by Marie Laval
Fabien was sitting behind the wheel of his Range Rover. His door was open, as if he was ready to pounce out at any moment. It was too late to drive away. It looked like she would have to talk to him, even if she wasn’t ready.
As she parked next to Fabien, her hands shook so much she drove into one of the plant pots and knocked it over. She turned off the engine, and tried to compose herself before he swung open her door.
‘Are you going to tell me what you’re playing at?’ His eyes were searching. His broad shoulders and tall, muscular frame filled all the space. He must have realised he was being overbearing because he stepped back to allow her to come out.
He followed her into the kitchen where Michka gave them both a rapturous welcome. She patted the dog’s head, stroked her soft coat, and opened the patio door to let her out into the garden, trying to gain more time.
When she turned back, Fabien was leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed on his chest.
‘It’s very hot today. Would you like a cold drink?’ she asked as she turned the tap on and filled a glass of water.
He shook his head.
‘No thank you. You go ahead.’
She drank half the water, and put the glass down and walked towards the fridge.
‘Would you like some fruit salad? A piece of apricot tart, maybe? I made it with organic fruit from the market …’
Her voice sounded too high-pitched and too fast, even to her own ears.
‘I don’t want anything to eat or drink, I want an explanation. I’m not in the habit of chasing after women, and yet that’s exactly what I feel I’ve been doing since dawn this morning. I was worried about you. You said you were ill, you didn’t return by calls. I bumped into Stéphane earlier and he told me you were in Apt, having lunch with his mother. You weren’t ill at all. Were you?’
An awkward silence fell between them.
Amy cleared her throat. At least she could speak part of the truth.
‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘Are you avoiding me?’
‘Well I …’ She closed the fridge door and turned round.
How could she possibly explain her fears? Should she take a risk and tell him everything? Her heart was telling her to trust him. He was a good man, he took orphans on trips, gave his drunk of a cousin a job and a roof over his head.
Yet something held her back. They stood only a few metres apart, but although every fibre in her body screamed for his touch, the distance between them seemed insurmountable.
‘Why did you run away from me, why did you not return my calls today? Damn it woman, what kind of game are you playing?’
‘Where did you get that small Roman container that was on your bedroom shelf?’ she asked.
Fabien raised his eyebrows.
‘The salinum? What has that got to do with anything?’
‘Just answer me. Please.’
‘It was a present from Claudine for my birthday a couple of years ago. Her mother owns an antique shop in Bonnieux and specialises in Roman antiquities.’
‘Did she tell you what it was used for?’
‘I told you. It was a salt container used in religious ceremonies. Why?’
‘Did you lend it to someone recently?’
‘Why would I do that? It’s not exactly the kind of thing people ask for, like “by the way, I’m having a Roman-themed party, can I borrow your salinum?”’
He smiled, his face softened, and his eyes became the deep, warm shade of green she loved so much. She felt suddenly weak, so weak she had to lean against the fridge door for support.
‘Listen, Amy, why are you so interested in that salinum, and what on earth does it have to do with you running away from me?’
It had everything to do with it, but she couldn’t tell him that.
‘Did Claudine’s mother say if it was a common design?’
Fabien frowned.
‘If you’re that interested in Roman antiquities, I suggest you pay Anne Loubier a visit and ask her all about it yourself.’
He walked across the kitchen floor and stood right in front of her, so close she could touch him.
‘Look at me.’
She raised her face towards his. All she yearned for was to feel the strength and warmth of his arms around her, his lips on her mouth, his skin under her fingers. But there were too many questions that needed answering.
‘Have you changed your mind, about us?’
She decided to lie. He was offering an easy way out. She would take it.
‘Yes, I have. I’m sorry if I misled you. The thing is, I realised I didn’t want to be involved in a relationship right now. I have too many obligations. I want to focus on this place. On Bellefontaine.’
She forced her lips into a half-smile.
‘I told you, I’m just an old maid at heart.’
Even to her, it sounded a lame excuse.
In a swift movement he pulled her towards him. She didn’t resist when he kissed her slow and deep, until she felt she could no longer breathe.
His fingers slid along her throat, then a little lower, teasing and arousing again. Her heart beat so wildly it hurt, she couldn’t help but respond. Her lips moved against his, her body arched and sought closer contact. Then, as suddenly as he had started, he pulled away.
‘The things I loved in you from the start were your honesty, your determination and lack of artifice,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘It seems that I was wrong on all counts. You can rest assured I won’t be bothering you again.’
Amy heard the front door slam shut, the revving of an engine. Then there was silence.
All she wanted was to rush out after him, drive to Manoir Coste, tell him she loved him. But her doubts and fears were too strong. So with tears streaming down her face, she went out onto the terrace, sat on the stone steps, and looked at the garden bathed in the golden sunlight, with the dark green cedar forest behind.
It was beautiful as always, but all she felt in her heart was loathing and rage.
‘Whatever you’re hiding, I’ll find it,’ she said aloud.
