The Lavender Garden (7 page)

All the rooms were as Emilie remembered them, and although it was impossible to be sure that absolutely nothing had been taken, given her unfamiliarity with the detail of the individual objects in the house, she arrived back with Sebastian in the hall reassured.

“Well, that’s the entire house checked,” he confirmed. “Anywhere else they could be hiding?”

“The cellars perhaps? But I’ve never been down there.”

“Maybe you should then. Do you know how to access them?”

“I believe the door is in the lobby just off the kitchen.”

“Come on then, let’s go and take a look.”

“Do you think it’s really necessary?” Emilie said reluctantly. Dark, enclosed spaces terrified her.

“Would you prefer me to go down alone?”

“No, you’re right. I should see the cellars for myself.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” he said, grinning as they walked into the lobby. “This door?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Sebastian pulled back the rusting bolts and turned the key with difficulty. “This hasn’t been opened for years, so I’d doubt anyone is lurking down there.” Managing to drag the door open, he searched for a switch and found a crude piece of string hanging above his head. Pulling it, a straggle of light appeared from below. “Right, I’ll go first.”

Tentatively taking the steps downward behind Sebastian, Emilie followed him into a cold, low-ceilinged room, the air stagnant and damp.

“Wow!” Sebastian exclaimed at the lines of wine racks, filled to the brim with dust-covered bottles. Pulling one out at random, he dusted off the label and read it. “Château Lafite Rothschild 1949.” I’m no wine expert, but this lot could be a vintner’s dream come true. On the other hand”—he shrugged as he replaced the bottle—“they may all be undrinkable.”

They both wandered around the room, pulling out bottles and inspecting them.

“I can’t find a single bottle after 1969, can you?” asked Sebastian. “It looks like no one bothered to add to the collection since that date. Wait a minute—”

Sebastian put the two bottles he was holding onto the floor, then pulled out four more, making six, then twelve. “There’s something behind this rack. It’s a door, can you see?”

Emilie peered through the rack and saw what he meant. “It probably leads to another cellar which no one used,” she offered hopefully, eager to remove herself back upstairs as soon as possible.

“Yes, surely a house like this would have extensive cellars running underneath. Aha.” Sebastian removed the last bottle, then took hold of the rotting wooden wine rack and eased it out into the center of the room. “I was right, it is a door.” He brushed the cobwebs from the lock and tried the handle. The door opened grudgingly, the wood no longer fitting its frame comfortably, having warped in the damp atmosphere. “Shall we see what’s inside?”

“I . . .” Emilie was nervous of going further. “It’s probably empty.”

“Well, we shall see,” said Sebastian, using all his strength to drag the door fully open along the cellar floor. His hands groped again for a light switch, but none appeared within his grasp.

“Wait there a moment,” he instructed Emilie as he stepped forward into the blackness. “There does seem to be some natural light coming from somewhere . . .” Sebastian disappeared completely into the gloom. “Yes, there’s a small window in here—ouch! Sorry, just banged my shin on something.” He reappeared at the entrance. “Do you by any chance know where there might be a flashlight?”

“I can check upstairs in the kitchen.” Emilie turned and headed for the stairs, grateful for an excuse to escape.

“If you can’t find a flashlight, bring a candle or two,” he called after her.

The flashlight she eventually found was inconveniently out of batteries, so she collected an old box of wax candles and some matches from the pantry, took a deep breath, and returned down the cellar stairs.

“Here,” she called into the room. Sebastian took two of the candles out of the box and held them as Emilie lit both. He offered her one, then turned back inside, with Emilie reluctantly following behind him.

They stood in the center of the small room, casting the eerie glow of their candles around it. Neither of them spoke as they took in what they saw.

“Correct me if I’m imagining things, but this looks to me like a room someone once occupied,” said Sebastian eventually. “The bed over there, with the small table beside it, the chair by the window, presumably placed so as to catch what little light comes in, the chest of drawers . . .” He wafted his candle toward it. “There’s even a blanket still on the mattress.”

“Yes,” agreed Emilie as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, “and a mat placed on the floor. But who would live down here?”

“A servant perhaps?”

