The Healing Knife by S. L. Russell

Author:S. L. Russell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lion Hudson Limited
Published: 2020-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

ROQUEVILLE

Where did it all begin?

Was it on the ferry, as I thought at the time, watching the tide of travelling humanity, anonymous yet somehow intimate? Or must I go further back, to the moment of Craig Rawlins’ untimely and unanticipated death, a moment that jarred my life out of its smooth rut? Or perhaps even further, to the moment when I realized that my father was gone forever, taking with him my comfort, my protection, my warm cave of acceptance? Was it even more distant than that, when I came howling into the world, despite my mother’s murderous plan?

I couldn’t say, and it was useless to conjecture. In another time I wouldn’t have given such thoughts houseroom. But there they were, intractable.

Michael prepared me well – too well, I thought irritably. Perhaps he regretted his invitation, his idea that I should travel down alone as an advance party with no company but a dog. Perhaps he began to see all that might go wrong. He invited me to dinner one evening with the express purpose of telling me as much as he could about the journey to Roqueville and how I should manage when I got there. He insisted that we look at a road map together, and he drew a pencil circle round the service areas that had somewhere to walk the dog, or sold good coffee.

He told me about motorway tolls and French road signs and speed limits. We rehearsed the French for various motoring instructions – even though I told him that there was a chapter in my French course that dealt with such things.

“I have driven in Europe before, you know,” I said.

“A long time ago, I imagine.”

“Mm, maybe ten years.”

“That’s what I thought.” He ploughed on, suggesting what I should do if I got lost, or the car broke down.

“I’ll get European breakdown cover,” I said. By this time I was taking in little of what he was telling me. He had fed me a fine French meal: a fishy terrine, a Provencal chicken dish, and a lemon tart. He was an excellent cook. I had also drunk more wine than I was used to; somehow my glass kept filling up.

He looked at me keenly, as if taking in my enfeebled state for the first time. “Maybe I should make some coffee,” he murmured.

The coffee sharpened me up in time for the next round of instructions. “Make sure you text me when you arrive. I’ll be at work, but I’ll keep my phone handy.”

“For goodness’ sake, don’t worry!” I said with a drunken smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m a grown-up. I’ll call for help in my schoolgirl French. Some Gaston or Guillaume will come riding to my rescue.”

“Or spin you a line and steal your car,” he said sternly. “OK, I’ll assume you’ve arrived in Roqueville without mishap and have found the house. It’s not difficult: 22, Rue des Hauts Vents, turn left at the church and keep going. There are two gates, one on the road, the other nearer to the house.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.