A Spell in Provence

by Marie Laval

  She finished her drink, slipped her book in her bag, and got back to the car. She had time to look at another fountain before going home.

  The road to Saignon meandered through orchards, vineyards and fields of lavender. The village appeared at a turn of the road, perched on top of a cliff like an impregnable fortress. Amy had driven around there before, and the sight always took her breath away.

  The village was quiet, the only shops open that Easter weekend were an old-fashioned café, which doubled up as a Bureau de Tabac, and a bakery. Amy flicked through Philippe Coste’s portfolio and selected a sketch of the fountain she was after. A smaller version of the one in Buoux, it featured a basin surmounted by a rectangular pillar, with water pouring out from a cast iron spout. Music playing on the radio drifted from the open doors of the café on the square, next to an elaborate fountain shaded by huge of elm trees in the village square. This wasn’t what she was looking for.

  Hesitant, she looked at the streets winding their way up to the top of the village, picked one at random, and climbed up the steep lane among stone houses covered with ivy, climbing white and purple passiflora, or fragrant mauve wisteria.

  She found the fountain at the top of the village. There, too, the date ‘1835’ was carved on the pillar, together with a long inscription in Latin.

  Templum sub terra habitare

  Margo Sub fons In Silva est

  Jubemus te salvere mater Gallia

  Underneath was the same oak leaf crown as in Buoux and the Greek Ρσκλίσίā.

  She felt a rush of excitement as she wrote the words down. Wasn’t the inscription about an underground temple near a fountain in the forest? She was sure Mater meant mother, and Gallia meant earth. This must be a reference to an earth mother, a Gallic goddess.

  So she had been right in thinking that the fountains had been rebuilt by the same stonemason, with parts of the lost temple in Bonnieux' cedar forest. That could certainly explain why they both had Latin and Greek engravings. This had to be the most exciting discovery, and she couldn't wait to share it with Laurent Orsini. What a shame she didn’t have time to drive to the next village to check more of Philippe Coste’s fountain trail today. The reception at Manoir Coste was this evening, and she had some cleaning to do before her next guest arrived during the afternoon.

  Back at Bellefontaine she changed into a pair of faded jeans and an old cotton pink shirt, and tied her hair into a scarf. She caught her reflection in the hall mirror and let out a bitter laugh.

  She bet Claudine Loubier never wore scruffy old clothes, even when doing her cleaning. Come to think of it, Fabien's glamourous PR probably didn't do her own cleaning. She must pay people to do it for her.

  When she had finished tidying up, Amy worked on her accounts for a while but her thoughts kept wandering back to the fountains and the Latin inscriptions. She opened her notebook and typed the words into an online translation site.

  The inscription at Buoux translated roughly into ‘Beautiful spring/fountain. Forever wakeful ghost’. The one at Saignon read ‘ The temple remains underground. Its entrance lies near the fountain/spring in the forest. We salute you mother/goddess.’

  She sent Laurent another email, asking him to research the possibility that both fountains had been rebuilt sometime after an earthquake in 1835. Maybe he could find out the name of the stonemason. Whoever he was, he’d had access to stones from the temple.

  Her new guest, Monsieur Garnier, arrived in a navy BMW late in the afternoon. A tall, severe-looking man in a business suit, he carried a travel bag and a laptop case. He seemed disconcerted by Amy’s clothing and she realised she still wearing her old jeans and faded shirt. He said he wouldn’t require an evening meal because he was invited to a cocktail party.

  ‘Are you going to the function at Manoir Coste by any chance?’

  He nodded.

  ‘That’s right. A business event.’

  ‘I am invited too. I’ll drive if you want,’ she offered.

  They agreed to leave for the reception at eight. Amy took Michka for a walk, but was reluctant to venture into the forest and risk meeting Marc Chevalier again, so she stayed on the main road.

