by Anna Katmore
The plane taxied back then rolled to the runway. I stared straight ahead, focusing on the headrest in front of me.
The captain announced the time in France would be one hour ahead of British time and the weather on the mainland was supposed to be sunny and close to thirty degrees centigrade. He expected the flight to take sixty minutes. There shouldn’t be turbulence, just a slight rattle when the aircraft crossed the border of the island to the sea.
Bloody brilliant. This was going to be one hell of an hour.
A HAPPY THOUGHT
SITTING WITH MY back pressed to the seat, I really didn’t want to look through the small porthole window, but I couldn’t help myself. Outside, parts of the wing moved up and down with an eerie creak as the aircraft came to a standstill at the start of the runway. My stomach churned.
“Don’t be afraid.” Julian leaned toward me, and the warmth of his breath slowed the rollercoaster in my belly. “They are not loose parts. It’s standard procedure. The captain’s testing everything before takeoff.”
“Isn’t now a bit late to be testing everything?”
“That’s routine, believe me.”
I hoped he wasn’t bullshitting me. Tipping my head back to my seat, I focused toward the front.
Seconds passed, the sound of the revving engine dotted my forehead with beads of cold sweat.
The instant the airplane shot forward with break-neck speed, my back plastered into the seat. My knuckles turned white with the strength of my grip on the armrests.
Dear God, I’m too young to die. I had yet to get my driver’s license!
If only Peter Pan was here. He would know what to do. Think a happy thought. Think a happy thought. My lips moved as I repeated the mantra in my mind like a prayer. But, alas, no happy thought came to me.
The craft flew down the runway like a rocket, the world outside zoomed past in a blur. If I could have moved a single muscle, I might have made the sign of the cross. Instead I begged the Lord for a painless end.
All of a sudden, a feather brushed the back of my clenched fist. No, not a feather. Julian’s fingers were as soft as a whisper. I sneaked a glance to my right and fell into gorgeous sapphire eyes.
Slowly he unclenched my fingers and laced his through mine. “Everything’s all right.”
His light tone tempted me to believe him. His touch filled me with trust and comfort and left no doubt I’d be safe as long as he held me. He squeezed my hand. A beautiful, crooked smile appeared on his face.
Gee, here was my happy thought.
Then I went deaf. Something got stuck in my ear. But my breaths became calmer, and inside my boots, my toes uncurled.
The plane climbed the sky with an ease I would have never thought possible. I dragged in a deep breath and my ears unplugged. Julian’s gentle hold kept me grounded. And when I could tear my gaze from our joined hands, I dared a look out of the oval window.
London from above was a marvelous sight. But seeing the metropolis shrinking underneath the plane’s belly also confirmed the end of life as I had known it for years. Ripped from my island, I was being exported to slavery for an endless six weeks.
Julian’s hand was still covering mine. Slowly, my fingers withdrew from his. This was the second time he’d touched me that day, and similar to the first, my entire body had calmed and warmed from the inside. It was unlikely he even realized how I reacted to him. How much I appreciated his caress and the soothing effect it had on me. All the better. I’d die of shame if he found out.
Avoiding his stare, I focused on the attention-consuming task of wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans.
“I guess you’re feeling better.” He leaned forward to retrieve a book from his backpack underneath the seat in front of him and stuck his nose in the pages.
I cleared my throat, turning my gaze anywhere but toward him.
In front of me, a man stood and rummaged in the overhead compartment. He lowered to his seat with a white pillow in his hand and stuffed it behind his neck. My eyes squeezed shut for a second. But this only made me all the more aware of the unfamiliar, pleasant sensation still surging through me. My heart felt warm, like someone was pointing the heated stream of a hairdryer straight at it.
I hugged my arms around my waist and pulled my legs to my chest, my feet resting on the seat. Positioned like this, I felt a little more protected…from the eerie effect Julian had on me without his knowing.
