Chapter Thirteen
Twigs crackled and leaves rustled as the lanky man slipped from the beech. With a wary expression on his face, he scuttled backward, away from us. “I’ll leave you now, if you don’t mind. Rest assured your message will be passed on...Monsieur Batz.”
Yvon bared his teeth at him, but he neither spoke a word nor re-engaged in the hostilities. On the way to the gates, Yvon’s pathetic enemy kept throwing nervous glances over his shoulder until he rounded the posts and was gone.
“Okay, now we’re alone, you can answer my question. Who are you? And what are those supposed to be.” I pointed at the weapons in the van’s boot, glittering in the rays of a feeble sun besieged by an army of clouds.
He balanced from his heels to his toes and back again, his hands in his pockets. “Mine is a long, complicated story, and this is neither the right place nor the right time for me to share it. About those weapons... The morons we met today are mostly harmless. Others are not. That’s the reason I didn’t want you involved. You might get caught between the various fractions.”
I stepped close to him until only a slender blade would have fitted between our bodies. The sword, its tip dragging in the gravel, weighed heavy in my hand. He wasn’t much taller than me, but I still had to look up to catch his gaze.
I prodded his chest with my free hand. “Too late for regrets. I’m asking again. Who are you? Be honest with me. Did you kill all those people?”
His expression stilled. “For a start, I’m no assassin. What lies did the bastard spin while I wasn’t listening?”
“Oh, he shared some fascinating intel. For example, he mentioned you’re not called Yvon, and my original theory seems to be wrong.”
“ Dame , that is my name. What original theory?”
I told him. For once, he didn’t laugh me off or try to palaver his way out. Instead, a spasm of pain flitted across his face, clouding his lovely eyes. He pried the sword from my nerveless fingers and leaned on it, both hands on the gilded hilt. A man wearing jeans and a tee clasping an old weapon should at the very least have looked out of time, but the contrast bizarrely made sense.
“How can I convince you I’m no ghost? Yes, with the years they gain strength, but women, I can travel the world if I feel like it, have lived in many places, and don’t have to watch the clock. And there’s this.” He held my hand against his chest.
I sensed the warmth of his body under my fingers, the solid thump, thump of his heart.
“We’ve been there before, in the restaurant. What will it take for you to accept I’m alive?”
A suggestion flitted through my head, accompanied by imagery so raunchy my cheeks flared into supernova mode in an instant. “Uh...”
He must have read the answer in my face. His pupils dilated, and the heartbeat under my fingers quickened.
“Really?” He shifted the sword to his right hand and, panther-like, shifted closer until our bodies touched. “Can be arranged.”
I met his unblinking stare, and the ground under my feet swayed until I was dropping from a mile-high cliff into a bottomless blue pool. His pupils distended further, giving a good impression of a black hole. With his free arm, he gave my waist a delicious squeeze.
I raised my hand and let my fingers flutter over his face, his mouth until they came to rest on the hollow of his throat, directly under his Adam’s apple. Yvon’s aura had never been stronger; it swirled in my mouth like a scrumptious eddy. From there, it slipped south and triggered a shivering pressure deep inside my belly.
I leaned against him and closed my eyes. Our lips found each other. Something, probably the sword, clanked away , and he sneaked his second arm around my back. Deep in the whispering forest, a wood pigeon hooted as if cheering us on, and that was the last thing I noticed for quite a while.
When my consciousness returned from cloud nine, I was wrapped in Yvon’s arms while he kept crooning sweet nothings into my ear, in French, and this time I didn’t bother with translations, “ chérie ” being the only word my woozy mind could handle.
No way. This was going too far, too fast. I still hadn’t learned my lesson. Gently, I pushed my hands against his chest and searched his gaze.
He tilted his head, violet eyes glittering. “Are you now convinced I’m no spirit?”
I couldn’t help the giggle. “If you were a ghost, you’d probably have to sleep for centuries to pay for this kiss.”
“No, that would only happen if we... eh, bien .” He grimaced. “I shouldn’t joke about these things, otherwise you call even more bees into your bonnet.”
“Quite right. I’ve got enough of the annoying buggers swarming already.” I detached myself and took a step back. “Forget them. I still don’t know who you are.”
