Invitation to Provence(85)



Jake knew Alain could not have gone far, and his intelligence contacts along the southern coast—from Marseille to Menton and into Provence—were on the alert, as were the police. Like Felix, Alain was very tall, six-four, thin and rangy. Even if he changed his hair, wore glasses, grew a beard, there would still be something distinctive about him. It was in the sheer cockiness of his walk, the arrogance of his demeanor. Alain was a man who felt he was better than all others and Jake knew it would be Alain’s ego that would prove his downfall.



IT WASN’T LONG BEFORE he got the news that Alain had been spotted near Avignon. He was driving a white Renault Laguna and was holed up at a motel off the motorway on the outskirts of the city. Two hours later Jake was in Avignon, but the bird had already flown. Then the white Renault was spotted winding along a canyon road that led, by a roundabout route, to Saint-Sylvestre and then Marten-de-Provence.

Jake had a helicopter in the air within minutes, piloting it himself. He hovered over the canyon, so close to the rock face that the shrubs and grasses flattened beneath him, scattering terrified rabbits and wild creatures. At last he spotted the Renault, taking the curves like a race car. The window was open and he saw Alain looking up at the helicopter. Obviously realizing he was being observed, he took off, hurtling around curves with a two-hundred-foot drop on one side and a sheer rock wall on the other, winding his way down to the end of the canyon where the proper road began.



ALAIN WAS EXHILARATED by the chase. Adrenaline flowed like heat through his body. He was on flat terrain now, on straight roads lined with poplars. On one side was a railway embankment, on the other a peaceful canal dotted with vacationers’ barges. A police helicopter had joined the chase and it clattered low overhead, making giant whirlpools on the canal’s still water, sending delighted children running out to wave at them.

Alain swerved onto a minor forest road, then abandoned the Renault in the trees. He climbed the embankment to the railway tracks. A tunnel loomed in front of him.

He ran into it, flattening himself against the curve of the wall. He heard the helicopters immediately overhead, then they zoomed on. He smiled as he started down the dark tunnel. He’d outwitted them again. He knew his way. He’d still get to the chateau, still get his mother.

Jake radioed the police helicopter. “He can’t have gotten far, he’s probably hiding out in the woods,” then he zoomed in low over the treetops again. The approaching train blew its whistle furiously at him as it entered the tunnel, and suddenly Jake knew where Alain was. And he knew he’d played his last card in the game of life.





70





LITTLE BLUE HAD ALREADY been back at the chateau for a few weeks by the time Franny was finally allowed to leave the hospital and fly “home” with Jake.

“I don’t think I could ever get used to this,” she said to him, awed by the Gulfstream’s luxury.

“That’s good,” he said, “because I won’t have it much longer.” She eyed him, mystified. “I’m selling the business, thinking about finally buying that ranch. How’d you fancy being a country vet?”

“Hmm.” She looked away haughtily, enjoying the game of keeping him in suspense. “What, no more fancy SoHo apartment? No more private jet? No more Tiffany rings and world travel?”

“No more,” he said. “Well, maybe a ring or two.”

“Ohhh … well.” She pretended to think about it. “Maybe I could handle that. After all, I might enjoy being that country vet.”

“Oh, thank god,” he murmured, grabbing her very carefully and making her laugh.

Haigh was waiting for them with the comfortable old Bentley, greeting Franny with tears in his eyes and a big hug and triple kisses. As they drove through the village, she leaned out the window and, recognizing her, passing villagers waved. Then the car turned up the familiar drive and she peered eagerly ahead, anxious for that first glimpse of the Chateau des Roses Sauvages.

And there it was, glowing golden in the evening sunlight, tugging at her heartstrings like a familiar melody from long ago. Rafaella was waiting on the steps with Mimi and Louis. Juliette was there with her Pomeranians, and Little Blue came hurtling toward them, followed by a couple of shaggy, boisterous pups.

And, holding Jake’s hand tightly, Franny knew that wherever she was in the world, this old chateau in Provence would always be “home.”





PART IV





Epilogue



? saisons, ? chateaux,

Quelle ame est sans défauts?

? saisons, ? chateaux,

J’ai fait la magique étude

Du Bonheur, que nul n’élude.



—RIMBAUD, 1874



Oh seasons, oh chateaux,

What soul is without faults?

Oh seasons, oh chateaux,

I have studied the magic of happiness,

Which no one should miss.





A YEAR HAD PASSED. Rafaella stood in the hall looking out at the magical view that had entranced her all her life. A patch of afternoon sunlight warmed the faded parquet under her bare feet, and her red skirt swished around her narrow ankles as she walked to the door, followed by Mimi and Louis and a shaggy brindle pup who bore more than a passing resemblance to Criminal.

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