Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  She wasn’t going to help him. Focusing on her sheet, Cheryl drew a sketch of the arm and hand lying on the ground and noted the estimated size.

  “You knew it didn’t belong to the missing statue. Why didn’t you say something?” François asked, his sensuous mouth stretched in an outraged, thin line.

  Determined to ignore the tempest brewing in his eyes, Cheryl shrugged. “Why do you care? You often said that you don’t believe the statue still exists.”

  “Cheryl, would you please stop it.” His acerbic tone warned her not to push him too far.

  She carefully backed up behind safe lines. “It’s not the famous statue but the fact is the rest of this statue is still missing. Don’t you want to find it?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Can Bernard tell us something about it?”

  “Maybe. He certainly knows a lot about the chateau.”

  “May I ask him some specific questions?” Her professional curiosity wouldn’t allow her to maintain an aloof attitude for long. She couldn’t miss the chance to obtain information from the old servant and decided to ignore the sarcastic smile François directed toward her.

  “Don’t bother him with a whole interrogation. It will turn him off.”

  She released an exasperated sigh. “Aren’t you his boss? He seems to have so much authority.” She remembered the maid’s frightened comment that Bernard could fire her if she called Cheryl by her first name.

  “Bernard grew up in the chateau. He raised me and is almost part of the family. I learned to respect him at an early age. Try not to antagonize him.”

  “Fine. I’ll keep quiet.”

  “Bernard,” François called to the butler who leaned on the marble altar, observing Albert and the students while they continued their search. “Come and have a drink of water. The sun is too hot there.”

  Bernard nodded and threw a last glance at the broken piece extracted from the ground. As he approached them, his suspicious gaze scouted over Cheryl.

  Going straight to the point, François said, “Bernard, does our discovery bring back any memory?”

  The butler quirked his bushy gray eyebrows and slowly turned toward the count, astonishment widening his pale blue eyes. He tilted his chin toward her.

  François shrugged. “Pas de problème. You can talk in front of her. Were there other statues in the chapel?”

  Bernard’s gaze shifted to the forest and then came to rest on the broken sculpture.

  “Other statues?” For a moment the old butler remained quiet, traveling back in time, his heavy breathing in tempo with the students’ hammering.

  What images rolled in front of his old eyes? Which vague memories floated in his mind?

  As she opened her mouth to utter a question, she caught sight of François’ sharp shake of his head.

  “Other statues?” Bernard repeated. “No, not in the chapel. The old countess, your grandmother said, ‘It will be the one and only statue in the chapel’ but I remember…the two big saints. My mother came to pray to Saint Christopher to protect the travelers and Saint Anthony when she lost something.”

  “Where, Bernard? Where did they stand?” Cheryl blurted before she could stop herself.

  Still in a daze, Bernard twisted his head toward the forest. “I used to walk with my mother along the path to reach the grotto. Maman was a devout woman. She came to pray at the grotto every day.”

  What grotto? Before she could express her puzzlement, François grabbed her hand. Lacing his fingers with hers, he gently squeezed them.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “The saints were standing at the entrance of the grotto and the…” Bernard paused in mid-sentence as if he caught himself and scowled at her.

  “And the tunnel?” she whispered.

  Bernard gasped and glanced at the count.

  “She knows about it. Tell us what you remember.”

  “The saints’ statues were not in the chapel. I don’t know why this piece was found here.”

  “It may have been blown up during the bombardment and covered with rubble over the years,” François suggested.

  “Oui, c’est possible,” Bernard muttered. “It’s possible. Now that I recall the saints, I would like to find those two statues, in remembrance of my mother.”

  “I promise we’ll move every stone until we find them,” Cheryl hastened to say.

  The butler’s wrinkles creased in surprise and disbelief, then relaxed and his warm gaze covered her face with interest.

  “You will? Merci, Mademoiselle. Thank you so much.”

  For the first time since she’d arrived at Valroux, Cheryl felt that Bernard was ready to accept her presence. Genuinely happy to please him, she recorded her notes.

  “Satisfied?” François asked. “Can you relax now?”

  Relax? She snorted inwardly. Difficult with so much electricity sparking between them. But she was ready to forgive him now that he’d given her an opportunity to approach his butler.

  Straightening, she reverted to more professional thoughts. “I have hundreds of questions for Bernard.” She toyed with her pen while watching the old man.

  “You just gained Bernard’s undying gratitude. Nice move, Cheryl.”

  She winced, shocked by the edge of his voice. Did he think, by any chance, that she made empty promises only to mollify his faithful butler and obtain information?

  “You…” she started. Breathing with difficulty, she clenched her fists at her side to restrain her anger. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d upset her one more time. She forced a wry smile. “Yeah, wasn’t it smart? Excuse me, I have things to do.”

  She lowered her head over her pad, scribbling on the sheet with a vengeance.

  ~*~

  “The saints’ statues may be broken in a hundred pieces. I don’t want you to be disappointed, Bernard,” François said to his butler who’d come to join him on the terrace where he indulged in an after dinner drink.

  “Mademoiselle Stewart assured me she could fix them herself, even if some pieces are missing.”