“Our servants had attic rooms on the top floor. My family would never be so cruel as to place their staff in a room such as this.”

“No, of course not,” said Sebastian, suitably chastised. “And, look, there’s another small door over there.”

He strode toward the door and opened it. “I’d say this was used as a washing area. There’s a tap on the wall and a large enamel sink on the floor beneath it. And a commode.” He bent his head carefully as he stepped out. “This was definitely used by someone once, but who?” He walked toward Emilie, his eyes alight with interest. “Let’s go upstairs, pour ourselves a glass of wine from one of the bottles next door, and mull over the possibilities.”

U
pstairs in the kitchen, Emilie suddenly started to shiver violently, whether from the cold cellar or delayed shock, she didn’t know.

“You run upstairs and find a jumper, and I’m going to try and light a fire. It’s turned chilly this evening,” Sebastian commented. “Can you hear that wind blowing outside?”

“Yes. It’s the mistral. The temperature always falls, but I don’t think we have the ingredients for such a thing as a fire.”

“What! In a house surrounded by trees? Of course you do.” Sebastian winked. “Be back in a moment.”

Upstairs, Emilie collected a cardigan and, pulling a blanket off her bed, walked around making sure all the shutters were secure against the escalating wind. Many residents in the area dreaded the mistral, which blew with relentless force along the Rhône Valley, often arriving unheralded and blowing up within minutes. Old wives’ tales told of everything from the winds summoning witchery, to affecting female hormonal rhythm and animal behavior. Yet Emilie had always admired its power and majesty, and the freshness of the air once it had blown itself out.

Sebastian appeared ten minutes later in the kitchen with a wheelbarrow full of broken branches collected from the garden and a few ancient logs he’d found in a shed. “Right,” he said, “let’s get this started. Show me where to light it.”

Emilie led him into the morning room, and soon a fire was burning merrily in the grate.

“This is a fantastic fireplace,” Sebastian said approvingly, wiping his hands on his chinos. “They really knew how to make a decent chimney in those days.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin to build a fire. The servants lit them in our houses and I don’t have one in my apartment.”

“Well, my little princess”—Sebastian grinned—“where I come
from, they’re an everyday fact of life. Now, I’ll go and open that bottle of wine we brought up from the cellar and see if it’s drinkable. And, if I may, I’ll also have a root around in the kitchen to see if there’s something I could knock up to eat. I’ve had nothing all day and I’m sure you could do with something in your stomach too.”

“Oh, but . . .” Emilie made to stand up, but Sebastian pushed her back down onto the sofa.

“No, you stay there and get warm. I’ll go and see what I can find.”

Emilie pulled the blanket closer around her body and stared into the leaping flames, feeling warm and comforted. Not since she’d been a little girl and looked after by her favorite nanny could she remember being cared for like this. Tucking her legs underneath her, she laid her head on the aging damask silk of the sofa arm and closed her eyes.

•  •  •

“Emilie!” She felt a hand shaking her gently. “Time to wake up, sweetheart.” She opened her eyes and saw Sebastian’s brown ones staring down at her.

“It’s almost nine o’clock. You’ve been asleep for the past two hours. And dinner is served.”

Emilie sat upright, sleepy and embarrassed. “Sebastian, I’m so sorry.”

“No apology necessary. You’re obviously exhausted. Right, I’ve brought our supper in here as it’s very cold in that kitchen. The mistral was really blowing as I came back from the store. Dig in.” He indicated the steaming plate of spaghetti bolognese on the low table in front of her. “This wine we brought up from the cellar smells all right; let’s see if it’s drinkable.” Sebastian put his glass to his mouth, sipped, and swallowed. He nodded in pleasure. “That is spectacular. I hope I haven’t opened a few hundred francs’ worth of red to accompany our spaghetti bolognese!”

“There are so many bottles down there, I’m sure it’s fine to drink one.” Emilie reached for her glass and tried it. “Yes, it’s lovely.” She took a mouthful of the spaghetti, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. “This is very kind of you. And you’re a good cook.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I know how to put a few basic ingredients together. Now, while you were asleep I took some time to think
of the best way forward for the possible Matisse. I called a friend of mine at Sotheby’s in London, and he recommended a chap he knows in Paris. I have his number, so if you’d like to give him a call tomorrow, you can get the ball rolling.”

