A Vintage End by D'arcy Kavanagh

Author:D'arcy Kavanagh [D’Arcy Kavanagh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2015-09-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 42

The next day, before going to the TV studio for the panel show, Burke packed for an overnight stay someplace on the way to Lyon and then he walked to the café to say goodbye to Hélène.

The café was starting to get busy, but Hélène managed to spend a minute with Burke.

“You must be careful, chéri,” she said as they hugged. “I don’t want to make any more hospital visits.”

Burke vowed to be smart and stay safe. He hoped he could uphold his promises.

The TV panel show that evening went without incident although there was considerable discussion about how sporting events, such as the vintage races, were being used more and more as venues for protests and political dissension.

After the show, Burke turned down an invitation from the sportswriter on the panel to go for a beer. He had the sense the sportswriter was more interested in getting some background on the Arles incidents than in relaxing post-program with a beer.

By the time Burke was out of Nice, it was almost 8 p.m. The sky was a cloudless dark blue and dotted by stars; it would be a glorious night for a drive, Burke thought.

And the kilometres sped by.

Burke listened to a couple of radio stations for any updates on the Arles race, the upcoming Vaison-la-Romaine event and the report on the two skeletons. The only information he heard involved the two skeletons and it just repeated what Jean had told him.

Skipping the mountain routes, Burke stayed on main roads and, when he got close to Avignon after 250 kilometres, he decided to call it a day. He was tired and he knew he had a full day ahead with driving the remaining 230 kilometres to Lyon, picking up Claude and then returning to Villeneuve-Loubet.

Burke didn’t mind staying in Avignon. The “City of the Popes” was one of his favourite mid-sized communities, alive with festivals and cafés, and marked with wonderful architecture from several centuries. It always looked beautiful, even on dreary days.

He found a small hotel near the main train station, a family-run operation he had used before. He got in just before the owners closed for the night. He was lucky – they had a room. If the hotel had been full, he’d have to go to a nearby chain hotel where he would pay more for less.

Burke dropped his stuff off in the small room – the building dated back 200 years – but gave up on the notion of going immediately to bed. His body was tired, but his brain was still moving too fast in too many directions.

He strolled through one of the gates of the old city wall and found a quiet café that was open. He ordered a 1664 beer with some tapenade.

When the server, a young man who was at least 6’4” and rapier thin, returned with the beer, Burke asked if the events in Arles had made the news in Avignon. He expected the answer would be yes since the two communities were only 40 kilometres apart, but it didn’t hurt to check.

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