Finding Margo (17 page)

The weather continued hot and sunny, and as the temperature soared, the pace slowed down and the socialising took on a more sedate pace. The heat made everyone languid, and Margo found herself doing everything very slowly, following Milady’s example of a long siesta in the middle of the day. “The hottest summer here for more than one hundred years,” Agnès had told her. “A lot of old people have actually died in Paris. Some people just leave their old relatives behind in the city when they go on holiday. Horrible, no?”

“Awful,” Margo agreed and wondered if she would have survived in that attic room in the nearly forty-degree heat if she had been left behind. It was lucky I was needed in the country, she thought, or the heat would have driven me back to England. But it was nearly as hot in London. She had seen on the weather map on the television in the little staff sitting room beside the kitchen. Here in the country, it was a little fresher despite the baking heat. There was always a breeze in the evening, and the interior of the château remained fairly cool most of the day. Her own room high up in the tower was sometimes very warm, but if she closed the shutters and windows in the morning, she managed to keep it comfortable, even if the nights were sometimes hot and sticky.

***

W
hen Margo went into her room, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Maybe I can nip into the library and get a book? She tip-toed across the hall into the dim interior of the library. The bookcases were filled from floor to ceiling with leather-bound volumes. Most of the books were French classics, from Balzac to Stendahl, mixed with plays by Molière, the collected works of the best-known French poets of the past two centuries and the odd paperback pushed in between the volumes: Agatha Christie, Ed McBain, and surprisingly, Barbara Cartland. Margo pulled out a slim volume.

“Looking for something to read?”

Margo nearly dropped the book. She twirled around and realised that Jacques was sitting in one of the deep armchairs by the window.

“You startled me. I didn’t know there was anyone in here.”

Jacques’ smile was slow and lazy. “I was half asleep. Didn’t notice you come in, and then I opened my eyes, and there you were. But maybe, I’m dreaming?”

“I could pinch your arm, if you like.”

“No thanks. I feel suddenly wide awake. What have you got there?”

“I don’t know. I pulled it out at random.”

“Poetry. Was that what you wanted?”

“No, I—” Margo looked down at the book and, realising that there was a very explicit picture of a naked woman on the cover, quickly pushed it back into the bookcase again. “I just took it out by accident. I was looking for a novel to read in the garden.”

“Something steamy? From the Napoleonic era?”

Margo looked at Jacques. His intense gaze made her face feel hot and she looked away, pretending to be interested in the books. “No, not at all. Just something light.” She pulled out one of the Agatha Christies.

“I see.” He kept looking at her in a way that made her face feel even hotter. “Are you finding it difficult to cope with the heat?”

“A little.” Margo slowly backed away from him, clutching the book.

“Would you like some iced tea? Agnès just brought me a huge pitcher. Really good on a hot day.”

“Yes, why not?”

Jacques got up and walked to the table by the sofa. As he poured Margo a glass of the refreshing tea, the ice cubes rattled into the tumbler. “Here.” He handed her the drink. “This will quench your thirst and cool that flushed face.”

“You sound like an advertisement.” Margo lifted the glass to her lips. The cold liquid was wonderful, and she drank thirstily until she had drained the glass.

“Good?” Jacques enquired.

“Lovely,” she said, slightly breathless from drinking so fast. “Thanks a lot. I do find the heat really bad sometimes, I have to admit. It kind of drains you.”

“I know,” he nodded. “But sit down. Have another glass of iced tea. Take a break from all your chores.”

Margo sank down on a chair, still holding the book. “I was going to go for a walk in the woods,” she said. “But it’s very hot, so I might wait until later when the sun is lower.”

“Good idea,” Jacques said, settling back into the chair he had vacated. They were quiet for a while. Margo looked down at the book she was holding and traced the letters with her finger. She didn’t know quite what to say.

“
Un ange passe
,” Jacques said softly.

“What?”

“An angel is passing through. That’s what we say in France when there is this kind of silence that is full of unspoken words.”

“Oh.”

“Where were you going to walk?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The woods, maybe. I thought I might go and sit by the stream and read.”

