People had relaxed into the party, especially since a jazz band had started up. With Gabby’s wedding postponed and there being triple the number of canapés available now, Yvette, who had booked the whole restaurant for her wedding lunch had been able to push it back to the evening. So friends of Bertrand had suggested they play some swing music during the afternoon and the whole affair had turned into a mini festival. Quite a few couples danced on the grass, while other people were settling down on the picnic blankets and benches to watch the band and the dancers. Yvette and Bertrand were standing hand in hand, swaying to the music together.
‘Hattie,’ a slightly tipsy Alphonse bellowed at her and beckoned her over to where he was standing, waving a bottle of wine. ‘You haven’t got a drink.’
‘I’m still on duty,’ said Hattie.
‘Non,’ he said taking the tray from her. ‘Everyone can help themselves now. Where’s Fliss? You should both be enjoying the party now.’
‘He’s right,’ said Fliss. ‘I could murder a glass of champagne. We were due to knock off at twelve-forty-five. Yvette’s not going to mind now.’
Alphonse pressed glasses of champagne into their hands.
‘Has anyone seen Luc?’
Hattie shook her head, remembering his pained look before he’d turned his back on her.
‘I saw him heading down to the cellars,’ said Fliss. ‘But that was a while ago.’
‘Do you think we ought to check on him?’ asked Hattie, motivated by both guilt and concern and then self-disgust. Surely, if he knew about Chris’s mum, he would think better of her. He would understand that she simply had no choice but to go home, even though she now realised she wanted to stay.
‘Yes,’ said Alphonse. ‘There is no reason for him to go to the cellars now. I’ll go.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Fliss. ‘Come on, Hattie, you know you want to.’
Hattie shot her a half-hearted glare but Fliss tucked her arm through hers. ‘Sorry. I know you’re feeling rubbish about him. But he shouldn’t be moping by himself.’
They saw him at the entrance to the cellars.
‘Luc!’ Alphonse hailed him. ‘What are you doing? Come back to the party.’
‘I think there’s another cellar,’ called Luc in an excited voice, waving his phone. The three of them picked up their pace to join him.
‘What? Now?’ asked Alphonse.
‘Well, I think it’s been there a while, but I’ve only just thought of it.’ Luc’s explanation seemed just as crazy as Alphonse’s question and Hattie wondered whether she’d fallen down a rabbit hole into her very own episode ofAlice in Vineland.
‘Look at the photo. That shaft. It shouldn’t be there. I think there must be something behind the wall just beyond the stairs.’
‘And you want to look now?’ asked Alphonse.
‘Before I bought the press, Marthe was quite happy. I remember she changed her tune when I mentioned that I’d need to get a surveyor in to survey the building. I think if we find the cellar it might tell us the reason Marthe changed her mind. We’re running out of time. My father is going to sign the contract with Roban next week.’
‘That would make sense,’ said Hattie remembering the taut conversation with the elderly woman.
‘Why hide a cellar?’ asked Fliss. ‘If Marthe knows about it, why keep it a secret?’
Luc and Alphonse exchanged worried glances and then Luc squared his shoulders. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
The four of them hurried down the stairs in their wedding finery, Hattie and Fliss in strappy sandals that made incongruous loud tapping noises on the stone flags. She’d wanted an adventure. Well, traipsing into a dark cellar in the middle of a wedding certainly fitted the bill. Once at the bottom, Alphonse suggested he and Fliss examine the walls at the other end of the corridor, leaving them to do the same around the stairwell.
Luc paced a few metres one way and then the next, studying the photo of the original aerial print. Together, with the torches on their phones, they studied the chalky walls stained with water and patches of mould and with the odd name engraved into the soft surface. Even to Hattie’s inexpert eye, everything looked normal. Finally, after twenty fruitless minutes, Luc moved to the dead end to study one of the brick vaulted walls that was only partially visible behind a big rack of shelving.
Hattie shivered. It was freezing down here.
‘Can you see a lighter patch there?’ he asked, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to her. Her heart did its usual lovesick flutter as she huddled into the residual warmth from his body, surrounded by the smell of him. It only confirmed what she’d known all along. She loved him.
She squinted at the wall as he held up his phone to shine the light on the surface.
‘I’m not sure.’ Was the cement between the bricks slightly different in places – a little lighter, perhaps? It was difficult to judge in torchlight.