From the corner of my eye, I spotted movement and swung around. The white bottom of a deer disappeared into the bushes, and what looked like a family of bunnies fled underground.
Beside me, Yvon stared into the undergrowth, twigs rustling and moving from the deer’s hasty exit. He rubbed his eyes. “I must be mad. I can’t believe I let it happen again.”
You’re not the only one. “You mean the kiss?”
“No. Yes. You. I’ve sworn to myself...” He heaved a deep breath, but no words escaped, only a desperate hiss of air.
“Yvon, neither of us is a spring chicken. I’ve had relationships in the past, and I reckon so have you.”
“ Naturellement .”
Emboldened, I continued, “Let me guess, things went spectacularly wrong. They did for me, many times. The last affair crashed a few months ago.”
And I’d been the one to yank at the wheel by revealing my paranormal skills. I told Tom because I needed him to understand I couldn’t be anybody but myself. If only I’d tried earlier. “One reason I came here was to heal and work out what it is I want from the rest of my life. Right now, romance isn’t on the cards, unfortunately.”
That was beyond rude. I had let myself be kissed without much of a struggle. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I do. I mean... Ack, I don’t know what I mean anymore. Ignore me.”
The corners of Yvon’s mouth kicked up. “You’re refreshingly honest. Never shy to say what’s on your mind. Not like me, guarding secrets.”
Oh, but you don’t know me.
I faced the luscious foliage, my thoughts racing along with my heart. Should I tell him now, get it over and done with before things go any further? Doing so might be less painful.
Tom had been a steady, reliable person, a male yin to my yang. What I never noticed until too late—his calm didn’t grow from inner balance but rather reflected the walls he’d raised around his soul. Yvon I hardly knew at all. Even for research purposes, this wasn’t the right moment to present him with my magical underbelly.
I balled my fists. I wouldn’t let another man hurt me. That part of my life was over, period.
“Mel? Now, I’ve made you angry.”
I swung around. “No, you haven’t. This concerns me, not you.”
Yvon tensed, his eyes clouded. “Let me guess. You suspect I’m not telling you what might be wrong with me, because the truth is unpalatable.” His face fell. “You’re right.”
“You’re putting words into my mouth.”
He heaved a shuddering breath. “Fine, but I can’t burden you with this. It wouldn’t be fair. You might hate me. I know you will.”
Some people sucked when it came to listening. “Stop it right there. How can you say things like that when we’ve only just met?”
A grim expression crept into his face. “Why can’t I be more trusting, you might ask. The answer is straightforward. I tried. I trusted. Twice, I was understood, was loved despite...everything.” Yvon swung away from me, his voice nothing but a whisper. “Those times were the worst.”
Despite what? I couldn’t ask, couldn’t touch what was visibly a sore spot. “Yvon, I hear you. There’s nothing worse than realizing you’re pouring a lot of love into a dark hole.”
His laugh was brittle. “Love, life, it’s easy to get things wrong.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“I never meant what I said, what I did. Uh, to be honest, back then I did. However, I learned and changed. Still, it’s no good, is it?” He raked the fingers through his unruly mop of dark hair and tossed me a look filled with bleak despair. “I can’t share my burden. It’s mine to carry.”
A twinge of irritation tugged at my stomach. His cryptic remarks didn’t help with this tangle. “I’ll listen, and I won’t run away. Promise. I won’t tell anybody either. I’m not that sort of person. Don’t decide for me how I will react; you’re not me. Nor do you have any idea who or what I am, apart from being a big girl who can cope with pretty much anything.”
He laughed wildly. “No, you can’t. Not with this.”
Yvon prowled the gravel, stepping over his sword twice, and I wouldn’t have been surprised had he wrung his hands next. A moment later, guilt came knocking. For him to act like he did, he would have something horrid preying on his mind.
When life shoots its curveballs in my general direction, I lock myself in, eat lots of chocolate, drink way too much red wine, and shed buckets of useless tears nobody ever gets to see. High drama was his way of coping, and his approach might well be healthier than mine.
