What Happens at the Beach... (8 page)

Back in her room, she found that there was indeed a reply from Evelyn Markeson.

Dear Doctor Dryden

Thank you very much for your email. Your background and experience along with your qualifications would appear to make you an ideal candidate for the position. Also, the fact that we are both currently in the south of France is providential. Could we meet up?

As I am very keen to tie this up as soon as possible, I wonder if you might be free for interview as soon as tomorrow or the next day? You write that you are near Perpignan, so how about meeting for lunch together at a restaurant called les Vagues in Collioure, at 12.30, if that suits? It's close to the beach and the food is reputed to be very good. Alternatively, if you prefer another location, day or time, just tell me and I will meet you there.

I look forward to hearing from you and, hopefully, to meeting you.

Kind regards

Evelyn Markeson

Natalie picked up the laptop and ran back into her grandmother's room, an unexpected lump in her throat. She found she couldn't say a word, as emotion threatened to overwhelm her, so she just passed the computer to Colette and sat down on the bed beside her, searching in her pocket for a tissue. Colette read the email and looked up, clearly concerned to see her granddaughter in tears.

‘What is it, Natalie? Why're you crying? Isn't this good news?'

Natalie nodded mutely, still wiping the tears from her eyes. Finally, she pulled herself together. ‘Sorry about that. Yes, of course it's good news. In fact, it's excellent news. I wasn't crying about that.' She blew her nose on her handkerchief and stuffed it back in the pocket of her shorts. ‘It's just that this is the first time I've ever been addressed as Doctor Dryden. That was dad, and now it's me. After all the years of hard work, it barely seems real.'

Her grandmother held out her arms and Natalie collapsed against her, the tears returning once more. Colette stroked her hair just as she used to do when Natalie was a little girl and this only made her cry all the more. It was quite some time before she managed to restore some sort of self-control and she sat up, wiping her eyes and doing her best to get a grip. Colette pointed to the message on the computer screen.

‘The lady has good taste.
Les Vagues
is far and away the best restaurant in Collioure. I believe it's now got a Michelin star. You should eat very well there. When are you going to meet her?'

‘I think I'll go tomorrow, if it's all right with you? The sooner the better.'

‘Tomorrow's fine with me. There's still quiche left in the fridge from today and there's all that ham that needs eating. I'll be fine.'

Natalie smiled at her. ‘Right, then; if you're sure, I'll go and send her an email.' She stood up and ran her hands through her hair. ‘I'll wash my hair tomorrow morning after my swim. I'd better try to make a good impression.'

‘You'll make a lovely impression, Doctor Dryden.'

This time Natalie managed to smile back at her. It really did sound rather good.

Chapter 4

Natalie drove up the coast to Collioure and parked in a car park away from the centre of town. As it was the month of August, this famous little seaside town was packed with holidaymakers keen to experience the scenery that had attracted famous artists like Matisse and Derain. She made a point of getting there well in advance of the agreed time of half past twelve and walked down through the claustrophobically packed streets to the quayside where traditional, brightly painted old wooden fishing boats had been augmented, at least for now, by a flotilla of modern yachts. Natalie wondered as she looked out across the harbour whether Philippe Chevalier kept his yacht here.

She made her way slowly round the bay, marvelling at the crowds of people thronging the streets, until she found the restaurant. She checked her watch: twenty-five past twelve. Perfect. She told the headwaiter that she was looking for Doctor Markeson and saw that the man had already been primed. He nodded and led her out onto a panoramic terrace, perched above the gravel beach and the transparent sea. And it was here that Natalie got a surprise, a big surprise, as she followed the waiter across to the end table, on the corner of the terrace. As they got there, a large black shape emerged from beneath the table, tail wagging furiously, and stood up on his hind legs to greet her. Natalie stopped dead in amazement, the familiar tingling in her body telling her who it was sitting at the table. She looked down at the dog.

