In the Shadows (The Outsiders Book 1) (6 page)

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“What did you do?”

“I did what any kid would have done. I backed up, right into the cave, hoping and praying that creature wouldn’t follow. Unfortunately, in my frantic state, and walking backwards, I didn’t see the large rock in the middle of the floor. My heel clunked into the rock and I lost my balance, landing on my ass in the tufa.”

Maurelle smiled and seemed to relax. “What’s ‘tufa’?”

“Just a word for this kind of rock.”

She reached down and picked up her shoes and then moved toward a large, flat-topped rock. She sat on the rock and put on her shoes. While she tied the second shoe, she said, “You made that up.”

“Nope
. I broke one of the fossils when I fell. Not only that, I sat in that damned cave all afternoon and well into the night before I had the nerve to come back outside.” He laughed. “I always wondered whether that old boar was too fat and full to go in after me, or if he thought I wasn’t worth the effort.”

She laughed, and began running her fingers through her damp hair.

Dave reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a comb. He handed it to her. As he watched her comb through her long and curly tangled hair, he was reminded of a frightened wild colt that his former father-in-law had found near his ranch in Montana. That beautiful creature had skittered whenever anyone came close, and this stranger exhibited that same skittishness. Who was she? The pickpocket the gendarmes were looking for? She was certainly running away from something—perhaps an abusive husband or lover.

His grandmother’s word ‘gypsy’ popped into his mind. That might explain her fear of the gendarmes, but nothing about her suggested Romany blood, except perhaps her dark hair. In any case, not only were gypsies not always as criminal as they were made out to be,
as far as he knew, they travelled as families and clans, never alone.

She reached out to Dave to give him back his comb
, but he motioned for her to keep it. He sat down next to her. Bending forward, he picked up a leaf that had fallen on the ground, held it between two fingers, and rubbed it absentmindedly while he pondered his words. He wanted her to feel comfortable with him, and he figured he had one chance to convince her that she could let down her guard.

“You can trust me,” he said, finally. “I want to help you. Hey, I’m a nice guy! I know that you barely know me, but there are plenty of people in town who can vouch for me, if you need proof.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but that isn’t necessary, really. It’s not you. It’s—it’s just that I don’t need any help. I’m on holiday from Le Mans. In fact, I’m heading to Paris this afternoon and then back home after that.”

Dave cleared his throat. “Look, you are obviously not French. I speak it well enough, and even I can hear your accent—British, right?” She blushed, and opened her mouth to protest, but Dave continued. “What’s more, I checked with the local hotels. They told me you aren’t staying anywhere around here. I don’t believe you’re staying with someone either.”
Her head jerked up, and again she opened her mouth to speak, but Dave motioned for her to stop.

“If you were staying with friends, then you wouldn’t need to bathe in the pond.”

She blushed again and averted her eyes, making Dave regret what he’d said. But he couldn’t think of another way to get her to talk to him. He felt her tense up, pulling away from him even further, consequently, when she stood, he was prepared. He reached out and grabbed her arm, drawing her back.

“I really do want to help you. Whatever the problem, let me in. Please.”

“I don’t need help.” She sighed heavily, and then, in a barely audible voice, as if speaking to herself, said, “I don’t need anyone.”

He placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face up. Her eyes were clouded. He gently wiped away tears
that had slid down her cheek. Tears didn’t normally move Dave. He had been conditioned to them in his former line of work where he had seen victims and criminals alike break down into sobs.

“Let’s go back to the village,” he said. “I’m a guest at my grandmother’s house. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having another guest.” He paused, thinking back on his last conversation with his grandmother. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll rent a room for you at Chateau de Reynier or in a hotel in Belvidere.”

She shook her head defiantly and pulled back. Her moist eyes showed fear and relief battling each other for control. She looked away, hiding her face as she reached up to dab at her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that Dave could barely hear.

“I can’t go with
you. I don’t want to be a burden.” She reached up and pushed wayward strands of hair out of her eyes, and then added, “And I have my own money.”

Dave frowned. “Then why aren’t you staying in a hotel?”

“It’s—it’s complicated,” she mumbled.

He pursed his lips as alarm bells went off in his head. “Well, we can talk some more, later. For now, let’s get you to a safe place, okay?”

She nodded, sighing deeply.

“Where are your things?”

She stared at the ground, not answering.

“Look, I know you must be staying in one of the caves. You might as well tell me which one.”

Finally, she said, “All right. The cave is further up the hill. Not far from here.” She looked up, shyly, and pointed toward a group of gangly bushes.

