What Happens at the Beach... (21 page)

When they reached the turn-off for her grandma's house, Natalie stuck to her resolve and just waved goodbye to the two of them and went along the terrace to the back door.

Chapter 13

Next morning dawned bright and clear once more, the rain of the previous day little more than a distant memory. As Natalie walked back up to the house after her morning swim, the pine needles underfoot crackled under her feet once more. The copious downpour had disappeared almost without trace. All that remained of the storm were a few puddles on the stone terrace outside the house, but these wouldn't last for long once the sun got going.

Natalie rinsed her bikini and hung it up alongside her towel on the line, knowing it would be bone-dry within minutes. Then she went upstairs to her grandmother's room. Colette was sitting up in bed, reading yesterday's
l'Indépendant
. She looked up as she heard Natalie's footsteps.

‘Good morning, dear. Come in and listen to this. I've just seen it.' She looked and sounded animated. ‘The European cultural heritage fund has approved a grant to replace the Centre for Cathar Studies at Carcassonne that went into liquidation in January. They've already found new premises and it says, listen;
The Centre is actively recruiting Medieval specialists.
You realise what this might mean?'

Natalie certainly did. ‘Gran, you're a wonder. That sounds amazing. The websites I've been looking at are all for universities. I never thought of something like this. If you don't mind, I'll go and check this place out on my computer right away.'

She went back across the landing to her room and opened the laptop. The
Centre Européen de Recherches Cathares
, the CERC, had a brand-new website and, sure enough, there was a page devoted to situations vacant. She scanned it impatiently and almost shouted with excitement. Two of the positions to be filled sounded absolutely perfect for her background, experience and qualifications. The pay on offer wasn't great, but she should be able to survive on it and it would do for a start. She checked the time. It was a quarter to eight. Hastily she prepared an email to them with a brief outline of her CV, asking if there were any application forms to be completed. She pressed
Send
and then hurried off to the bathroom to get ready for work.

When she arrived at the chateau, just before nine o'clock, she was relieved to see that Hortense's car had disappeared. She went to the back door and glanced into the kitchen. Madame Lenoir looked up from the sink and waved her in.

‘Good morning, Natalie. You look more cheerful today.'

Natalie realised that she was smiling. The news of the possible job had done wonders for her spirits. The disappearance of Hortense's car had, she admitted to herself, also helped immensely. She explained about the article in the newspaper and the old housekeeper looked pleased for her.

‘That's excellent news, Natalie. You and Mark are off out for the day today, aren't you? So he won't be here for lunch, I presume.'

‘That's right. Unless things have changed, we're going to Rennes le Chateau and then on to a few other places of interest. I imagine we'll be away all day.' She looked around. ‘No dog today? Normally he's here waiting for me.'

Madame Lenoir shook her head. ‘He's in the dining room with them.'

‘Them?' As she asked the question, Natalie realised that she knew the answer and the smile on her face faded.

‘Mark and Hortense. She insists on having all meals, including breakfast, in the dining room, not in the kitchen like he normally does. The dog's in there with them and the door's closed.' She lowered her voice. ‘I think they're arguing again.'

Although her smile didn't return, Natalie felt cheered by that information. ‘Well, I think I'll go through to the study and collect all the maps and books we need for today.'

She walked down the corridor to the study and busied herself getting ready for the excursion. As it was a dry day, assuming the roads were now passable again after the rain, the plan was to drive about one hundred kilometres inland to the little village of Rennes le Chateau and from there to curl south so as to visit the mountain fortress of Montségur. On the way back, if they had time, they would take in another couple of castles in the foothills of the Pyrenees. She was just putting everything into her bag when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. It was Mark, accompanied by an enthusiastic Barney.

‘Hi, Natalie. All ready for the off?' He gave her a big smile.

‘Hi, Mark; hello, Barney.' The dog stood up on his hind legs and stretched his front paws up as far as her stomach. She scratched him under the chin as he pushed against her and grunted appreciatively. She reached into her bag and produced the freshly laundered Harley Davidson T-shirt and handed it back to Mark.