‘Charlie… Barney?' There was no doubt about it. It was him all right. And sitting at the table was Mark, his owner. She was momentarily lost for words. ‘Um, what a surprise to see you, Mark.' And, she had to admit to herself, a very pleasant one. ‘I'm afraid there's been a mistake. I'm here looking for a lady called Doctor Markeson.'

‘Natalie? You're Natalie Dryden?' He sounded as surprised as she did. ‘It never occurred to me that it might be you. Barney, get off her and lie down. You're only allowed in here if you behave yourself.' As the dog retired to his position under the table Natalie had to make a conscious effort to close her mouth. Her jaw really had dropped.

‘You know Doctor Markeson, then?' She was feeling decidedly bemused. His face split into a smile.

‘I
am
Doctor Markeson.' He indicated that she should take a seat. The waiter, who had been observing the scene, pushed her chair in for her as she sat down. She gave him a little smile and he retired. Mark continued. ‘I'm sorry, I owe you an explanation. My father had a thing about the works of Evelyn Waugh. Would you believe he even renamed our house
Brideshead
? Unfortunately, when I came along, my mother didn't have the good sense to stop him naming me Evelyn. Luckily it was all surnames or nicknames at school, so it soon became Mark Markeson and it's stuck. I only ever use my proper name on high days and holidays.'

‘Or when writing to Cambridge professors.' Natalie was beginning to understand now.

‘Or when writing to Cambridge professors. Anyway, I'm very sorry to have misled you.' He sat down and reached for the bottle of wine in the ice bucket beside him. ‘A glass of wine? White all right?'

‘Very definitely. Thank you.' Natalie hung her bag on the back of the chair and sat back, surprised, shocked even, but definitely very, very pleased to see him. ‘There are times when alcohol definitely has its uses.' He lifted the bottle out and filled her glass. After replacing it in the bucket he picked up his own.

‘Well, Doctor Dryden, here's to you and apologies once more for my name confusing you. Blame it on my dad.'

Natalie raised her glass, clinked it against his and then tasted it. It was delicious; a pure golden colour, cool, crisp and dry. She took a second, bigger mouthful and then set the glass down once more. ‘Want to tell me more about your plans?'

‘Of course, but I suppose it might be a good idea to order first.' He pointed to the menu on the table in front of her. She opened it and immediately realised that meals in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Collioure, on a terrace overlooking the Mediterranean, didn't come cheap. She hesitated, not wanting to order something outrageously expensive. He must have sensed her hesitation. ‘For what it's worth, I was planning on having a plate of fresh anchovies as a starter. According to the menu, these are served raw, marinated in lemon juice and herbs. They are the local speciality, after all. And then I rather fancy the lobster. How does that sound?'

‘That sounds wonderful.' And expensive. She scrutinised him surreptitiously as he called the waiter over and placed the order. Today he wasn't wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Instead, he was wearing a lightweight linen blazer, faded jeans and a crisp white shirt. Natalie thanked the instinct that had made her relinquish her normal shorts for a light summer dress. Just then she felt a cold wet nose against her ankle followed by furry warmth as the dog laid his head on her feet. She smiled to herself as Mark returned his attention to her. He started with a confession.

‘I'd better come clean and tell you that I'm only starting out as a writer. It's something I've always wanted to do, but I've never had the time before.'

‘And now you've retired?' She was joking. He could only have been a few years older than she was, maybe mid-thirties at most. She was surprised to see him nod.

‘Yes, in a way.' He took another sip of wine. ‘Look, I'd better explain. The full story goes like this. I did engineering at university. I got lucky when I was doing my PhD and I hit upon something I'm sure you've never heard of. It's a tiny little piece of technology that ensures that aircraft can consume about ten to fifteen per cent less fuel while maintaining the same speed and range. I had the good sense to patent it and then I set up a company to produce the thing. For your information it revels in the rather snappy name of GN23c.' He grinned at her. ‘See, I told you you'd never heard of it. Anyway, it's fair to say that ninety per cent of all international airlines are now using GN23c, happy to pay my company a load of money for the privilege, while at the same time saving themselves millions of pounds every year as a result.'

