Peter May - Extraordinary People

‘Where?’ Sophie asked. ‘When you get where?’

‘Hautvillers,’ Enzo said triumphantly. ‘First thing in the morning.’

White dust rose from the wheels of a tractor like smoke. Everything was white. The dust, the soil. Even the sky was bleached white by the afternoon sun. The chalk gave the grapes their distinctive dry flavour, and turned the rivers and lakes a strange, milky green.

The rolling hills that folded one over the other looked as if they had been combed. Enzo had never seen such fastidiously pruned vines. There was something almost manic in their neatness, endless unwavering lines of green and white stretching away into a hazy distance.

Neither had he seen so many castles, as he drove through the tiny stone villages nestling in the folds and valleys of the Aube.

Épernay was surrounded by twenty thousand hectares of vineyards. It was a classic eighteenth century French provincial town in the heart of champagne country, just a few miles south of the cathedral city of Reims. It was home to many of the most famous brands of champagne, household names in wealthy homes around the world. But in Épernay, everyone drank champagne, from the street cleaner to the lord of the manor. It had been said that drinking champagne in Épernay was like listening to Mozart in Salzburg.

Enzo had booked two rooms in the Hôtel de la Cloche in the Place Mendès-France. The last two rooms available. They had told him he was lucky to have got one room anywhere in town, never mind two. Raffin had called him on his cell phone earlier in the afternoon to confirm that he would be arriving at seven forty-five that night on the train from Paris. Enzo arrived shortly after five, and passed the time with a glass of wine on the terrasse looking out over a square dominated by the municipal theatre and a host of restaurants serving it. Trees grew in a small park in the centre of the square, and fountains played in the early evening sunlight. The station stood at the end of a short boulevard on the far side of the Place. Enzo resisted the temptation to make the ten-minute drive out to the tiny village of Hautvillers. He had promised Raffin that they would go together in the morning. But the waiting was almost more than he could bear. One glass of wine became three, and he watched with impatience the slow progress of his watch towards eight.

At seven-thirty, he crossed the square and walked down to the station. Le Nivolet restaurant was doing brisk business. The station concourse was filled with people waiting for the Paris train. Enzo went out on to the platform, slipping between two Asian nuns in champagne white, to stand gazing out towards the distant vine-covered hills. There did not seem to be a single square meter that was not given over to the growing of grapes.

He saw the tall figure of Raffin, a head higher than most of the other passengers streaming on to the platform from the train. The collar of his neatly pressed white shirt was open at the neck and turned up, and his jacket was, as usual, slung carelessly across his shoulder. He carried a handmade leather overnight bag. No matter how hot it was, Raffin always looked cool and unruffled, as if he had just stepped from the dressing room immediately after a shower. At his shoulder, Enzo saw a flash of dark curls, and his stomach flipped over. Charlotte slipped out from Raffin’s wake and smiled when she saw Enzo waiting, eyes flashing darkly, full of fun and mischief. She wore pale pink tennis shoes and white cotton calf-length trousers. A man-sized denim shirt hung loosely from her shoulders. She had a canvas bag slung over one of them. She and Raffin made a handsome couple.

Raffin shook his hand warmly. ‘You’ve been busy.’

‘I have,’ Enzo acknowledged with a grin.

‘Hi,’ Charlotte said, and she reached up to kiss him on both cheeks.

He breathed in the familiar scent of her perfume and felt the first hint of desire stir in his loins. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘There was no keeping her away,’ Raffin said. ‘When I told her where I was going she cancelled all her appointments for today and tomorrow.’

She smiled up at Enzo. ‘I’m hooked. I want to know how the story ends.’

Enzo laughed. ‘So do I. But there may be a problem.’

‘What’s that?’

‘There are no hotel rooms left in town, and I’ve only booked two.’

Raffin said, ‘She can always share with me.’

And Enzo felt a sudden, unpleasant jolt of jealousy. They had been an item until recently. It was not an unreasonable suggestion. But he was relieved when Charlotte said, with a slight tone, ‘I doubt if there’ll be any need for that, Roger. There’s almost always a bed available somewhere, if you ask nicely.’

They ate on the terrasse at La Cloche, clouds of swallows dipping and diving across the square in the dying light, their chattering chorus taking over from the roar of traffic as the roads emptied and the restaurants filled. Charlotte pulled up a chair and joined them as the entrées were being served. She looked pleased with herself. ‘They gave me a single room up in the attic. It’s kept for staff who have to stay over. I told you there’s always a bed somewhere.’

Raffin seemed disappointed. He turned to Enzo. ‘So tell us why we’re here.’

Over the meal, Enzo took them step by step through his deconstruction of the clues found with Gaillard’s arms. ‘Everything leads to Hautvillers.’

‘Except for the dog clues,’ Charlotte corrected him.

‘I have to figure that’s something that’s going to become apparent. Like the scallop shell in the garden in Toulouse. I had no idea what we were looking for until we got there.’

They drank pink champagne with their meal and sat on the terrasse until almost midnight drinking Armagnac. At a quarter to, Charlotte stood up suddenly and announced that she was going to bed. Enzo and Raffin stayed on for one more drink. Raffin seemed pensive, almost distant. Finally, he turned to Enzo and asked, ‘Is there something going on between you and Charlotte?’

Enzo was surprised by his directness and by the hint of jealousy that was apparent in his tone. He had thought the relationship was over. ‘I wish. She’s a very attractive woman.’

‘She is,’ Raffin agreed. ‘But she’s been on her own too long. Do you know what I mean? She’s not easy to live with.’ And Enzo had the impression that without actually warning him off, Raffin was doing his best to put him off.

‘I’ve been on my own for twenty years.’ Enzo grinned. ‘I’d probably be impossible to live with.’

They climbed the stairs together and shook hands outside Raffin’s door, and Enzo carried on along the hall to his own room. Light from the floodlit Église Saint Pierre-Saint Paul, on the other side of the street, fell unevenly across the room, following the ruffled contours of the bed. As he closed the door, he became aware of her perfume hanging in the still, warm air, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw her dark curls fanned out across the pillow. His mouth was so dry he could hardly speak. He said, in a whisper, ‘I thought you had a room in the attic.’

‘I lied.’ He could hear her grin.

‘How did you get into my room?’

‘I told them I was with you and they gave me the key to bring my bag up. I left the door on the latch when I took the key back.’

So she had been planning this from early evening. ‘That’s pretty devious of you.’

She sighed. ‘Are you coming to bed or not?’

He released his hair to tumble over his shoulders, and undressed in the light of the church. Butterflies hatched out and flew around inside him, before he slipped under the sheet and felt the warmth of her skin next to his. He turned his head and looked into her eyes, and her smile made him almost giddy. He could not remember wanting anyone so much in a very long time. She moved towards him and kissed him gently, and he felt her breath soft on his face and the sweet taste of champagne on her lips. This was nectar. He let himself go, drawn into all the folds and softnesses of her mouth and her body, his hardness pressing into her belly as she climbed on top of him and slid slowly down his chest and stomach with her lips and her tongue, until finally she found and swallowed him whole. He drew a sharp intake of breath and held on to each side of the headboard, hips lifting as she worked him into a state of complete helplessness. She was relentless and unforgiving, taking complete control and leaving him with none. Until years of frustration exploded inside, and she sucked him dry, leaving him limp and spent and regretting his selfishness.