Hidden (Marchwood Vampire Series #1) (7 page)

‘
I am so hungry I could eat my shoe,’ Alexandre’s eyes lit up
at the arrival of the first course.

‘
You boys are always hungry,’ Maman replied.

Alexandre
concentrated on his food while Jacques cross-examined Maman and
Papa on every aspect of archaeology he could think of. Papa never
tired of talking about his favourite subject and Jacques’ interest
fuelled his enthusiasm.

Alexandre
realised this Turkish dig could lead to the most important find of
the century or it could be a wild goose chase. But it was a risk
his parents were willing to take. They wanted to uncover that one
big find that would gain them the respect of their peers and
re-launch their ailing careers.

Whilst they
had been enjoying dinner, the train staff had transformed their
first class carriage into a comfortable bedroom. The lower benches
were now beds, and two further bunks had been pulled down from each
wall. Alexandre and Jacques were to share, topping and tailing.

‘
Keep still, man, for goodness sake.’ Alexandre jabbed his
brother’s leg with his foot.

‘
Ow! Maman, tell Alex to stop hogging the whole bunk and maybe
then it wouldn’t take me so long to get comfortable.’

‘
Just lie still, close your eyes and go to sleep,’ Alexandre
said. ‘That usually works for me.’

‘
It
usually
works for me too, but I don’t
usually
have to lie next to a six
foot idiot who takes up the whole bed.’ Jacques kicked him
back.

‘
Ow! You little ...’

‘
Right, that’s it!’ Alexandre heard his mother slip down from
her bunk. She drew back the curtains in front of their bed.
‘Jacques, you take my bunk. I will share with Isobel. I cannot
stand another moment of your bickering. Just promise me you will
not be like this for the whole nine months we are away. Didier, why
are you not scolding your sons?’

Alexandre
followed his mother’s gaze to see Papa lying in his bunk with his
mouth open, snoring.

‘
Oh. Now quiet, everyone. Papa is asleep.’

‘
We don’t have to whisper, Maman. We could scream blue murder
and he wouldn’t wake,’ Alexandre said. ‘You know what he is like
once he falls asleep.’

‘
Yes, well …’ Maman replied, climbing in next to Isobel. ‘… it
is late and we have another long day tomorrow. Sleep now, children.
Goodnight, I love you all.’

‘
Goodnight, Maman.’

‘
Goodnight, Maman. Sleep well.’

Alexandre
stretched out on his narrow bunk, relieved he no longer had to
share it with his fidgeting brother. He lay with his hands behind
his head and stared up at the underside of Jacques’ bunk. It didn’t
look too sturdy. He hoped it didn’t detach from the wall and come
crashing down on top of him.

The train
swayed gently and Alexandre thought this is what it must feel like
to be a babe rocked to sleep in its mother’s arms. He and his
siblings had never travelled on a train before. They had rarely
travelled anywhere within their own country, let alone abroad.

His parents,
on the other hand, were two of the most well-travelled people of
their time and it had always struck Alexandre as grossly unfair he
had been nowhere and seen nothing, whilst they had travelled the
world ten times over. Now, however, his time had come and he meant
to make the most of every second of every day.

The next
morning dawned clear and cold, the wide pale country sky trying its
hardest to be blue. By ten o’clock it had succeeded.

After an early
breakfast, the family returned to their compartment and once again
it had been transformed back into its daytime persona. Everyone was
quiet and contemplative this morning. Even Jacques remained
uncharacteristically silent. Alexandre had slept fairly well, but
his thoughts now turned to the long sea voyage ahead of them.

Once they boarded the steamer
at Marseille, they were to meet up with The Swintons, old family
friends from England. Victoria and Harold Swinton were
archaeologists who had worked with his parents on various digs
around the world. They had two children – Leonora and Freddie.
Alexandre wondered what they would be like. He had a vague
memor
y of
them from his younger days - the girl had been
irritating.