“I’ll certainly contact him, thank you, Sebastian.”

“He’s one of the top Paris auctioneers and comes with a glowing reference from my friend. I must say, I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he sees it, to know whether I’m right.” Sebastian smiled.

“Of course you can be here.” Emilie nodded. “When do you return to England?”

“At the end of next week, so I’m available until then to help you if you need me to. You have so much to think about just now. The main priority really has to be making sure that this house and you are safe. If you’d like me to, I could speak to the chap who’s coming to change the front-door lock tomorrow and ask him who he would recommend locally to fit an alarm system.”

“If you’re sure, then, yes, that would be helpful,” she said gratefully. “I wouldn’t know where to start with that.”

“Good. Now,” said Sebastian, in between forkfuls of spaghetti, “on to the more interesting subject of why there seems to be a secret hiding place in your cellar. Have you come up with any ideas?”

“No.” Emilie shook her head. “I’m afraid I know very little about my family history.”

“What I’ve been wondering, of course, is whether that room downstairs was used as a hiding place during the war. God, a few minutes down there would be enough to send you mad.” Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Can you imagine how it would have been for days, weeks, or even months on end?”

“No, I can’t. And I wish my father were still alive so I could ask him. I’m ashamed I know so little of the past. Maybe through the process of sorting out the estate, I’ll learn much more.”

“I’m sure you will.” Sebastian stood up and began collecting the empty plates.

“Please, you’ve done enough, let me. It must be time for you to be going.”

“What?” Sebastian looked horrified. “You honestly think I’m going to leave you here alone tonight with a front door we can’t lock?
I wouldn’t sleep a wink. No, Emilie, let me stay. I can bed down here on the sofa in front of the fire, no problem.”

“Sebastian, I’ll be fine, really. Lightning rarely strikes twice in one day, does it? As I told the gendarme, I can lock my bedroom door. And I feel I’ve already put you to too much trouble. Please, go home,” she begged.

“Well, if you’re uncomfortable having me here, then of course I will.”

“It isn’t that, I just feel guilty for taking up your time,” Emilie replied hastily. “After all, we hardly know each other.”

“Please don’t feel guilty. The bed at my
gîte
is as hard as a board anyway.”

“Well, if you’re sure, then, yes, thank you. And, of course, you must take one of the bedrooms. It’s silly for you to sleep down here.”

“Deal.” Sebastian reached for the poker by the fire. “And I’ll have this by my bed, just in case.”

Having shared the washing-up, Emilie locked the back door, then guided Sebastian along the upstairs corridor and led him to a bedroom. “Margaux always keeps this made up for unexpected guests. I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”

“Just a little.” Sebastian surveyed the spacious room with its exquisite antique French furniture. “Thanks, Emilie, and I hope you sleep well.”

“And you. Good night then.”

Sebastian took a step toward her. On a gut reaction, Emilie swiftly closed the bedroom door before he could reach her and scurried along the corridor to her own room, shutting the door and locking it firmly behind her. She lay down on her bed, feeling strangely breathless.

Why had she done that? Sebastian had probably just wanted to give her a chaste kiss good night. She thumped the bed in frustration. Now she would never know.

•  •  •

After a disturbed night, every nerve ending alert to Sebastian’s sleeping only a few meters from her—it somehow felt so intimate—Emilie made her way downstairs the following morning to make some coffee. Presuming Sebastian was still in bed, she was surprised when she heard a car approaching and he appeared through the back door.

“Morning,” he said. “I went up to the bakery to get breakfast. Wasn’t
sure what you wanted, so I got baguettes, croissants, and
pains au chocolat
. Oh, and some of my favorite French jam.” He laid his shopping out on the kitchen table.

“Thank you,” Emilie said, feeling she was using the words repeatedly to him. “I’ve made some coffee.”

“Collecting the fresh bread in the morning is actually one of the most pleasurable things about being in France. A tradition that has long gone in England. Oh, and the locksmith called me to say he’d be here in an hour.”

“I feel so stupid.” She sighed. “Of course I should have locked the back door when I left yesterday.”