‘Thanks, Natalie, but I said you could keep it.'

‘No, you were very kind to lend it to me, but it's yours. Besides, it's just a tad big for me.' As she spoke, she glanced up again and was seriously disappointed to see Hortense standing by the door, observing their exchange. Natalie glanced down and saw that the killer heels were missing today. Hortense was wearing pumps and looked pleasingly small as a result. Summoning all her acting talent, Natalie managed to produce a broad smile. ‘Good morning, Hortense.'

‘Good morning, Natalie.' Hortense didn't even bother with a phoney smile. ‘So I see you two are sharing clothes now. Well, well, well.' She caught Mark's arm in a proprietary hold, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on Natalie. ‘I understand you and Mark are going sightseeing today. How quaint.'

Mark was quick to correct her. ‘This is work, Hortense. We're researching the Cathars.'

‘Of course you are.' Hortense's expression made clear how transparent an excuse that sounded to her ears. Natalie thought about a riposte, but bit her tongue and stayed silent.

To Natalie's horror, when they went out to the car, Hortense came with them and immediately positioned herself in the front passenger seat. Natalie was relegated to the back seat, much to the delight of Barney in the boot, who set about sniffing, kissing and licking her neck. The only good news was that a large bag was put in the boot alongside the dog, hopefully belonging to Hortense. Mark climbed in and turned back towards Natalie and confirmed what was happening. ‘We're taking Hortense to the station at Perpignan. She's on her way to Cannes.'

Natalie was very relieved to hear they weren't going to have Hortense with them all day and thought she should say something. ‘Oh, how nice.'

‘Yes.' Hortense didn't bother with any further attempt at conversation and the forty-minute drive was undertaken in almost complete silence. After what seemed like an age, they got to the station and Mark and Hortense got out. He opened the boot, dissuaded Barney from jumping out and handed Hortense her suitcase. Natalie watched the ensuing scene reflected in the wing mirror with interest.

‘You aren't coming in with me, Mark?' Clearly, Hortense was not best pleased.

‘I'm double-parked, Hortense. I can't.'

‘So, that's it; just, “Here's your suitcase, goodbye”?' She sounded bitterly offended.

There was a pause while, clearly, Mark considered a number of responses. Finally, he just settled for, ‘Here's your suitcase, Hortense. Goodbye.' He closed the boot and returned to the driving seat. He started the engine without a word, drove out of the station complex and, as soon as they were clear, pulled onto the pavement and looked back over his shoulder apologetically. ‘Natalie, would you like to come in the front now?'

Natalie climbed out of the back seat and got into the front, leaving a disappointed Barney in the boot. She looked across at Mark, but said nothing. He caught her eye. ‘I'm sorry about that. I hope that hasn't wasted too much of our time.'

‘We'll be fine.' Behind her, she heard the Labrador issue a heartfelt sigh and then thud down onto the boot floor, ready for a snooze.

They drove off and were soon out of the city, heading west up a broad river valley into the barren, hilly region of the Corbières. As they drove up the uncannily deserted road, evidence of the previous day's rain was all too visible with gravel, soil and rocks, some quite large, on the road. They passed a number of
Road closed
signs and, indeed, on one occasion, Mark had to cut off the road and drive through a field to avoid a landslide that had pretty obviously only just come down on the road ahead. The big vehicle handled all the detours and off-road expeditions with ease and Natalie had to admit that, as well as being a big, pricey object of desire, the car was a talented workhorse. She reflected that the same description could pretty well be given to its owner, but she did her best to dismiss the thought. She was at work, she told herself, and she was being paid to concentrate on the Cathars, not the driver. They were well inland, the steep valley walls rising several thousand feet on either side, when Mark finally felt he was ready to talk.

