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

drink here the other day. I think he’s a business associate of the Count.’
    ‘I believe he lives locally but I don’t know exactly where.’ Any hint of flirtatiousness had gone. The smile seemed fixed to her face, but it had cooled. ‘I can ask the Count but he’s not here today. If you wish I’ll send him an email. Should I say why you want to see him?’
    ‘You can say it’s about a place called Thivion, where I believe Foucher had some business recently.’ Her facial expression didn’t change but her body language had stiffened.
    ‘It sounds rather official.’
    He nodded, his face neutral.
    ‘Very well.’ She made as if to rise, although she had not touched her drink. ‘Was there anything else?’
    ‘Perhaps you can tell me who owns this place.’
    Her eyebrows raised and she studied him a while before replying. ‘It’s a private company called Antin Investments.’
    ‘Is the Count involved in it?’
    ‘He’s one of the directors.’
    ‘But not Foucher?’
    ‘No, not Foucher.’ She picked up her glass to take a sip of the champagne, a gesture that allowed her a discreet glance at her Cartier watch. ‘If you want to know more I can put you in touch with our company lawyer in Paris. Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re preparing for a private dinner party this evening and I need to coordinate with my staff.’
    ‘That would be very kind.’ Bruno rose, finished his water, replaced his cap and thanked her for her time.
    ‘I can see I’ve kept you so I’ll see myself out,’ he said. ‘Justone more thing. Do you know a Mademoiselle Eugénie Ballotin? I think she’s some kind of business partner with Foucher.’
    ‘I’m not sure that I do,’ Béatrice said, looking up the drive to where headlights had suddenly appeared, although the evening was still light. ‘I think that will be the first guest so I must go.
Au revoir
, Monsieur Bruno.’ She waved and disappeared into the lobby.
    Bruno lingered beside one of the folded umbrellas that usually shaded the tables and watched the antique Citroën sail majestically past the car park entrance and turn to park in front of the main steps. For the second time that evening, it was a car that Bruno recognized. And as he walked back to his van in the car park, from which Fabiola’s Twingo had disappeared, he wondered what the Baron had in mind beyond the dinner that Béatrice had planned.

14
    The evening was setting in when Bruno arrived back at Florence’s apartment to collect Balzac, and found children, Florence and his puppy all heaped happily together on the floor. He stayed long enough to help bathe the twins, who insisted that the puppy help put them to bed, and then drove out to Pamela’s place to take Hector for his evening ride. Fabiola opened the door of her gîte when she heard his van and came out to the car.
    ‘I know you saw my car at the hotel because I saw yours,’ she began. She was already wearing her riding boots and hat. ‘And I’m still not going to answer your question about my private patient because it’s none of your business.’
    Without a word, he handed Balzac to her through the window.
    ‘Oh, thank heaven for that. He’s lovely.’ She turned the dog upside down to see what sex it might be. ‘I wondered when you were going to get another dog and it’s about time. Where did you find him?’
    ‘A present from Isabelle,’ he said. ‘And the Brigadier.’
    ‘She’s down again, is she?’ Fabiola’s tone of voice made it clear that it wasn’t a question. She and Pamela were goodfriends and she was no great fan of Isabelle. ‘And now she picks out your new dog.’
    ‘She’s here on business, doing a lecture at one of the local training centres.’
    ‘How convenient that it’s the end of the week. I assume she’ll be staying for the weekend. Not that it’s any of my business. What do you plan to do with the dog when we ride?’
    ‘I want him to meet Hector first, but I thought I’d carry him against my chest, get him used to the motion.’ He’d thought of it since seeing Rashida’s baby tucked against her breast in the shawl.
    Fabiola sniffed and went ahead into the stables to saddle Victoria. Bruno followed, tucking Balzac into his jacket, keeping a firm hold on him. Just his head and long ears peeped out. He took one of last year’s apples stored beneath the stable bench and approached Hector’s stall, talking gently so the horse would know it was him. He held the apple close to his