She folded the letter up carefully and put it away. As she had countless times. The same way she folded up her own pain and stored it in the back of her mind, tucked it away in the deepest part of her heart. If Simon could not be trusted, no one could. That had been her lesson. Perhaps she had been right to leave Brittany after all.
But last night, like a dream turned nightmare, he had been there.
She needed to talk to Rafael. She needed to find out what else he knew.
The house was empty. A note on the kitchen table from Nico said they’d be back this afternoon, after they had seen the team from the university at Brest. Ari had thought Jason wanted her present for that, but if she was completely honest, she was relieved they had gone without her.
Ari pulled on her running gear and headed out along the clifftops, letting the fresh breeze and sea air chase the cobwebs of nightmare away. Inexorably, her feet took her out to the cliff edge, to the Pointe de Castelmeur.
There was no sign of anything strange or untoward here this morning. No mysterious dark figures. No creatures of legend. She looked for the fissure into which she had fallen but now it was impossible to tell where that might have been.
She pushed her way through the narrow gap in the bushes, lifting her arms high to protect her face. It was like passing through an enchanted barrier, forcing her way through to the otherworld, travelling to Sleeping Beauty’s castle or Rapunzel’s tower.
On the other side, the world opened up in front of her. The sky was a vast dome, endless, shades of blue fading to the white of the clouds, layer upon layer of tones. The sea rose and fell like a great sleeping beast, peaceful now, not the wild storm-tossed thing of last night. She could see the distant shore of Crozon to the north, and further up, beyond that lay Le Conquet, and the islands of Molène and Ushant.
Sea birds wheeled and cried out overhead, their mournful song echoing across the water. Ari tried to steady her breath, focused on the horizon. She leaned against the rocky outcrop, grey with splashes of yellow and orange lichen, rising like enormous teeth from the ragged grass.
There was no one here now, no sign of anyone. Had she imagined it? Had the storm made her imagine…
But Rafael had seen it too. Him. They had both seen him. Recognised him.
There was nothing here now. It was peaceful. Heavenly.
She walked back slowly, letting the wind guide her. She didn’t know where the path was going to lead her, but she was hardly surprised when she reached the village and in its centre the chapel of Sainte Sirène.
There was a plaque on the low wall surrounding it, stating it was restored in the 1970s but it originally dated back to the thirteenth century. It felt older, the grey stone looked like it had grown out of the ground, like the outcrop on the point. The huge oak tree sprawled over the wall beside the entrance, its roots burrowing through the rocks. To the left, there was a holy well, surrounded by its own low walls, and a little replica of the chapel itself over it. There were flowers everywhere, swaying in the breeze coming off the sea.
The red painted door stood ajar, so Ari pushed it and entered.
The interior was dark, light filtering through the stained-glass windows and sprawling across the grey slabs that made up the floor. The ceiling felt like the hull of a boat turned upside down and raised over her head, painted the pale blue of the sky and decorated here and there with white stars. The beams were carved with designs of fish, serpents and, yes, even eels. Ari suppressed a shudder.
It was a mariner’s chapel, she realised, tied to the sea by its location and by the souls who had come here down all the long years. Intricate models of boats hung from the ceiling by almost invisible wires. An ancient tradition, one which asked for blessings on those boats, representing the real boats to which those same sailors entrusted their lives every day. She had seen it elsewhere in Western Brittany and always found it touching.
They were old too. Some of them looked truly ancient. She couldn’t really see well in the darkness of the church.
‘Hello, Ari Walker.’ The soft voice came out of nowhere, her name musical when said in that accent.
She spun around, looking for the source.
It was Gwen, standing in the nave, by the bank of unlit candles laid out before a statue of the Virgin Mary.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ari said hurriedly, backing towards the door. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude.’
Gwen shook her head. ‘Not at all. Everyone is welcome in here. That’s what they say anyway. It’s not normally open, of course, which makes it a bit more difficult in practice. Apart from high season. The tourists love it. The council lets me open it as part of themusée. And, of course, they get an on-site caretaker for free, so it’s to their benefit as well. They’re a frugal bunch.’ Gwen chatted away brightly, as if they were old friends, even though they had only met the previous night.
She struck one of the long matches as she spoke and began to light candles, this in spite of a sign asking for a donation for each one. Ari frowned, watching her as the glow flickered and danced behind her, illuminating her, and the little church.
‘Aren’t those meant to be lit for prayers? For people who have…you know…passed.’
Gwen blinked, giving her a long and studied look before replying. ‘Who says they aren’t? Each and every one of them. I could never light enough candles for all those who have lost their lives to the Mer d’Iroise. I could burn all of Sainte Sirène to the ground and never approach the number. No one could.’
‘Then why light the candles?’
‘There’s apardon…a religious festival. That’s why I’m opening the church today. And then thefest noztonight. We all look forward to it. Besides…’ she said, ‘look up.’
Ari couldn’t help but obey, tilting her head back, and what she saw stole the breath from her lungs with wonder.
The lambent light struck the ceiling, the blue transforming to moving water, the shadows thrown by the hanging models becoming ships tossed in the sea, a shadow puppet play.