“That’s my favourite place; the woods by the stream,” Jacques said. “There is a lot of wildlife there, have you noticed?”

“Not really. What kind of wildlife?”

“There are a lot of birds nesting there,” Jacques said. “Rare birds you don’t see in other parts of France. This area has no industries nearby, and the motorway is quite far away. If you go there late in the evening or early morning, you will see the birds feeding. Early June is the best time, of course, because they are nesting then, but even now they are quite easy to spot if you know what to look for.”

“And what’s that?” Margo asked, intrigued.

“There is a pair of kingfishers that have been there for years. If you stay still and try not to make a sound, you will see a flash of brilliant blue when the birds fly along the river. They follow the line of the water looking for small fish, and their flight is like a fighter plane: straight, silent and very fast. It is a beautiful sight.”

“I must look out for that. Thank you for telling me.”

“Most people walk around completely blind to the magic of nature, you know,” Jacques said with slight regret in his voice. “If they could learn to open their eyes and see all the wonderful things there are, the world might be a better place.”

“Maybe it would. But most people never get a chance to get away from their city lives.”

“I know. I’m very lucky in that respect, I suppose. You know,” Jacques said with a faraway look in his eyes, “early in the morning, when the sun has just risen and I go out to check the stock, is the best part of my day.”

“I can imagine.”

“Yes.”

They were quiet once more. Margo cleared her throat.

Jacques’ eyes focused on her again. He looked at her as if he had momentarily forgotten her presence and was surprised to see her there.

“Would you like to come with me some morning?” he asked. “To ride out and check the cattle and ride along the stream and watch the birds?”

“Ride? I don’t know,” Margo said. “I haven’t sat on a horse since I was a child. And then it was only a pony.”

“I have an old mare. Very quiet. I could put my grandmother on her. If I had a grandmother,” he added. “So how about it? Will you come with me?”

“Maybe.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Why not? What time?”

“Six o’clock. I’ll wait for you at the stables.”

“If I manage to wake up,” Margo said.

“If you were Groania, or whatever her name is, you’d be getting up at that hour every morning.”

“Well, I’m not her, so I don’t have to,” Margo said, feeling irritated by his teasing.

Jacques studied her for a while. “As you took the job under false pretences,” he remarked, “you owe me some sacrifice.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Margo snapped.

“Are you coming or not?”

Margo hesitated. “OK, I will.”

“Good. And by the way, she has just arrived and is camping by the stream.”

“Who?”

“Your—girlfriend.”

***

“W
hat have you got yourself into?” Margo muttered to herself as she hurried down the path to find Gráinne. “You should stay away from him, you fool. He seems so harmless, but I know he’s trouble. Pull yourself together and act your age,” she ordered herself. Still muttering under her breath, she walked on, through the woods, and down the hill toward the weir. There wasn’t even a faint breeze and nothing moved, not even the tiniest blade of grass. It was as if the whole landscape was holding its breath, pressed down by the relentless sun. Margo shaded her eyes with her hand and looked toward the weir. The water level was lower, and the gushing of the stream had slowed to a soft gurgle. The grass was yellow rather than green, and there were even bare patches in the meadow. Then she spotted something bright green among the pine trees: Gráinne’s tent. She set off through the wood and peeked into the tent.

“G
ráinne?”

A voice behind her made Margo jump. “Shit, if it isn’t Maggie! Jesus, you gave me a hell of a fright.”

Margo turned around. “Gráinne! Why are you sneaking up on me like this?”

“The world is full of creeps. You have to be able to defend yourself these days,” Gráinne replied.

“Well, you’re asking for it, walking around with nothing on.”

Gráinne looked down at herself as if she had just noticed her lack of clothing. “Yeah, right,” she muttered. “I was just having a dip in the weir. I’ll throw something on.” She sidled awkwardly into the tent, closed the flap, and after having rustled around for a bit, came out moments later dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. She towelled her hair dry, sat down on a tree stump, and stuck a cigarette in her mouth. Smiling at Margo, she lit the cigarette shakily. “Sorry, but you did scare the shit out of me. I didn’t recognise you with that hairdo.”

