by Marie Laval
‘But I've already paid for my order!' she objected. 'Never mind the delivery van, I’ll go to Sisteron myself.’
Monsieur Lefèvre shook his head, looking genuinely sorry. ‘It’s too far, and as you can see, I don’t even have enough left here today to help you out – and whatever’s left isn’t organic anyway. I know you’re very particular about it.’
He gestured towards his counter, which like every Saturday morning had been cleared by eager shoppers and was by then almost bare. What was she going to do?
The butcher stroked his moustache.
‘Maybe we could hire for a taxi or …’
‘There’s no need for Mademoiselle Carter to worry, Monsieur Lefèvre,’ a deep, calm voice spoke from behind her. ‘One of my drivers from Manoir Coste will get the delivery done in time.’
Amy swung round, only to meet Fabien’s deep green eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, then started again with a hard bump, and a hot flush burned her cheeks. It all came flooding back, the ridiculous but overwhelming attraction she felt for him. The shame and humiliation of the night of the ball. Right now, however, there was anger too. How dare he take charge and talk to the butcher as if she wasn’t even there?
‘I’ll sort it all out for you,’ he said. ‘Just let me phone someone up and make arrangements.’
He pulled a sleek black mobile phone out of his jeans’ pocket, flipped the cover open. ‘Please give me the number of that place in Sisteron,’ he told Monsieur Lefèvre.
‘Here it is, Monsieur le Duc.’ The butcher handed him a piece of paper then turned to Amy and smiled.
‘You can relax now, Mademoiselle, it looks like Monsieur Coste is saving your day.’
‘I didn’t ask him to do anything,’ she snapped.
Fabien looked at her, then at the paper.
‘Mademoiselle is right,’ he said with a tight smile. ‘I do have the bad habit of interfering in people’s business. I presumed you needed my help, but if you don’t, then let’s talk no more about it. I’m sorry.’
He started closing his phone, and panic took over as the reality of her predicament sank in.
‘No, wait!’
She didn’t have much choice. She had to swallow her pride. He may be overbearing and arrogant and she may not want his help but without him, the barbecue would be a flop and she’d be forever branded as a failure by the locals.
‘I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s very kind of you to offer your help.’
Fabien nodded and phoned Claudine at Manoir Coste. After giving her brief instructions, he put his phone back in his pocket.
‘All sorted. My driver is setting off as we speak. He will take your order straight to Bellefontaine this afternoon, just in time for your barbecue.’
He turned to Monsieur Lefèvre. ‘I only came to confirm the order for the hounds. Only the best cuts as usual. The dogs need to be on top condition for the hunt.’
‘Of course, Monsieur le Duc, cela va de soi. I can’t wait for Friday. You must see this, Mademoiselle, it’s a truly magnificent spectacle. The ladies and gentlemen in riding coat, the beautiful horses, the excitement of the blood hounds. And when the hunt master signals the start with the horn …’
‘No thank you, Monsieur Lefèvre,’ Amy interrupted. ‘It doesn’t appeal to me at all.’
‘Don’t you like dogs?’ He looked puzzled.
‘I do like dogs. In fact, I was thinking of getting a dog to keep me company at Bellefontaine, but I’m afraid I don’t agree with hunting, and even less with hunting with hounds and horses. It’s a cruel, barbaric practice we thankfully banned in England.’
‘Mademoiselle Carter, how can you say such things … and in front of Monsieur le Duc too?’ Monsieur Lefèvre gasped, his eyes opened wide with shock and his round cheeks turning the colour of beetroot.
She bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn’t be so outspoken. Hunting was a way of life in France – there was even a political party dedicated to hunters’ rights – and even more so in small rural communities like Bonnieux.
‘I thought the whole ban was just a crowd-pleasing exercise,’ Fabien said, ‘and your politicians couldn’t even be bothered to enforce the law.’
Amy shrugged. He was right but she wasn’t going to admit it.
‘It’s only a matter of time before they do.’
