Chapter Five
“Arow,” said the white feline mop by way of greeting.
At some point during his lonely morning, he had pulled my cardigan off the bamboo hat stand and now squatted on the garment, one front paw crossed over the other. When I closed the door, the cat arched, sank his claws into the wool, and kneaded, a blissful grin on his furry face.
“Will you stop that?”
After an indignant blink, my new feline friend detached his claws from the cardigan, sauntered across, and wove a figure eight around my ankles. I let my fingers slip along the cat’s spine, surprisingly bony under his plushy fur. From the guest loo wafted an unpleasant whiff. I could only hope we were talking litterbox rather than a random protest dump.
For once, I had a lucky break.
“You’re a good boy,” I crooned, drawing a curled upper lip in response.
The litterbox sorted, I climbed upstairs. In the bedroom, I ripped off the tunic and sniffed. Urgh, not nice either, I must have sweated buckets without ever noticing. The deodorant had prevented a full-blown disaster, but only just.
I dropped the stinky clothes into the laundry hamper, as a white shape trotted into the room, tail aflutter. “Hey, guess what, furry one. I’ve got a new name for you. Ta-dah, you’re now officially called Louis. Don’t get your hopes up, though. I won’t address you as Your Majesty.”
Louis jumped onto the bed and stalked across the duvet. “Murp?”
“Nope, it’s Lou-ee.”
Louis rolled over in the bed, his four fat paws with their pink pads kneading the air. I lay next to the fuzzy creature and fondled his belly. A purr rumbled under my palm, and I was swamped by tenderness so fierce, tears shot into my eyes.
“You’re such a trusting little soul.” My voice sounded hoarse, but a quick clearing of my throat took care of the minor problem. “How come you weren’t spooked by Monsieur? Even made a beeline for him, hmm? I always thought cats act pretty shrewd when it came to humans.”
Yeah, they sat on the one person in the room who couldn’t stand them.
“Yvon seems to be a decent enough chap. Mind you he’s also easy on the eyes, no complaints there. However, he’s a bit too observant, you know what I mean? The grave and blocking the access to Glorieuse I can understand. But one doesn’t gift cats to one’s antagonists, right?”
Louis yawned, displaying needle-sharp fangs in a pink mouth.
I rested my head on my folded arms and stared at the ceiling. A dusty string of cobwebs reached from the lampshade into one corner. Despite the closed shutters, the daytime heat was pooling in the room, and perspiration trickled through the gap between my breasts. Before I went anywhere, I would need to shower.
“There’s this thing with his aura. First, it’s not there. Then it is, but there’s not much of it. Eventually, it gets almost back to normal, only to disappear again. Could it have something to do with me? I mean, unless I’m miles off the mark, I’d say the man showed more than a professional interest.” There, I’d said it.
Louis gave a gusty sigh and closed his eyes.
Yvon’s image took hold in my mind. The lunch stunt had been born of professional concern, no problems there. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone. However, there was something else going on, cue the cat.
And I had accepted the gift.
Could there be a connection between a wonky aura and someone fancying yours truly?
“None of my ex-partners suffered from Yvon’s problem. Not even when we—ehem. Sorry, cat, you’re neutered, you won’t understand.”
Louis sneezed.
Seriously, I’m not some crazy cat lady who expects her pets to talk back. Giving voice to the words whizzing through my brain helped me make sense of the chaos that was life. Unfortunately, even if cats made great sounding boards, for advice I would have to talk to a human being. That was where things got a tad more difficult.
I sat up and massaged my damp scalp. Then I checked my watch. Bugger, the UK was one hour behind, too early to call Gerald who would be busy practicing law. There was Vera, the one person other than Gerald and my parents familiar with the real me; if one discounted my exes, of course. She’d helped me settle in France after steering me through the aftermath of the Tom-proposed-he-really-did disaster.
It might have made a difference if I hadn’t sprung my weird gift on the man immediately afterward. On second thought, no it wouldn’t, not when I had mistaken pig-headedness for character.
