‘Oh, come on, Caroline! You can tell us, especially since we’ve so kindly agreed to help you with your top-secret operation.’
She clamped her lips together and shook her head emphatically. ‘Non. It’s more than my job is worth. Now stop asking questions and let Grégoire concentrate on driving. The last thing we want is for someone to crash into us!’
Eventually they left behind the suburbs of Paris and reached the open road towards the Loire.
I am perfectly content, thought Ella, sitting in the back of the car with Christophe at her side and watching the countryside unfurl, as Caroline and Grégoire discussed museum matters in the front. She was looking forward to seeing the Loire Valley, and to delivering the package in the trunk at Chambord which, she hoped, might afford them the opportunity to look round the château. And then, by that evening, they should be on the ferry, crossing to the Île de Ré. She leant her head against the glass of the car window and watched the procession of plane trees file past on the long, straight road, trees planted on the orders of the Emperor Napoleon over a century ago so that their branches would shade his armies as they marched to and from battle. She hoped they would continue to provide their shade for more peaceful travellers, not wanting to contemplate the possibility of any more armies marching through France.
At her side, she sensed Christophe glancing at her every now and then, as though he was committing her profile to memory, watching the alternating sunshine and shade cast shadows across her face, throwing into relief her cheek bones, her lips, her lashes.
Her reverie was interrupted suddenly by a loud clang and a rhythmic banging sound, and the car slowed suddenly, losing power. Grégoire pulled over to the side of the road and they all got out. Opening the bonnet, the guard peered into the engine and swore under his breath. Straightening up, he turned to Caroline. ‘It looks like a problem with the gearbox. What a time to break down!’
‘Oh, mon Dieu!’ Ella heard the panic in Caroline’s voice. ‘What are we to do? If anything happens to the picture . . .’
Grégoire remained calm. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get it fixed.’ He pointed to a milestone at the roadside just ahead of them. ‘It’s only a kilometre to the next village. We’ll ask there, maybe someone will have some tools and be able to help us fix it. I know a little about mechanics myself – my cousin has a garage in Sèvres, and I used to work there before I took up my job at the museum.’ He wiped his hands on his handkerchief. ‘We’ll need to push – Mademoiselle Martet, you can steer. Allons-y.’
As he and Christophe shed their jackets, Ella climbed out of the car.
‘Mademoiselle Lennox, you can stay inside if you wish.’
‘Non, merci. I’ll help push. I may not be all that strong, but at least I won’t be adding to the weight of the car.’
Christophe flashed her a grin of approval before setting his shoulder to the car’s rear flank. Grégoire took up his position on the other side and the car slowly moved back out into the road.
‘It’s a good thing it wasn’t all uphill!’ panted Grégoire as they reached the village and pulled up in front of an auberge, which, apart from a baker’s shop, appeared to be the only commerce that the hamlet had to offer. ‘I’ll go in here and make some enquiries, Mademoiselle Martet, you stay with the car.’
He emerged a few minutes later, accompanied by the innkeeper who carried a toolbox. The two men stooped over the engine and for several minutes muffled thumps, accompanied by the occasional oath, could be heard emanating from beneath the bonnet.
With a shake of his head, Grégoire re-emerged.
‘Well, we’ve located the problem. It’s an issue with the gears, as I thought. A part of the fly-wheel has sheared right off, damaging the mechanism. It’ll need a replacement part. I’ll telephone my cousin, see if by any chance he can get hold of what we need. If so, I can hop on a train back to Paris and come back with it as quickly as possible. Don’t worry, Mademoiselle Martet, all is not lost. Where there’s a will, there’s a way!’
Caroline was pacing up and down the street, distraught. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. Oh, mon Dieu!’
Christophe put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘Calm down, Caroline. It sounds as if Grégoire has got it all in hand. He seems such a capable type. Don’t worry, he’ll sort out the car. The worst case will be that we only deliver your package to Chambord tomorrow, instead of today, and we miss one day on the Île de Ré. C’est pas grave!’
Eventually, Grégoire returned from phoning and he and Caroline stepped across the road to confer in urgent whispers beside the hedgerow. Finally, she nodded and he headed back into the inn to finalise arrangements.
‘All sorted out now?’ Christophe reached to open the boot and remove the crated package within.
‘No!’ Caroline grabbed his arm.
‘Honestly, why are you so sensitive? It’s not like you. Whatever’s in here must be something very special indeed.’ He stopped short, and then, as an involuntary flash of alarm flickered across Caroline’s face, Christophe seemed to come to a realisation and a slow smile of delight spread over his features.
‘You’re not telling me it’s the . . . ?’
Caroline nodded miserably, a barely perceptible movement, and mouthed, ‘the Mona Lisa’. Ella stepped forward to put an arm around her, the enormity of the situation suddenly overwhelming both girls. Caroline suppressed a sob, and Ella scarcely knew whether to cry herself, or to laugh out loud at their predicament.
Just then, Grégoire re-emerged from the inn, clapping the innkeeper on the back. ‘Right then, it’s all organised. My cousin can lay his hands on the part we need. This kind gentleman is going to give me a lift to the station at Orléans. I’ll be back tomorrow morning with the part – my cousin will drive me down and help fix the car – and then we can continue on our way. Our holiday will only be delayed by half a day.’ He shot a warning look at the three of them, signalling that they should keep up the charade. ‘Christophe, could you help us push the car round to the back of the inn? That way it’ll be off the road for the night.’
‘Fortunately, we have rooms for you,’ the innkeeper said, beaming. ‘There’s a nice twin room for the young ladies. I’m afraid the young gentleman will have to make do with the garret, because otherwise we are fully booked. The last week of August is always one of our busiest times, with everyone heading back to Paris from their holidays. But, as it’s an emergency and only for one night . . .’
‘That will be fine, thank you. We’re so grateful to you for your help.’ Caroline pulled herself together.
‘Shall I give you a hand bringing in your luggage?’ The innkeeper took a step towards the boot of the car.
‘Thank you, but no, I think we can manage,’ Christophe laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Let’s get the car round to the back and then Grégoire and I will unload a few things from there.’
The two men carried the wooden crate carefully upstairs. ‘Put it in the attic room,’ urged Christophe in a whisper. ‘I’ll guard it with my life! It’ll be safer there, away from the prying eyes of other guests.’
Reluctantly, Caroline agreed that perhaps it would be the safest option, and then they waved Grégoire off as he headed for the railway station.
Caroline only managed to pick at her dinner that evening, toying with the food on the plate in front of her.
‘Relax, ma soeur,’ said Christophe, pouring her another glass of rough vin de pays from the glass pitcher the innkeeper had deposited on their table along with their meal. ‘Grégoire will be back first thing. The best you can do tonight is to get a good night’s sleep so that you are ready for further adventures tomorrow! Now, drink that and then we’ll turn in. I think everyone’s exhausted after today’s excitement.’
Darkness fell, and Ella lay in bed listening to Caroline’s breathing grow slower and deeper as sleep finally claimed her. The noises of the inn’s other inhabitants fell silent at last, and then rays of soft light poured in through the slats of the shutters as the moon rose. She tossed and turned, unable to sleep.