Like the captain had foreseen, the crossing of the border between land and sea didn’t go so smooth. A series of rattles shook the aircraft and threatened to shatter it at any moment. Panic grabbed hold of me anew, but this time I took care to keep my trembling hands in my lap and out of Julian’s reach. The book was still held up to his eyes as if he was deeply emerged in the story, but he glanced at me every so often.
For as long as the rattle went on, I doubled my effort to even my breathing. “No need to touch me again,” I muttered, frowning at him sideways.
Julian closed his eyes, his lips compressed, and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “As you wish.”
I wish to hell you’d stop laughing at me, you oaf! Argh, why did I even care what he thought of me?
I shot a glare at the dozing bundle in the window seat. “And the dragon sleeps like a stone while the world is falling apart around us. That fits. Always oblivious to the rest of the world.”
Just then, I caught Julian’s free hand gently stroking her forearm. What the bloody hell—? So he was her lover after all. A balloon of jealousy exploded in my chest. It was unthinkable what his tender caress would do to her when I was so deeply affected by his slightest touch.
The stroking stopped.
A frown creased my brow. His lips thinned to a line as his hand slid away from my mother’s arm and clasped the book again. Long lashes shielding the blue of his eyes, he kept his gaze on the pages.
A moan rose from my mother as she stirred, but Julian didn’t move. On purpose I assumed. Trying to hide from me his deep concern for her.
With the absence of his touch, my mother became fitful. She awoke, her face contorted with lines of pain. A minute later, she sat up straight, gazing out through the tiny window. And all that just because he wasn’t touching her any longer.
My eyes locked with Julian’s as my blood ran cold.
Though the rest of the flight went by without any further incident, my breath hissed out in relief when the wheels touched the French ground. When the illuminated sign went off above our heads, we unbuckled our seatbelts and got off the plane. My mother clung to Julian’s arm as they descended the stairs. I followed on their heels.
Sweat beaded on my skin. Once inside the air-conditioned building, I wiped my forehead with the sleeve of my sweater. Compared to the mild temperatures in Britain, France felt like a furnace.
At the luggage claim, we didn’t have to wait long before our things came circling on the conveyer. Our baggage in tow, we exited the terminal to find a couple waiting for us by a dark gray SUV.
The tall man, dressed in beige shorts and a black shirt, had wrapped his arm around a smaller woman at his side. Long strawberry-blonde hair cascaded down her back. Her face lit up as she spotted us, and she came running. She greeted my mother and Julian in French, hugged and kissed them. Julian had to bend to receive a peck on both his cheeks. Releasing him, the woman turned to me, beaming like a hundred-watt bulb.
Instinct had me backing off, my hands raised in self-defense. “We better skip the kissing.”
The lady held out her hand to me and said, “Hello, chérie, I am Marie Runné, your aunt.”
She swallowed the H of hello, and I’d never heard someone pronounce the letter R in such a funny way. Fighting back a snicker, I shook her hand from two feet away. No need to run the risk of being pulled into an involuntary hug.
“This is my husband, Albert.” She dragged out the last bit of his name like he was called Al-bear. The name fit. He was indeed as tall as a bear, though his silver-gray hair resemble
d the fur of a wolf’s back.
“Bonjour, Jona. My wife and I are happy you decided to come and stay with us.”
I shoved my hands deep into my pants’ pockets and gazed straight into his green eyes. “I was given no choice.”
Marie’s voice remained soft as she spoke again. “It was very brave of you to travel so far to a place where you do not know anyone. But you will find we are family. Do not be afraid. We shall take good care of you.”
Hello? Did I give the impression of being frightened? She could hardly hold the aversion to kissing strangers against me, could she? I narrowed my eyes and gritted my teeth. “I’m not scared of anything.”
A train of fuzzy warmth spiraled down my neck the moment Julian leaned close to my left ear from behind. His voice was low as he said, “We both know at least one thing that scares you out of your wits, don’t we?” Then the fiend picked up my backpack and chuckled all the way to the car’s rear.
That boy got on my nerves.
