain, at first in London, and later in York. She was thinking in English, and listening to and speaking in French messed with her head now.

  Memories of her childhood in Normandy came flooding back. Rouen hadn’t been a bad place to grow up in. A typical French town with plenty of history. From a young age on, her mother had dragged her to the historic sites in the area and beyond, which meant every weekend spent exploring a different place. She’d learnt much over the years. Her fascination with the Vikings and their conquests had begun in Normandy – after all, the Norsemen had invaded the land and left their mark for centuries to come, not only in name but also in culture. For that, she’d be forever grateful to her mother. History had been Elizabeth’s interest as much as hers.

  “Mmmhhh…” She slowly savoured the gooey feel of a warm cheesy bite and tomato. Bliss. She’d forgotten how good fresh French produce tasted. Guilt raised its ugly head when she remembered what she ate at home: frozen pizza, pre-made lasagne or a fairly taste-free chicken bake were her normal diet. “I must get into proper cooking.” But how often had she said that to herself when convenience – and research – took over?

  The first notes of Ave Maria sent a shiver down her spine. It always did. Elizabeth had loved classical music, another trait Maddie inherited from her mother.

  She lowered her fork, closed her eyes, and let the music wash over her. It added a peaceful atmosphere to the house, made it turn more…homely? It seemed that she shared more with her mother than she’d realised. A disturbing thought!

  Slowly, the air grew thick with the scent of rosemary and lavender, and a warm feeling washed over her. Maddie blinked and stared into the room, her vision zooming in and out. Black dots appeared in front of her eyes. Strangely, she didn’t feel alone. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she put her fork on the plate. The music drifted into the background, and a loud buzzing noise took its place.

  Always the level-headed academic, she didn’t believe in ghosts, but she thought she would recognise her mother if she decided to visit. This wasn’t Elizabeth. It was…different.

  Maddie pushed away her half-empty plate with the cold pasta and leaned back, taking a deep breath. Her work involved dealing with real, historical data, not mumbo-jumbo. She shook her head, and with that, the room smelled stale again, of locked, unattended house. Of a deserted home.

  ‘Home.’

  Icy shivers crawled on her skin.

  “No! Stop!” She banged her fists on the table, the cutlery on the plate clattering in response. This wasn’t her house – it was her mother’s. It contained no items of her own life, as far as Maddie knew. And it certainly wasn’t her home.

  She rose, chucked the leftovers in the bin, and dropped the plate and cutlery in the sink. Her glance fell on the radio, and she switched it off mid-sequence. The sooner the house went on the market the better.

  A draught made her shiver, and she checked the window. It was old, with six panelled sections each side, but it was closed fully.

  “Bloody hell, Mum!”

  Maddie left the kitchen, turning the light off along the way. Then, she checked the main door was locked.

  In the absence of a TV, she grabbed a book from the overflowing shelf under the stairs before switching off the living room lights. A History of the Languedoc. Oh well, she would learn something new before going to sleep tonight.

  Sighing, she climbed the stairs to the first floor. It had been one long, exhausting day.

  Downstairs, the scent of rosemary and lavender returned and settled in the kitchen.

  ***

  “Hello,” Maddie said, staring at the stranger who had knocked on her door. Seeing him raise an eyebrow, she quickly corrected herself, “Umm, bonjour.”

  “Bonjour,” he replied and smiled. “Welcome to Minervens, Mademoiselle Beauchamp…?” He pronounced her maiden name the French way, not ‘Beecham’ like in English.

  “Who wants to know?” She placed one foot on the inside of the door. Maddie wasn’t one to trust easily. Despite the man’s friendly looks, she was naturally wary of strangers. Living in a city had taught her valuable lessons in looking after herself.

  He shuffled his feet and grinned apologetically. “My name is Léon Cabrol. My family live a little further up the hill.” He pointed to the outskirts of the village. Then he offered his hand in greeting and she shook it. A warm, firm grip enveloped her fingers. His smile vanished as he continued. “I wanted to convey my condolences. I knew Elisa, your mother, a little. We met at the odd fête in the village. We – I and my parents – were very sorry to hear of her passing.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur Cabrol. My name is Madeleine Winters. I’m Elizabeth’s daughter…as you already know.” She began to relax in his company. “You’re from the Château de Minervens?” She’d seen the signposts for the large domaine.

  He nodded. “Yes, it is our family business. We have a stand at many fêtes in the area.”

  Fêtes were the lifeblood of French towns and villages over the summer. Elizabeth would have visited some of them, she was certain. “Mum felt at home here,” she mused. Then she remembered her appointment. “Oh, I’m sorry I can’t offer you a coffee, but I’m just about to leave for a meeting at the notaire’s.”

  “Please don’t worry, Miss Winters. I’m sure we’ll meet again. Minervens isn’t such a big place.” He half-turned before he added, “I hope all goes well.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. I’m sure it will.” She let the ‘Miss’ slide.

