Chateau of Secrets: A Novel (11 page)

“Michel?” she called out.

There was no answer.

The tunnel diverged into two passages, and she shone her light down both sides. On both sides, the darkness swallowed up her ray of light.

She chose the left passage at first, but it dead-ended into a dozen stone steps, a small pocket door at the top. Curiosity spurred her forward and she tugged on the metal pull. The door cracked open, but it was the tiniest sliver. On the other side was some sort of barrier.

Her breathing grew faster now. What if she was trapped under the earth? What if she lost her way and couldn’t get back to the
chapelle
?

What if someone locked the closet door from the outside and she couldn’t open it?

What if her brother was gone—and someone else was here instead?

She had to find him quickly and get back up the stairs.

The tunnel sloped downward as she crept forward, and she wondered if she was descending in the direction of the forest or the river. She knew every step of their property aboveground, but it felt so strange to be far below all that she knew.

When the path flattened again, she paused by a small room cut out of the dirt. Blankets and cigarette butts littered the ground. She passed by the room, but voices echoed farther up the tunnel, and she froze, listening to the sound. Then she turned off her flashlight.

Light continued to illuminate the walls in front of her, and she prayed her brother was with the light.

“Michel?” she called again.

The voices stopped, and for a moment, all she heard was her breathing.

“Is that you, Gigi?”

At the sound of her brother’s voice, her heart returned to a steady pace. Only Michel was allowed to call her that name. “It’s me.”

“It’s not safe for you to be here.” The sternness in his voice frightened her.

She squinted into the light but couldn’t see him or anyone else, so she stepped toward the lantern. “I’ve brought your food.”

“Leave it where you are,” he said.

“But I need to speak with you.”

The shadow of a man emerged in front of her, and she flashed her light on him. Her brother, dark and swarthy, walked toward her as if he were Clark Gable or another one of America’s stars who dominated the silver screen. Many of the young women in Normandy pined over Michel Duchant, but he’d always been more enamored of his motorcycle than the idea of marriage—at least until he met Lisette.

He’d been conscripted into the Armée de Terre before he graduated from
lycée
and reported to duty on his eighteenth birthday, ready to slay the dragons like the saint Mother named him after. Sometimes Gisèle wondered if anything ever frightened her brother.

“You can’t see the other men who are with me,” he said.

She set the picnic hamper on the ground. “I wouldn’t tell anyone who they are.”

“We’re in a war,” he said, his voice sad. “None of us can be certain what we will or will not do.”

As he drew closer in the tunnels, she could smell sweat and brandy and cigarette smoke, but she didn’t care. She hugged him.

When he released her, he clamped his hands on her shoulders. “What is it, Gigi?”

“Émilie and I baked you bread.” She nudged the picnic hamper toward him. “You must check the ledge, Michel. I left you a letter last night.”

“I thought you’d fled,” he said. “We heard the bombs two nights ago. One of our men went out—” His voice cracked with emotion. “He hasn’t returned.”

She took a deep breath. “The Germans have taken Paris.”

His fist shot out, hitting the wall. “This is what we feared,” he
said as he pulled his fist back into his chest. “The worst of our fears.”

“I am afraid for you, Michel.”

“Where are the French soldiers?” he asked, rubbing his hand.

“The wireless said they were running south.”

“Our government—they are all cowards.”

“No one wants the Germans here,” she said.

He shook his head. “Some do. They think it will bring peace.”

“How can bombs bring peace?” she asked.

“It all depends on who is dropping the bombs.” His voice grew stronger. “If our army can’t stop them, then we will have to.”

His declaration made her shiver, and she trembled. His fervor, she feared, might get him killed. “You must leave here too. Papa said we could get to Switzerland.”

“I will not run away.” He paused. “Why are you still here?”

She forced a smile. “I promised Mother that I’d take care of you.”

“That was ten years ago,” he said. “You must leave, Gigi. We will find food another way.”

“How many are down here?” she asked.

“Four right now, but with this news . . .” He unclenched his hand. “There will be more.”

“Then you will need more food.” When they found Papa, he would agree with her.

“I can’t put you into harm’s way. If something happened to you, Papa would never forgive me, and I—I would never forgive myself.” He paused again. “Why hasn’t Papa made you leave?”

Tears began to well in her eyes. “He’s gone, Michel, and I don’t know where he went.”

“He left without you?”

“He stayed behind to hide the silver and Mother’s jewelry. Philippe came to get me—”

“Where is Philippe now?” he demanded.

“We got separated in the bombing,” she explained. “But he called today, from Lyon.”

“He is just waiting . . . ,” Michel muttered.

“Waiting for what?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You must tell me, Michel.”

But he didn’t speak anymore about Philippe. “Papa would have tried to hide the valuables down near the lake.”

She took a step back. “I will go look for him.”

“Not by yourself, Gigi.” He glanced back over his shoulder, at the dark corridor. “I will go with you tonight.”

“Do you think . . .” She couldn’t bear to finish the question, couldn’t bear the thought that he might be lying wounded by the bombs.

