The French Prize

by Cathryn Hein

  And came face-to-face with Raimund.

  His movements were swift and determined. In one step he was in front of her, his hands cupping her face and his lips touching hers in a deliciously sensuous kiss that turned her heartbeat erratic and groin throbbing. Then as abruptly as it had happened, he let her go.

  ‘Be careful,’ he said.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ she asked, half numb with shock, half bursting with lust.

  ‘For the same reason you did.’ He nodded towards the staircase. ‘You had better not keep your friend waiting.’

  Olivia hesitated. She didn’t want to see Dame Elizabeth. She wanted to stay where she was, with him. Press her body against his skin, join her lips with his and revel in the unbelievable joy of his touch.

  ‘Go,’ he said, pointing to the stairs. ‘Ask her what you need to, and then leave. I’ll be waiting.’

  Obeying his instructions, she bounded up the steps, the slap of her sandals echoing off the tiles. The sooner her chat with Dame Elizabeth was over, the sooner she could return to him. Then they’d talk. Properly.

  And work out where this was heading, if anywhere.

  At the top of the stairs, she looked to the left and then right, unsure which way to go. With a shrug she chose right and by sheer luck found a small brass plaque spelling out Dame Elizabeth’s name on the door at the end of the hall.

  She found the door slightly ajar, as though Dame Elizabeth had left it open for her. She tapped on the timber and then pushed. The door swung wide.

  She stepped through the entrance.

  The curtains were drawn on a small foyer. Leaving the front door open, she took another pace forward. Peering through the doorway in front of her, Olivia saw what looked to be a lounge, but there was no sign of Dame Elizabeth. She took a breath to call her name, then heard the sound of the front door softly clicking closed.

  She whirled round. The grin she hadn’t been able to remove since Raimund kissed her froze.

  ‘Good afternoon, Doctor Walker,’ said Gaston Poulin, lounging next to the door with his arm slung around Dame Elizabeth’s shoulders. ‘So nice of you to join us.’

  Olivia opened her mouth to scream for Raimund.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think it would be wise to do that.’ He pointed to the knife he had pressed against Dame Elizabeth’s throat. ‘I’m sure you would not like to see your mentor hurt. Although, I have to admit, I would find killing her quite pleasurable. She can be very nasty.’

  ‘You do realise you smell,’ said Dame Elizabeth, apparently unperturbed by her predicament.

  Fear choked Olivia’s throat. She swallowed it away. Fear wouldn’t help her. She needed to think.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  The question was directed at Dame Elizabeth but it was Gaston who answered.

  ‘Oh yes, quite fine now you’re here.’

  ‘Oh do shut up,’ snapped Dame Elizabeth. ‘Your accent is giving me a headache.’

  Gaston ignored her. He used his free hand to indicate the doorway behind Olivia. ‘I’m sure we will all be more comfortable sitting down. After you, Doctor Walker.’

  Doctor Walker.

  He knew her name. He knew Dame Elizabeth had been her mentor. He knew who she was. The realisation left her aghast.

  Backing away, she fumbled in her purse for the phone.

  ‘Hands out of your purse and on your head, please.’

  When she didn’t immediately comply, Gaston pointed the knife blade at Dame Elizabeth’s throat and dug it in. A bead of blood appeared at the tip, scarlet and glistening.

  ‘I suggest you do it now.’

  Horror-struck, Olivia did as she was told.

  ‘That is much better, don’t you think?’

  ‘Did you learn that move from one of those ridiculous American crime shows?’ asked Dame Elizabeth. ‘If you did, then it is quite no wonder you have gone insane.’

  A tic leapt underneath Gaston’s right eye.

  ‘Please, Dame Elizabeth. Don’t provoke him.’

  Despite her recalcitrance, in Gaston’s arms, the old lady looked as frail as an autumn leaf. But Dame Elizabeth appeared to be in a fighting mood and paid her warning no attention.

  ‘I will provoke him all I like. How dare he come in to my house uninvited?’ She stomped a foot in emphasis. ‘So typical of the French. No manners. And,’ she said, her voice rising in outrage, ‘they smell!’

  ‘Then perhaps it is time you went home.’ Gaston’s brown eyes glinted in the dim light as he articulated his next words. ‘In a coffin.’

