Her shoes.
Sitting side by side on the kitchen floor right outside the closet. She quickly switched to "Please, God, don't let him see my shoes" and held her breath. She was so frightened, her heart seemed to stop beating.
“Water! Since when do you drink water? No, my boy, you sit here. We haven't finished with you, have we, Ber-thille? Maybe the thing to do is to leave him here for a nice long vacation. You take his car while I drive mine. How would you like that, you fumier!”
The kitchen door was slammed shut.
Faith was out of the closet and into her shoes instantly. She exchanged the paring knife she'd been using for the largest one in the set, placed it in her bag, and slung the bag around her neck to leave her arms free.
She'd already noted the door to the outside. It was covered with a long curtain of brightly colored plastic strips that were supposed to keep winged pests out of the kitchen when the door was open on hot summer days. She unlocked the door, noiselessly pushed aside the fluttering screen, and stepped into the backyard. There was a small lawn, bordered by a flat court for petanque, then the rest of the property dropped precipitously down to the stream. There was a well-worn almost vertical path to its banks.
However, that was not the way she planned to go. Somehow she must get to the front of the house and check out the car. It was a risk she had to take.
There were two windows on either side of the front door and a smaller one to the left of the fireplace. This was the one she had to worry about, since it overlooked the drive where the car was probably parked. But by crawling along the ground, she might avoid detection. Besides, she was fairly certain no one was looking out the windows at the moment.
Faith crept along the side of the house, careful to stay in the shadow. When she got to the chimney, she dropped down as flat as her body allowed and pulled herself along on her belly. She could see the car ahead of her. A shiny new red VW Golf convertible, number one on the most-stolen list. But Papa would have plenty of insurance.
The earth was still damp and had the rich smell spring brings. The promise of growing things. It was not unpleasant. She was almost to the car. Her knees were starting to get sore. She was really out of shape. Of course, Chris-tophe's rope tricks hadn't helped. She reached up and cracked the driver's side door open. She was breathing more rapidly in anticipation.
No keys.
She was so disappointed, she almost collapsed. She'd been counting on finding them there. It appeared even in the country, Dominique reflexively pocketed her keys. A girl who didn't take chances—chances of this sort. Now there was only one thing to do. Go back and make for the woods on the other side of the stream, away from the road.
Easing the car door shut, Faith crawled back across the yard. She'd almost made it to the corner when the front door banged open.
Nine
Berthille came running out the door, dragging Dominique by the wrist behind her. She'd obviously reached a decision.
“I did not think it was possible to insult us even more! If you wanted to get rid of us, this was the way! You are lower than a snake. Your bed! We wouldn't even stay in the same room with you! Breathe the same air—" She stopped abruptly as she saw Faith's fleeing figure.
“He did have a woman here! I knew it! Who is the bitch?”
Christophe pushed them aside and started to run after Faith, who looked over her shoulder to make sure he hadn't pulled the gun from his pocket. It was an incredible scene. Christophe's face was contorted with rage—and fear. He was rapidly gaining on her. The two girls, both dressed more for a night of jazz at Lyon's Le Hot Club than Sunday in the country, were at his heels, screaming.
Suddenly, Berthille kicked off her high-heeled platform shoes, put on a burst of speed, and threw herself forward, tackling him. He fell heavily to the ground face first and Dominique piled on them both.
“So, you thought you could join your whore and get away from us!" Both girls began to laugh triumphantly, as astride they pummeled his back. Swearing continuously, he was trying to get up, but it was hopeless.
Thank God there were some things you could depend on in life, Faith thought as she reached the top of the path at the rear of the house and started down toward the stream. The wrath of a woman scorned—fortunately complicated in this instance by there being two women.
The path was very steep and she was forced to go slowly. The jeunes filles, weighing in at about ninety pounds each and with arms and legs like elegant pipe cleaners, wouldn't keep Christophe pinned for long. But Faith was afraid to go faster and fall. It wasn't just the baby. Twisting an ankle at this point would be fatal.
She could see the path continued into the woods on the opposite side of the stream, but the logs that had been fashioned into a crude bridge had been pulled apart by the ravages of winter, so only one remained completely in place. Grateful for at least this means to cross, Faith gingerly stepped up onto it. It had been soaked by the melting snow and felt spongy. She hoped it wouldn't give way in the middle. The water wasn't deep. She wouldn't drown, but she'd get very wet and the rocks below the surface looked slippery. It would be hard to get a footing in the swift current.
The commotion up at the house sounded closer and she half expected the three dervishes to come whirling down the hill.
She made it safely to the other side of the brook and reached down to toss the log into the water. Under her weight, it had already started to break and might go completely when the next person trip-trapped across, but she wanted to make certain. Anything she could do to slow Christophe's pursuit.
Running down the path into the dense forest, she was glad for the training she'd done in the last weeks walking up and down the stairs at St. Nizier several times a day, usually as burdened as a pack mule.
The path ended in a large clearing. It was obviously the family's picnic area. A crudely fashioned brick barbecue was surrounded by logs, dragged from the surrounding forest to provide seating. The undergrowth had been cleared and it was a beautiful spot. Beyond the tall trees, Faith could see the pink and gray granite crests of the mountains surrounding the plateau.
She still wasn't that far from the house and the shot she heard propelled her from the clearing. What did he think he was doing? If he was trying to frighten her, it was working, but how were the two girls reacting to Christophe's Jekyll and Hyde transformation? Another shot rang out and she could hear his voice. He wasn't looking for partridges.
She struck out in what she judged to be the same direction as the driveway, which she assumed led to a larger road. She didn't want to get too close to it. Christophe would soon give up tracking her—she hoped—and take to the roads. But she didn't want to get too far away, either, and roam deeper and deeper into the woods. From the isolation he'd stressed, she'd figured she must be in or near the huge Parc des Cevennes, occupied by hikers in the summer; at this time of year, virtually uninhabited.
She was beginning to get winded, but at least the exercise was keeping her warm. She didn't even want to think about nightfall and how cold she would be.
A shaft of sunlight caught the shimmering mica in a large granite rock and Faith gratefully went over to it and sat down to catch her breath. The sounds of pursuit had ceased. She was safe. She and the baby would live to tell the tale. She just wished there were some way she could communicate this to Tom and Ben. Their ordeal was as bad as hers. She felt almost sleepy sitting in the sunshine and wondered if she dared take a quick nap. She'd need all the energy she could get for the walk that was beginning to loom in her imagination as only slightly less arduous than Hannibal's stroll across the Alps. But no, a nap would be foolhardy, however tempting the oblivion from her hunger pangs.