Through the
window, idyllic country scenes scrolled past – olive groves, ruined
castles, small river ferries cruising beneath arched stone bridges
and bent-backed agricultural workers with all manner of livestock
working the brown and yellow fields.

All too soon,
the mellow French countryside was swallowed up by a more urban
landscape. A random spattering of chalky white houses gradually
merged and darkened into dirty suburbs – Alexandre’s first
introduction to Marseille. The Paris rain had not reached this far
south and the views were dusty and dry.

Suddenly the
train slowed and drew into the Gare St Charles, Marseille’s train
station, which perched loftily on top of a high plateau. They were
not to disembark here, however. After a short wait, the train moved
off onto a single track branch line, towards Gare de la Joliette,
the harbour station.

*

Marseille, the
oldest city in France, lay on the eastern shore of the bay, backed
by green-covered hills and high-peaked mountains. Down at the
harbour, sailing boats and steamers purposefully set out to sea or
else lined up along the dockside, moored two and three deep.

Alexandre
breathed in the sea air and almost gagged. The Marseillaise
atmosphere felt much drier than cold damp Paris, but it smelt
infinitely worse. The docks swam in ships’ rubbish and the stench
of foul water was almost too much to bear.

‘
Oh, it is worse than anything I have ever smelt in my life!’
Isobel exclaimed, holding her lace handkerchief in front of her
nose and mouth.

‘
It is not very pleasant, I must agree.’ Their mother too,
covered her nose.

‘
It is the scent of adventure,’ Papa declared.

‘
Where are we to meet the Swintons?’ Isobel asked from behind
her handkerchief.

‘
We will find them on the ship. They have made their way from
England. Maman and I visited them there many years ago.’

‘
And how old is their daughter?’

‘
Leonora must be seventeen or eighteen by now. They stayed
with us once, but you were probably too young to remember. You all
got on very well.’

‘
Maman, how can you say that?’ Alexandre said. ‘I can remember
the girl was very annoying. Rude and entirely without
charm.’

‘
You only say that, because she did not fall for
your
charms, Alexandre.
I have met her several times since and she has spirit - an
admirable quality.’

‘
And the boy?’ Jacques asked.

‘
A thoroughly delightful chap,’ said Papa. ‘Jacques, you and
he got on like a house on fire. Got up to no end of mischief
though. He has now grown into a very likeable fellow.’

‘
Is Monsieur Bouvier also their patron?’ Alexandre
asked.

‘
Goodness no,’ his mother replied. ‘Papa wants their expertise
on the dig. The Swintons are so wealthy, I believe they own half of
South Gloucestershire. They are passionate archaeologists though,
just like me and Papa.’

The cold
Mistral blew down from the Rhone Valley and they had to keep
turning aside to prevent grit blowing in their eyes.

‘
Oh, it is awful. Freezing cold and smelly. Can we not return
to Paris, Maman?’ Isobel pouted.

Maman laughed.
‘Now, Isobel, you are made of stronger stuff than this. A bit of
rubbish and a gust of cold wind is not something to get upset
about.

‘
Isobel, it is wonderful here,’ Alexandre said. ‘There is so
much to see and the Mediterranean is so blue out there.’

Isobel threw
Alexandre a resentful glance. He had hoped she would have forgotten
her crossness with him, but he realised he wasn’t going to have it
so easy. Her face did soften a little as she looked out across the
ocean. Away from the murky harbour, the sea twinkled and glittered
in the morning sun, a slightly deeper shade of blue than the
powdered sky.

‘
I thought the Seine beautiful, but the Mediterranean is
something entirely different,’ Alexandre said.

‘
I feel your mother and I have been remiss in your education.
We should have brought you to see the ocean long before
now.’

‘
I cannot argue with that, Papa,’ Alexandre
replied.

*

The Mistral
was a magnificent steamer, with a sleek hull, black-topped funnels
and four masts for sailing if the winds were fair.

