‘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.
6
In the pitch darkness, Jack Alexander was trying to think clearly, and his blinding headache made that hard. His skull felt like it had an ice pick sticking into it. His shoulders ached like hell. His wrists were bound tightly together in front of him by what felt like cable ties, which cut painfully into him. The ties were attached to a chain linked to a heavy metal ring fixed to the wall.
Try as he could, he was unable to get any slack to free the bindings. They felt like they were cutting into his wrists deeper and deeper. Was this what it would have felt like to be locked in a medieval torture chamber, he wondered?
He could only breathe through his nose, because his mouth was taped shut, preventing him from crying out. He was painfully hungry and very thirsty. And he needed to pee. He fought that, but it was getting harder with each passing minute. He had no idea how long he had been down here — wherever here was. Hours, for sure, since he had driven up to the front entrance of this horrible dump of a chateau.
Some holiday this was turning out to be, he thought, grimly.
All he could remember was walking up the steps to the front door. It had opened and he had seen an angry woman with her arm raised, holding what looked like a cosh, a split second before she brought it crashing down.
Then darkness and silence.
Until a short while ago, when he had heard voices. Familiar voices. Roy Grace. Cleo and — he was sure — Kaitlynn. Up until then the only sounds had been the occasional pained bark of a dog.
Worried out of his mind for them all — and especially for Kaitlynn — he had tried to shout out to them, to warn them to get the hell away, but no sound would come out of his mouth.
There was another surge of acute pain in his bladder. He clenched tight, fighting it with all his strength, willing it to pass. Thinking. All the time thinking. This must be a nightmare. The worst dream ever. He would wake up soon. Please.
Please.
Now he could hear music. Like a church choir singing.
Somehow, somehow, he had to warn them all to get away. To get help.
He also had the feeling that, wherever he was, he was not alone. He could sense other people in here with him. They were in a cellar, he guessed, from the cold and damp. He wanted to call out to them but, unable to move his mouth, he could only make the faintest of grunting sounds.
7
‘Don’t eat too much, everyone,’ Roy Grace warned. ‘Dinner is in just a couple of hours’ time!’
Bruno, ignoring him, was wolfing down slices of bread heaped with salami and cheese, and slurping a large glass of Coke. Cleo, who had Noah on her lap, was hungrily tucking into the salad and bread. Roy was trying to hold back, but the cheeses and fruit were so good and the bread so fresh, and the red wine was very drinkable.
Once Jack joined them, maybe this place would be all right after all, he thought.
Kaitlynn had picked at the fruit but eaten little. She sat at the table with her phone, dialling and redialling, shaking her head each time. ‘I asked Madame if I could use her landline, but she said — I think — a lightning storm knocked their phone and internet out. Can you believe it, no Wi-Fi or mobile signal?’
‘Which might be why we had such problems getting through to them from the car,’ Cleo suggested.
‘This room is so creepy. And how am I supposed to join in any games?’ Bruno mumbled through a mouthful of food. ‘No internet is just shit.’
Roy was about to tick him off for his language but caught Cleo’s warning eye and stopped. Bruno was right, it was damned creepy. This huge, gloomy, windowless room in the centre of the house was panelled in dark wood, with a high, vaulted ceiling. It felt like they were in a chapel.
There were silver candlesticks on the table, with unlit church-like candles. At the far end was an alcove in which stood a life-size marble statue of a naked man on a plinth, looking down on them. He had one arm raised and folds of what looked like fabric draped over the other arm. Was he a Greek god, Roy wondered? He’d never been good on mythology.
‘Something must have happened to Jack,’ Kaitlynn said, sounding really worried and upset. ‘This is so not like him.’
‘Perhaps he’s been abducted by aliens?’ Bruno suggested. ‘You know, French ones?’