Either I go forward and get out, she thought dully, haltingly putting one foot in front of the other, or I stay here and die. After what seemed like hours, the sound of water became more distinct. Maggie moved more quickly, walking into the darkness pushing her fear ahead of her into the black void.
When the passageway suddenly opened up to a large underground room, Maggie stumbled into it without realizing at first that light was pouring in from the high windows above. She blinked against the new brightness and tried to listen for the sounds of water again to get her bearings. Her legs quivered and threatened to give way as she listened. She tucked her head to concentrate.
She heard absolutely nothing.
But she smelled the aroma of coffee percolating. Another vision?
Is this the end? Is this what happens when you die? You smell the inside of a Starbucks?
Without knowing she was about to, Maggie opened her mouth and screamed. Her howl was inhuman to her own ears and left her exhausted and trembling.
Jemmy.
“Is somebody down there?” a voice called from the nearest high window. “Can I help you?”
*****
Maggie huddled by the campfire and gripped the cell phone tightly, hoping it might stop her trembling. It was three in the morning.
Milo, an Australian medical student backpacking around Europe before starting his residency in Sydney, sat watching her. His hair was long and uncombed, his eyes searching hers as if he wasn’t completely sure she was real. He had hung his hammock and built his campfire near the creek at the base of the abbey—the same creek that fed the indoor wellspring of the abbey, and which Maggie had been listening to and following for nearly half the night.
In the end, there was no door in or out of the dungeon, no obvious way out. Milo climbed down to her from a ground-level window, stepping onto the massive stone tombs that crowded the large room like a macabre, irregular staircase. Maggie had no memory of the climb back up with Milo behind her pushing, and in the end, half carrying her to his campfire.
But she knew that if it hadn’t been for the young man’s sudden desire for a middle of the night caffeine hit she would still be down in the frozen halls of the ancient dungeon. Only she would probably no longer be walking.
“I guess I’m trying to get used to working weird hours,” Milo said, handing Maggie a sandwich. “Or maybe the abbey is haunted, you know? Because I just couldn’t fall asleep.”
“Thank God for that,” Maggie said, reaching for the sandwich. She took a quick bite and then turned to the phone as the line connected. “Laurent? It’s me.”
“Where the hell are you?” Laurent barked in English. “I’ve been driving around half the night looking for you. Why are you not answering your phone?”
At the sound of his voice, familiar and close, Maggie’s throat closed up and she worked to speak past the lump burning in her throat. “Laurent, I’m sorry,” she said, sounding choked even to her ears. “I was locked in a dungeon and I just now got out.”
“If you are being sarcastic with me, so help me God—”
“I’m telling the truth. Please come get me but don’t kill yourself in the process. I’m okay but I need you and I love you, Laurent. I love you desperately.”
“Bon. Where exactly?”
Maggie gave him directions and handed the phone back to Milo. “Thanks,” she said, sagging onto a blanket next to the fire. She huddled in Milo’s rain jacket. He was equipped for a summer backpacking expedition and had not packed anything for warmth.
“Did you break your arm?”
“My wrist, I think, yeah,” Maggie said, putting the sandwich down. “Oh, my gosh, thank you.” She reached for the mug of black coffee he handed her, but her hand shook so much it sloshed down the front of her sweater.
“I cannot believe you spent the night in there. With no blankets or food or water? That’s totally hardcore.”
Maggie managed a few sips before setting the cup down. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Over there,” Milo said, pointing away from his campfire.
Maggie stood, her hand screaming in pain when she moved it, but her stomach settled down.
“Is that your husband?” Milo called.
Maggie looked up to see Laurent’s Renault speeding up the winding road, heading toward the abbey. Warmth radiated throughout her body at the sight of him.
“Please tell me you got here so fast because you were in the area,” she said under her breath. She walked to the grassy knoll overlooking the road and waved her good hand. He roared up, slammed into park and bounded out of the car.
She didn’t even have to speak. His eyes took it all in and without a word he ran to her and pulled her into his arms. The smell of him was so familiar and safe. She burst into tears.
I kept him. The black night is over and I didn’t pay a price for my sins.
“I feel like Scrooge on Christmas morning,” she whispered into his chest. Her legs gave way and he lifted her easily in his arms and walked back to the car.
The ER at Arles looked much the same as it had the day before. Only this time, Maggie sat in the waiting room with Laurent. The room was full from weekend mishaps and a broken wrist was triaged as not urgent. Laurent procured a couple of ibuprofen for her and a bottle of water. On the ride over, she told him that Olivier left her in the abbey for reasons she could only guess at.
“I didn’t have anyone’s phone number,” he said in frustration. “I didn’t think to get one when I dropped you off. And you weren’t answering your phone.”
“It’s still in my purse in the car with them.”
Laurent had called the police during the ride into town.
“Why would Olivier lock you in there? Was his intention to kill you?”
“Laurent, I honestly think it was.”
“For what purpose?”