  François shook his head and resented Cheryl for inflicting more pain on an old man who’d suffered a lot through the years. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  “Did you know she is a sculptor?”

  “No. She told me she paints. But she’s never talked about sculpting.” Was the girl a paragon of talents?

  “I am really sorry I misjudged the young lady.” Bernard rolled a cigarette between his fingers without lighting it, a sure sign of nervousness for him. He so badly wanted to find the statues that reminded him of his mother and his youth.

  “Did she ask you a lot of questions?” François couldn’t allow her to abuse the confidence of the dear old man who’d raised him like a father. Better than his busy father who often ignored his only son.

  “Not a single question, Monsieur le Comte. When I saw her in the corridor, she just reassured me about the saints’ statues.”

  “We can’t trust her yet. All she’s interested in is publishing her paper. If she can’t write about the missing statue, she’ll probably use the two others as a clever substitute.”

  “You had seemed more inclined to believe her the first day she arrived.” Under shaggy eyebrows, Bernard peered down at him. For a second, François felt like the five-year old Bernard scolded for playing in the mud.

  Leaning on the marble rail of the terrace, François sipped a last glass of wine. A chat with Bernard was not exactly his favorite activity on such a gorgeous night.

  “Go to sleep, Bernard. It has been a long and emotional day for you.”

  “Bonne nuit, Monsieur le Comte. You are right. I need to rest my legs. The arthritis is sawing through my bones.”

  François nodded and his faithful servant limped across the terrace.

  A light breeze played with the bending branches of the tall poplar trees and smothered the heat of a warm July. A sultry night perfect for a romantic stroll. But Fran�
�ois had no one to stroll with.

  He raised his gaze toward the balconies of the second floor. No light filtered through the shades in Cheryl’s room. She was already asleep at nine and the other students had left the chateau for the night. François had eaten dinner alone, on the terrace, not wanting or daring to invite her without the others.

  Only a week ago, she’d been pliant and eager in his arms, with a spontaneity certainly not faked. Heck, he had enough experience in this domain to know the difference. He’d hate to misjudge her. Could the savvy student be sly enough to play on the emotions and memories of an old man to reach her goal? François’ heart and mind objected.

  Tomorrow, he’d soothe her. He’d take her out to the picturesque little town of Amboise to visit the chateau. She’d enjoy discovering the villa where Leonardo Da Vinci lived for many years and the museum harboring his first inventions.

  Pleased with his decision, François whistled a tune. The breeze seemed to carry the echo of his music. He grinned, then listened. The whistling continued and approached, soon accompanied by laughter and song.

  François went down the marble steps and halted as a joyous group emerged from the shadows. Adriaan, his guitar hanging on his chest, Juan-Pablo, Roberto and Cheryl singing to the music.

  “Hello, François, you should have come with us,” Juan-Pablo exclaimed while waving at him.

  Adriaan stopped playing and explained, “We visited the chateau of Amboise and the quaint town, as you recommended. We also spent time at Da Vinci’s house and museum,”

  “We had such a blast,” Cheryl assured him.

  His eyes narrowed, François mumbled, “But it’s too far. Cheryl must be exhausted from the walk.”

  Adriaan burst out laughing, his cheerful mood grating on François’ ears. “Not at all. I took my car. When we returned I parked it at the South Tower where we are staying.”

  “We were walking Cheryl back to the chateau the grand way, with music and song.” Juan-Pablo gestured to the guitar.

  “Well, goodnight, gentlemen. I’m glad you had such a good time.” His tone was anything but glad. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Goodnight Cheryl, François.” They strolled toward the South Tower.

  François turned toward Cheryl. “I was going in myself. I’ll lock up after you.”

  She nodded and entered the chateau. He followed her and dropped the door latch in place.

  “Cheryl, wait. I want to talk to you.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m really tired.” Her formal tone hit him like a slap.

  He joined her and blocked her path. “Bernard told me you promised to patch up his saint.”

  “So?” She jerked a shoulder.

  “I didn’t know you could sculpt.”

  “Oh I see. Of course, I invented a new talent to gain your butler’s trust and gratitude. It’s part of my scheme. Right?”

  Anger shimmered in her eyes. He stood rooted in place, his gaze lost in the deep blue irises sparkling with irritation. She was so beautiful. But why did they have to fight?

  “Cheryl, listen to me. I love Bernard too much to see him disappointed and I didn’t know… I mean patching a sculpture must be a very difficult job.” He tried to soothe her but wondered if he didn’t make things worse.

  “Yes, difficult and tedious. I have done it before in Boston and New York. I worked in summer at various museums. It takes patience and perseverance,” she explained casually.

  “Well, thank you for reassuring me,” he muttered. He was far from reassured but he needed to patch more than a broken statue right now.

  “As usual, François, you don’t want to trust me. You didn’t trust me as an architect, as an expert on old chapels and now as a sculptor. You don’t even trust me as a woman with filial respect for her mentor or as a decent human wanting to please an old butler.”

  The last sentence ended on a pathetic quiver that tore at his heart. Her chin high, she slipped past him and dashed to the Grand Hall and the stairs.