  “Au revoir.” He waved and walked to an old Land Rover parked on the street just outside her gate, clicking the central locking open when he approached the driver’s door.

  “Au revoir.” Maddie raised her hand briefly, as she watched him get into his car.

  She shut the door, ignoring the little flutter in her heart that she hadn’t felt for years. Léon Cabrol was just a friendly neighbour, and she, a mere visitor, never to return after the sale of the house. Nothing more.

  “Bonjour,” the notaire’s assistant greeted her on her arrival at their office in Carcassonne. “Please take a seat. Maître Martin will be with you shortly.”

  “Merci.” Maddie smiled her thanks and sat on a leather-covered chair in the small waiting room. She glanced at photos on the walls of the famous Cité – Carcassonne’s rebuilt fortress – and the surrounding countryside. Vineyards where the eye could reach, behind them the distant, snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees. The area was beautiful, she had to admit. Blue sky, green vines, and brimming with history. She understood why her mother had loved the area so.

  “Madame Winters?” A suave man, probably in his mid-fifties with grey streaks running through black hair, appeared and looked at her expectantly. She nodded. “Suivez-moi, s’il vous plaît.”

  Maddie took her bag and
made her way to his office where they shook hands before he closed the door behind her. “Bonjour.”

  “Bonjour. Please.”

  She took the seat he indicated on one side of his desk before he settled into a comfortable-looking leather office chair.

  “Thank you, Maître. I appreciate you seeing me at such short notice.”

  “It is perfectly understandable, Madame Winters. I’m very sorry about your mother’s death. Madame Beauchamp was not only a client but also a dear friend.” He tapped a blue file on his desk. “She has entrusted me with her will and left very clear instructions about her property where, I believe, you are currently staying.”

  “Yes, I’m at her house whilst I’m here.”

  “Would you care to share with me what your plans are for it?” He tilted his head and looked at her expectantly.

  “Well, I have to sell it. I live in England, where I work. I can’t afford to keep two houses, and I have no links to Minervens.”

  “That’s a pity,” Maître Martin said, a hint of sadness in his eyes. He fished a pair of narrow, black-rimmed glasses from a case on his desk and placed them on the tip of his long nose.

  “Why?” Maddie’s defence went up. “There’s not a problem with it, is there?” Visions of demolition and subsidence sprang to mind.

  “As a matter of fact…” He opened the file and removed a few sheets tied together with ribbon, the front entitled, Testament.

  Maddie’s heart plummeted. What devious plan had her mother concocted to make her life miserable even after her death? All she wanted now was for it to be over.

  The notaire looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “I will read out your mother’s final testament in its entirety. I trust your French is good enough to understand all implications?”

  “Yes, it is. I grew up in Normandy and lived in France until I went to university in England.” She had been in her late teens, and keen to start her own, independent life. “My mother and I always spoke in French.”

  “So I gathered, but I needed to be certain. Now, please listen carefully, then ask any questions you may have. The will explains everything…”

  As Maddie listened, her despair grew as the notaire relayed her mother’s last wishes to her. Incomprehension warred with disappointment and anger.

  “What the—” She shook her head and held up her hand when he halted mid-sentence. “Je suis désolée. Please continue.”

  Inside, she was seething. Elizabeth had done it again. She had always thwarted Maddie’s progress. At first, her mother hadn’t wanted her to move to York when the offer of a university place came in, then she developed a keen dislike of Brian, Maddie’s ex-husband, for no clear reason other than having avoided men all her life after giving birth to her. Over the years, she had repeatedly asked her to join her in France, which Maddie always declined.

  Maddie had no idea what had motivated her mother, but she had grown tired of her manipulations – and of Elizabeth’s continued silence about who Maddie’s father was. Not surprisingly, there was no mention of him at all. This small but most important fact disappointed her the most.

  Maître Martin concluded the reading. “Your mother signed this testament on 26th August, 2017, in front of two witnesses in form of Madame Bernadette Albert, her neighbour, and my assistant. Later, when she was in hospital for her cancer treatment, she called me to confirm that this would indeed be her last will. Now, do you have any questions?”

  “Absolutely.” Maddie’s blood pumped in her ears, and she took a deep breath to calm her ragged nerves. “Can I just confirm…that I have to stay in my mother’s house for a year before I can sell it? I mean, actually live in it for a full twelve months? And that I have access to her bank account only to pay for any renovation works for the duration, with you authorising the payments?”

  “Yes, that is correct, Madame Winters. That was your mother’s wish.” Maître Martin kept his voice neutral, but he showed a hint of a kind, understanding smile.

  “And what happens if I’m unable to oblige her? Am I disinherited?”

  “No. You can’t be removed from a French will, as you are automatically entitled to the estate. However, if you are unable to proceed according to Madame Beauchamp’s conditions contained herein,” he tapped the paper, “then the house will remain empty.”