Natalie was impressed. ‘So you have a company that makes these… things. How come, then, you've the time to think about writing books?'

‘Well, the company's grown quite a bit. We no longer just make little old Genie and we've expanded into all sorts of other fields. Anyway, last year our accountants turned the company into a corporation and I now have a board of directors and a very clued-up CEO running things, so I can take time out.'

‘I see. But why the Cathars?'

‘Although I did engineering, I've always had a thing about history. I came on a camping holiday with my family to the coast not far from here when I was a teenager and there was something about the Cathars that hooked me. Since then I've been reading up about them, about the way the Church decided to make an example of them, and how their priests and their religion were very efficiently wiped off the face of the earth. Nowadays they'd probably call it genocide.'

Natalie nodded. ‘But you're not thinking of writing a factual history of the Cathars, are you? You mentioned a novel.'

‘I wouldn't presume to try to write a history of the Cathars. I've read lots, but nothing like enough. That's where you and professional historical experts like you come in, Natalie. No, I'm planning a thriller, set down here, dealing with people looking for the legendary treasure of the Cathars.' He saw her about to chime in and held up his hand in front of her. ‘Yes, I know, nothing ever found, no proof, maybe not even treasure in the sense we think of it. Maybe a secret, rather than a chest full of gold. Maybe a secret that could embarrass the Catholic Church.'

‘You're not running the risk of treading on Dan Brown's very successful toes, are you? That was his thing, wasn't it? The bloodline of Christ and so on.' She was getting really quite interested and found she was leaning forward, elbows on the table. She made a conscious effort to relax and sit back.

‘No, I'm going with the chest full of gold theory, so Mr Brown can sleep easy. I'm taking it literally to mean treasure. So we can leave the whole esoteric side of things to other people.' Just at that moment, a waitress arrived with two small plates of
amuse bouches
, consisting of a delicate glass dish holding a small slice of foie gras accompanied by cubes of fresh figs and apricots, and alongside this, a single scallop sitting in its own shell.

As they nibbled at the appetisers, Mark went on to give her a rough idea of the plot of his novel. It sounded intriguing, consisting of two opposing teams of treasure hunters following clues revealed in an old document. He explained to her that he was relying on her to come up with a suitable source for this fictitious document, and she found herself being drawn into the story. By the time their anchovies arrived, she had a pretty clear idea of what he was planning and she rather liked it. She also liked the anchovies. Opened into the traditional butterfly shape, they had been marinated with an amazing mixture of herbs, lemon and olive oil. They were wonderful; delicate, refreshing and very tasty. Natalie was glad she was feeling hungry.

As they ate the fish, she realised that she was also enjoying his company, very much, and it looked as though he was enjoying being with her. She was very impressed that the dog wasn't making any attempt to beg at table, considering the enticing aromas that must be filtering down to him. His head was still resting on her feet and he appeared to be asleep. She mentioned this to Mark. He smiled back at her.

‘We have an understanding, Barney and me. I have my food and he has his. He gets to come with me to places like this on condition that he behaves himself. If he does, he knows that he gets a walk somewhere nice afterwards and there's always a treat for him at the end of that. It took a bit of time to get him to realise that's how it goes, but he's got it now and it works.' He finished the last of his anchovies and sat back. A waiter appeared and topped up their glasses without being asked and then cleared the plates away.

Mark looked across the table at Natalie. ‘Want to tell me a bit about you?' He paused for a moment and caught her eye. ‘By the way, you'd better know before you start that the job's yours if you want it, so no need to tell me how excited you are at the chance of working with me, or how you were captain of the school netball team. Like I say, you've got the job. All I'd really like is to know a little about you, and a lot about your Cathar studies.'

Natalie smiled back at him. ‘Considering this is my first job interview since going back to uni to do my doctorate, I'm finding it a lot less daunting than I feared.' She held up her glass to him. ‘This wonderful wine helps.' He reached across and clinked his glass against hers.