Wish You Were Dead

5

Madame held the door open for them and spoke again in French, looking a tiny bit more friendly as she did so. When she had finished, Cleo translated.

‘Madame says the Vicomte — Viscount — and herself would like to welcome us to their home. They hope we will have a pleasant stay. She suggests — as we are hungry and the weather is bad — that she gives us a tour either later or in the morning.’

‘Yes, good idea,’ Roy said and nodded at the woman with a smile. She didn’t smile back.

They entered a huge, poorly lit, oak-panelled hallway, which was lined on both sides by rows of suits of armour. Some were holding shields, some lances. All had their visors down.

‘God, they look menacing!’ Cleo whispered to Roy.

‘They look a lot more friendly than her!’ he whispered back.

Bruno looked around excitedly. ‘Cool!’ he said.

Madame pointed to a grand, ornate staircase, with animal heads on wooden plinths mounted on the wall, all the way up. On the landing at the top stood a whole stuffed stag, the size of a horse, with huge antlers. It was holding its head up proudly.

‘I hate people who shoot beautiful creatures like that,’ Cleo murmured to Roy.

Roy nodded. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘It’s one thing if they’re going to eat them. But to just have it stuffed as a trophy. How brave is that to shoot a defenceless animal?’

‘La chambre — room — for the boy — is the first and for your nanny and the baby is second.’ Then she spoke in French again. Cleo translated when she had finished.

‘Madame says that we have been given the honeymoon suite and it has a wonderful view. She’s going to sort some snacks out for us now,’ Cleo said, but with a slight frown.

‘Madame — Monique — can you let me have the Wi-Fi code?’ Roy called after the woman.

She turned and gave him a strange look. ‘The Wi-Fi is not working. You are on vacances — holiday — why you need Wi-Fi?’

She had a point, Roy agreed, privately. But all the same, he didn’t like being out of touch with his team.

Leaving Cleo with Noah, he hurried back out to the car, through the rain which had started falling again, to fetch the rest of the luggage they would need for tonight. Then, followed by Bruno with his rucksack, and Kaitlynn holding her bag, they went up the grand staircase, past the stuffed stag at the top, and turned left onto the landing.

‘Is that stag real?’ Bruno asked.

‘It was,’ Cleo said.

‘Cool!’

The entire landing wall was lined with more animal heads, mostly stags and boars, all on plinths and mounted high up. They struggled along it, as they had been told, until they reached the first room on the right, which was for Bruno.

The boy opened the door and peered into the gloom. Roy, behind him, reached across and found the light switch.

One of the bulbs in the round, wooden chandelier blinked on and off with a crackling sound, then stayed on. Despite the size of this mansion, the room was tiny, a single brass bed almost filling it. It was covered in a worn, candlewick spread. Just beyond the foot of the bed was a plastic shower curtain.

‘Urrr!’ Bruno exclaimed, looking up at a spider hanging from the lampshade.

Roy and Cleo exchanged a glance.

‘Surely they have a bigger room than this?’ she said, grimly.

Roy stepped forward and pulled aside the shower curtain, to reveal a quaint toilet, shower stall and a washbasin. He’d seen bigger prison cells than this room.

‘Where’s the television?’ asked Bruno. ‘And what is the Wi-Fi code?’

‘First thing tomorrow,’ Cleo said, ‘we’re out of here.’

Kaitlynn and Jack’s room was bigger, with the cot they had requested. Leaving the nanny to sort Noah out, and not letting Cleo carry anything heavy, Roy lugged their bags along the corridor. He reached the bottom of a very narrow, very steep spiral stone staircase. It was almost dangerously steep, he thought.

He left one bag at the bottom, planning to return and get it. They began climbing, winding around anti-clockwise. Roy carried a heavy bag with his right hand, gripping the metal handrail with his free left hand. He told Cleo to hold tightly on to the rail, too. There was a real danger of them falling backwards if they let go, he realized. It was that steep.

They climbed on, going round and round. Halfway up, they stopped on a small landing, putting down their bags to have a rest. ‘The view had better be bloody worth it!’ Roy said, panting heavily.