  ‘Not funny, you idiotic man, but unsurprising, really. The French never did possess any wit.’

  ‘Please,’ implored Olivia, her panic rising.

  Gaston took a step forward, dragging Dame Elizabeth with him. ‘Move.’

  Fearing what either might do if she took her eyes off them, Olivia backed towards the doorway, her sandals clipping on the tiles then quieting as they touched carpet.

  She risked a rapid glance over her shoulder. A large sofa was in line with her retreat. She sped up, and then gratefully collapsed on it when her legs bumped the edge.

  ‘Not there, Doctor Walker.’ Gaston pointed towards the heavy brocade armchair facing the sofa. ‘There.’

  Her hands still on her head, Olivia moved across to the other seat.

  While Gaston lugged a thin-mouthed Dame Elizabeth to the sofa, she surveyed the room, looking for an escape route. None was immediately apparent, but she understood why Gaston had made her change position.

  The room was at the rear of the hôtel. Her chair was aligned with the exterior corner. The two walls she faced, towards which Gaston now had his back, contained several large windows but no exit. Behind her, the room’s other two walls were covered from floor to ceiling in book-laden shelves. Each had a doorway—one which led to the entrance hall, another which appeared to lead to a dining room. She could make a dash for either, but the price would be an old lady’s life.

  With the blade still pointed to Dame Elizabeth’s throat and his arm casually slung over her shoulder as though they were dear friends, Gaston settled onto the sofa and regarded Olivia.

  ‘Now, Doctor Walker. I believe it’s time we had a chat.’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Ah, so you finally noticed. I wondered when you would. So clever of me to discover your identity, don’t you think?’

  Olivia thought not.

  Neither did Dame Elizabeth. ‘Hardly clever, you stupid man. Olivia is quite renowned in her field.’

  ‘If you do not keep your mouth shut,’ said Gaston conversationally, ‘I will be impelled to cut out your tongue.’

  His words sent a surge of bile into Olivia’s throat. She swallowed it back down then coughed.

  ‘Désolé,’ said Gaston. ‘Sometimes I forget the sensitivities of others. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Explaining how I came to determine your name. Well,’ he said, leaning back and making himself more comfortable, ‘I will admit to being a little intrigued after our last encounter. What was such an enchanting woman doing with Raimund Blancard? The same woman who had also been at the chateau.’ His lips curled up as he forced his next words through clenched teeth. ‘The same woman who helped him find La Tasse.’

  Dame Elizabeth slapped her hands together with glee. ‘You found it?’

  ‘Tongue,’ said Gaston.

  In defiance, Dame Elizabeth poked hers out, though it was a half-hearted show of bravado. The word had worked. She said nothing further, but the sapphire-blue eyes she fixed on Olivia were almost luminous with excitement.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Olivia. ‘All I know is that Raimund and I were enjoying a picnic when someone started shooting at us.’

  ‘Please don’t treat me like a fool, Doctor Walker. I’m sure Raimund has already informed you of my background. I’m far from unintelligent.’

  Dame Elizabeth opened her mouth. In a desperate bid to stop her speaking, Olivi
a removed her hands from her head and held them up, palms out in the universal sign to stop. The old lady let out a grunt, but otherwise remained silent.

  ‘Hands back on your head,’ barked Gaston.

  She slapped them back into place. She might have earned his ire, but at least she’d prevented Dame Elizabeth from uttering something else inflammatory. From the rabid look in his eyes, their captor’s patience was wearing thin.

  Gaston continued with his story as though nothing had happened, his tone conversational. Three friends in a drawing room, having a chat.

  ‘Who could this beauty be, I wondered. If she was assisting Raimund, then she had to be some sort of historian or perhaps an archaeologist.’ He smiled. ‘You made it so easy for me. After all, how many Australian historians possessing the sort of expertise Raimund would need can there be? Once I had your name, the rest was simple.’

  He tickled Dame Elizabeth under the chin as if she were a child. The old lady’s teeth bared in a snarl, but she kept her counsel and Olivia hoped at last her silent pleas had worked.

  ‘People are too willing to talk to the media, don’t you think, Doctor Walker? All you need to do is phone them and say you are writing a piece about a fascinating creature such as yourself and the words come pouring out. In no time, I had all the information I needed. Although, it appears you’ve lied to your friends and colleagues, Doctor Walker. So many told me you were holidaying in Australia, I had to telephone your parents to confirm that was not the case. Your mother sounded very concerned.’