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday was another gloriously hot and sunny day – far too hot and sunny for April, according to the news reporter on the local radio she listened to whilst nibbling at a piece of toast on the sun-drenched terrace. The unseasonable weather was now a cause for concern for farmers who complained that the lack of rain put their crops and orchards at risk. The ground was so dry any sudden downpour could cause flash floods as the water would just run down the hills and pool onto the plains without soaking through.
There would be no rain today, Amy thought as she clipped the lead on Michka’s collar and started on the road to Bonnieux. The sky was bright blue, without the wisp of a cloud. It was hot already but she reckoned some exercise would do her good. Who knew, if she felt tired enough, she might even sleep tonight instead of tossing and turning in bed, torturing herself about Fabien …
It was market day in Bonnieux and the village buzzed with locals and tourists. Shopping, however, had to wait. First, Amy wanted to pay a visit to Anne Loubier. Her antique shop was in the Rue Marceau, one of the larger streets winding around the heart of the village.
Amy studied the eclectic mix of antiques on display in the window – oak furniture and intricately embroidered linen, vases and jewellery. There was also a collection of crystals together with books entitled ‘Crystal energy’ or ‘Lithotherapy, curing ailments with crystals’. She was definitely in the right place. She felt for the fluorite in the pocket of her blue jacket, tied Michka’s lead to a lamp post, and pushed the door open.
The bell rang in the empty shop. Inside was more furniture, crockery, bronze and marble statues. She stood for a few minutes looking at walls covered from floor to ceiling with paintings and etchings.
She could hear a woman speaking at the back of the shop.
‘You have to give me more time. I’ll have the money by the end of next week … yes I told you. I have
a buyer in Russia. No questions asked. No, don’t do that! Soon, I’ll have enough, more than enough, to repay you in full.’
The woman lowered her voice and Amy couldn’t hear any more. She walked to a cabinet to look at the emerald-encrusted brooches, diamante watches and ruby earrings on display. All the prices were far too high for her.
‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. How can I help –’ Anne Loubier’s voice faded as she recognised Amy.
In her smart grey suit and crisp white shirt, and with her silky smooth black hair and heavy make-up, she was the spitting image of her daughter.
Amy forced a smile.
‘I was admiring your beautiful jewellery. Are they antiques?’
She pointed to the pair of ruby earrings.
Anne Loubier nodded.
‘Mid-eighteenth century. Probably Spanish. The rubies are exceptionally clear. Would you like to try them next to your face? Although I don’t think they would suit your colouring. You have to be a brunette, like my daughter, to wear rubies.
‘I believe you met Claudine at Manoir Coste. She is Fabien Coste’s public relations assistant. He would like her to be more than that, of course. Maybe I shall advise him to get the earrings as an engagement present.’
The woman was lying. Fabien had said he wasn’t involved with Claudine, or anyone else. Then again, if he lied about being a member of the cult he could also have lied about his affairs too. The lack of sleep and the chaos of doubts and questions swirling in her mind suddenly made her dizzy.
‘Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford rubies even if they suited me.’
‘No, I didn’t think so,’ Anne Loubier said, a smug look on her face.
Amy took the crystal out of her pocket and pointed to the display of books and stones in the window.
‘I see you're something of an expert in crystals and wanted to ask about this one.’
‘Fluorite.’
Anne Loubier held the stone in her manicured hand.
‘I was told it was used in ancient religious ceremonies.’
The woman looked surprised.
‘People usually mention their aphrodisiac qualities, but yes, you are right. This is a “dream stone” – one that can induce prophetic dreams. Roman priests used to get in touch with their gods.’
‘Where does it come from?’
‘Several quarries around here still produce fluorite, but mainly the green and yellow crystals which are more in demand.’
She gave the stone back to Amy.
‘Have I satisfied your curiosity?’
‘Partly … One of my guests, a young English woman, visited your shop with her husband a couple of weeks ago. She said you gave her a fluorite just like this one and told her gruesome old stories about Bellefontaine. She suffered such horrific nightmares after that she cut her holiday short and went back to England and is now in a psychiatric hospital.’
Anne Loubier shrugged.
‘I have seen quite a few English women these past few weeks. I don’t recall giving any of them a crystal. Why would I do that? I sell crystals, I don’t give them away, even to newlyweds.’
She stepped forward and stared straight into Amy’s eyes. Her scent drifted towards her, heady and sickeningly sweet, a blend of rose and jasmine. Amy stepped back with a gasp and bumped into the glass display cabinet.
The woman wasn’t going to acknowledge she'd given Eva Barlow the crystal, and there was no way Amy could prove otherwise. Better leave it for now.
She placed the stone onto a small table next to her.
‘You can keep it. I don’t want it any more.’
She paused.
‘There was something else I wanted to ask you. You specialise in ancient Roman artefacts, don't you?’
Anne Loubier stroked the fluorite stone, scraping her long, red nails on the surface.
‘I do indeed. What are you after?’
‘A salinum. It has to be silver, with engravings of lions sitting opposite each other and snakes coming out of the lions’ manes.’
Anne’s fingers stopped stroking the crystal. She looked up.
‘You are very specific about the type of salinum you want. Have you seen one of them before?’
‘Yes, at Fabien Coste’s house. He said your daughter gave it to him.’