‘I'm sorry for not being very good company this morning. It's not your fault, it's just… I'm afraid Hortense and I have been quarrelling. Or, at least, she's been quarrelling and I've been doing my best to avoid saying something I might regret.' He glanced across at her. ‘But at least she's gone now. The local garage came and picked her car up early this morning, so that's out of the way as well.' He grinned. ‘Although from what they were saying, it might end up being sent back to Germany to get fixed.'

‘How long's she going to be in Cannes for?' Natalie wasn't really bothered, just as long as she didn't come back to Port Renard.

‘I have no idea. I believe she spends quite a lot of the time there these days.'

That sounded agreeably vague. ‘What was it you two were arguing about?'

There was a pause while he followed a
Deviation
sign off the road and onto a rough track to avoid a huge pile of debris. When he was safely back on the road again, he answered. ‘She's one of my ex-wife's friends, so I suppose I've known her for about five years. I got divorced last summer and Hortense comes to visit me every now and then.' He glanced at her again. ‘I'm afraid she can be a bit OTT. She wasn't too rude to you, was she?'

Natalie had stopped listening after the word
ex-wife
. Hearing the question mark at the end of his sentence, she glanced across at him. ‘Sorry, Mark, I wasn't concentrating. What was it you were arguing about?'

He met her eye for a moment, before returning his attention to the road. ‘If you really want to know, we were arguing about you.' She saw the sides of his mouth curl upwards.

‘About me?' Natalie was still processing the information that he wasn't married, after all. ‘Why me?'

‘For some reason she sees you as a rival for my affections.'

He now had Natalie's whole attention. This coincided with another brief excursion off the road, up a farm track and back onto the road again, so she had time to consider her response. In the end, she opted for simple repetition. ‘But why me?'

‘What you've got to realise about Hortense is that she's convinced I should have married her instead of Beatrice. Ever since the two of us broke up she's been pestering me. The brutal truth is that I just don't find her attractive.' He corrected himself. ‘No, of course she's a very attractive woman, but it's me. Maybe it's because she and Beatrice are so close, I don't know, but I just don't think of her that way. Anyway, since I wasn't ready to hop into bed with her she assumed it must be because I had somebody else. It was a toss-up between you, Madame Lenoir and Barney, and you got the blame. Sorry.'

The information that Mark and Hortense had not, after all, shared a bed gave Natalie a hugely satisfying sensation. She gathered her courage. ‘I really can't imagine how she could have got that impression, Mark. We're just work colleagues, aren't we?'

Now was the moment he was supposed to screech to a halt, take her in his arms and tell her their relationship was far more than that, but he didn't. Instead he just kept driving. Natalie waited a minute, two, three and then decided it would be best to change the subject. She told him about the possible job in Carcassonne and he was delighted for her.

‘Natalie, that's fantastic. Remember, if you need an effusively supportive referee, you can put me down. So, that would mean you're staying in France, wouldn't it?'

‘That's right, and it would mean being down here, barely a couple of hours from my gran.' And from him, she thought to herself. Just at that moment, she saw a sign off to the right towards a village called Maury.

‘Turn right here, Mark.' He braked and turned off as instructed. She apologised. ‘Sorry to spring that on you. I wasn't concentrating. I'm taking you on the scenic route but, as they're even smaller roads, we may find them blocked.'

‘We'll give it a go. We can always turn back, can't we?' They followed the road that skirted round the village and then they started climbing seriously. The road snaked up the side of the ridge towards a col at the top. The road itself had few, if any, barriers at the side and the slope was steep enough and high enough to make Natalie apprehensive. Mark, on the other hand, was clearly loving it. As they reached the top, he pointed out how good the road surface was. ‘For such a tiny road, it's amazingly smooth. I bet that was done for the Tour de France. They often come into the Pyrenees, don't they?'

‘Well, I wouldn't fancy cycling up here.' Natalie glanced over the edge again. ‘Or down for that matter. You could get killed running off the road.' Then she looked up, rather than down, and spotted one of the landmarks she had been seeking. ‘If you can take your eyes off the road for a moment without crashing over the edge, you'll see the castle of Quéribus up to the right.'