Unwelcome memories tugging at my heart, I reached for my phone—and paused. Vera also juggled her bed and breakfast, two hyperactive school children, and a husband suffering from a severe case of midlife crisis that made him chase skirts instead of acting the rock for his kids and his long-suffering wife. Happy ever after wasn’t always a bed of roses.
I’d call Vera later to lend a sympathetic ear, but first I needed to quiet the clamor in my head, otherwise, I’d be of no use to her. Normally my mum and dad, probably the two most grounded people in the world, would help, but since they were scoring ecological black marks with a Caribbean cruise and had gone incommunicado, calling them wasn’t an option.
A soft shift of the duvet told me the cat was on the move. With a contented sigh, he settled his hairy body in the crook of my arm. “Gosh, you’re way too warm for the weather.”
Louis cranked up the purring.
“There’s an easy way to verify if my suspicions concerning Yvon are right. I could swear Raoul is gay. He wouldn’t be interested in me. Well, not for sex anyway.”
The cat yawned.
“Thank you for your vote of confidence. I’ll need to make sure I touch him, though, like I did with Yvon. That made a huge difference.”
Louis blinked once.
“You’re not helping much, you know? Perhaps, I should start with the treasure. What a cool story. Remind me to check it later. What I don’t get is this finger-pointing. Raoul is okay with Monsieur but doesn’t like Paulette. She doesn’t care for Yvon and can’t stand Raoul whom Yvon also seems to have beef with. It’s mind-boggling.”
I lay on the bed, befuddled thoughts chasing each other without ever getting anywhere. In the end, I capitulated, extricated my arm from under the sleeping cat, and rose.
First, I would visit the Hypermarché . If there was the time before returning to the beach, I might even oil the wretched gate.
?~ * ~
T his evening was even hotter than yesterday had been. A high cover of clouds created an opaque sheen in the skies above me. Pretty to look at, the pall also put a lid on the warmth radiating from the super-heated sands scorching the soles of my espadrilles.
Only the faintest breeze stirred the tepid air, and the ocean lay becalmed, its waters glittering with the fuzzy light of the setting sun. Once more, the tide was out, and this time only flat pools dotted the wet sand between the bunkers.
Espadrilles in hand, I sloshed along, curiosity tickling my throat like an obnoxious feather.
“ Bonsoir, ” a male voice said behind me. Cigarette smoke hit my nose.
I swung around and beheld Raoul. Today, he was dressed in a rumpled white shirt, its sleeves rolled up on his arms, the collar too pointed for today’s fashion. Pleated, high-waist slacks completed his retro getup, their fabric too thick for the weather. No beret. No baguette either. Bare feet poked from underneath the hem of his fancy legwear. He reminded me of a handsome model showcasing a historical costume.
“Do you like my outfit?” Raoul extinguished his Gauloise in the same metal tin he had used yesterday, then spun around in an exaggerated display of himself and lost his balance. He splashed into the nearest puddle. “ Merde . Uh, pardon.”
Unlike Yvon, Raoul never asked to speak English but babbled away in French, the local dialect slurring his words.
A laugh rushed my throat and escaped.
“No worries. Let me guess, shades of the Résistance ? You’re missing a weapon, though,” I responded in the same language.
“ Les flics would frown upon such impudence. Otherwise, you’re spot on. I thought I should dress in style. Like you did, and it is most appreciated.”
What a kind comment to make. The white tunic I wore over my shorts began its life as a nightshirt, but the pillow lace around the collar and sleeves gave it a special touch. Perhaps he meant that.
He winked in such an exaggerated manner, I couldn’t help another giggle. He was so like Gerald. But when I fished for the aura of Monsieur Charming, I drew a blank.
Raoul eyed a swarm of translucent fish zipping through the puddle. “Hoopla. I hope I haven’t trampled the poor creatures.”
I wondered whether he might be an actor of some sort. Perhaps I was starring in a cover version of Candid Camera?
I gave the bunkers a surreptitious once-over. No film teams in sight.
No aura either. Touching the man might help. However, the opportunity for a handshake had already passed.
As if to rub it in, Raoul shoved his hands into his ample pockets. “Okay, I’m all yours. You want to gain insight into the German occupation. I suggest we start with the original lie of the land. Nowadays it’s a bit of a mess.”