I didn’t like the wildness in his eyes, so I walked across and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “There’s no need to get upset. You’re not in your kitchen. Nothing’s curdled, at least not yet. Tell me what’s bothering you, and I promise I won’t freak. I’m English, complete with stiff upper lip and so on.” Humor usually worked.
His glare intensified. “You’ve got no clue what you’re dealing with. Even if I find it, I’ve got no idea what to do. They won’t get anywhere near me because they feel guilty about their actions. They fear me. I’m not sure I want it anymore. Not now I found you. I shouldn’t have let that happen either. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong.” The last words escaped with a wail.
“Yvon, you’re not making much sense. Who do you need to help you? Help you how and with what? And what’s wrong with me?”
He stepped aside, waving his hands as if to scare away an invisible threat. “No. I won’t let you get hurt.”
With that, he swung around, slammed the back door of his minivan, then scrambled inside.
I stood rooted to the spot. The sword glinted on the gravel.
The van’s engine roared to life, and the vehicle sped toward the gateposts, missing the weapon by inches.
I snapped out of my fugue. “Yvon, are you nuts or what? Hey, you can’t leave me standing here!”
I started after him, flailing my arms, the rucksack bouncing on my back. The van shot through the gateposts of the chateau like a cork from a bottle and blasted down the road until the roar from the engine was swallowed into the rushing sounds of the woods. I stopped and stared at the sword, the last few minutes running in an endless loop in my mind.
A bunny hopped onto the path and twitched its nose. The head of a deer poked from the bushes.
“Go away,” I yelled.
The animals dove for cover, and I stood there in shame. The drizzle set in once more.
~ * ~
?“ M erci , I appreciate your help.” I clambered from the cabin of the removal van and hopped to the ground, nauseous from the cigarette smoke filling the interior of the vehicle and the potent mixture of rage and nausea bubbling in my stomach.
I shouldn’t complain, not when I had been comparatively lucky. A friendly farmer had picked me up as I hiked along the road leading back to Lupiac. When told about my plight—no taxi companies willing to ferry me to Capbreton, nobody answering their phones, let alone the person who ditched me in the first place—she started a call chain. Another helpful lady transported me half the way back to the coast, refusing to accept any petrol money.
“Monsieur Batz must have been very stressed to do this,” she said. “No ill feelings, eh? Everyone single person here hopes he’ll restore the chateau and open his hotel. It’s a pleasure to help his friend, think nothing of it.”
I didn’t trust myself with a suitable response, so I smiled and thanked her profusely. When I called around some more, I couldn’t find any taxi companies in need of business, but one local I spoke to took pity on me and put me into contact with the removal company. For a token fee, I joined a load of garden furniture and found myself back where we set out this morning, a lifetime away.
It was still raining. If fury could evaporate water, I would have walked in a cloud of steam.
I rushed straight to the outside entrance to Yvon’s house and mashed my finger on the doorbell. It shrilled away until the sound reverberated in my fillings. But the tosser didn’t respond.
I would give him a piece of my mind. I would tell him once and for all—
What if he wasn’t here because he never returned? He had been in such a state. He might have crashed the van.
My innards cramped with naked panic. The flames of my anger flickered and died as the image of a crumpled and smoking wreck flashed past my inner eye. I rose on my tippy toes, but I couldn’t see whether the garage was open or closed.
Gut-wrenching fear tore at me while I prowled the pavement. I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through the news. No reports mentioning Yvon Batz, star chef, having an accident.
Perhaps he hadn’t been found because his body lay in the smoking wreckage of his car. Perhaps he would never be found.
I’d killed him with a kiss.
“Mel?”
Raoul’s voice. I turned my head, and there he was, clad in an old-fashioned anorak, corduroy trousers stuffed into black rubber boots, concern in his soft eyes. If I concentrated hard, bits of the street were visible through him, but one needed to be aware he lacked in substance to notice it.
“Hello, Raoul.”
“What’s wrong? A little while ago, Yvon arrived in a proper state, fetched his hounds and pelted to the beach as if pursued by a horde of banshees. Before you ask, no, they don’t exist.”
An avalanche of stones tumbled off my chest. Yvon was still alive. My legs jellied, and I leaned against his gate.