“I have no idea. Unless he thought I had evidence against him for Lanie’s murder.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“I hate to see you in pain, chérie. I can’t tell you what I thought when I went upstairs to bed and saw your texts and realized you’d tried to contact me all day. But by then you were unreachable.”
“Laurent, I am so sorry for all of this. For leaving you and Jem alone, for abandoning you when my brother showed up. For…everything.”
“Does ‘everything’ include the lies?”
Maggie sucked in a quick inhalation of breath, jerking her wrist in the process, which made her wince. “I guess I hoped they weren’t really lies so much as—”
“So your purse really was lost as you told me? Not stolen?”
Maggie sighed. “Okay. But it’s because I didn’t want you to worry.”
“That is another lie. You didn’t want me to interfere.”
Maggie grimaced and looked away.
“What are you afraid of? Do you ever do anything I tell you to do?” Laurent’s dark eyes bore into hers.
“I try to.”
“Yes, unless it is something you want very, very much. Then you just lie to me and do it anyway.”
“It’s because I don’t like to fight with you.”
“Fighting would be better than lying to me.”
“But how about the time you told me you couldn’t promise you wouldn’t ever lie to me?”
“That is different.”
“How, exactly?”
“My lies would always be for your own good. To protect you. Your lies are for convenience.”
“I’m thinking a lie is a lie.”
He gave her a baleful look.
“Look, Laurent, I feel like I have good reasons—same as you—for hedging the truth now and then,” she said. “But things have been so good between us, I just don’t want to ruin it by fighting with you.”
“But you must! You must stomp your feet and throw a dish at me. Don’t worry. You will not hit me.”
“And then you’ll just cave in? You’ll say, ‘Ok
ay, fine, go ahead’?”
“Pas du tout. I will fight hard for you not to do something stupid or that may get you hurt. It will be a fight formidable. But I don’t own you. I will not lock you in the garden shed.”
“Fine,” she said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll risk fighting with you if you’ll risk my knowing what you’re up to in spite of how little you trust me.”
He looked at her with surprise. “I do trust you, chérie.”
“Well, in that case, we have a deal. No more lies. And let the chips fall.”
He narrowed his eyes as he regarded her for a moment. “Bon,” he said finally. “And after we fight, and have scared the pigeons from the rafters with our shouts, I will take you to bed and we will soothe away all the terrible words with our love.”
She grinned. “Works for me.”
*****
It was late morning by the time they left the hospital with Maggie’s arm in a sling. The police called Laurent back to say Olivier had been taken into custody and was being escorted back to Nice, where he would remain until the trial.
“I guess trying to kill someone is a pretty serious bail violation,” Maggie said.
“He told the others that I came and picked you up early,” Laurent said.
“I was such an idiot, Laurent. I trusted him. I thought he was a good guy. Do they know why he attacked me?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters. What did they say?”
“It’s nothing, chérie. Just the ramblings from a distraught man.”
“Ramblings like what?”
“The detective I spoke to seemed to think Olivier blamed you, well, everyone, but mostly you for—”
“Me? Blamed me? For what?”
“Evidently your friend Lanie said some things to him about you.”
Maggie stared at Laurent and then slowly redirected her gaze to the road ahead.
“Maggie. Please do not upset yourself. These people aren’t rational.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “It’s just…Lanie hated me. I never knew that.”
“You still don’t know that,” Laurent said firmly.
They drove in silence for several minutes. At one point, Laurent reached over and gave her knee a squeeze. “How are you feeling?”
“It doesn’t hurt as much.”
“Good. We need to talk about some things.”
Maggie twisted in her seat to look at him and yelped as the motion pulled against her sling. “I thought we got all that sorted out. The lying and stuff.”
“This is something different.”
“Oh, God, don’t tell me you want a divorce. Today’s not a good day for me to hear that.”
“I will never understand your humor.”
“Just tell me, please.”
“We are about to go into a dry spell,” he said. Maggie knew Laurent was proud of his grasp of American idiom so she nodded as if she understood him and waited for the other shoe to fall on her head.
“We are going to be poor for a little bit,” he said and then shrugged. “Perhaps longer.”
“I knew there was something going on! It’s the vineyard, isn’t? I thought we had a bumper crop this year.”
“We do. This is a very good year for us,” Laurent said, never taking his eyes off the road. “But the co-op I use to crush and bottle my grapes has sold out to an American corporation.”
“What? Everyone in it? They all sold? Jean-Luc, too?”
“No, not Jean-Luc.”
“Well, didn’t this company offer to buy your interests too?”
Laurent smiled wryly. “The terms were not favorable.”
Maggie frowned and bit her lip. “Okay, so we have grapes but no way to get them turned into wine?”
“No, we do. I have recently made arrangements to form what is called a studio winemaking operation. A few other vintners and an investor will join with me in getting our grapes crushed and bottled.”
“Great. Well, then problem solved.”
“Yes, but it will be expensive for awhile, I’m afraid.”
“So that’s why you said we’ll be poor.”
