Chapter 12
Even though the bed is every inch as comfortable as it looked, I’m awake early the next morning.
I do make a couple of half-hearted attempts to get back to sleep before giving it up as a bad job and heading for the shower.
The sun is already high in the sky when I step outside, but the air is still cool and fresh, so I decide to walk in the direction of Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val to build up an appetite for breakfast. If last night’s dinner was anything to go by, I’m going to be extremely well fed while I’m here, so I need to pace myself.
I’m trying to concentrate on the upcoming plot points of my story as I walk, but I’m sidetracked by the beauty of the scenery around me.
The town, when I reach it, is still pretty much shuttered and deserted.
A few shopkeepers are setting up ready for the day ahead, and I exchange a cheery Bonjour with them as I pass.
When I reach the river, I stand on the bridge just watching the water slide beneath me for a while.
I did see most of this yesterday, but I was busy fighting with the satnav and the directions, so I didn’t get the opportunity to appreciate it.
It really is lovely here. Hugh and Cara couldn’t have chosen a better location if they’d tried.
I pull out my phone and take a few pictures to send to Liv before turning back towards the house and breakfast. However, I’ve only travelled a couple of yards before I hear a car pulling up alongside me.
‘Excusez-moi, mademoiselle. Habitez-vous ici?’ a male voice says. It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it. It’s only when I turn to address him that the penny drops along with my mood.
‘Hello, Finn. What are you doing here?’ I ask suspiciously. It would be just my luck to discover that the man who was so helpful at the airport is actually some kind of stalker.
‘Hi, Laura. What a surprise! I’m actually looking for a place called L’Ancien Presbytère. You haven’t come across it, have you?’
I study him for a moment while part of my brain frantically tries to remember if I mentioned where I was staying during our brief conversation at the airport.
If he’s followed me, then that’s creepy as hell and his intentions can’t be good.
I glance around furtively, trying not to raise his suspicions while scanning to see if there’s anyone who would come to my aid if I shouted.
The other part of my brain is trying to remember what ‘help!’ is in French. Au secours, I think.
I’m sure I didn’t tell him where I was staying.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask.
‘Sorry?’ He looks genuinely confused. ‘I wasn’t looking for you.
As I said, I’m booked into a place called L’Ancien Presbytère, which is somewhere round here.
I think this is the fourth time I’ve driven over this bridge so far this morning and, pretty though this town is, I’d like to get to my destination before I die of old age.
So I stopped the first person I saw to ask for directions, and that happened to be you. ’ His face falls. ‘You didn’t think…’
Oh, God. He looks absolutely crestfallen now as the reason for my questions has evidently dawned on him.
‘You’ve got to admit, it is a hell of a coincidence that you should pitch up here,’ I say.
‘Shit. I haven’t followed you, I swear. I didn’t even know you were going to be here. I’m doing a two-week retreat here, that’s all.’
‘At L’Ancien Presbytère.’
‘Yes.’
‘What sort of retreat?’ He seems increasingly legitimate, but I can’t help testing him further. If he gets this wrong, I’m out of here.
‘It’s a writers’ retreat,’ he tells me. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, no reason,’ I tell him. ‘It’s just that I’m staying at L’Ancien Presbytère as well, and the chances of that being a coincidence are infinitesimally small, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘So you know where it is then?’ His face has lit up with hope.
‘I do.’
‘This is probably a stupid question, given what you evidently think of me, but you wouldn’t be able to show me, would you? I’d be eternally grateful.’
A memory is stirring of Hugh telling me that there was one more guest to arrive in our party.
Yes, it is a hell of a coincidence that it should be Finn, but everything he’s said so far has checked out.
Normally, I’d run a mile before getting into a car with a strange man who, up until a few seconds ago, I suspected was stalking me.
I take a moment to study him. It sounds silly, but his blue eyes have exactly the same imploring look that Meg uses when she wants something, and I can feel myself softening.
His slender physique and soft-looking hands also add to the impression that he’s not a threat.
Nevertheless, I’m cautious as I open the door and slip into the passenger seat.