‘Then I take it you won’t be at Manoir Coste next Friday to wish me “Bonne Chasse”.’
She shook her head.
‘I’m afraid not. I don’t condone hunting in any shape or form, and have no wish to take part in some brutal masquerade from bygone times.’
There was another strangled gasp from Monsieur Lefèvre but Fabien only smiled.
‘I see you have very strong opinions on the subject,’ he said, ‘so I won’t even try to change your mind.’
He opened the door. They stepped out into the bright sunshine and started walking down the cobbled street.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘thank you for inviting me to your open day. I have a couple of things on but I will come round some time in the afternoon.’
‘Oh no, you don’t have to come!’
The words were out before she realised and she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment.
‘I mean you must be terribly busy. I’ll understand if you have better things to do.’
He shook his head.
‘I am never too busy to wish someone well, especially when Bellefontaine is concerned.’
Now he was making her feel petty, as well as bigoted.
They stood face to face, close enough for her to notice how the bright sunlight made his green eyes sparkle. She gripped the handle of her bag, so hard her nails dug into the palm of her hand.
He looked down and smiled.
‘Is there anything else I can do to help?’
She took a step back.
‘No … I have everything under control.’
‘Good. Then I’ll see you later.’
After a curt nod, he turned to walk down the street.
As she drove back to Bellefontaine, she realised that she hadn’t even thanked him properly. She didn’t know what annoyed her the most, the fact that he assumed the role of the knight in shining armour to come to her rescue, or the fact that she had actually accepted his help.
Chapter Five
Paul and Adèle were waiting for her when she got back, sitting in the sunshine, well away from the group of teenage boys who had taken over the courtyard for an impromptu game of football. Amy smiled as she parked the car. As promised Stéphane had brought his friends to help out at the party.
The boys stopped playing and stared, wide-eyed, at her paint-splattered car.
‘Poor Amy! What an awful way to start your day.’ Adèle gave her a hug after she explained about the morning’s incidents. ‘Don’t worry, we’re here now. Everything will be fine.’
It seemed that she was right. With everybody eager to help, it didn’t take long to set up tables and chairs on the terrace, hang bunting between the trees, and put the finishing touches to the buffet.
Shortly before one, Amy ran up to her room to change into a dark blue silk shift and matching pumps. Her tight ponytail had given her a headache, so she slipped the elastic band off and shook her hair loose and was about to go back downstairs when she caught her reflection in the mirror.
It was no wonder Fabien Coste had taken pity on her. With her pale skin and the mauve circles under her eyes, she looked as if she hadn’t slept for weeks. Not that she cared about what he thought, of course. Annoyed, she searched through her toiletry bag for a blusher, mascara and lip gloss.
A few minutes later, she stepped back with a satisfied smile. It was better, much better. She’d never be as pretty as Chris, but at least she didn’t look like an extra from a zombie film any more.
There was time for a last check around the house and the garden. She straightened the piles of plates on the long trestle table where nibbles, salads, and vegetable pies made a col
ourful display, wiped a smudge from a glass or two, and went over the instructions to her makeshift staff.
‘There is to be no running when you are carrying food or drinks. Wash your hands every time you touch food … or anything else, for that matter. Smile, and be polite. Understood?’
The teenagers nodded in unison.
‘And boys, and one last thing. Thank you! I couldn’t do it without you.’
‘People are coming!’ Stéphane cried out excitedly as a car turned into the courtyard.
It was Monsieur Verdier and his wife. They gave Amy a bottle of chestnut liqueur, a local speciality, congratulated her on her big day, and went on a tour of Bellefontaine. As more guests arrived, the tension knotting Amy’s shoulders loosened at last, and the visions of food going to waste and bunting flapping in the wind in a deserted garden that had haunted her nights started to fade away. People had come. The garden was full. The party was a success.
Soon the courtyard and the terrace buzzed with the sound of conversation. Children played hide and seek in the garden, and their shrieks and laughter filled the air.