‘This place is a deathtrap,’ Cleo wheezed. ‘I’ve not seen a single fire extinguisher anywhere and—’

She stopped, mid-sentence. Inches above her head was a large, old fuse box, with a handle on one side. An electrical cable, a good inch thick and wrapped in ancient-looking rubber, ran from the bottom of it and into a hole drilled at the back of the staircase.

More cables trailed from the box, thick, heavy-duty flex with the ends exposed, showing old copper strands. It was as if there had once been some major rewiring of the house planned, but then abandoned.

‘This looks like the main fuse box for the house,’ Roy said. ‘At least we know where to come if one blows,’ he said, trying to sound positive.

‘And if a fuse blows, I’ll tell you where you can find me,’ Cleo said. ‘Back in the car, with all bags packed.’

He grinned.

‘It’s not funny, Roy.’

‘Don’t worry, we had a fuse box just like that when I was a child. If a fuse blows, I’ll be able to fix it.’

‘Really? Without frying yourself and burning the house down?’

‘Trust me.’

Roy’s father, also a police officer, had been a DIY expert, rewiring their family home himself — with Roy, then a small boy, helping. He remembered some of what he had done with his dad. It had always been useful. Over the years he’d saved a lot of money on workmen by being able to fix stuff in the house, particularly anything involving the electrics.

Staring at the fuse box, Roy thought there was no way this could have passed any recent safety test. It was truly ancient — thirty or forty years old at least. And their room was above this! It was going to be like sleeping above a bomb. To make it worse, he’d also seen no fire extinguishers anywhere in the house.

Was there a lightning conductor? He doubted it. God forbid the tower got struck in the lightning storm they’d seen in the distance on their way here. But then again, he tried to comfort himself, it had stood here for at least four centuries — and it sure felt robust.

They carried on up, clinging to the handrail, lugging their bags. Seventy-two steps, Roy had counted, by the time they reached the top, very out of breath despite his good fitness level. Cleo was breathing heavily, too. ‘Glad I’m not drinking,’ she gasped. ‘Wouldn’t fancy that climb after a few glasses of wine!’

A thick oak door faced them, with a huge brass key sticking out of its ancient lock. He turned the handle, pushed, then pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge.

‘Try unlocking it, darling,’ Cleo said, teasing.

He twisted the key and it stuck, before finally turning with a click as loud as a gunshot. He tried the handle again and pushed hard. The door opened stiffly inwards, making a loud scraping sound. ‘Nothing like making us feel welcome!’ he said.

Cleo shook her head. ‘I can’t believe this place. Haven’t they heard of maintenance?’

Roy put his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. ‘At least we’ve been given the honeymoon suite. We’d better make good use of it!’

‘I’m not sure about Madame,’ she said.

‘She’s not exactly the most charming of hosts.’

‘No, it’s not that. It’s her French.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She gets some words wrong. The first thing she said to us was that she’d prepared lunch for us. La déjeuner, she called it. It should be le déjeuner.’

‘Are you sure?’ Roy said.

‘Yes.’ Cleo frowned. ‘The thing is, no French person would ever get that wrong — they just wouldn’t. And she’s got several other words wrong.’

‘Maybe she isn’t French, darling — perhaps she’s from somewhere else in Europe and it’s her second language.’

‘Perhaps. I’ll ask her later.’

They entered a huge oak-panelled room that was as dimly lit as the hall, even after Roy had turned on all the lights, including the bedside lamps. There were tall windows with chintz drapes and a very high four-poster bed. The polished wooden floorboards were covered with faded Oriental rugs. On the wall facing the bed, beside the door to the en suite bathroom, was a life-size crucifix, with a Christ who was truly in pain. But the view out across the grounds, even in this weather, did have the wow factor.

Cleo had a quick peep into the bathroom. ‘Roy, we must take some photos, this is mad. The bath has to be a hundred years old.’

He followed her in and looked at the enormous tub mounted on feet like lion paws. ‘Room for two!’ he said. ‘We could have a bath together later, with a glass of champagne.’

She patted her swollen belly. ‘I wish.’