The car was spacious enough to hold the three of us in the backseat without being squeezed in like sausages. With Julian separating me from my mother, I kept my back turned to him and stared out the window. It took a long, seventy-minute drive to get to the place at which I was supposed to do time until my birthday.
In spite of all the misery I had yet to face in this country, France was a beautiful place. In London, brick buildings and hectic traffic had closed in on me as soon as I’d stepped out of the orphanage. Here, trees lined the single-lane streets. Lakes, meadows, and hills with all kinds of slopes produced an enchanting landscape. It seemed as if the beauty of the country strived to calm everyone’s stressed out day.
Unfortunately, my mother’s company and the charity work I was bound to do cast an eerie shadow over the surreal peace. The strangers in the front seats tried to make friendly conversation with me, which I was so not interested in. But apart from all that, I might have even liked it here.
A soft poke in my ribs made me jump. Julian jerked his chin to the windshield. “We’re almost there. This is—” He paused and pursed his lips. “The residence of your vacation.”
“We might as well call a spade a spade.” With one eyebrow cocked, I offered, “The place for slave labor?”
“Your temporary home.”
“How very nice.” Flashing my teeth in the parody of a smile, I dismissed him and read the sign next to the road.
Bienvenue à Fontvieille.
Albert steered through the narrow streets of the small town and a little farther until the line of houses and shops gave way to woods and stony paths. The car came to a halt in the driveway of an impressive property.
I climbed out of the car when the others did and gaped at the estate. To call it beautiful would have been a vast understatement. It looked like somebody had waved a wand and I’d arrived in a fairytale.
Surrounded by a caramel-brown picket fence, the house stood two stories. Front door, window frames, and the long balcony on one side adopted the color of the fence, while the sun reflected off the shiny white exterior and blinded my eyes.
I couldn’t name the red, yellow, and violet flowers offering dwellings to butterflies and bees, but they hung profusely from the rectangular planters attached to each windowsill. A gentle wind fluttered the curtains like the twirling tutu of a ballerina. I couldn’t wait to get inside to find out if the interior measured up with the fantasy façade.
Too amazed to even flinch, I stood rigid when my aunt rubbed both my upper arms with her soft hands. “Welcome home, Jona.”
Home. The word lingered in my ears like the soft rustle on a midsummer’s evening.
Marie let go of me, leaving my skin chilled in the unfamiliar French heat. She walked to the front door with my mother’s arm looped around hers, followed by Albert, who carried our baggage.
I was set to fall into line with them, when a brown and white furry beast trotted around the corner of the mansion. I stopped dead. It came right for me with a murderous glint in its eyes, cutting me off from the safety of the house. Shit, it must have devoured a kid only minutes ago. The white shoelaces still hung from its jaws.
The pony-sized dog lifted its muzzle to my hand and sniffed. Afraid my wince might stir its appetite for dessert, I strangled the frightened sound in my throat.
The giant animal angled its head, gaping up at my face. A low grumble in its throat grew to the most blasé bark the world had ever heard. The laces tore away from its mouth and dropped as a puddle of dog-drool.
Julian’s laugh made me jump. “And here I was thinking the dog was mute.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lower lip, hating how he caught my every moment of fear.
“Sit, Lou-Lou,” he said. The mountain of fur lowered her butt to the ground. Her long tongue lolled out sideways between huge, but not very sharp canines. While her tail swished back and forth over the stone patio, Julian rubbed behind her wooly ear then dared to sling his arm casually over my shoulder and around my neck. “Shall we add dogs to the list of things that scare you senseless?”
The guy was seriously begging to be introduced to my great right hook. I challenged him with a pissed scowl as he dragged me toward the house. Before we reached the front steps, I managed to escape his grip and entered alone.
Hopefully, he would go to his own house soon, so I could be safe from his sneaky remarks and the bunch of butterflies he woke in my stomach each time he touched me. Actually, I couldn’t wait for him to leave.