  The sky was pink, with traces of fire where the sun set behind the hills. It cast long shadows that slid like giant fingers towards her, as if to pull her into the forest. She knew she was being fanciful, influenced no doubt by the Latin references to ghosts and underground temples, and what the old man in the café had said, but tonight the forest looked darker, deeper and more mysterious than ever. She cut her walk short and turned back towards Bellefontaine.

  She fed the dog, took a shower, and washed her hair before slipping into the same black jersey dress she had worn for the Hunt Ball. She tied her hair in a high ponytail, leaving a few locks of hair to fall onto her bare shoulders.

  Monsieur Garnier came down at eight o’clock sharp and they set off for the short journey to Manoir Coste. He wasn’t the talkative type – in fact he rebuffed all her attempts at making polite conversation, and Amy was relieved when she saw the entrance to the castle, lit once again by torches.

  ‘I always find this place most impressive,’ he remarked as they got out of the car.

  ‘You’ve been before?’

  He nodded silently and they gave their invitation cards to a receptionist in the lobby and proceeded towards the ballroom. They agreed to meet at ten and parted company.

  Amy took a deep breath and made her way through the crowd towards a group of shop owners from Bonnieux she recognised from the garden party. Now wasn't the time to be shy. She had come here to talk to people, to network – as business people said. Even if she intensely disliked both the word and the idea, that’s exactly what she would do.

  ‘How nice to see you again,’ a local businessman she had met at the Hunt Ball said. ‘How are things shaping up for you at Bellefontaine?’

  Amy answered that business was improving and that she was now taking a number of bookings.

  ‘My season has been pretty slow so far,’ a woman commented. She was an interior designer and owned a fabric shop in the village. ‘I blame it on the property market, of course. Nobody can afford to buy a house around here any more.’

  Turning to Amy, she added ruefully, ‘You were lucky to snap up Bellefontaine last year – although some people might disagree with me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The woman smiled.

  ‘You must know by now that Bellefontaine always had something of a sinister reputation. The Bruni family were a strange lot. They didn’t have many friends in the village. Mind you, they may not have had many friends, but their women weren’t short of lovers.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Some of them from the very family who are hosting us this evening.’

  ‘Leave it, Carla, Mademoiselle Carter can’t possibly be interested in such old gossip,’ the man objected before steering the conversation onto the benefits of advertising.

  The woman glanced towards the door, put her hand on her heart and remarked in a dreamy voice,

  ‘Look at them. Don't they make a lovely couple? I wonder when they’ll announce their engagement. The man has kept poor Claudine waiting far too long already.’

  Amy swung round in time to see Fabien walk into the ballroom with Claudine at his side. Once again she had to admit that they were indeed well suited. They were both tall, dark-haired, and glamorous – Fabien in a black dinner jacket and Claudine in a red silk dress that shimmered with her every step.

  Claudine whispered something into Fabien’s ear and he laughed wholeheartedly. A stab of jealousy pierced Amy, so painful she gasped. Muttering an apology, she turned round and walked away. She should pity Claudine, not envy her. Fabien was a philanderer, and no self-respecting woman would want such a man for boyfriend or husband. No self-respecting woman would feel that deep, overwhelming love she felt for him either …

  She picked a glass of orange juice and a couple of canapés from the buffet, though she wasn’t
hungry.

  ‘Amy, over here,’ Céline called and waved from across the room.

  ‘At last, a friendly face,’ Fabien’s mother exclaimed, slipping her arm under hers. ‘I hardly know anyone here tonight. Let’s go out on to the terrace to look at the sunset. The sky is enchanting this evening.’

  Outside, Amy put her glass of orange juice on a garden table and leaned against the stone balustrade to gaze at shadows that now shrouded the park and forest.

  ‘The woods look so dark,’ she remarked. ‘I wouldn’t like to walk back to Bellefontaine that way, especially at night.’

  ‘In the old days, there would have been a quicker way to go back to your place,’ Céline said.

  ‘What way?’

  Céline pointed to the ground under their feet.

  ‘My husband told me his ancestors had dug tunnels in the hillside that they used as escape routes when under siege. He mentioned some very old plans which showed how tunnels linked Manoir Coste to Bellefontaine. No doubt they collapsed a long time ago.’