Marc Chevalier was one of the last to arrive. With him was a tall and strikingly beautiful red-haired woman wearing a long, fluid white dress. Amy presumed this was his wife Serena. She walked down the terrace steps to greet them.
‘Good afternoon, Monsieur Chevalier, Madame, and welcome. Would you like a drink, or perhaps you would like me to give you a tour? I’m sure you will find Bellefontaine much changed.’
‘Changed or not, this place was mine for long enough and I certainly don’t need a tour,’ the woman said in a sour voice.
She pulled a gift-wrapped box out of her handbag and held it out.
‘I almost forgot. This is for you, a moving-in present.’
‘How nice. Thank you.’
Surprised, Amy opened the box. Inside was a large purple and white crystal that glittered in the sunlight as she lifted it out of the box.
‘It’s beautiful. What is it?’
‘It’s a local stone, a fluorite.’
Her husband took her hand.
‘Look darling, Verdier and his wife are over there, let’s go and say hello.’
Amy watched the couple walk away. What a strange woman. It was clear she resented her very presence at Bellefontaine, and yet she’d given her a lovely house-warming present …
By mid-afternoon, the pitchers of sangria, rosé and soft drinks had been refilled several times. The noise of conversation and laughter was louder; couples twirled on the lawn to the accordion music playing from speakers on the terrace.
Paul pulled Amy aside.
‘We should get the barbecue going. Any news of that van from Manoir Coste? It should be here by now. Perhaps you could give Manoir Coste a ring and ask them what’s happening.’
Indecisive, Amy bit her lip. Calling Fabien was the last thing she wanted to do, but Paul was right.
‘I’ll phone him right now.’
She went inside and retrieved his card from her address book. He didn’t answer his office phone, so she tried his mobile. He picked up after a couple of rings.
‘Coste.’
She could hardly hear him through the shrieks of children laughing in the background. It sounded as if he was in at the local swimming pool. Surely not. Why would he go to a public pool packed with screaming children when he could enjoy the luxury of Manoir Coste’s very own spa?
She explained that the van hadn’t arrived. He promised to make some enquiries and call her back immediately.
‘There was a misunderstanding, I’m sorry,’ he said a couple of minutes later, raising his voice over the continuing noise. ‘Claudine sent the driver on another errand, but it’s all sorted. The driver will be with you any minute now.’
He was right. As she walked out of the house, a van pulled into the courtyard. Paul, Stéphane and a couple of his friends unloaded trays of meat, kebabs and sausages, and the barbecue got under way.
The party was still going strong when Fabien drove through the gates later in the afternoon. In the same faded jeans and rugby shirt he’d had on that morning, he opened the passenger door for Claudine and held out his hand to help her out. An unwelcome shard of jealousy pricked Amy’s heart as Claudine, today in a sharply tailored white dress and matching jacket, slipped her arm through Fabien’s. But she greeted her with a polite smile.
‘So what exactly happened with your caterer – he let you down, didn’t he?’ Claudine asked in a loud voice that drew curious glances from people standing around. ‘Lucky we had a spare driver and a van or your party would have been a fiasco.’
Amy stiffened. However much she hated to admit it, Claudine spoke the truth.
‘I am truly grateful for your help,’ she replied.
‘There’s really no need to dwell on it,’ Fabien said then. ‘Everything turned out all right in the end.’
He leaned towards Amy and added in a voice that only she could hear.
‘But I hope it serves as a lesson in forward planning – namely, always have a plan B in case plan A goes wrong, and a plan C in case plan B doesn’t work out.’
Amy’s cheeks heated up.
‘There was no way I could possibly foresee that the van would break down,’ she protested.
‘Maybe not … then again I suppose it’s all down to experience.’ His lips stretched in a condescending smile. ‘Or in your case, inexperience. You will know better next time.’
Before she could say anything, a couple approached and asked him a question about the hunt. She stepped aside, reeling with anger. It took several deep breaths before she felt calm enough to join her guests again.