  Olivia half rose from the chair. Her chest heaved as she tried to suck in oxygen. ‘You bastard!’

  ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk. Don’t be like that.’ He nodded at the chair. ‘Sit back down. You are spoiling things.’

  She sat, but her fear had given way to cold rage.

  Dame Elizabeth cast her a secret smile, as though she had sensed the change and encouraged it.

  ‘Then there was all that gossip about Dame Thatcher and how close you were. I deduced it would be only a matter of time before you contacted your mentor. All I had to do was keep watch.’ He grinned madly. ‘And I was right! So clever of me, don’t you think?’

  Olivia said nothing, her frame on edge while she forced her expression blank, remembering how Raimund acted when he didn’t want to give away anything. How still he kept his face.

  Gaston looked at Dame Elizabeth. ‘You are not well-liked in this building, did you realise that?’

  ‘I can assure you,’ the old lady retaliated, ‘the sentiment is quite mutual.’

  Gaston returned to addressing Olivia. ‘It appears Dame Elizabeth has an unbreakable habit. Every afternoon, at exactly three o’clock, she leaves her rooms, walks to the Cours Mirabeau and takes a seat at Les Deux Garçons. Imagine my surprise when today she breaks a habit of some years.’ He looked at Dame Elizabeth again and sighed, as if irked at being robbed of a challenge. ‘You both made it so easy. I did not even have to think hard.’

  For a brief moment, Olivia closed her eyes, cursing her stupidity. How simple it had been for him. Raimund’s elaborate security systems were just a waste of technology when there was human frailty to exploit. Gaston knew that all he had to do was wait and she would come to him.

  ‘You didn’t know for certain I would come here. You could have wasted your time.’

  He sighed. ‘While you are entirely correct, you also underestimate me. Dame Thatcher was not the only avenue I explored.’ He leaned forward, his crazed eyes narrowed, his voice oily and menacing. ‘I would have found you. Sooner or later.’ He sat back. ‘Now, I do think it’s time we returned to business, don’t you?’

  Olivia breathed deeply through her nose. How long had she been here? With her hands on her head, there was no way to check her watch. She slid her eyes around the room but couldn’t find a timepiece within view. Raimund was waiting downstairs. How much longer before he sensed something was wrong? She had to stall, to give him time to realise she was in trouble, and that meant lying about La Tasse.

  Although she was trapped by Gaston’s arm and that horribly blood-tinted blade, Dame Elizabeth’s blue eyes still sparkled across the space at her. Very slowly, the old lady nodded, the right side of her wrinkled mouth turned up in encouragement. Olivia understood. Dame Elizabeth wanted her to fight.

  So fight she would.

  ‘Recite to me La Chanson,’ commanded Gaston.

  She puffed out a breath as though tired of his insistence. ‘I don’t have the cup.’

  ‘I suppose you taught her to be like this,’ he said to Dame Elizabeth.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied triumphantly. ‘Makes one rather proud, too.’

  ‘If she keeps this up, it will make one rather dead.’

  The threat was made so casually, it took a second for the words to hit home. Olivia dug her nails into her scalp, wishing she knew what to do. Could she risk further prevarication or would one more denial tip him over the edge? She tried to keep her breathing calm, to draw on the icy rage that had only moments earlier given her courage, but her eyes kept drawing back to the drop of blood darkening on the tip of the knife.

  ‘You have La Tasse,’ said Gaston. ‘Or, more correctly, Raimund has it. It was in the aluminium case he held so tightly during our little tête-à-tête on the Cours. I should have realised at the time, but perhaps,’ he smiled in a way that made the bile rise in her stomach, ‘I was too overcome by your loveliness.’ The smile disappeared, replaced with a half-snarl. ‘Recite to me La Chanson or I will hurt your friend in a way you cannot even begin to imagine.’

  Olivia closed her eyes against the hot sting of tears.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ yelled Dame Elizabeth. ‘Don’t you dare tell this fiend anything!’

  ‘Personally, I gain a certain pleasure from torture, Doctor Walker. However, I suspect you will not. This is your last chance to reveal La Chanson. It would be an error not to take it, don’t you think?’