My newly discovered family members gathered in the wide hallway of the house, speaking to each other in fluent French. They quickly switched to clipped English, casting me a welcoming smile when I walked in.
The dragon tried to smile at me, too, but somehow the corners of her mouth wouldn’t really lift. “It was a long and exhausting journey for me. I’ll get some rest. Marie will help you make yourself at home.”
At home, my arse. When would the bitch stop talking to me at last? I clamped down on my teeth, glowering at her until she disappeared into a room at the far end of the hall.
“I will make sure your mother is fine, then I shall give you a tour through the house if you like.” Marie flashed an excited beam at me.
Pivoting on the spot, I marveled at the light-flooded interior. With a nonchalant shrug I accepted her offer, although I was more than eager to see the rest of the house.
The oval hall held nothing more than a wardrobe and a credenza with a blue and white patterned vase sitting next to an old-fashioned landline phone. Carved wood doors in off-white opened in either direction. When I was sure nobody would notice, I leaned slightly to one side, peeking around the corner of what seemed to be a study. Shelves filled with books and collectibles lined the walls of the small room.
To the right of the hall, a flight of semi-winding stairs led to the second floor. Only when I traced the staircase up to the balustrade did I understand the uncommon brightness inside. Part of the roof sloped down over the open space in a garret with a huge dormer window, providing the imitation of a real sky inside the house.
“It’s a little bigger than your small room back in London, isn’t it?”
At Julian’s soft taunt I whirled about. He leaned against the doorjamb, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans.
I straightened and put on my well-rehearsed girlie grin. “You’re still here? Shouldn’t you be heading home to your family by now?” The mocking edge to my voice did nothing to rattle his relaxed composure.
“No, dear. Julian is living with us,” Marie said cheerfully as she exited my mother’s room and grabbed my wrist. “Come with me. I will show you the kitchen while I put on the kettle for a cup of tea.” She tugged on my arm until I followed her, but I couldn’t hide my horror as I caught Julian’s amused gaze.
As he winked, his beautiful blue eyes held the promise for a very special six weeks.
CINDERELLA’S CASTLE
IN A SPACIOUS kitchen, vanilla cupboards hugged white walls.
The warm smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the room. The oak table sat eight, and with me the sole occupant at one end, the thing extended like the runway of a fashion show.
The island in the middle of the room reflected in the stainless steel fridge door as Marie rummaged through the shelves. The metallic giant should have come with a map. It was clear Marie was getting lost in there.
“I hope Albert did not eat it all. Ah, here it is.” She emerged with a bundle enveloped in wax paper and grabbed a plate from one of the cupboards. She removed the wrapping, revealing a pastry of some kind, which she shoved in the microwave for a few seconds. Moments later, she placed the steaming snack in front of my folded arms.
With her elbows propped on the table, she lowered into the chair next to me. “Eat, chérie. You must be hungry.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. The same instant, my stomach gave a traitorous rumble.
Her laughter, like the peals of a tinkling bell, bounced off the walls and filled the room. “You are family, Jona, and very welcome in this house. Do not be shy to help yourself to anything.” The soft shine in her eyes made me feel she meant every single word.
But why now? What drove this woman to play the good auntie today, when for almost eighteen years she hadn’t even cared if I lived or died? This woman was a stranger to me. She’d never come to our small flat in Cambridge when I still lived with my mother, nor had Charlene ever mentioned a sister in France. I knew nothing about Marie and wondered how much more she knew of me.
Another rumble started in my gut. Embarrassed, I pressed my fist to my stomach and wished it would just shut up. My aunt flashed an understanding grin. I didn’t care for it. But it would have been a shame to throw away the delicious smelling food now that she’d already heated it. I pinched the puff pastry from the plate and nibbled at one end. The flavors exploded in my mouth. It was a crime not to lick my lips free of any crumbs that remained.
Happy that I was eating, Marie nodded. When the kettle on the marble counter gave a short beep, she placed a palm to my cheek for the briefest moment. Her hand was gone too quickly for me to even think about flinching from her touch.