Then, peering in at the cracked enamel, with deep-brown stains down the sides, Roy said, ‘On second thoughts, perhaps not.’

Back in the room, climbing up onto the bed, he said, ‘If this is the honeymoon suite, I reckon any newlyweds who wanted to consummate their marriage in this room would need to be mountain-climbers.’

Cleo, smiling, looked at him. ‘I just can’t believe this place. It is so not what I was expecting. I’m sorry, I’ve really screwed up.’

‘Maybe it will all look different tomorrow, in sunshine, my darling.’ He jumped down and went over to one of the windows.

‘Yes, my love. In our rear-view mirror. We are so not staying — this whole place is giving me the creeps.’

‘Let’s at least give it a chance,’ he said.

‘Really? Why?’

‘Apart from anything else, because we’ve paid — and I doubt Madame Charming is going to give us our money back.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, come and have a look out here!’

She joined him at the narrow window. They stared down at acres of lawn, with forest at the edge. ‘Quite a view, isn’t it!’ he said, trying to get her to perk up.

‘The view’s fine,’ she said. ‘It’s all the rest of it that’s a bit shit.’

‘Darling, come on. The reviews on the internet were good — four-star average — and loads of them. Let’s see how it looks tomorrow when the sun’s out?’

‘Hmmmn.’

‘Let’s unpack later — our lovely Madame said she was sorting out something to eat.’

‘You go ahead, darling. I’ve got to freshen up — and check on Bruno and Kaitlynn and Noah. Make sure there’s something for Jack, too; he must be here soon.’

Roy glanced at his watch. ‘This is not like Jack — I hope to hell nothing’s happened to him. I’ve tried sending him another text, but it won’t go.’ Then, mimicking Madame’s accent, he said, ‘The Wi-Fi is not working. Why you need Wi-Fi, you are on holiday?’

Cleo shrugged. ‘She has a point.’

‘She does, gorgeous.’ Roy grinned, wickedly. ‘Her nose — it’s very pointed!’ He pinched the end of his own nose and stretched it. Imitating the woman’s accent again, he said, ‘I am ze wicked witch of zis house!’

As Cleo laughed, Roy left the room and hurried downstairs. Choral music, playing at an almost deafening volume, greeted him as he reached the hall. It seemed to be pounding at him from the ceiling and the walls, making him feel as if he was in a cathedral.

Through a doorway he could see Madame, oddly changed into a waitress’s black-and-white tunic. She was holding a tray on which sat two slim glasses filled to the brim with champagne. He went through. Behind her was a spread of cheeses, cold meats and fruit, laid out on vast silver trays on a grand dining table.

He accepted the glass gratefully, deciding that things were, perhaps, looking up. ‘Merci!’ He raised the glass and said, ‘Cheers!’ Then, remembering more words from his schooldays, said cheers again, this time in French. ‘À votre santé!’

Her lips smiled but not the rest of her face. ‘Dinner tonight will be at a quarter to eight. Your family will please be on time.’

‘Of course. May I see a menu — and a wine list?’ he asked. And instantly saw the stony look on her face.

Her smile frosted over. ‘Menu? I’m afraid we do not offer a choice. Tonight we have foie gras, followed by fillet steak, with cheese and dessert after.’ Her accent was so thick that he almost had to translate her English.

‘Ah,’ Roy said slowly. ‘We have a bit of a problem — you see, neither Kaitlynn nor my wife eat meat — they are fine with fish.’

The woman frowned for a moment, then said, stiffly, ‘Maybe we can give them escargots?’

‘Snails?’ Roy translated. ‘I don’t think so.’

She suggested another dish, in French, which he also recognized. ‘Frogs’ legs?’ he said with a shudder. ‘No, thank you! They would be very happy with just vegetables,’ he said, trying to keep things pleasant.

‘They eat potatoes?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, they like potatoes. And perhaps a salad?’ He nodded at the platter of cheeses. ‘Like that would be fine for the rest of us.’

‘Huh.’ She turned away and walked towards a door. Then she stopped, turned back and said, with a strange smile, ‘You English, you Rosbifs, you are all the same with your strange eating.’

She left without another word.