Page 28 of The Magic of Provence

The turn-off was onto no more than a rutted track. The overgrown branches of spruce trees brushed the sides of the car and it was long enough to feel like the destination was completely isolated. At first glance the long, stone-built structure looked derelict with a broken window roughly covered with wooden planks and a door half open, hanging on an angle off its top hinge.

Julien was frowning. ‘Stay here,’ he instructed Jeannie. ‘I will go and see if anyone is home. If they are, they may not be happy to see us.’

Jeannie watched him walk to the door. He lifted his hand and knocked and then she heard him calling.

‘Bonjour! Êtes-vous là, monsieur?’

She was holding her breath as she waited but there seemed to be no response. Then Julien took a step forward. He looked a little hesitant as he peered around the partially open door, but then he took another step and vanished from view.

Jeannie waited again. The seconds ticked past and tipped into being long enough to make her anxious about what was going on. Was Julien in danger? Ellie would never forgive her if something had happened to her beloved husband, the father of her tiny baby. She would never forgive herself. Getting out of the car she almost ran to the door, hesitated only long enough to take a deep breath and slipped inside.

She’d expected darkness in an ancient building with almost no windows, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. Most of the end of this old stables that couldn’t be seen from the driveway had been replaced with glass and light flooded a large open area with terracotta tiles visible above bleached, hand-hewn beams. The floor was packed earth, a dark ochre shade of wet clay as hard as concrete, and the space was full of totally unexpected colour from dozens of canvases – sitting on easels or propped against the walls. The same kind of colours that were in Ellie’s painting. Gold and yellow, blood-red and a glistening white. The colours of summer. Of warmth and sunlight with a background of earthy, homely colours.

The impression only lasted a blink of time, however, as Jeannie’s eyes were adjusting to the dim light at the other end of the building. There was a bed in one corner. A small table, a sagging armchair and a potbelly stove. Julien was standing halfway between the door Jeannie had entered and what had to be the artist’s living space.

Standing in front of the stove was a tall man with unkempt hair, bushy eyebrows and a beard, all of the same mix of grey and white.

Surely this man was too old to be Gordon? He would only be in his mid-sixties if he was still alive.

But Jeannie was walking forward, one slow step at a time – as if, she thought, she was a bride walking to meet her groom, down an aisle that divided a crowded church. Julien was the only other person here, of course, but Jeannie wasn’t looking at her son-in-law as she kept walking towards the stranger. Because something was pulling her forward and it felt as if the entire world had gone completely still. It was holding its breath until she knew.

And she did know, as soon as she was close enough to look into this man’s eyes.

‘Gordon…?’ The word came out halfway between a question and an exclamation. A shaky word. A plea, even?

He was staring at her.

‘Non,’ he said. ‘Non, non, non…’

He sounded desperate. His distress was as raw as the fear that Jeannie could see in his face.

Fear that was tipping into terror. And then, as if a switch had been flicked, his expression became completely blank. His body stiffened and he simply fell backwards, making no attempt to break the fall. There was a horrible thud as his head hit the floor and Jeannie could only stare in horror as his body started to jerk uncontrollably.

Julien moved past her so swiftly she felt the air move around her. Jeannie was a nurse. She knew exactly what to do to care for someone having a seizure but she couldn’t move.

This wasGordon. He’d recognised her. And he’d been terrified of her?

Maybe she’d never know why. Had she found him only to be watching him die?

Julien shoved the armchair back to clear space. ‘Find something soft,’ he told Jeannie. ‘To put under his head.’

She ran to the bed and stripped off the blanket. Julien folded it to make a protective covering on the hard floor but a pool of blood told them it was too late to prevent injury. He must have bitten his tongue as well, because there was a trickle of blood on his chin. His eyes were open, his hands in fists as his arms and legs continued convulsing.

His breathing was ragged and his lips were going a worrying shade of blue, but Jeannie knew not to try and put anything in his mouth or restrain his limbs. There was nothing more they could do now except wait for the seizure to finish and then put him into the recovery position and make sure his airway was open.

They had to wait.

But Julien looked at his watch again. ‘It’s going on too long,’ he said quietly. ‘And he’s injured himself. I’m going to call for an ambulance.’

11

‘Are you sure you don’t mind doing this?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Fi climbed into Christophe’s big, black vehicle. ‘Another day in the forest is exactly what I need.’ She reached into the back seat to offer Heidi her hand and wiped the sloppy lick off on her dungarees before putting her safety belt on. ‘Besides, I want to check on the little gelding whose feet were so bad last time. I’ve been thinking about him. Does he have a name?’

Christophe shook his head. ‘I keep photographs of all the donkeys in my notebook, with a record of problems with their health and what treatment they’ve had. That’s their only identification.’

A thought occurred to Fi. ‘Do you get paid for looking after them?’

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