I don't have really close friends. Not the sort you tell secrets to, anyway. See, I was badly bullied in Year 7 by this girl and none of my so-called friends helped me at all. I think they were scared of her, or wanted to suck up to her cos she was one of the really cool people at school. I wasn't cool at all. It got so bad I was feeling sick in the stomach every day, and didn't want to go to school. Mum tried to talk to the principal about it, but that bully was clever, she did things in a sly way so she wouldn't get caught, and the principal didn't believe me. In the end Mum actually took me out of that school and put me in a new one. It was much better there but the experience had sort of put me off getting too close to other people.
It's not that I'm really a loner, I get on fine with kids at school these days, and I don't get bullied at all anymore, but I prefer to stay at a distance. It's best that way, I reckon. You don't get hurt.
'It is very kind of you to meet us, Monsieur Boron,' Mum said as he shepherded us out of the station towards his car, a green Peugeot parked a short distance away.
'Not at all, Madame,' he said, smiling. 'It is my pleasure, as well as my duty. I will drive you to Bellerive, where you are to stay, and we can talk a little along the way. No doubt you will have questions.'
'Of course,' said Mum, 'and my first one is this – what does Raymond's nephew think of this situation?'
A wary look came into the lawyer's blue eyes. 'Monsieur Oscar Dulac is aware of the ... er ... situation,' he said carefully.
Mum's eyes narrowed. 'Is aware of, perhaps, but does he accept it?'
'He knows it was his uncle's wish.'
'I see,' said Mum. 'So he isn't too happy. Is that it?'
'I am not in his confidences,' said Boron. 'But I assure you, Madame, that he is fully aware of the situation and will not put any barrier in your way. Besides, he does not have anything to complain about. You know he inherited the rest of his uncle's estate: a very nice house and land, and a large sum of money, not to speak of healthy book royalties. He was already a wealthy man; now he will be very well-off indeed.'
'Is he living in Raymond's house now?'
'Yes. He has lived in Bellerive Manor for the last two years, since he returned to France from Canada, where he made a tidy fortune on the stock market, I believe.'
'Then perhaps we should stay in a hotel in Avallon.'
'No,' said Boron, emphatically. 'It is arranged that you are to stay in the Manor. You will need to, if you are to catalogue and look over the library properly. It is a big house with many rooms. Oscar is away for a couple of days at present, so you can settle in before he returns.'
'But afterwards?'
'He has agreed you should stay as long as you need. Believe me, Madame, he will present no problem to you.'
We had reached the car. He unlocked the boot, put our bags in, and opened the doors. We got in, Mum in the front, me in the back, and he slid into the driver's seat. But instead of starting the car, he reached inside his jacket pocket and brought out an envelope.
'Monsieur Raymond Dulac was very particular you should be given this letter, in private, as soon as you arrived. This is why I wanted to meet you here rather than in my office or wait till you got to Bellerive.' He paused, and cleared his throat. 'It is addressed to you both. I will have to ask you, Madame, that you and your daughter keep the knowledge of the existence of this letter to yourselves.'
Mum's eyebrows rose. She took the letter, looked at both our names written with an inky flourish on the front of the envelope, turned it over, and murmured, 'How very mysterious.' To my intense annoyance, she was about to put the letter away in her handbag, when the lawyer inter-vened. 'Please open it now, Madame.' She looked surprised, and he continued, 'Those were my client's instructions. You were to be given this when you arrived and it was to be opened at once, before you got to Bellerive.'
'Come on, Mum, open it!' I said, impatiently, when she looked as though she was ready to raise an objection. I couldn't wait to hear what was in it.
She gave me a bit of a glare, but didn't say anything. She carefully opened the envelope, and slid out a single sheet of paper, covered in the same elegant handwriting. She began to read. I tried to read it, too, over her shoulder, but found it hard to decipher the writing in time to make sense of the French.