  Once again Amy’s throat tightened as she remembered her dreams of walking down a long tunnel, of her fingers touching the damp, slimy surface of the walls.

  ‘Do you know where the plans are?’

  ‘In the library probably, but you’ve seen the place, it would take days, or weeks, for me to find them. And I can’t give you any more of our family papers after the way Fabien reacted when I told him you had Philippe’s portfolio.’

  She shook her head sadly.

  ‘I’ve never seen him so angry. I fear he is getting as obsessed with the temple as his father and grandfather were, and that can’t be a good thing.’

  Amy stared at a couple making their way across the lawn towards one of the summer pavilions in the distance. The man was tall, dark-haired, and the woman blonde and very loud. His arm was wrapped around her waist yet she staggered, unsteady in her high-heeled shoes. As she kissed him, her shrill laughter reverberated into the night. Right into Amy’s heart. Fabien had found another woman to make love to …

  ‘Like father, like son,’ Céline said, pursing her lips. ‘I’m afraid Frédéric will never change, no matter how many chances Fabien gives him.’

  The grip on Amy’s chest relaxed as she realised her mistake. So it was Frédéric, and not Fabien, who was walking across the lawn. Once again she had to admit that from a distance the men looked identical.

  ‘There you are, Maman, I’ve been looking all over for you.’

  Fabien’s voice behind her made Amy jump.

  ‘Darling, you know I don’t like crowds,’ Céline answered with a smile. ‘I’m much happier chatting to Amy out here.’

  Fabien looked down at Amy and bowed his head in a formal greeting before turning to Céline again.

  ‘You have a telephone call in the study. A friend of yours from Paris, I believe.’

  ‘Thank you, darling. Will you keep Amy company for me? I won’t be long.’

  Céline smiled and patted Fabien’s arm.

  ‘There’s no need, really,’ Amy protested after Céline disappeared into the Manoir. ‘You must be busy, and I’m perfectly all right on my own.’

  Fabien ignored her, and came to stand close by. The solid strength of his body formed a wall between her and the other guests on the terrace. It felt like they were alone in the darkness.

  Sensations and feelings she couldn’t ignore flooded her. Her face on fire, she folded her arms and took a step sideways.

  ‘Are you cold? Maybe you would prefer to go inside.’

  He looked at her bare arms and shoulders, his slow, insistent gaze almost a caress that made her breath hitch in her throat once again.

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘Listen, Amy, I wanted to talk to you about my grandfather’s portfolio. I’m really not happy about you having it. My mother was wrong to give it to you. These are family papers and they belong here, with me.’

  She looked up, meeting his stern gaze.

  ‘Of course, I understand, but the thing is your mother practically begged me to take it home with me. She seemed dreadfully worried about … I don’t know what exactly – about you spending too much time searching for the temple and the fountain, I think.’

  He stared into the distance, towards the shadowy edge of the forest.

  ‘What she is really worried about is the infamous curse we Coste men are supposed to fall victim to.’

  ‘The one Lily talked about the other night?’

  ‘That’s right. My mother fears I will end up like my father and grandfather, and all the other Costes who, like them, suffered a premature and violent death. She must have listened to too much of Lily’s gossiping. She’s starting to believe the goddess is punishing us for destroying her temple and not protecting what’s left of it. Something like that. It’s complete nonsense, of course.’

  He turned to her and asked.

  ‘What do you make of the portfolio? Do you have any idea why my grandfather drew fountains over and over again?’

  ‘Well, I do actually. I drove to Saignon and Buoux to take a look at two of the fountains he sketched and discovered both had Latin and Greek inscriptions relating to the goddess and the temple. In fact,’ she added, unable to hide the excitement in her voice, ‘I believe both fountains were rebuilt with stones from the forest temple.’

  ‘There must be records in local libraries about the 1835 earthquake which destroyed the village fountains and the stonemason who was commissioned to rebuild them,’ she carried on. ‘I think what we need to find out now is when and why the temple was destroyed.’