He glared at the structure at his side. Glittery with moisture, it was covered in a wild combo of tags, possibly the reason for his displeasure. Or perhaps the upside-down staircase had drawn his wrath.
I sidled up. Maybe I could pat him on the shoulder at a convenient moment?
“Why not? I find it amazing these structures tumbled from the ridges onto the beach. I thought the Germans are supposed to be an efficient nation?”
Raoul snorted. “Yeah, right. Like the Thousand-Year Empire itself, this battery was built on sand. The dunes are shifting since the ocean is eating away at them. Nazi pride didn’t allow for erosion in any form. Don’t forget, this gun battery was built in 1943.”
“Not the best time for long-term planning.”
“You’ve got it.”
I stepped closer to the bunker until we almost brushed shoulders. His body gave off a stale whiff of cigarettes mingled with a citrus scent of aftershave, which wrought havoc on my olfactory senses. If he had an aura, it wasn’t evident
“They’re certainly scenic, especially at sunset,” I said. “I was hoping the structures would be more inspirational. I’m still waiting for the writing muse to descend. Paulette mentioned the Jewish family, but I don’t want to use their story. It’s simply too cruel. Half of the time, I’d be crying instead of writing.”
The words spoken, I ran my tongue along the roof of my mouth, coaxing my taste buds into service. Once more I was foiled and sensed no aura.
My fingers longed to touch the man next to me, but I didn’t want to provoke any misunderstandings on a public beach. Come to think of it, I would hate to provoke him somewhere more private. Even more of a hunk than Yvon, Raoul wasn’t a man to trifle with, despite his charm and carefree smile.
I stepped aside, creating some distance between us.
He swung around, his friendly brown eyes clouded. “If the little pest went into so much detail, she no doubt explained to you what I’m after.”
“Find the treasure?”
“Is that what she said? Hah.”
No love was lost between those two. “I might be out on a limb here, but you don’t come across as a fortune hunter. Or, if you find something, you’re likely to return it to the rightful owners.”
Raoul pointed two fingers at me and mocked a shooting motion. “You’ve got it. And thanks for not taking me for the villain.”
Judgment was pending on who played what role in this charade.
“There’s one tiny problem,” he said. “Nobody knows where the owners are. Or rather, if there are any descendants or relatives alive today. Nobody has a clue what happened to the Legrands, and the chances of finding anybody after so many years are slim.”
His shoulders slumped, and—despite topping me by quite a few inches—he seemed to shrink. “Once someone finds the loot, there’ll be a gold rush. Nothing will be left.”
“This seems to bother you a lot despite it happening ages ago.” I reached out, not to sample him, but to offer comfort.
No matter what Yvon and Paulette might say, Raoul seemed to be a decent man, someone trying to do the right thing in a world where morals and values sold cheaply in the bargain basement.
“Doesn’t make it right, does it?” The words lashed out, and he straightened to his former height.
I took a step backward, straight into another puddle.
“Sorry.” He too retreated.
We eyed each other.
Raoul was the first to break into a shy grin. “Yvon agrees with you. He’s convinced I’m a nutter.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
The grin got wider. “No, but I could see it in your face. You’re right, both of you. It’s daft trying to find one family where millions were crushed like so much vermin. But then, maybe it’s my way of making a stand.”
A sudden flash of excitement fizzled through my body. Inspiration, sadly missing in action for ages, deigned to tweak my brain. “For the record, I don’t think you’re mad. I respect you for what you’re trying to do. Hey, would you allow me to tell your story? The tale of a lost treasure and a man trying to make amends.”
Raoul gave me a sad smile. “Ah, I suck as a hero.”
“We all do. That’s what fiction is for.”
My comment drew a delighted laugh. “Nice, a very astute observation.” His face fell. “Will you help me? In return, I’ll take on the role as your champion, though it isn’t my style. And I’ll let you have the intel you need.”
“Which you promised to give me tonight.”
He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Where is my brain these days? My apologies. I brought you something.” A swift fumble in the pockets of his saggy pants produced a memory stick that he dropped into my palm. Without ever touching me.