  A scalding tear slid down Olivia’s cheek.

  ‘I would prefer to die! Do you understand? Let him slit my throat, but don’t you dare utter a word!’

  She opened her eyes. Dame Elizabeth’s glowed back at her like fiery blue opals. It was a look she knew would haunt her forever.

  ‘Naturally,’ said Gaston, regarding Dame Elizabeth as if she were a mouth-watering morsel awaiting his delectation, ‘the first place I will begin is with her tongue. Perhaps that might teach her to be quiet.’

  ‘Don’t you dare give in, Olivia!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, and although she said it to Dame Elizabeth, it was meant for Raimund.

  Drawing on every scrap of strength she had left, she turned to Gaston.

  ‘Follow the Honourables’ path —’

  Dame Elizabeth cut her off with a screech to make a banshee proud.

  Gaston simply sighed.

  CHAPTER

  15

  With shocking ease, Gaston lifted the blade to Dame Elizabeth’s right ear and jerked it upwards. The bottom part of the lobe flicked off in a spurt of blood and white flesh.

  Dame Elizabeth let out a shriek that tore Olivia’s heart in two, and then attacked her captor with a ferocity that belied her years. She clawed at Gaston with hooked fingers, her eyes furious, howling at him in outrage and pain.

  Seizing her chance, Olivia jolted upright and darted forward, desperate to separate Dame Elizabeth from this monster, but she was too late. Gaston clamped his arm hard around Dame Elizabeth’s flailing arms and pinned them to her sides, then pointed the knife back at the old lady’s throat.

  ‘Arrêtez! ’

  She halted, one foot half lifted off the ground.

  ‘Asseyez-vous! ’

  Olivia searched for a reason not to comply, but there was none. Dame Elizabeth’s life remained in the balance.

  Gaston eyed her, and then reverted to English. ‘Sit down, Doctor Walker, or I will remove more than part of your friend’s ear.’

  She took two steps back and sa
t, perched on the edge of the chair, her heart pumping adrenaline, her flesh tingling with the need for action, but knowing Gaston had her trapped. Her gaze settled on Dame Elizabeth. Blood streaked the old lady’s neck crimson, trailing in the furrows of her wrinkles, while droplets glinted in her light-grey hair like tiny Christmas baubles. The piece of flesh that once formed the base of her earlobe sat on the carpet near her feet, ghoulishly pale against the navy pile.

  ‘I did warn you,’ said Gaston. ‘But now I trust there will be no more of this nonsense. Doctor Walker, if you please. Continue.’

  ‘Stand up, Olivia.’

  Olivia’s head whipped round. Relief eased her strained muscles. Raimund stood in the doorway, his eyes on Gaston. He was unarmed, but from his stance, the blank expression and the way he seemed balanced, poised at the edge of movement, it didn’t seem to matter. The man himself was weapon enough.

  Gaston let out a long sigh. ‘Must you spoil all my fun, Raimund?’

  ‘Move, Olivia.’

  She began to rise, but with one word from Gaston she froze.

  ‘Tongue.’

  Half crouching, she stared at Gaston, at Dame Elizabeth and then back at Raimund. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Sensible as well as attractive. You have too much good fortune, Raimund. Now if you do not mind, please place your hands on your head and take exactly three paces to your left.’

  Raimund didn’t move.

  The knife dug into Dame Elizabeth’s throat. She let out a snort. ‘Go on, coward. Kill me. Then see how you fare against —’ She raised an eyebrow at Olivia. ‘I take it the hero here is your boyfriend? Rather dishy for a Frenchman, isn’t he?’

  Olivia ignored the question. She stared at Raimund, willing him to do as Gaston ordered.

  ‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘He’ll kill her.’

  His eyes flickered to hers and then back to Gaston’s but he remained immobile.

  Gaston gave another of his theatrical sighs. ‘Blancards always were stubborn to the point of stupidity. Your brother was no different.’ His eyes narrowed as if assessing his options, then he hoisted Dame Elizabeth to her feet, the knife held sideways against her throat, the blade shiny with the blood from her ear. The threat was clear. With one easy pull, Gaston could sever Dame Elizabeth’s neck to the bone. And he looked more than ready to do it.