  ‘It was Renaud Coste who was responsible for the destruction of the temple and the fountain back in 1813,' Fabien said. 'I came across his diaries in the library a few days ago. He was a prolific chronicler and reading through his journals will take time – unless we join forces.’

  Amy’s heart beat faster. Had he just said he wanted her to help him?

  ‘What do you think? Should we should put our heads together and see if we can come up with something?’

  He leaned closer and gazed at her expectantly.

  She swallowed. Spending time alone with him wasn’t a good idea. She was all too aware of the strength of her feelings for him. Yet she wanted to read his ancestor’s journals and find out more about that mysterious temple. She would be able to relay information to Laurent … That, surely, was a sensible reason to agree.

  ‘All right. I’ll help you.’ She paused. ‘By the way, I would like to know more about these underground passages linking Manoir Coste and Bellefontaine your mother mentioned. Do you know where they are?’

  This time he smiled.

  ‘I wish I did … When I was a boy, I made it my mission to explore the chateau’s cellars and find the secret tunnels. Every holiday I spent here, I searched for them but I never found anything. The castle was altered over the centuries, and the entrance to the tunnels must have been blocked a long time ago.’

  Frédéric’s slurred voice behind them interrupted him.

  ‘Here you are, cousin – or should I say, my lord and master …’

  ‘Damn,’ Fabien cursed under his breath.

  Frédéric was holding a bottle of champagne. His bow tie was undone, his hair dishevelled, his face flushed.

  ‘And here is our lovely Amy too, of course.’

  Frédéric carried on in a loud voice as he raised his glass in her direction.

  ‘You won’t make any useful contacts hiding out here in the dark, Mademoiselle Carter, unless a grope from my wealthy cousin is the only contact you’re after.’

  Amy felt embarrassed, as people on the terrace stared.

  Frédéric carried on, undaunted.

  ‘Here’s to you, your lordship.’

  He lifted the bottle in a mock salute and drank a long gulp.

  ‘Why don’t you take Amy to your suite and put the girl out her misery? It’s obvious she’s pining for you. Of course, she’s not your usual type but somehow I d
on’t think it’ll stop you.’

  ‘That’s enough.’

  Fabien’s cold voice cut through the night like a steel blade.

  ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘So what if I am? I fancy her too, you know.’

  Frédéric raised his hand to touch Amy’s bare shoulder, she stepped back with a startled cry. Fabien grabbed Frédéric’s arm, pulled him away with such force the man staggered and bumped against a table.

  ‘I said that’s enough.’

  The two men faced each other as if they were about to fight. Suddenly Frédéric laughed.

  ‘All right, you can have her. For now. She is tasty, you’ll enjoy her.’

  ‘I’m warning you for the last time. Stop making a fool of yourself.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m going. Any jobs you’d like me to do, sir? Scrub the kitchen floor, empty ashtrays …’

  ‘Just go, before I lose my temper.’

  Fabien’s face was set in stone, his eyes glittered in anger.

  ‘All right, all right. I may be only a servant these days, but this was all mine once. Before you killed my dad.’

  Frédéric opened his arms as if to embrace the whole of the castle and the park.

  ‘And it’ll all be mine again one day.’

  With this, he staggered away.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Fabien put his hand lightly on Amy’s shoulder. She shivered under his touch.

  ‘I’m sorry for Frédéric’s outburst. It was unforgivable of him to talk to you - about you - in such a way, but he is a very troubled man.'

  He paused, took a deep breath.

  'And somehow I am responsible.’

  ‘Why do you say that? It’s not your fault he had too much to drink,’ Amy protested, but the incident had shaken her more than she’d realised.

  ‘I’m afraid it is. You see, it was Frédéric's father, Henri, who was in charge here when I was growing up in Paris. Henri didn't do a very good job of managing the estate. Quite the opposite in fact. He almost ruined us. I was so angry when I found out I sent him away and threatened to have him arrested if he ever showed his face around here ever again.’