Standing high
on deck, Alexandre looked out across the land side of the ship onto
a sea of colour. He saw upturned faces, hats and twirling parasols.
Cases and trunks passed over heads, smiles, tears, waving
handkerchiefs, kisses being blown and caught.

He left his
family for a while and walked around to the other side of the ship.
There, the blue green ocean mesmerised him, its waves rippling out
to the horizon and beyond. Gulls cried out: hovering, swooping,
gliding and diving. Alexandre felt an affinity with these birds; a
feeling that he now shared in their freedom. His wings had
stretched and strained against the stiff breeze for too long, but
suddenly he found himself no longer struggling - fair winds were
taking him exactly where he needed to go.

The steamship
sounded its horn. Three long low blasts which filled up the air
with its deep mournful sound. Cheers and shouts erupted all around
and the large vessel began to heave its way out of the harbour,
towards the open sea.

A small child
on deck pointed down into the water and Alexandre caught his breath
as he saw a school of about twenty shiny-backed porpoises leaping
up out of the navy blue ocean and diving back under to glide
beneath the clear surface. As the evening sun slid slowly into the
Mediterranean, one of its rays caught Alexandre’s face. He savoured
its bright warmth and enjoyed an unfettered moment of billowing
happiness.

*

The Swintons
had been rich land owners for generations and Harold Swinton had
inherited his wealth, like his father before him. These fortunate
circumstances had allowed him to indulge in his passion for
archaeology. He had met his beautiful half-Russian wife, Victoria,
on a dig at an ancient Mesopotamian site where they had fallen in
love and married within the month.

Now, the Chevaliers walked across the black and white tiled
floor of the Garden Lounge to where the Swintons sat at wicker
chairs around a tile-topped table. They appeared to be playing the
card game,
Chance
, and from the look of things the boy, Freddie, appeared to
be winning.

‘
This is just too easy,’ he chortled.

‘
Nobody likes a show off,’ his older sister
replied.

‘
Never mind, Leonora. We’ll play something easier next. How
about Snap?’

Leonora rolled
her eyes and ignored her younger brother. Both parents laughed.

‘
Harold! So good to see you,’ Alexandre’s father called out.
‘Victoria, how are you? You all look marvellous.’

‘
Children, look!’ Victoria rose to her feet. ‘It is the
Chevaliers.’

The Swintons
stood up and introductions were made. Harold looked around and
caught the eye of a steward who came over and moved another table
and some chairs next to theirs so everyone could sit together. Both
families spoke both fluent French and English and switched easily
back and forth between languages.

‘
I cannot wait to find out the nature of the site.’ Freddie
said.

‘
I know,’ Jacques replied. ‘It is too bad Papa will not
enlighten us.’

‘
Perhaps now would be an appropriate time to tell the
children,’ Papa looked at Maman and the Swintons. They smiled and
nodded their agreement. ‘But remember,’ Papa continued. ‘This is
confidential information.’

Alexandre and
the others leaned forward to better hear the information they had
been itching to find out for days.

Papa
began:

‘
As you know, we are travelling to an area in the region of
Cappadocia. The site was unearthed very recently, when a local
woman caught her foot in something and could not free it. Her
brother cleared the ground and realised her foot was trapped in
some kind of narrow hole. They eventually freed it, but later
discovered the hole was an ancient light well, or air vent
belonging to an underground chamber. This chamber had lain there,
undisturbed for centuries.’

Everybody made
‘ooh’ noises and laughed.

‘
Carry on Papa,’ Jacques said. ‘What is inside the
chamber?’

‘
Well, we are not entirely sure. It is thought there may be
more chambers leading from that one. Perhaps interesting artefacts
to be uncovered, maybe it was a burial site with clues to an
undiscovered ancient civilisation. We will not know until we see
the evidence with our own eyes.’

‘
There is another thing that makes this site more interesting.
The locals will not go anywhere near it. Apparently they are
terrified. They say the ground is cursed. It is very
intriguing.’

‘
Oh,’ Isobel looked at their mother. ‘It’s not is it? Cursed,
I mean.’