But Mémé was not to be quietened or ignored. ‘You know what it is. The gates of Ys are open. My mother heard them when my father died. I heard them when my uncle Fabien died and I was only a child then. A child. And when poor Théo died, even though we thought it was over…’
All the men of his family. His great-grandfather, his father, even Mémé’s legendary uncle who’d been executed in the cove by the Germans.
Of course Rafael knew what she meant. That noise haunted him. He’d heard it in his dreams last night.
He shook the thought aside, annoyed with himself. ‘Mémé, this is just tall tales and nonsense. These treasure hunters have stirred up your imagination. It’s not real. There was no Ys and even if there was, it is long gone. You always said Fabien broke the curse somehow.’
That was a mistake. It tipped her over the top and suddenly she was furious.
‘Simon Poullain knew. He believed it. His family knew. They have their stories too. It was his ancestor, Tristan Poullain, who stood by Fabien’s side when the Nazis cut them down. They defended the secrets of Ys with their lives and that should have fixed everything. But the curse took Simon as well, that poor boy. With all his future and that beautiful girl waiting for him. We thought the curse was gone until your father died. But I will find a way to stop it. To stopher. She will not have you as well. The Walkers will find Ys for me and we will protect it, save it from oblivion. Here, take this. Take it and it will protect you.’ She shoved a small linen bag into his hands. Another one. Rafael’s heart sank. ‘There’s asouin there, an old one, so it’s good. Not this modern money. And nine stems of nine plants. And nine grains offleur du sel. Keep it with you, Rafi, and it will protect you.’
He wanted to argue, wanted to tell her that this was nonsense, superstition. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Not now. He tucked the pouch away in his pocket.
‘We can’t keep doing this, Mémé. You can’t keep throwing money at a legend. There’s nothing to find, nothing to protect. If it ever existed, Ys was destroyed long ago.’
She stamped her foot at him and turned away. ‘It’s my family, and my money. I’m not asking for anything from you. I am a du Lac, Rafael. It is my right. It is my duty. I will protect you from her.’
‘Who’sher?’ he asked when she quietened. He said it patiently, carefully.
But she shook her head, her lips pursed. She glared at him, but she wouldn’t answer, recalcitrant as a child having a temper tantrum.
He knew who and what she was referring to. And he didn’t like it.
Mémé thought by finding Ys, proving it was real, she would somehow break a curse on their family that couldn’t possibly exist. But she would not be convinced otherwise.
‘Come,’ said Nolvene at last. ‘Let me get you a drink, Séraphine, and settle you down. We’re expecting visitors, are we not? You don’t want to tire yourself out too early. I’ll talk to Monsieur Rafael. You’re overwrought,madame. Come now.’
Her voice was like a balm and he could see the effect on his great-aunt immediately. Familiarity helped, of course, and the gentleness that seemed to permeate every part of Nolvene’s being.
‘Very well,’ Mémé said, with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘We should discuss dinner this evening, prepare a menu. Did I tell you my archaeological team are coming?’
‘You did. Of course you did, and we will have a wonderful meal, I promise you. But you should rest so you are at your best for your guests this evening, yes?’
While Nolvene managed to persuade her to her room, Rafael tried to follow and help; he was quickly shooed away. He waited in the hallway like a child, outside her door, feeling powerless. Lost.
It was worse than he had thought. He knew that now.
When Nolvene came out, her face wore a grave expression. ‘She’ll rest for a while now. She’s tired and overwrought, that’s all. She must have been dreaming. She wakes in the night often, dreams of danger. Dr Marais has prescribed sleeping pills, but she refuses them. I can ask him to come up and see her again, and to talk to you, Monsieur Rafael.’
He smiled. ‘Just Rafael, please, Nolvene. You’ve known me all my life. I think it’s a bit late for formalities.’
‘If you say so,’ she replied, clearly not convinced. But Nolvene had always relied on tradition and formalities. They were as much part of her as her blood. ‘Come and talk to me. You should hear this from me before someone else tries to twist the truth. We look after her here. We always have.’
She strode off towards the stairs and Rafael had no choice but to follow. ‘I know you do. But, Nolvene, if she needs more specialist care—’
‘That’s your mother talking. She would sell this house and cut all ties with Sainte Sirène. That was always her greatest desire. But it cannot be. You belong here. All your line do. And your great-aunt is determined to save you.’
To save him. From a mythical curse. From dreams and nightmares.
‘I don’t believe in stories. Especially not those stories.’
‘Ah, but they believe in you. And that’s the problem. I told Séraphine you would not want to believe. I know that. You’ve been the same since you were a boy. Grounded in the mundane. But now your time approaches. You sense it. And that’s why you’re back here.’
He had never heard Nolvene talk like this. ‘I’m back here for Mémé. Because—’
Nolvene flapped her hands at him. She bustled into the kitchen, Rafael still following helplessly behind her.
‘This is not helping her.’