Anne’s fingernails started scrapping the surface of the stone again..
‘Do you think there are any similar salinums around? I particularly like that design.’
Anne put the stone down hard on the console table.
‘I have no idea. I seem to recall that I bought that one at auction from a German collection. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’
There was nothing else to do but leave. The visit had been a waste of time, but then what had she really hoped would happen? Amy went out into the hot, bright sunshine. She untied Michka’s lead from the lamp post and followed the winding street towards the market square, trying to shake the feelings of unease her encounter with Anne Loubier had caused and the headache the woman’s perfume had triggered.
She went into the Tourist Information office next, and smiled despite her headache when she saw Monsieur Verdier behind the counter instead of his grumpy assistant. Amy asked about the malfunction of the booking system and the cancelled bookings she’d had through his office.
Monsieur Verdier looked puzzled.
‘I don’t understand. You are the first hotelier to complain about this. Jacques said he’d fixed our computer. Between you and me, that boy has been rather distracted lately. I’ve stopped counting the times he’s come in late. He has another part-time job now – as courier for Manoir Coste – on top of his driving job for the butcher, and I strongly suspect he has a serious crush on Mademoiselle Claudine. She could ask him to jump from the top of the cliff at Buoux and the silly boy would do it!’
‘Jacques works for Monsieur Lefèvre too?’
Monsieur Verdier nodded.
‘I suppose that’s why the boy is so grumpy all the time. He is exhausted. Anyway, don’t you worry about these glitches with the bookings, Mademoiselle. It won’t happen again. I’ll look into it myself. Or at least I’ll try. I’m no expert, as you well know.’
After leaving the Tourist Office Amy headed for the market to purchase lettuces, tomatoes, green beans, and new potatoes. Hopefully in a year or two she would grow her own vegetables and would pick everything she needed fresh from the garden. She also bought some goat’s cheese and creamy Saint Félicien before paying a visit to the bakery for bread and croissants. Laurent was due the following day, and she remembered his healthy appetite.
Her bag hung heavy from her shoulder as she started on the main road. Michka pulled on the lead and sniffed tuffs of grass and tree trunks. The midday sun was so hot a hazy brume rose from the tarmac. There wasn’t a breath of wind, and sweat soon ran down her spine and stuck her hair onto the nape of her neck. She paused at the side of the road to tie her hair up and take her linen jacket off. It was going to be a long walk home.
As she started to walk again, she heard a car stop behind her and Céline’s voice called out. Amy turned and saw Fabien's mother wave from the Range Rover.
‘I’m sure you could do with a lift home,’ Céline said. ‘Fabien darling, what are you waiting for? Go and help the poor girl with her bag.’
Fabien got out. From the look on his face, it wasn’t hard to guess that he wasn’t pleased to see her and had only stopped at his mother’s suggestion. He held out his hand to take her shopping bag but she stepped away.
‘Thank you but I'd rather walk,’ she said.
‘Nonsense,’ Fabien retorted in cold voice. ‘I know people say that only dogs and English people can stand the midday sun, but you’ll get heatstroke if you walk all the way back to Bellefontaine, especially carrying this bag. It’s far too heavy.’
She was annoyed that he should talk to her as if she was a silly child.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘If you do
n’t care about yourself, at least think about Michka,’ he added even more coldly. ‘She’s far too young for long walks in this heat. Dogs get heatstroke too, you know.’
She glanced at the little dog who sat down in the shade of a pine tree, breathing fast with her tongue sticking out. She didn’t like to admit it but Fabien was right. Her puppy looked tired. Reluctantly she handed him her bag. He put it in the boot of the car, and she slid onto the back seat with the dog on her lap.
‘It’s lucky we bumped into you,’ Celine said. ‘I’ve just arrived from Paris and I was going to invite you for dinner tonight at Fabien’s cottage.’
Fabien glared at his mother.
‘You never said anything about this before. I have important business tonight.’
Céline laughed.
‘Don’t be silly, darling! You always have important business. However, being the boss means you can delegate and take the evening off.’
Amy liked Céline very much, but there was no way she could spend a whole evening with Fabien, especially at the cottage where there would be so many reminders of their night together. She glanced at him but he seemed totally focussed on the road.
Céline turned to her. ‘Shall we say eight o’clock?’
‘I’m not sure I can come,’ Amy said. ‘I am expecting a new guest tomorrow and still have work to do, sorry …’
Knowing what Fabien thought about the dig, she was reluctant to mention that it was Laurent she was expecting.
‘Oh,’ Céline let out a disappointed sigh. ‘I have something rather exciting to show you both. After my last visit, I remembered where I had last seen old plans of Manoir Coste. They were in a box, in the study of our Paris apartment. I must have filed them in there after the …’ her voice faltered, ‘… after the shooting accident. I believe you will find them very interesting. I promise it won’t be a late night.’
Amy couldn’t refuse a second time without being rude.
Fabien pulled into in Bellefontaine’s courtyard, and got out of the car. He opened the back door and lifted her shopping bag out of the car. They brushed against each other when she got out. She felt the warmth of his skin against her arm, breathed in his scent.