‘I know,’ Orla said to Erin. ‘Because I’m following our route on Google Maps.’
‘You have service?’ Erin exclaimed, thoughts of murder temporarily forgotten.
‘How long until we get to the village now, Gerard?’ Orla asked, leaning forward a little.
‘Vingt minutes.’ He paused.‘Désolé. I will speak in English. It is twenty minutes. It has to be twenty minutes because I have many things to do before the opening.’
‘Opening?’ Erin was leaning forward now too. ‘It sounds like an event. Is there an event? Will there be a red carpet?’
‘Erin, do you have your seat belt on?’ Orla asked.
‘Yes,’ Erin said, tugging at the strap to prove it.
‘I have blue carpet,’ Gerard answered. ‘Not red.’
‘Sorry, Gerard, my sister just means what kind of event is it?’ Orla asked, the car still bumping along.
‘And will there be a DJ?’ Erin added.
‘Is first Christmas fête in Saint-Chambéry. We switch on winter lights. We eat. We dance. We drink my homemade beer. Everyone is happy.’
Erin flopped back into the seat, arms folded across her chest. ‘Not everyone. Not me. Sounds lame.’
‘Well, I heard eating, beer and dancing,’ Orla said, nudging her sister’s arm. ‘And, I have the company credit card.’
‘Really?’ Erin said, brightening up considerably.
Itwastrue, but she would have to account for each expense and use it sparingly, for necessities only. But Erin didn’t need to know that in this particular moment.
‘I think we are going to like the fête, Gerard,’ Orla assured. ‘Very much.Trés beaucoup.’
‘Well, I hope there are enough cookies,’ Gerard said with a grunt. ‘We were only expecting one of you.’
Yes, she hadn’t actually told anyone on this side of the Channel that she was travelling with a companion now and she hoped it wasn’t going to cause problems. Surely whatever room Frances had booked would accommodate a five-foot-five, almost size eight, addition.
‘And here we are,’ Gerard announced almost twenty minutes later. ‘The start of Saint-Chambéry. Here is the luxury spa hotel. Then, on the left there is the designer shopping village and modern mall.’
‘Where?’ Erin asked, body snapped into staying still by her seat belt.
Orla knew Gerard was joking but she also knew that wasn’t going to go down well with Erin. They were not even at their final destination and she was already worried that Erin being here wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Ha! I am joking with you!’ Gerard said, bursting into laughter as the steering wheel seemed to be swayed by the terrain.
Erin went very quiet. The worst kind of non-appreciation when it came to her. An annoyed and feisty Erin was always preferable to the silent version who was doing more thinking than shouting.Reassurance.
‘Don’t worry,’ Orla whispered to Erin. ‘I mean, I do have to work but if this villageisas dead as a cemetery then I am certain we can find the nearest city at some point and have a night out.’
‘Nearest city is Grenoble,’ Gerard butted in. ‘Where we have driven all this longlongway from.’
Erin shifted in her seat, turned to completely face the window like she could be looking at a brick wall instead of a snow-festooned town. Knowing there was nothing she could say to help in this moment, Orla looked out of the other window as a few buildings began to appear. Most were wooden, like chalets, some on stilts. There were strings of lights hanging from their roofs, lanterns glowing amber and yellow, the only lights that seemed to just about differentiate the road from the not-road. But as they travelled, people began to appear, walking, wrapped up in thick coats, hats and gloves like burritos packed for the Ice Age. Orla had checked the temperatures before they left, but was now wondering if she had underestimated the clothing needs. A side-eye to her sister confirmed that Erin was wearing leggings just about fit for autumn in the UK not minus temperatures in the mountains.
‘Oh, there is a roadblock,’ Gerard announced, pulling the car to a rather skiddy halt.
‘A roadblock?’ Orla asked. One glance through the windscreen showed old wooden barriers with orange beacons flashing on and off and two large men looking official standing in the way. Were they policemen? What was going on? ‘Has there been an accident?’
‘Non,’ Gerard replied. ‘It is the Christmas fête. No traffic in the village square. I thought we would arrive before this time but…’
‘But?’ Orla asked, hoping they were very close to where they should be or that their driver had a plan.