Raoul drifted closer. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Sorry, stupid question. It’s obvious. The sadness in your eyes is painful, your mascara is running, and your clothes are a total mess when you’re usually such a neat dresser. Do you feel like sharing?”
Gerald, my old buddy from primary school, would have asked the same question, and would have used almost the same words, only in English. Next, he would have shrugged off his lawyer persona and put the cocoa on the boil. Vera would have done the same, only she’d serve home-baked cake, while my parents were more likely to dish up a substantial dinner.
Tears pricked my eyes. Even dead, Raoul was every bit as empathic as my friends and family. “I’d love to if you’re willing to listen.”
I craved advice, here and now, since I couldn’t contact either Gerald or my parents. As usual, the timing sucked. Now that Vera’s husband had dumped his family to be with a woman twenty years his junior, the last thing she needed was more heartbreak.
My acquaintance with Raoul counted in hours, not days, but I might as well have known him forever. Here was another friend. Apart from that, the only other kindly soul in the neighborhood was Louis, and where he offered great creature comfort, he sucked at counseling.
“With pleasure,” Raoul said. “Come on, we better go to your garden. The street is a tick too public, no? Oh, I’m sorry, but my English is not up to scratch, which means you’ll have to unburden yourself in French.”
“Since a Frenchman caused this mess, it fits somehow.”
“Well, I might be dead, but I’m not blind. You two must have had one mother of an argument. Let’s go.” He swung around and shimmied across to my gate.
“Uh, can you enter the grounds? I thought you suffered from some issues with perimeters.”
A shy grin pushed aside the anxiety on Raoul’s face. “No worries, as they say these days. I’m tethered to the place where I died and can only go where I once walked when I was alive. That’s what stops me from entering Yvon’s garden. Or the inside of your house. Otherwise, yes, there are limits, since I can’t abandon my poor bones, though I can, for example, reach the edge of town. I’ve been to Yvon’s restaurant.”
Raoul’s explanations made me wonder if bureaucracy in the big beyond might be even worse than the one in the world of the living.
The thought made me smile. I needed a smile.
I pushed through the gate. “Thanks for sharing the intel on ghostly red tape. We can sit on the terrace if you don’t mind saggy garden furniture. Uh, does it even matter to you? I don’t care where I sit.”
He drifted through the gate behind me. It swung on its hinges and snicked shut without him ever using his hands. Amazing things, spirits. He waggled an admonishing finger, faintly translucent like the rest of him. “Now, now, that doesn’t sound like you at all.”
I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh. “How can you tell the difference? You’ve only known me for a short while.”
“Trust me, when you’ve been around for as long as I have, you become an excellent judge of people. It used to be one of my strengths even when I was alive.” He winced. “Apart from the one time.”
“I’m truly sorry. What your lover did was unforgivable.”
He shrugged. “ C’est la vie . I’m still around when he is not. Mel, didn’t you close the door to your house?”
I whirled around.
The entrance to Villa Glorieuse gaped wide open when I was certain I had locked it this morning. Something spiky dug its claws into my stomach.
From behind me, Raoul said, “To be honest, I was wondering what Paulette might have been doing in your home. About half an hour ago or so.”
“Huh?”
“She’s your landlady, don’t tell me you didn’t know. I bet she let herself in and enjoyed a nice snoop while you weren’t watching. She’s that type of person.”
“Why would Paulette—oh, heavens, the mop.”
I sprinted along the uneven path and barged into the villa’s interior. “Louis? Louis, where are you?”
He wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, hiding under the threadbare sofa. No furry body in the guest loo, though the kitty litter had been used. The door to the larder was closed and had been when I left.
I peeked inside. No Louis.
I thundered up the stairs.
The door to the guest bedroom stood open, and hope surged through me, only to crash immediately afterward. No Louis in the spare bedroom, no Louis in my bed, the wardrobe, the hamper, or any of the usual hiding places for an upset cat.
“Louis? Chou-Chou?”
No response.
The adorable mop was gone.
First Yvon ditched me; now I’d lost my cat. Life had turned dark, way too dark. I staggered toward the landing, sank onto the first step, and buried my head in my arms.