  François didn’t try to detain her. Why were they always at odds? He’d just added to her pain after she’d lost the only person who sincerely cared about her. There was nothing François could say or do to mend the tear in their budding friendship. How could he convince her that in spite of appearances he deeply trusted her and worried about her?

  If only there wasn’t a killer on the loose and a stalker around his chateau. Icy fear slithered down his spine. Mon Dieu, he would do anything to protect Cheryl.

  Chapter 8

  “Au secours.” The scream pierced the silence of the night and jolted Cheryl from a relaxing moment on her balcony. Someone was calling for help. A man’s voice. Good thing she hadn’t undressed for the night, except for her shoes she’d taken off as soon as she stepped in her room. She slipped on a pair of sneakers, stuffed the laces inside the shoes, grabbed her flashlight and dashed out of her room down to the kitchen.

  Just as she crossed the breakfast area, she glimpsed François unlocking the back door. “It’s Bernard’s voice. Something must have happened to him,” he said in a rasp. His fingers clutched a gun. “If you are coming with me, stick by my side.”

  “I will,” she promised, glad he hadn’t asked her to stay inside, away from danger. “Let’s go.”

  “This way. Turn off your flashlight.” He pointed to the direction away from the chateau. “Something is going on in the fields.” They took off, running as quietly as possible.

  The sound of blows and moans reached them—muffled but terrifying. Another scream chilled Cheryl’s bones. As they neared the area where the noise emanated from, they heard a dull fall and rustling of the weeds.

  “There.” Cheryl turned to the left. “Someone running. I’ll go after him.”

  François’ fingers caught her arm with a steel grasp. “Stay with me.”

  “But he’ll escape.”

  “We have to find Bernard.”

  Ready to protest, she peered through the darkness and tried to see François’ expression. Was he only trying to protect her, to stop her from going on her own after the stalker? Still she couldn’t abandon Bernard if he needed help. François pulled his cell phone, seemed to reconsider and shoved it back into his pocket. “I can’t even call the police yet. We don’t have any details to give them.” He surveyed the darkness. “Turn your flashlight on. Let’s find him.”

  Cheryl switched on the flashlight and directed the beam over the weeds and the ground. A whimper attracted her attention. She rushed toward it and pointed the light downward. Her heart lurched and lodged in her throat. “Oh my God.”

  Cheryl’s gasp echoed François’curse.

  Bernard lay curled on the ground, his hands tied, his legs flexed against his stomach. He raised his head slowly. Blood dripped from his nose. His left eye exhibited a purple bulge. She dropped to her knees next to the old man while François squatted beside them and untied Bernard’s hands.

  “What has he done to you?” she asked as she cradled Bernard’s head in her lap.

  “They…they caught me when…”

  “They?” François helped his butler to a sitting position.

  “Two of them. Help me up, Monsieur le Comte,” he whimpered.

  “Two men attacked you?” Cheryl’s pulse raced. The danger was escalating by the hour.

  “I’ll tell you all about it when…when we get back inside.”

  François caught him under the arms and pulled him up. Bernard scanned the darkness with an anxious gaze before flexing his back and taking a careful step toward the chateau. “Lean on me.” François hooked his butler’s arm under his.

  “I’ll take your other arm,” Cheryl said while illuminating their way with her flashlight.

  As they passed in front of the South Tower, a door opened and the students hurried toward them. Cheryl waggled her flashlight on the group, counting. They were all there, Adriaan and Juan-Pablo in short pajamas, Roberto wearing his jeans and Karl and Lee in trouser
s.

  All five of them.

  That didn’t make sense. Then who was the offender—or the offenders, since Bernard said two men attacked him.

  They spoke together, mingling questions with curses and exclamations in their own languages.

  “What happened?”

  “I heard screams.”

  “What are you doing out?”

  If the situation was not so critical, Cheryl would have laughed at this Tower of Babel.

  “Apparently, Bernard fell and hit his head.” François sent a sharp gaze at the group. “He’s not coherent at the moment and can’t explain what happened.”

  Cheryl admired François’ calm and his brief explanation meant to protect Bernard.

  “Are you taking him to the hospital?” Roberto asked.

  “Do you need help? I can get my car ready in a sec,” Adriaan offered.

  “Thank you but no hospital for tonight. We are going back to the chateau.” François continued to walk, almost carrying the frail butler. “I will have my doctor come and see him tonight if possible.”

  Cheryl bet he wouldn’t let Bernard out of his sight for the coming days.

  His head sagging against his chest, Bernard hadn’t said a word in front of the students, hadn’t even spared them a look, as if raising his eyelids hurt too much.

  “We can take turns tending to Bernard,” Juan-Pablo offered.

  “Thanks but no thanks. I’ll make sure he goes straight to bed and stays there until the doctor checks him.” He wouldn’t let any of the students close to Bernard. Cheryl didn’t blame him. If the attackers were among this group they might finish off the old man.

  They finally reached the kitchen door. Cheryl held it open and switched on the lights while François walked his butler to the nearest chair, settled him and then turned to the five men who’d followed him inside and now milled around Bernard. “I would appreciate it if you leave. We’ve had enough commotion. Good night, gentlemen.”