The Manoir was one of those beautiful Breton houses which could have been little more than a hundred years old but may equally have been over a thousand. Ari knew she’d find out if she poked around in the right places. Grey stone walls, dark slate roofs, turrets and stone carved in intricate styles, it wasn’t large enough to be called a chateau, but there was no doubting the impression the du Lacs of long ago wished to make with it. The building was a stamp on the land. There was something of a fairy tale about it.
Yellow roses sprawled up the wall, hanging over the French doors leading out to the gardens. They were surprisingly formal, beautifully cared for and the setting sun lit them in spectacular fashion. Silver birch trees lined the driveway, their shadows striping the gravel. It was another world from the gîte, or the dismal flat at home Ari was used to.
Rafael himself answered the door, which she hadn’t expected. She would have thought he had staff for that. For everything. Before she could even say hello, her brother launched into a description of what they’d found, sweeping his hoped-for paymaster into a grand hallway with wood panels and endless portraits. She watched them, wondering if Rafael was listening as intently as he appeared to be, when she saw him glance surreptitiously at her. Their eyes met for a moment, but he looked away quickly. When Jason offered him his phone, he scrolled through the photos, studying them intently.
Jason stood there, attentively, like a puppy waiting for praise. He pointed at something and Rafael nodded before zooming in. A curious expression passed over his face, something cold and distraught. It vanished so quickly, she could have imagined it.
‘So, you found something,’ Madame du Lac called out from the doorway on the left. ‘I knew you would. I told him so. Come into the drawing room. Sit with me. Have an aperitif. Dr Walker, I want to know everything.’
‘Go,’ Jason mouthed at her and Nico, but he didn’t leave Rafael’s side.
Just inside the door, Ari was intercepted by two other women and from the moment she entered the room, she felt judged. More than judged – taken apart and examined. She froze, which gave Nico all the time he needed to slip away to Madame du Lac’s side. She immediately began plying him with questions.
‘Laure du Lac,’ said the tall, dark-haired woman, beautiful and elegant, everything about her perfectly tailored. ‘I’m Rafael’s sister. This is Gwen Morvan, an old friend of the family.’
‘Ari Walker,’ Ari replied awkwardly, trying to ignore the sleek couture Laure wore and the fact her own dress came from a supermarket. At least Gwen was in something simple, a light summer dress topped with a neat jacket. Ari couldn’t guess where she’d bought her clothes and hated herself a little bit for wondering.
‘Harry?’ Laure laughed as she mangled the name. ‘Like Prince Harry, no?’
It was beyond awkward. Ari had long ago given up caring if people made fun of her name, but all the same. Usually, it was Greek legends and minotaur jokes.
Her great-aunt broke off from her interrogation of Nico, with a note of warning in her voice. ‘Ariadne, from the Greek. Dr Walker lectures in Oxford, Laure. We’re lucky to have her here.’
Madame du Lac was just an old woman, and possibly a confused one at that. She’d have to explain that she wasn’t connected with the university at all in a way that wasn’t embarrassing and didn’t make either of them look foolish. She was just a teacher now. Had left the academic world behind. Besides, she didn’t want to give Laure the satisfaction.
‘My PhD was in ethnography and archaeology. I’m just a teacher really. I’m only visiting. My brother’s heading the dive team here.’ A white lie, since he wasn’t actually able to dive. It didn’t matter, since Laure hardly acknowledged her but turned back to her great-aunt.
Gwen smiled a dazzling smile as she glanced towards the door. Ari had no idea who she was other than Laure du Lac’s friend, but she had that easy comfort which spoke of long familiarity. ‘Perhaps you haven’t seen Dr Walker’s brother yet, Laure. Mémé always had an eye for a good-looking man, didn’t you, Mémé?’ The teasing tone was gentle and the old lady shook her head and smiled with genuine affection and waved a dismissive hand at her. She was back talking to Nico. The kindness made Ari instantly soften her opinion towards Gwen at least.
Jason had just entered the room with Rafael, the two of them deep in discussion. And Laure’s expression changed abruptly as she laid eyes on him.
Great, thought Ari. Just great. Just what she needed.
But then Rafael looked up, his dark eyes locking on to hers, and she knew she was in enough trouble of her own with a du Lac.
Gwen’s hand on her arm was cold, startling her. ‘You must tell me about Oxford. I’ve never been. I believe it is a beautiful city.’ Her voice sounded like music, rising and falling gently.
‘It is. Do you live locally?’
‘I grew up here, much like Laure and Rafael when they were children. Sainte Sirène calls us all back. I love our history, the stories. I look after thepetit muséein the village, and by extension our heritage and cultural patrimony.’
‘Gwen Morvan…it sounds more Welsh.’
‘Well, weareall Celts, you know? The Bretons came here from Cornwall and Wales to escape the Saxons. But no, my name is as Breton as it can be. You are Irish and not Greek, after all, I believe?’
Ari laughed. ‘Our father was just obsessed with Greek myths. Classics professor in Trinity College Dublin.’
‘So you have followed in his footsteps. He must be proud.’
Not very far in his footsteps, as it turned out.
Her father, proud…hard to tell anymore. He thought she’d ruined her life, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. And it was not a subject she wanted to get into here.
At that moment Jason beckoned her over and Ari made her apologies and escaped.
Rafael watched her approach, his dark eyes perplexed but interested. Whatever could Jason have said to him?
‘I’ve been telling Rafael all about the mask,’ Jason explained. ‘He wants to hear it from you, Ari.’