Meanwhile, Nicolas Boron sat, looking discreetly out of the window. But there was something tense about the way he waited. What was he tense about? He must know what was in that letter, mustn't he? Or maybe he didn't. Maybe Raymond Dulac had given it to him without telling him what was in it. Maybe it was a mystery to him too, a mystery he would like to clear up. Or maybe he knew and was wondering how Mum would react.
She read it twice. Still holding it, she turned to Boron and said, 'I don't understand. Why did this letter have to be kept secret?'
'Those were Monsieur Dulac's instructions,' said the lawyer stolidly.
'Yes, but why? This is a lovely letter, and there is truly nothing in it that could offend or hurt anyone or could –'
'Those are the instructions,' repeated the lawyer. 'Monsieur Dulac stressed the need for absolute discretion several times.'
'But there is no need for –'
'There is, Madame, as far as I'm concerned, and my late client was concerned,' said Boron quietly. 'In fact, if you and your daughter do not accept the need for discretion as to the existence of this letter, I am under instructions that you are not to be allowed access to the library, which will then be disposed of in a different way. You are to be compensated for your time and expenses, and are to be asked to return from where you came without going to Bellerive at all.'
Mum stared at him. She said, slowly, 'But you know the contents of this letter, don't you, Monsieur Boron?'
He nodded. But before he could speak, I cut in. 'Mum, please, tell me, what does it say? Please, can you read it to me? It was addressed to both of us, Monsieur Boron said.'
Mum gave Boron a hard look. 'Perhaps Monsieur Boron won't allow that, in case we all explode or something.'
He made a helpless gesture. 'Please. It is not my fault. Do read it to Mademoiselle Griffon, Madame.'
She made as if to say something, then thought better of it. She picked up the letter, and began to read it, translating in English as she went.
My dear Anne and Fleur, the letter started. You may find it odd to receive the words of a ghost, but you and I, we have been friends for a long time, even if we never met in the flesh. Dear friends, not in the mundane, everyday world, but through the magical Otherworld of words, of books, of beautiful stories, and the dreams of centuries.
I know, Anne, that you are interested in the same things as I am: King Arthur, fairytales, myths, all the green longings of the soul. And if I may be so bold, I think that you, Fleur, are a dreamer, a seeker, like me. My library needs someone who will love and understand it, as I know you will, Anne. And so it is yours, with everything in it. There are rare books and books not so rare but still interesting. There are also notebooks, detailing plans for my books, as well as ideas that never came to anything, collections of dreams, which it might interest you to peruse, Fleur – dreams often inspired me, you know – and a good deal more you will no doubt find of little consequence. But indulge me. Look at it all. Decide for yourself, my dears. And seek always the dream, for it is not always just a dream.
With all my warmest sentiments, your friend, Raymond Dulac
There was silence when she'd finished. Then Mum said, 'You see?'
'It's a beautiful letter,' I said, through a big lump in my throat. I felt as though Raymond Dulac had actually been there with us, in the car, as she read. It wasn't a spooky feeling, despite the reference to ghosts, but a sad one.
'He was a beautiful man,' Mum said quietly. 'I had so hoped we'd get a chance to meet in the flesh one day. But it just never happened.'
'He didn't like travel very much,' murmured the lawyer. 'Loathed planes. He came to know this area very well ever since he came to live in
the Avallon region; but that was all the travel he had done in recent years.'
'I remember him writing once that he preferred to travel in his imagination,' said Mum.
'And his dreams,' I said, softly, remembering a little note he'd written in last year's Christmas card. Mum nodded. She looked down at the letter. She sighed. 'He was my favourite client. But more than a client. Just as he said, a friend. He knew so much. And he wore his learning so lightly. He was never a show-off. Never arrogant.' Her eyes were full of tears, her voice trembling. 'I am overwhelmed by his generosity. I never ever suspected that he would ...'
She broke off, and the lawyer said, gently, 'He had spoken to me about you more than once, Madame. There was a bond of family friendship between us too, you see. He was a client and friend of my late father, who had the practice before me, and sometimes he would come into the office just for a chat. We all miss him and mourn his terrible death. At his funeral in Avallon, there were so many people, the church was overflowing. He had so many friends.'
