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

project that kept her going financially. It kept getting optioned, but it never went into production because she insisted on the starring role. Apparently Athénaïs was pretty obsessed with her ancestor. She told the secretary that she was the living reincarnation of Montespan so only she could play the role.’
    ‘When will you publish all this?’
    ‘Monday at noon, with the photographs I showed you. It’s a great story – suicide of a failed actress, re-enacting the Black Mass of her famous ancestor. I’m sending you a photo to remember her by. See you tomorrow,’ Gilles said and rang off.
    Bruno made a quick call to J-J to give him the name and background of the dead woman, described his deal with
Paris-Match
and then returned to the table to tell Isabelle that the mystery of the dead woman had been resolved.
    ‘It means that they lied at the Red Château,’ he said. ‘If she’s the granddaughter of the Red Countess, they must have known her from the photo I showed.’
    ‘I should call the Brigadier but I don’t want to interruptthe meal again,’ she said. ‘I can call him in the morning. Louis XIV, Black Mass, an aristocratic porn star dead in mysterious circumstances … he’ll love it. And the media will go crazy.’
    Bruno was just finishing a superb selection of cheese when his phone vibrated again. It was a message from Gilles with an attachment. He opened it and found himself looking at the cropped photo of Athénaïs, her neck and shoulders bare, her eyes open. He passed the phone to Isabelle. ‘That’s her, one of the more presentable shots.’
    ‘A strange expression, somehow forced.’
    ‘She’s having simulated sex. Perhaps she’d look different if it were the real thing.’
    Isabelle closed the phone and handed it back. ‘I already chose the dessert,’ she said. ‘I know it’s one of your favourites. Panna cotta with truffles.’
    ‘I’ll need to start running marathons to work off meals like this.’
    ‘You and J-J both told me to put some weight on, so I’m just following your advice. Besides, I’ll be back in Paris tomorrow night and then it’s pizza and pot noodles and frozen dinners for one. I’ll miss this and I’ll miss your cooking.’
    ‘And I’ll miss you,’ he said. ‘Life always speeds up when you’re here.’
    ‘Will you send me regular texts about Balzac and start taking photos and sending them to me? Tell him I expect him to find me lots of truffles so you can make me this panna cotta next time I’m here.’
    ‘What time’s your train?’
    ‘Eleven from Le Buisson to Libourne, and then the TGV to Paris. I get in just before four, so I’ll have time to do the laundry and clean the apartment before sinking into bed with pot noodles. And then it’s back into hospital next week for plastic surgery on my thigh.’
    ‘I’ve become fond of that scar.’
    ‘I know,’ she said, smiling at the memory of the afternoon. ‘But it’s not a scar, it’s a hole I can put my fist into. And then four weeks’ paid convalescence leave, since the wound was inflicted in the line of duty.’
    ‘Do you want to come here for it? You’d be very welcome.’
    ‘No, but thank you. It would disrupt your life down here and for me it would feel like moving in, which I don’t want.’ She leaned across the table and took his hand and gave him her impish smile. ‘You’re more of an occasional treat, a sort of human panna cotta with truffles. Anyway, I’ve already booked a cruise around the Greek islands. I’ll sit in a deckchair with my bandaged leg, flirt with handsome sailors and read stories about the Trojan wars and ancient Athens. I have it all planned and it’s something I’ve always wanted to do.’
    He wanted to ask if she would be going alone, but held back. The waitress arrived with petits fours and chocolate truffles. Reluctantly, he released Isabelle’s hand.
    ‘I’ll miss the exorcism, or whatever it is the priest is going to perform, but you must let me know how all this works out. And if I find out any more about this cast of characters you’ve assembled down here, I’ll let you know. Who knows, now we’ve got half of French history involved the Brigadier might take an interest.’
    ‘There’ll be a burst of publicity and then it will all die away,’ he said, and began looking around for the waitress.
    ‘Don’t even think of asking,’ she said. ‘I already paid the bill.’
    Balzac in his arms, Bruno waved goodbye as the train