  “Forever?”

  He nodded, then sighed. “Madame, your mother made it very clear that she wanted you to experience life here in the south of France. It was her greatest wish.”

  Anger soared through her, and it took all her efforts to stay civil. “But I can’t afford to take a year out of work and not earn any money. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Then you will have to keep the property empty until such time that you can do so.”

  “But…I can’t. It’s impossible. I’m involved in projects at the university in York. And I’m in the process of writing a book, for which I need to be there to conduct my research.”

  “The Languedoc is the perfect region for writing—”

  “But not about Vikings!”

  Maddie sighed, then quickly apologised. It wasn’t the notaire’s fault that Elizabeth had let her down – again. She felt like telling him to stick it, but instead, she said, “D’accord. I’ll have to think about how to do this.”

  “That is perfectly understandable, Madame. But I must know: you do not contest the will?”

  “No, what would be the point?”

  He nodded. “Then may I ask you to sign and date here as proof that you have understood – and you accept – the implications of the testament?” He pointed at duplicate documents, both requiring her signature.

  Maddie obliged, then took one copy he handed her. “And if I need permission to buy stuff for renovations…”

  “…please contact me anytime. Here is my card. I’ll be happy to assist you.”

  She tucked the offered card into a pocket inside her bag. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Thank you, Madame Winters. And courage!” He smiled as he shook her hand. “You may come to like our beautiful area as your mother hoped for.”

  She let out a dry laugh. “True. Who knows!” she said half in jest. “Goodbye.”

  Passing through reception, she waved a polite ‘Au revoir’ at the assistant, and left the office.

  Outside, she paused and took a deep breath. She was still seething. What utter nonsense! Elizabeth had added that condition to spite her. So now, Maddie had to either sit on an empty house for the rest of her life, or do her work from here. Yes, the dig was almost finished, and she didn’t have to visit the site any longer, but her next history project about the discovery, with all the new-found knowledge about that settlement, required suitable internet access. She would need to Skype and to research online, and she doubted the connection in her mother’s house would be any good.

  But more importantly, did she really want to swap city life for this backyard, however pretty it was?

  She walked briskly to her parked car and pressed the key fob.

  “Blast!”

  Frustrated, she steered the little Fiat out of the parking space, and within a few minutes, she had joined the town’s one-way system which was leading her around in circles. She laughed hysterically. “The wheels on the bus go round and round…” she howled, ignoring questioning looks from other drivers. Sod them!

  Once she was home, she would call Brian. She had to let steam off somewhere.

  Chapter Four

  The Feast of Easter, AD 777

  Carisiacum, Neustria

  The knock on the door startled Hilda, and she nearly pricked her finger with the needle. She looked up from her embroidery and exchanged glances with Amalberga, her mother’s cousin and her companion since her mother’s death. Widowed at a young age, Amalberga had made it her task to look after her.

  They had just settled into their morning routine. At times, attending the court could be exciting, but it also meant long spells of boredom – such as when
the men withdrew to talk of warfare and such. Used to her father discussing all manners of issues with her at Vaulun, and seemingly valuing her opinion, she craved to hear any tidings, but she had barely seen him since their arrival.

  “Who could it be?” Hilda wondered, as she watched Amalberga open the latch.

  “Lord.” Her companion stepped aside to allow Milo to enter.

  Though his visit pleased Hilda, it also surprised her. Had Father not to attend the king?

  “Thank you, Amalberga. Would you let me speak with my daughter…alone?”

  Had something gone awry?

  Amalberga nodded. “Of course, Lord Milo.” She cast a quick glance at Hilda before she left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Hilda secured the needle, then placed her embroidery into a basket at her feet and stood to extend her hands to him in welcome. “I wish you a good morn, Father. Please sit. What brings you here so early?”

  The benign smile on his face made her skin prickle. She knew him too well. Smiles and chatter always preceded something unexpected.

  Milo sat on the stool vacated by Amalberga, close to her, rather than on the comfortable armchair. Something was amiss. She took her seat again.

  “Dear daughter.”

  Oh, sweet Lady! She swallowed, her gaze focusing on a dropped needle on the floor. “Father?” She did not dare move.

  “I’ve come with news, child. Good news,” he added, raising his hand as her eyes met his and she opened her mouth to speak. “Please let me finish.”

  Hilda knotted her hands in her lap. He couldn’t have… She nodded, regarding him with wary eyes.

  Milo sighed. “This brings me pain, but also happiness, as I won’t have to worry so much anymore. I believe you may have an inkling, but I would like a chance to explain, first.” He leaned his elbows on his thighs and folded his hands, his expression solemn. “You are now almost seven-and-ten years old. A young lady. A pretty lady who would no doubt soon gather a growing group of admirers. Men from all over the kingdom.”