Dave scanned the area and spotted the twisting, winding trail of dirt weaving through sheets of limestone and dirt on the hill. He vaguely
recalled that trail from his childhood. Now that he knew which way to go, he took hold of her hand and walked with her toward the trail. Climbing up was almost as difficult as when he’d climbed from the lower level to the outcropping. Remembering his two falls, he let go of her, allowing both of them to use their hands. Maurelle was in front of him, which he didn’t think much of, until she reached the top and started running. Dave made the final push onto the higher tier, scanned for her, and then rushed forward. Grabbing her arm, he looked questioningly at her. “Come on. Where is this cave?”

She took a
deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right, I’ll take you there.”

Dave held onto her arm as they trudged through the woods of
poplar, ash, oak, and alder
. They came to the path that led upward to the ancient ruins of a church at the top of the hill. Maurelle went on past the trail. Did she even know about the church? Did she know about the tunnels leading to the other caves and to the troglos?

They continued through an area covered in wild shrubs, and then she stopped.

Dave raised his eyebrows.

“You’ll have to let go of my arm,” she said.

“I don’t think so.”

She moved toward one of the bushes and knelt down, making Dave bend over uncomfortably. Pulling back a thick branch, she revealed her cave, one of the few caves around that still had its original opening. It was nothing more than a
four-foot high hole in the rock.

“You first,” Dave said. He scrunched down
and followed her inside. When he stood up straight again, he abruptly bumped his head on a low section of ceiling. “Damn!”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his sore head. “Now I remember this cave. My friends brought me here a few times when I was a teenager.” He winced and stooped slightly to avoid another accident. His eyes adjusted to the low light and he watched Maurelle as she moved away from the entrance, closer to the narrow inner section that would eventually lead to the other caves if one could get through it. As he recalled, it was full of bats and was extremely narrow in spots. She might make a run for it into the tunnel-like chamber, but he doubted she would get far in the pitch blackness.

He waited.

She came back into the main room carrying a duffel bag and something that looked like a sleeping bag.

“Here, let me get those.” He threw the duffel bag’s strap over his shoulder and carried the other bag with his free hand, while he held onto her hand with the other. At the cave entrance he set the bags down and slid them through, then crept out and waited for her.

Maura Barrington
walked
alongside the tall stranger. He was far too quick and agile for her to escape from him at the moment. She would have to wait for a better opportunity. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure
. What do you want to know?”

“How did you find me? I’ve never seen anyone in that area before. Near that pond, I mean.”

“I was looking for you.”

“Oh.”
She made a mental note to be more careful in the future. When she saw that they were approaching the inhabited troglodyte dwellings, she stopped.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I just . . . .”

“What?”

“This is private property, isn’t it?”

His face broke into a grin. “Well, sort of, I guess, but I know the people who live here. They won’t mind.”

As they passed the first home, he waved to the white-haired man and woman sitting in rocking chairs on the veranda.

“Bonjour,” the man said. He wore a blue and
gray plaid shirt, and gray trousers, and kept a cane at his side. She recognized him. She’d seen him sitting on a bench outside the general store with another man on a few occasions. He never spoke to her, but he usually nodded when she had walked past. The woman, whom Maura hadn’t seen before, wore a purple top and lavender skirt with purple flowers.

“Bonjour. How are you
this fine day?” Dave said.

“Good. Taking a break. Nice weather for sitting outdoors.”

“It sure is. Have you met Mademoiselle Maurelle Dupre?”

Maura
glanced around for another person, but then remembered she was now Maurelle Dupre.

The man shrugged. “Seen her around.”

“Maurelle, this is Jacques and Genevre Henriot. Oh, and the little girl on the swing is their granddaughter, Emelie.”

She
looked over at the girl on the swing and stared. The girl, she guessed, was around four year old. Emelie reminded her of herself at that age—long braids, skinny, swinging as high as she could, her legs kicking rapidly in sync with the motion of the swing.

Someone coughed, and Maurelle turned her attention back to the man. He was looking at her with his eyebrows raised. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s nice to meet you,”
she said.

“Likewise,” Jacques said.

His wife didn’t say anything.

Jacques and Dave chatted about mutual acquaintances, giving Maurelle a chance to study the troglodyte home. The face of
the house appeared normal: wood structure painted light blue, with darker blue framed picture windows, and a white front door split in the middle so the owner could open only the top half for fresh air if he chose. The veranda in front of the door was tiled with white limestone. The rest of the house, however, was buried in the hill. She couldn’t help but wonder what it looked like on the inside. Was it dark and dreary, or warm and inviting?