“Si.”
“Poor as in no more weekend trips to Paris or poor as in no trips back to the States?”
“Oui, chérie. All of that. I am sorry, Maggie. It is just until the new business finds its legs.”
Maggie turned to look out the window. She looked down at the jeans she’d crawled around a medieval dungeon in. The ER physician had had to cut a section of the pant leg away to clean and bandage the cut on her leg. The cut wasn’t deep and Maggie was relieved she hadn’t needed stitches. She turned her face to the sun and felt its strong rays caress her cheek through the car window.
“Laurent,” she said, still not looking at him, “the main thing is you and me and Jemmy. As long as we three are together, that’s all that matters.”
Laurent seemed to hesitate and Maggie turned to see why, but all he said was, “I am glad, chérie.”
“So that’s it? That’s what’s been bothering you? I have to say I was worried, Laurent. This is no big deal. But a little communication next time, please.”
“Je sais, chérie. I should have told you sooner. Oh, but you’re right, there is something else you probably should know.”
“What?”
“I might have broken your brother’s nose.”
Maggie wasn’t surprised when Laurent pulled into the parking lot of the little restaurant before they reached St-Buvard. In his mind, any and all ills, whether physical or emotional, were best dealt with on a full stomach. Food ranked very high with him as aphrodisiac, panacea, and balm. The parking space was dirt and parallel to the country road just off the D17.
At first glance the restaurant looked like a gas station to Maggie except for the striped awnings over the windows. After washing her face at the hospital and having her wrist bandaged and a sling immobilizing it against her chest, she was amazed to realize she was hungry. Laurent helped her out of the car and, holding her good elbow, guided her into the brasserie.
Tin ceiling tiles stamped with ornate patterns and hardwood floors, polished to a gleam, gave the inside of the little bistro an immediate, cozy feel. Heavy toile café curtains hung against the large windows facing the street, and the gilded antique frames and mirrors on the dark walls presented a touch of understated elegance along with a feel of en famille. Maggie instantly felt cosseted and pampered.
Of course, she thought, tears welling up in her eyes, that was Laurent’s intention.
A waiter greeted them and sat them in a booth overlooking the parking lot. It was still warm outside but even now, in late August, Maggie could see evidence of the mistral and the coming autumn in the swirling, miniature cyclones of dead leaves in the street. She relaxed into her chair while Laurent ordered for them both.
If you’d have told me six hours ago that I’d be sipping a Pinot Noir and waiting for a hot lunch, I would’ve worried a whole lot less about being attacked by the spirits of crazed monks. The waiter brought the wine and poured their glasses.
“One glass won’t hurt,” Laurent said.
“You mean because of the drugs?” Maggie said. “They didn’t give me any. I’m only on ibuprofen.”
Laurent gave her a strange look as if he was about to say something and then thought better of it. He raised his glass.
Maggie reached for her glass and then looked at Laurent.
“You think I’m pregnant,” she said suddenly.
He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Don’t you?”
The waiter came and set a tureen of potato and leek soup in front of Maggie and placed a large, silver soupspoon by her napkin. Someone else came with a basket of fresh baked bread.
She waited for the server to leave and then, unable to hide the tears stinging in her eyes, smiled at Laurent. “How in the world did you know? I wasn’t completely sure myself.”
“There is no one I know so well as you, chérie,
” he said, reaching for his own soupspoon. “I have made an art of studying you in all your forms and incarnations. The one where you are carrying my baby is one of my very favorites.”
“Oh my God, Laurent, we’re going to have another baby. That’ll make two.”
“Your mathematical abilities continue to astound me, chérie,” Laurent said with a smile, his eyes shining.
Maggie ate her soup and enjoyed every drop of her wine, vowing it would almost certainly be the very last she drank until the baby was born. She ate several pieces of bread and every bite of the luscious and creamy Quiche Lorraine that was served after the soup. She and Laurent talked of their children and their future until Maggie thought her happiness could not be more complete. Finally, she dropped her napkin on the table and groaned. “I ate too much.”
Laurent signaled to the waiter for the bill.
“How in the world did you find this place? They act like they know you.”
“They are trained to act that way with everyone,” Laurent said.
“Ben was sleeping with Lanie.”
“Comment?” Laurent looked at her and frowned.
“My brother, Ben. He lied about not being with Lanie.”
The waiter delivered the bill and walked away. Before Laurent opened his wallet, he said, “Is this important information if Olivier is the murderer?”
“I don’t think Olivier is the murderer.”
“That surprises me, chérie.”
“I think Ben got Lanie pregnant—inconveniently pregnant.”
Laurent pulled bills out of his wallet and tucked them into the folder with the bill.
“You have reasons for thinking this?”
“Remember at dinner a couple nights ago Ben said he didn’t really know Lanie in school?”
Laurent nodded slowly.
“It’s true they were in different grades,” Maggie said. “Ben graduated by the time Lanie and I were there, but it was a lie that he didn’t know her.”
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