His voice dipped low. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

A
ustin turned off the ignition in the airport parking garage and intertwined his fingers through mine. “I am the luckiest man in the world.”

I glanced out the window, at the red and blue lights flashing along the cement wall. “The security cameras are watching.”

He pulled me closer. “I don’t care if the whole world knows how much I love you.”

His kiss reminded me of all I loved about him—his confidence and passion and fervent dreams for our future. As I sank into him, in the privacy of the parking deck, he held me as close as he could with a console stuck between us.

What was I thinking, going to France weeks before my wedding? Even with Austin’s encouragement, even with the allure of visiting the château, I didn’t want to leave.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t go—” I began to say.

Austin hushed me with another kiss, one that made my toes tingle. “I’ll be waiting here when you return,” he said. “And then next time you travel to France, we’ll be together.”

“You will love it in Normandy,” I said.

Grinning, he brushed my long hair back over my shoulder. “I would love anyplace if I’m with you.”

I kissed him one last time, and with a glance at the dashboard clock, began to inch away. I didn’t want to step outside, but my flight left in an hour.

As he removed our luggage from his trunk, I reapplied my lip gloss and we strolled into the Richmond airport like an old married couple, side by side about three feet apart. Together but distracted.

Before we made it to security, a young couple stopped Austin. Nervous, they began to gush about their desire to have him as their next governor. His smile charismatic, he thanked them and then disarmed them by asking the questions he asked of everyone—where did they live and what did they want for the future? As they chatted, I discreetly checked the time on my phone. My flight left in thirty-five minutes now, his in an hour.

He introduced me as his future wife, the third-grade teacher who would champion education reform. I smiled politely and then stretched my fingers over his arm. A gentle tug brought him back to the reality that we were in an airport, trying to catch two separate flights to New York. Others might wait for the candidate, but I was pretty sure the commercial airlines would not.

By the time we arrived at the gate, I was out of breath and the attendant was calling for final boarding.

“Did Olivia send you the research notes?” Austin asked.

I tapped my briefcase. “They’re all on my iPad—I’ll read them on the plane.”

“I’m going to miss you,” he said.

I’d only be gone a week, I told myself. After that we had a lifetime together. “I’m going to miss you too.”

He pecked my cheek. “Call me when you get to Paris.”

I smiled. “I’ll call you when I land in New York.”

Worry flashed in his eyes. “Someone from the party is picking
me up at the airport. I’m afraid they have meetings planned all day for me.”

My smile fell. “Of course.”

“But I’ll send you a text.”

I slid my boarding pass out of my purse. “Good enough.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe. I wish you were going with me.”

I didn’t mean to be insensitive to his commitments. I just wasn’t quite ready to say good-bye.

“No stress,” he commanded, “for an entire week.”

The attendant called my name from the podium, and Austin stepped back, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “I suppose I should catch my flight too.”

I shooed him away. “Go.”

Before I stepped onto the Jetway, my fiancé was gone.

•  •  •

Steely clouds anchored themselves above the New York skyline, dark and foreboding. Our plane circled the airport three times before the pilot was cleared to land. After the plane parked, hail began to pelt the windows, and inside the terminal the attendant informed me and every other passenger on my flight that we were grounded until the thunderstorm cleared. Pending weather, the next flight to Paris would leave tomorrow morning at ten.

I glanced around the lobby. People were already draped over most of the seats, and both luggage and children had strayed onto the walkway. The weather might keep me out of the skies for the next twenty-four hours, but it didn’t mean I had to stay off the roads.

Perhaps I could join Austin at the Plaza.

I wasn’t naïve enough to think it would be a romantic evening, but I much preferred spending the night at the Plaza than at
the airport. And maybe Austin and I could duck out after the event for a walk in Central Park or even a midnight carriage ride.

I called Austin’s number, but his phone went straight to voice mail. He’d probably been whisked off to a meeting the moment he landed.

My luggage would be transferred to my next flight, but I could secure an elegant dress and shoes on Fifth Avenue. And if I called ahead, perhaps I could make an appointment with a stylist to do my hair and makeup.

Smiling, I climbed into the cab. I wouldn’t try to call Austin again.

Instead I’d wait and surprise him at dinner.

Chapter 15

G
isèle slipped out of the château after midnight and hurried west, toward the forested hill that dipped down to a lake and ancient caves where Michel loved to hide as a child. Her flashlight trembled in her hand, but she didn’t dare turn it on.

The narrow path wound under the stone walls of an old guardhouse to the brick wall that separated the landscaped lawn from the towering oak and beech trees. A rusty iron gate linked the wall, and the hinges creaked when she edged it open.

An aeroplane flew over the château, and she ducked under the canopy of branches until she heard a low whistle filtering through the trees. She whistled back.

“Gigi,” Michel whispered.

“I’m by the gate.”

Her brother crept up beside her. “We must hurry,” he said.

She followed him down the winding path that descended to the lake. Every minute or two, the beam from his flashlight swept across the floor, and then they were covered in blackness again.

“Lisette came by today,” she whispered as they walked.

He slowed his pace. “What did she say?”

“She’s worried about you.”