'Have they still not found –'
'Nothing. Not a trace,' said Boron in a hard voice. 'The police found no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing.' His face twisted. 'It sickens me. Whoever it was hit him over the head and killed him for worthless stuff: some cash, his watch, his laptop, the television, the CD player, a few CDs. They ransacked his study too, but took nothing, as far as we're aware – all his manuscripts and correspondence are all still there, though they were strewn all over the floor. They never got as far as Raymond's library, or his collection of pictures, some of which are quite valuable. That's why the police think it wasn't a professional thief, but an opportunist, maybe a drug addict, looking for portable things to steal, who panicked after they killed poor Raymond, and fled.'
I said, frowning, 'But people like that – surely they'd leave traces. If there was no DNA or fingerprints found, doesn't that suggest they were being really careful? Wearing gloves, maybe?'
He looked at me, surprised. Mum said, with a small smile, 'She watches lots of police series. She's very good at working out the crime before the detective does.'
'Oh. I see. Yes, you're right, it sounds like they were being careful, does it not? Almost premeditated. But the police won't be drawn on it. The bottom line is, there's nothing to be found. They didn't recover the weapon. And they won't even say what they think the weapon may have been, only that it "inflicted head trauma", as they put it.'
'And no-one saw anything?' said Mum.
'No. The house is a little way from the village. The police think the killer did not come in through the village, but from the other direction.'
'Where was Raymond's nephew?' I said.
'In Paris. That's been proven without a doubt. Not that there was any real reason to suspect him in the first place. As I said, he's a rich man already and did not need the money from the estate. And he's always been on good terms with his uncle. It was just one of those dreadful things – being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm sure this ... this person had nothing against Raymond, except that he was in his way.' He hit the steering wheel with his fist. 'What sort of person would do such a thing? What sort of world do we live in, where an elderly man can be attacked and murdered so senselessly by a total stranger, just for useless bits and pieces?'
There was no possible answer to this question. We all felt exactly the same. Nicolas Boron sighed. He said, 'Forgive me. I spoke rather unprofessionally. But you understand, it has been a terrible shock.'
'There is nothing to forgive,' said Mum gently, touching him lightly on the shoulder. 'It is normal to feel this way, to grieve for a man who was as much friend as client.'
Their eyes met. He flushed, and looked away. 'I should get you to Bellerive,' he said, in a rather muffled voice, starting up the car. 'You will no doubt be tired after your long journey.' From the back seat, I could see that the flush went all the way up his neck too, and thought, resignedly, here we go again. Someone else starting to get a crush on my mother.
The green road
I hardly saw anything of Avallon that day. But the little I did see, stickybeaking out of the car window as we drove through the streets, looked pretty nice. At least the old part did, with its turreted clock tower, narrow cobbled streets with their medieval half-timbered houses and tubs of bright flowers on the footpaths.
Nicolas Boron told us that though the town was pretty small and unimportant these days, things used to be different. 'If you're interested in archaeology, Avallon is a good place to start,' he said. 'There have been lots of Roman and Celtic finds in this region. There was a Druidic college here once that was famous throughout the Celtic world. In Roman and early Christian times it became a kind of university. Perhaps you can't see it from here, but Avallon's built on a rocky promontory that could be well-defended. So from the earliest times it was important in a military sense, too. The local Gaulish tribes fought the Romans bravely – they were allied with Vercingetorix, who had his last stand not far from here, at Alesia.'
'Vercingetorix?' I said. 'Like in Asterix the Gaul?' I remembered a picture in one of those comic books of the defeated but still proud Vercingetorix throwing down his weapons at Caesar's feet, squashing the Roman leader's toes. 'I thought he was made up, like Asterix and Obelix and all those other characters with names ending in ix.'