As the sun disappeared behind the trees and the sky lit up with glorious pink and orange, people started to leave. Everyone had kind words about Bellefontaine and the party – everyone except Serena Chevalier and her husband, who left without even saying goodbye.
Stéphane and his friends cleared the tables and would have stayed to wash up, but Amy paid them and insisted they went home.
Only a handful of people remained on the terrace as the garden filled with blue and grey shadows. A cool breeze rustled through the bunting as stars appeared in the sapphire blue sky. Amy shivered, but not with cold. Soon everybody would leave and she would be alone. For some reason, the thought filled her with dread.
‘Would anyone like a coffee or a liqueur by the fireplace?’ she offered.
Claudine stifled a yawn. ‘No, thank you. We must get home.’
Fabien pulled his car keys out of his jeans pocket.
‘I think I’ll stay a while longer. You take the car. I’ll walk.’
Claudine and Amy looked equally surprised.
‘I’ve hardly seen you all day,’ said Claudine. ‘There are things we need to discuss, important things, and I have a stack of papers on my desk which need signing.’
He smiled. ‘You work too hard, Claudine. Relax for once, and take the evening off. After all, that’s what I’m doing.’
She snatched the car keys off him, muttered a farewell, and left.
A few people joined them in the house, among them Adèle’s elderly aunt, Lily, who had come with a neighbour late in the afternoon.
A small, wiry woman in her eighties, Lily usually dressed in black and arranged her steel grey hair in a tight bun pinned on the top of her head. She paused in front of the statue that Amy had found in the grounds and was now placed on top of a cabinet in the hallway.
‘La Bonne Dame,’ she whispered with awe as she raised a hand to touch the stone face.
‘You think this is the goddess who guards the forest? The one I have heard so much about?’
Amy looked at the statue with renewed interest.
Lily nodded.
‘You must put it back where you found her. It’s bad luck to have her in here.’
‘Bad luck? Why?’
‘Tatie Lily, please don’t start with these old stories again,’ Adèle interrupted. ‘You don�
�t want to scare Amy, do you?’
She put her hand on the old lady’s arm and ushered her through to the living room, where she settled her into an armchair near the fireplace. It had gone cooler so Amy decided to make a fire. When she rose to her feet she found that there was only one seat left, on the sofa next to Fabien. Taking care not to brush against him, she sat down and accepted the small glass of Monsieur Verdier’s chestnut liqueur Paul handed over.
‘My wife is curious about that statue you found in the garden,’ Monsieur Verdier said.
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ Although Amy didn’t touch Fabien, the proximity of his body sent prickles all the way down her. She sipped the liqueur. Its earthy taste burned a path down her throat and and made her eyes water.
‘I emailed pictures to the museum in Arles,’ she said. ‘They are sending a team to investigate.’
Lily sat up in her chair.
‘They won’t dig up the forest, will they?’
She turned to Fabien.
‘Monsieur Coste, you must stop them. La Bonne Dame will be angry.’
‘How can a statue be angry?’ Amy was amused.
‘It’s not the statue. It’s the goddess,’ the old woman replied.
‘Lily believes that even though they were destroyed over two centuries ago, the Roman fountain and the temple are still cursed.’
Fabien lifted his glass to his lips.
‘The temple may be lost, but it still belongs to La Bonne Dame,’ Lily protested, ‘and anyone profaning her sanctuary is doomed for generations. You more than anyone should know that this isn’t just a tale. Your family suffered from the curse over generations. Look what happened to your grandfather when he tried to find the temple. He paid for his arrogance with his life, and the life of others. He wasn’t the first Coste, and won’t be the last, to die violently.’
Her words echoed in the living room.
Amy cleared her throat.
‘I don’t understand what this curse is about.’
‘It was one of my ancestors who ordered the temple to be destroyed, sometime in the nineteenth century,’ Fabien explained. ‘Since then, my family has been doomed … or at least that’s what some people believe.’