The Devil's Cave: A Bruno Courrèges Investigation (Bruno Chief of Police 5)

becoming steadily more important to him.
    ‘Do you always ride this way?’ Eugénie asked when he drew rein. Hector ambled slowly towards the white mare and the two horses nuzzled one another with politeness. She was dressed, he saw with surprise, rather like him, in jeans and a blue denim shirt. He was wearing his police uniform sweater over the shirt against the expected evening chill; she had a dark blue sweater tied around her waist.
    ‘Not always,’ he replied. ‘But Hector tends to turn this way if I let him.’ He had been aware of her eyes on him as he had trotted up the forest ride.
    ‘I see you got your horse shoed,’ he went on.
    ‘I came back this way in the hope that I’d see you. I wanted to thank you. I called the stables at Meyrals and Victor took care of it, the man you recommended. He’s a sweet old man and he gave me a map of the bridle trails.’ She tapped her pocket.
    A small alarm bell tinkled somewhere at the back of Bruno’shead. If she was staying at a place where horses were already installed, they would have their own arrangements for a farrier. If she had hired a horse herself for the duration of her stay, it would have come from a stables that could take care of matters like shoeing. She should have had no need of his advice.
    ‘Which way are you heading?’ he asked. She paused before replying, much as she had the previous evening, in a calculated way that put him on edge, awaiting her response.
    ‘I was going to ask you for suggestions back to the ford at Mauzac or the bridge above Les Eyzies. I know my way from there.’
    ‘And where have you ridden from today?’ he asked. He found the stillness in her face strangely fascinating.
    ‘From the stables at Meyrals. A friend dropped me off there when Victor called to say my horse was ready.’
    ‘From here there’s a bridle path through the woods to the big cave where all the tourist coaches go, you know the one?’
    ‘You mean the one they call the Devil’s Cave, with the stalagmites and the jazz concerts?’
    He nodded. ‘That’s the old name. We usually call it the Gouffre de Colombac, which the management thought was better for the tourists. After the cave there’s a hunting trail where you can canter that takes you to the quarry at Campagne and to the right of the entrance there’s a bridle path signposted to Les Eyzies. Do you have far to go from there?’
    ‘Not far,’ she said vaguely. She dug her heels into her horse’s sides and set off down the bridle path at a pace slightly toofast for the track and the overhanging branches. He held Hector on a tight rein as he followed, knowing his horse always preferred to take the lead but this trail was too narrow for him to overtake.
    At the cave, not yet open for the tourist season, her pale face was flushed and her eyes shining from the speed of her ride. He pointed across the car park to the path that led to the hunting trail and she took off once more, bending over her horse’s mane to avoid low branches. He followed at a slightly slower pace, aware of Hector’s impatience beneath him. He murmured reassurance to his horse, telling Hector he’d have his chance on the wide hunters’ trail. Bruno assumed Eugénie would stop at the bottom of the trail, uncertain which path to take. But she turned the correct way without hesitation and was twenty metres ahead by the time Bruno emerged from the trees.
    For Hector, the sight of the other horse in front on the wide track was a challenge and Bruno felt the kick that signalled the animal’s lengthening stride. Hector’s neck stretched out and Bruno felt the landscape flash by as he began to gain steadily on Eugénie. Bruno hadn’t noticed the riding crop until she suddenly began to use it to drive her horse on, determined to turn the ride into a race. If that was what she wanted, thought Bruno, she hadn’t reckoned with Hector’s strength and eagerness to lead. Bruno knew Hector was still running well within himself, easily able to step up into a higher gear if need be.
    Eugénie’s mare was beginning to labour as the track climbed. Specks of foam were flying back behind as Eugénierose in the saddle to work her crop. His respect for her horsemanship went down a notch. He’d been taught never to treat a horse in such a way.
    The brown gash in the green hillside that was the quarry still lay five hundred metres ahead as Hector drew level and then almost effortlessly stepped up his pace to ease into the lead.