Boron laughed. 'Oh no! I assure you that he was a very real person. He managed for a while to unite the Gauls against the Romans – and almost defeated Julius Caesar himself. So he was quite a hero in these parts. You'll have to visit Alesia too if you have the time. Anyway, the Romans took Avallon, and built it up even more. The barbarians sacked it later, of course, but even in the Middle Ages it was a substantial town. Look over there. You can still see the remains of the old town ramparts.'
We looked. They were good solid stone walls, even if there wasn't much of them left.
'The name Avallon, is that Gaulish?' Mum asked as we rattled out of the old town and into the newer bit of town, which wasn't quite as picturesque. Though to me it still all looked amazing – the signs in French; an old hotel with ivy on the walls; the tricolour flag hanging above the doors of the town hall; the different, powdery smell of a European summer; the sense of really being far away from what I was used to.
'Yes. It means place of apples. There were apple orchards here once, I suppose.'
'That's the same as Arthur's Avalon then!' she exclaimed.
'Arthur's Avalon? Oh, I see. King Arthur.' He smiled. 'I can understand why you and Raymond got on so well. Yes, like that one. Raymond was convinced it was more than a coincidence, especially since, as you no doubt know, a real, historical British war leader they call Riothamus disappeared around here in the fifth century, after fighting the Visigoths. He had started a book about it years ago, but never finished it. Recently, I thought he might have got interested again. Did he say anything to you about it?'
Mum shook her head.
'He didn't say anything to me either,' said Boron. 'But I got the impression he was on to something. Perhaps he didn't want to talk about it until he was ready.'
We had come right out of town by now and had set off along a narrow country road that twisted along past stone farmhouses and little villages and quiet woods. It was very still. So still that it felt almost as though everything was holding its breath. As if any moment now we would cross some invisible line and end up in a different world, a strange, magical world of druids with golden sickles gathering mistletoe in mysterious green woods, of King Arthur and his knights roaming on powdery roads, seeking the Holy Grail. I shook my head. That was Mum's and Raymond's territory, not mine. I didn't care about all that sort of stuff. Not really. Except that I had liked poor Raymond and I felt shaken by what had happened to him, and it felt weird to be in this place, on this road where he must have gone along so often, and .. .
Mum's shout startled me. It startled Nicolas Boron too. The car jerked and skidded as he braked hard just in time to avoid something crossing the
road. A quick, red-gold body; a beautiful bushy tail; an impression of narrow eyes, sharp teeth bared in a knowing grin – then whoosh, the fox was gone, disappearing into the woods on the other side of the road.
'You don't often see them at this time of day unless they're really hungry,' said Nicolas Boron, starting the car up again. 'Beware chickens.'
'Sorry,' said Mum. 'You probably hate them. It was just that –'
'I know. They are beautiful. Cruel, but beautiful. It seems criminal to destroy such beauty wilfully, I think.'
Not long after, we turned off onto another road, and came to a tiny village called Island. Mum was very excited by the sight of this place, though there was nothing much to see as we drove through. Something to do with its name, and being so close to Avallon, reminding her of the Island of Avalon in Arthurian legend. Nicolas Boron mentioned that there was a castle and a Templar chapel there, but that both had been built centuries after the time when Arthur was supposed to be around, and that as far as he knew, there was nothing to connect them.
'Except for the name,' said Mum, with a stubborn glint in her eye. 'It's an unusual name round here, isn't it?'
He shrugged. 'It is believed to be of Celtic origin. Not Gaulish. Some other Celtic language.' He didn't sound very interested.
'Then I will explore it later,' she said.
'There's not much to explore here. Believe me.'
'We'll see,' she said firmly.
We continued on down the road for a kilometre or so, then Boron took a right turn into a very narrow little road, almost a path, though it was still bitumen. It went gently uphill and was bordered by woods on one side, and by small, hedged fields on the other. It was a lovely little road, full of green and gold light. The hedges grew tall on one side and the trees soared above us on the other, and the sunlight fell through the leaves, dappling everything with shifting shadows. My sense of strangeness and enchantment grew. And yet there was something familiar about it too. I had the oddest feeling I'd seen it before. Somewhere. Maybe a picture in a book? Or in a film?
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