‘I should warn you that I’m trained in martial arts,’ I tell him as he pulls away. ‘Take the next left.’
‘Noted,’ he replies with a smile. ‘Although I really am only after directions, I promise. I take it you’re a writer then.’
‘Yes,’ I admit.
‘What do you write?’
‘Crime.’
There’s a brief kerfuffle as he swings onto the wrong side of the road after making the turn, to the consternation of a van driver coming the other way, but thankfully he manages to swerve out of the way just in time.
‘What about you? What do you write?’ I ask him as we leave the town behind us.
‘Ah. Confession time,’ he replies as he attempts my trick of changing gear with the door handle. ‘I’m not strictly a writer. I, umm, devise TV shows.’
‘Take the next turning on the right. What kind of TV shows?’
‘Game shows, quizzes, that kind of thing. Have you ever seen Cash in the Theatre?’
‘I can’t say I have, no.’
‘OK. I only mention it because it’s one of my more successful shows. It goes out at three o’clock every weekday.’
‘I’m not a daytime TV person, I’m afraid. What’s it about?’
‘It’s loosely based on the board game Operation, do you know that?’
‘Is that the one where players have to remove various objects from a body using tweezers?’
‘That’s it. If they touch anything other than the thing they’re supposed to be removing, a buzzer sounds and they forfeit their turn. At the end of the game, the person who has successfully removed the most objects wins.’
‘I used to play it with my brother. We always ended up fighting and I think we lost most of the objects in the end. I’m not sure how you’d make a TV show out of it though.’
‘There’s a bit of a formula, at least there is to mine.
The first thing you need for a successful show is something the audience can engage with.
I agree, just watching two people trying to retrieve objects without setting off a buzzer isn’t very immersive.
So you need to add another element, and the easiest one is some form of quiz.
Audiences love a quiz. You also need elimination, and some kind of jeopardy in the final. ’
‘I’m intrigued. Go on.’
‘In the show, the contestants have to start by answering questions across a number of categories to amass as many points as they can. We start with ten people, and lose the two with the lowest number of points at the end of each round until there are just two finalists left. That’s your elimination stage. ’
‘Yup, got that.’
‘The finalists then go head-to-head in a general knowledge round to decide who will get to go into the operating room. Then we add the jeopardy, by converting the highest scorer’s points into seconds of time.
They’re against the clock in the operating theatre to fix as many things on the “body” as they can.
The more things they fix without setting off the buzzer, the more money they can win. ’
‘That sounds straightforward enough.’
‘Yes. You don’t want it so complicated that the audience loses interest. We also add an extra layer by allocating different cash sums to different operations depending on how hard they are to do.
So, a gallstone is worth five thousand pounds, because you have to remove a number of other organs to get to it and put them back in the right place afterwards, all without setting off the buzzer.
An ingrown toenail, on the other hand, is only worth a hundred.
So the contestant has to decide how best to use the time they have available. ’
‘Turn right there,’ I tell him, pointing out the track that leads to L’Ancien Presbytère. ‘What’s the biggest prize?’
‘The slipped disc,’ he tells me. ‘One hundred thousand pounds.’
‘That doesn’t sound very hard.’
‘It isn’t, if you go from the back. But you can only get to it from the front on our patient, so you have to remove pretty much all the other internal organs first, and we’ve made it particularly hard to get out without setting off the buzzer.
The show’s been going out for five years and we’ve only had three contestants manage it. ’
‘Hm. And this is on every day of the week, you say?’
‘Yes. It’s very popular.’
‘So why a writers’ retreat?’ I ask as he pulls up outside the house.
‘I’m working on a new show that I want to pitch, but I’m a bit stuck,’ he tells me as he switches off the engine and we climb out. ‘I thought this might be a good place to un-stick myself. I’m sorry. I’ve been prattling on and I haven’t asked you anything.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I tell him as Hugh throws open the door and comes to greet him. ‘I’m sure there will be plenty of time. I’ll see you around, yeah?’
‘Absolutely. And thank you so much for showing me the way. I don’t think I’d ever have found it by myself.’