A few minutes later, once they were out of earshot
, Dave said, “Their daughter, Veronique, and her little girl, Emelie, moved here a year ago after her husband abandoned them. The grandparents are helping to raise the girl.”

He led her down the narrow lane, turned, and headed west toward the center of the village, stopping at last in front of a two-story house. “Here we are. This is it.” 

She gazed at the old house. Dark green ivy blanketed the chalky white facade like a mother protecting her young, reaching out her arms gently and stroking the white shutters surrounding each window. Maurelle smiled at her romanticized depiction. She was getting carried away.

A sudden
hint of perfume in the air drew her attention to the purple bougainvillea planted in a large pot next to the front door. She soaked in the lovely scent and shaded her eyes as she looked up at the top of the tall plant, where its vines entwined with the ivy near the top of the door.

Dave
pulled open the arched front door and motioned for her to enter, but she hesitated. “It’s okay. Go ahead inside.”

She stepped inside and halted in the vestibule near the bottom of
a walnut staircase. To her right was a cozy white and brown room. An imposing open fireplace edged with dressed stones was the focal point, surrounded by an old, upholstered chair, a sumptuous ivory sofa, a shiny walnut coffee table topped with a vase of yellow daffodils, and a gleaming rustic ladder-back chair. But it was the splendid grandfather clock between the fireplace and staircase that held most of her attention. The ornate wood carvings and the golden pendulum made her smile, calling forth memories of a similar clock in her own grandparents’ house when she was a little girl.

The front door slammed, startling her. She turned swiftly toward Dave. He looked as surprised as she, and she guessed that he hadn’t meant to shut it
that hard. A minute later he dropped her duffel bag on the hardwood floor with a solid clunk and an elderly woman rushed out of the kitchen and stared at them.

“Bonjour, Grand-mère
,”
Dave said, smiling warmly. “I’d like to introduce you to Mademoiselle Maurelle Dupre.”

Maurelle
smiled politely and extended her hand. “Bonjour, Madame. I am pleased to meet you. You have a charming home.”

The elderly woman gave her a cool stare.

“And this is my grandmother, Fabienne Laurent.”

Fabienne turned her attention to him, pressing her lips together
for a moment. “How could you bring that woman here, into my home?” she demanded, nodding toward Maurelle. “You had no business.”

“She had no place else to go.”

Fabienne snorted. She raised her hands to shoulder level with palms out and upward. “Well, she can go back to where you found her. She is not my problem and she shouldn’t be yours.”

Dave moved closer to his grandmother and stood face to face
with her. Fabienne didn’t back away, but leaned in closer, staring angrily at him.

“She was living in one of the abandoned caves.” He turned his head, glancing briefly at Maurelle, and then back to his grandmother. “She was all alone.”

Fabienne stood like a marble statue.

“If you can’t do this for her, then please do it for me. You owe me,
Grand-mère.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I owe you nothing! How could you say such a thing when you are a guest in my home?”

“I’m a guest here because you wanted me here,” Dave said flatly. “And now you have the nerve to act as if I’m freeloading. I’m the one who should be upset, considering how you got me to come here in the first place.”

Sh
e pouted, then said, “Why don’t you take her to Simone’s house?” She placed her hand over her mouth for a brief moment, and added, tauntingly, “Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t do that, now can you?”

Dave’s face turned crimson. “I guess it’s time I packed my bag, which is what I should have done the minute I found out you’d tricked me into coming to France.” 

When he turned and headed toward the stairs, Fabienne shouted, “Wait!”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I suppose she can stay in the spare room,” she murmured. “For a little while, perhaps.”

With three quick strides, Dave stood back in front of his grandmother and placed his arms around her, squeezing her. When he released her, he kissed her on both cheeks and whispered, “Thank you”, which made the elderly woman blush, though
she shrugged again as though it was all nonsense.

Maurelle breathed a short sigh of reli
ef—although she wasn’t at all sure she really wanted to stay here.

While Dave and Fabienne discussed arrangements, Maurelle pondered her own problems. During the night she could sneak out and hike to Orleans or possibly down to Tours. She’d be far enough away by the time they noticed her missing. So preoccupied was she that she jumped when Dave placed his hand on her elbow. He smiled at her and she gave a nervous smile in return; then he led her upstairs, carrying her duffel bag over his shoulder. On the landing he gestured towards a door at the end. When he opened it, pink sun spilled out of the room into the narrow hallway. He reached inside and set her bag
down, then smiled at her, and motioned for her to enter.