Bugger.
“It’s the background on some players as I promised, plus some bits and bobs on the famous treasure thrown in for good measure. That should get you started, and there’s more where this came from. How does that sound? I suggest you focus on the Legrands and not poor little moi . They should be remembered as the people they were and for the lives they lived. It would make a much better topic, since it wouldn’t be quite so sad, no?”
I took a deep breath. Raoul had a point there. Did I trust my skills enough to write my story? I could try. And he had finally given me an opening.
I stretched out my hand. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
For such a sturdy lad, his handshake was rather feeble. A brief touch of a callused hand, a loose brush of slim fingers, then the moment was gone. And the taste of aura still missing from my mouth.
?With the summer sky darkening above me, I strolled back to Villa Glorieuse. Raoul had left me soon after we shook on our agreement. A sleepless night catching up with him, he claimed.
Hey, there was my to-go-for excuse.
On the plus side, I could swear my hunch was spot on. Gerald and Raoul would get on like a house on fire. Well, these days, Gerald was happily married to Peter and wouldn’t stray. At least, I didn’t think he would.
But my old friend and the mysterious Frenchman shared quite a few character traits. Raoul might be a lot more intense, and scary at times, but I couldn’t help liking him. His antics made me smile and boy, did I need a bit of humor in my life. Yvon and Paulette’s qualms notwithstanding, I would continue our acquaintance. Not only because the man had morphed into an unlikely muse.
I crossed the dune and took the footpath that would lead me back to the house. With story ideas finally crowding my brain, I had better take notes before the flow ran dry once more. The food blog could wait together with the aura sampling and my aborted journey to self-discovery. Seriously, this was becoming a bit of a farce—
“Yoo-hoo,” Paulette’s voice said so close to my ear, my heart skipped a beat.
“Are you sleepwalking?” She was leaning on a contraption reminding me both of a crutch and a hedge trimmer. Perhaps, it was a crossbreed. At the bottom of the whacky tool sat a flat disk featuring a hole in its center.
“More like preoccupied.” I pointed at the funny machine. “What’s that when it is at home?”
“Metal detector.”
“For the treasure? It’s a lot of sand to scan, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got a lot of patience. He didn’t tell you where it is? Monsieur Dubois, I mean? I saw you two on the beach.”
“Do you mind if we walk on? I’ve got some writing to do.”
Paulette fell in step next to me. “Come on, what did you find out?”
For someone who warned me off the guy, she was amazingly keen to hear what the man had to say for himself.
“Not much.” I fingered the memory stick in my pocket. Should I tell her? No, not before I’d checked the content.
“He’s such an annoying person. I tell you, he knows where it is.”
“You know or you assume?”
In the gloom under the pines, her features were difficult to read. “It would be typical of him. He’s self-serving and rude.”
Rude? Raoul was anything but that. “He might be a weirdo, but I hope he finds both the treasure and the Legrand family.”
“But why?”
“Justice? Failing that, retribution comes to mind.”
She gripped my arm with her free hand. Her aura was laced with bitterness.
“The treasure belongs to the people of Capbreton, not these gold diggers.” Her grip tightened. “If he slips you some clues, will you tell me? Don’t forget, I helped you when nobody else would.”
We had reached my garden gate, and all I wanted was to close the door behind me, having had more than my fill of eccentrics for the day. Gently, I pried her fingers from my arm. The fading light accentuated harsh lines on a face that no longer appeared young.
“I had hoped you supported me for my sake, but yes, I will keep you in the picture. I’m tired, Paulette, I hope you don’t mind if I say goodnight.”
And if she minded, I would say it anyway.
She didn’t. Her face softened. She leaned the metal detector against the fence angling from the sand and grasped my hands. “I shouldn’t have pushed like I did. I’m worse than this Dubois person, and he’s pretty rude. Will you forgive me? Please, please, you must understand. This treasure is incredibly important for the town. Let’s meet tomorrow morning for a coffee, and I’ll explain. I’ll call you. Not before ten, I promise. Bisou .”
She gave my hands a gentle squeeze and walked off, the metal detector slung over her shoulder like a misshapen machine gun.