Margo sank down on the ground beside her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“A woman alone is an easy target for all kinds of creeps. Sorry about creeping up on you like that.”

“But you don’t really have anything that anyone would like to steal, do you?” Margo said. “And I was only looking into your tent to see who was there. Just out of curiosity, you know?”

“Well, you know what curiosity did to the cat,” Gráinne mumbled, blowing out a plume of smoke. “And it wouldn’t be money he would be after.”

“He? Who?”

Gráinne shrugged. “Anyone. Any man on the prowl. They’re all the same. If they find you alone and vulnerable, they’ll just—well, you know.”

“Oh,” Margo said as it dawned on her what Gráinne meant. “I see. Well, I suppose you’re right. Women are attacked all the time these days.”

“You’re right. Camping on your own is not really safe anymore. Especially around here.”

“Around here?”

“Yeah. I know that pervert from the castle likes to prowl around and take a peep when I’m not looking.”

“Who are you talking about? Jacques?”

“Yeah, Jacques. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice he was sneaking around when we were here last? Didn’t you get the stink of those French fags?”

“Oh,” Margo mumbled. “Yes, well, I suppose I did. But I mean, he wouldn’t really—and in that case, you shouldn’t be walking around in the buff.”

“Yeah, I know. I usually only take a dip in the dark. But today, as it was so hot, I just thought I might get away with it if I just had a quick splash.”

“I see.”

“You better be careful too, love,” Gráinne said. “You’re quite good-looking even if you are a bit skinny. Very good-looking, actually.”

“No, I’m not,” Margo protested.

“No, really. You are. Great tits and ass.”

“Oh, eh, thanks.” Margo moved a little further away.

Gráinne lit another cigarette. “But what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were swanning around being the assistant to some rich and famous executive. I thought you’d be in the Bahamas or wherever those people go in the summer.”

Margo wrapped her arms around her knees. “Well, I have to admit I told you a fib or two.”

Gráinne stared at her. “You didn’t get yourself that job then?”

“No. I mean, yes, I did. I got a job, but it wasn’t as fancy as I told you on the phone. And it was you who got me the job, actually.”

“Me? What are you raving about now?”

“Well you see, I—well, I found myself completely alone and without any money, and I didn’t know what to do. And then, as if by some kind of miracle, I found this letter in my bag. A letter from, eh, Jacques Coligny de la Bourdonnière offering you a job here.”

“Me? What? In your bag?”

“Yes, it was that bit of paper with your number you gave me, remember?”

“Oh. I didn’t realise. I remember that letter all right. But I thought I had thrown it away. I didn’t want that job. I wasn’t going to work for that. Go on.”

“Well, to cut a long story short, I went to their apartment in Paris and pretended to be you and said I would like to take the position.”

“Jesus, you didn’t!’ Gráinne squealed. “You pretended to be me! You told them you were a dab hand with horses as well? I bet they thought that was a real laugh.”

“No, they didn’t, because they had never met you. Jacques wasn’t in Paris. It was his mother who received me.”

“Yeah? She received you? How bloody posh. What’s she like?”

“She’s—well, I’m not sure you would ever have met anyone like her, actually.”

“An old dragon, is she?”

“No, not really, just a little, well, a real lady and very—”

“Stuck up?”

“A bit, maybe. Anyway,” Margo breezed on, “she saw through my little game at once, but that didn’t knock a stir out of her. She offered me this job as personal assistant instead. And a room in the attic.”

“So there was no penthouse apartment?”

“Well, no. I’m sorry to disappoint you. But the room is very nice actually, not what you would call luxurious, but kind of cute.”

Gráinne smoked the last of her cigarette in silence, looking very thoughtful. “That’s a shame,” she said after a while.

“What is?”

“Well, here I was thinking you had this great job and the luxury pad. It was cheering me up, thinking about you. And now you turn out to be a skivvy just like the rest of us.”

“Sorry about that,” Margo said.

“Weird,” Gráinne said. “Really weird.”

They were quiet for a while, each lost in thought while the stream gurgled softly over the rocks and the shadows lengthened across the meadow.