“
If you need anything, you can find me in the room next door. There’s a bathroom on the main level.” He stared at her for a moment longer, then turned and walked back to the stairs.

Upon stepping
into the tiny bedroom, Maurelle was greeted by sunlight radiating through lovely sheer pink curtains. She smiled and slowly appraised the room: hardwood floors, a dark green rug with pink and gold flowers, a twin bed covered in an ivory bedspread, and light green walls with a pair of paintings. One painting showed a Parisien boulevard at dusk, with the Eiffel Tower beyond. The tower was beautifully lit up in gold against a dark blue sky. The other showed a river and bridge, which she guessed was also in Paris— the Pont Neuf Bridge, perhaps. It was lined with street lamps that glowed green or gold in the foggy night and cast long reflections in the water. The hazy greens, grays, and golds gave a peaceful yet lonely feel to the painting. Wondering why images of Paris should be here in the country, she reluctantly moved away and ran her hand over the high-backed leather chair in the corner.

Moving past the bed and trying
to avoid looking at it, she reached down and picked up her bag. She set it down on the chair and tried to focus on looking for her map while she fought the urge to check out the bed. Maurelle couldn’t let herself be tempted. She needed to leave tonight while everyone was sleeping. But then she did look at the bed and thought about lying on a mattress, swaddled in a soft blanket. She moved forward and stroked the bed’s chenille bedspread and its puffy pink pillows, imagining her head cradled on them. Her spirits lifted briefly. Perhaps she could lay her fears to rest for one night. She would wait until dawn to escape—before everyone awakened but after she had slept.

There was a
quiet knock on the door.

Through the closed door, Dave said,
“Sorry to bother you, but I need to tell you something. I hope you don’t mind. I’m going to leave you here for a while. I won’t be gone long. You can get settled and then go downstairs for lunch. Grand-mère is making lunch for both of you.”

A wave of panic hit her at the thought o
f facing that woman alone. “I—I’m not hungry,” she lied. “Please tell her she doesn’t need to fix anything for me.”

He opened the door and peeked inside. “She won’t bite. And besides, you’ll love her cooking. She can even make sandwiches that are out of this world.”

Her stomach groaned, betraying her, and she reluctantly nodded her head. “Okay, thank you.”

“Grand-mère wanted me to tell you to come down for lunch in twenty minutes. I’ll be back in a couple of hours
—maybe sooner. Okay?”

She
nodded again and attempted to smile, though hearing that she’d be alone with a woman who didn’t really want her here was already resurrecting her sense of danger, tensing her muscles, and giving her a knot in her stomach. “Yes, fine, thank you.”

Later, as Maurelle
descended the stairs, she caught the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen and thought Dave must have decided not to leave after all.

She walked into the kitchen, expecting to see Dave and Fabienne. Instead, there was another elderly woman, with obviously dyed red hair. They sat across from each other at the table, and when they saw her Fabienne said, “Here she is. Come in and sit, Maurelle. Please join us for lunch.”

She motioned to the chair beside her, where a plate with a baguette, another with salad niçoise, and a bowl of steaming soup were already set out.

Maurelle smiled politely and sat down, very much aware that the two women were staring at her.

“Bon appetit,” Fabienne said. As Maura took her first bite of bread, Fabienne added, “Oh, I forgot to introduce you to my best friend, Jeannette Devlin.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Maurelle said.

Fabienne smiled smugly. “Jeannette is the grandmother of Dave’s girlfriend, Simone.”

Maurelle
picked up her spoon and carefully put it into her soup, taking a small mouthful.

“Dave and Simone are leaving tomorrow on a sightseeing trip
through France,” Fabienne said. “Unless, of course, Dave has to postpone the trip because of you.” She turned to Jeannette.

“Oui,” Jeannette said. “That would be such a shame. They’ve been looking forward to it. The lovebirds will enjoy the sights, certainly, but we suspect that they’ll enjoy being alone together more.”

“Oui. C’est vrai!” Fabienne said. The two old ladies chuckled.

Through the rest of the luncheon, Maurelle listened only intermittently, digesting new information along with her meal. Of course Dave would have a girlfriend. He was a good-looking man. Didn’t he know it was a mistake for a man in a relationship to invite another woman into the home where he was staying? What kind of man would do that?

She finished her soup and salad and began nibbling the crusty bread on her plate. During a rare pause in the older women’s chatter, she complimented Fabienne on the food. And then, when conversation resumed, Maurelle retreated into her own mind again, this time going back to the day she’d caught her own boyfriend cheating on her. How could she have known how drastically her life would change after that?