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

tapping her riding crop against her leg, a gesture Bruno had not seen before. In a woman less impassive, he’d have assumed it meant she was nervous.
    ‘I was riding with Fabiola, the doctor you met, and we took the other direction.’
    ‘Avoiding me?’ She gave a slow smile.
    ‘No, we had to cut the ride short because she was called out to a patient.’
    ‘Surprised to see me?’
    ‘A little. What can I do for you?’ His talk with Father Sentout had made him wary. Could she have come here with some thought of entrapment, ripping her own blouse and calling rape as Foucher leapt out from behind some bush with a camera? Hardly, he told himself. That sweatshirt was not the dress for such a ploy.
    ‘I came because I was curious to see how you lived.’ She looked past him at the small cottage that he’d restored from ruin with the help of friends and neighbours.
    ‘Ducks and chickens, a vegetable garden, jars of preserves lined up neatly on the shelves in your barn, it’s the real country life.’ She suddenly twirled around and gestured with an elegant arm at the view over the long field and the woods that rose to the ridge. ‘And a wonderful view,’ she said, turning to face him again.
    ‘I’m happy here,’ he said quietly, wondering what really had brought her here.
    Eugénie went on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I also came because I want to know why you dislike us so much and why you’re so opposed to our project.’
    ‘I’m not in the least opposed to it, if it gets built as planned,’ he replied, thinking this was not the time to reveal what he knew of the unpaid bills and the faked plans for the sports hall.
    ‘But this latest demand from your Mayor, that the Count signs over his hotel as collateral, that’s your plan. Just like all these questions about Thivion, that’s also your work.’
    ‘What questions?
    ‘You’re trying to tell me you didn’t set that reporter from
Sud-Ouest
onto us with all those photos of that mean little place we had to build?’
    Good for Delaron, Bruno thought. Wait till they also heard from
Paris-Match
.
    ‘I suppose I should be flattered at your faith in my powers, but I don’t control the press. You’re being ridiculous. Do you want a drink?’ He really wanted to take a quick look inside, to see if she’d been in the house.
    ‘So you’re saying that my suspicions of you are ridiculous but that yours of me and our project are reasonable,’ she said, as if making a joke of it. ‘Could you make me a kir, please?’
    ‘Of course. There’s something you can help me with. I’d like to talk to the Countess’s doctor, ask him whether at some point she might be lucid enough to answer questions about her granddaughter.’
    ‘It’s a specialist in Paris, at the Memory Research Centre at the Laboisière hospital. The Count brings him down in the helicopter. But I can tell you that the chances of lucidity are zero.’
    ‘I’m sure you’re right, but we’ll need a doctor’s opinion for my report.’ He went inside to prepare the drinks. At a quick glance nothing seemed to have been disturbed. He splashed
crème de cassis
into two glasses, filled them with white wine and was turning to take them when he heard her soft footstep in the hall. She must have taken off her riding boots before she came in.
    ‘Do you mind if I come in? It’s getting cool outside.’ Without waiting for his answer she went into the living room as ifshe knew the way, leaving a hint of an unfamiliar perfume in her wake. She sat back on his sofa and flashed him a brilliant smile. It was, he realized, the same smile she had worn in the photo with the Count in
Gala
magazine.
    ‘I do like a real fire,’ she said, sipping from her drink and looking at his empty grate. He nodded amiably but said nothing, wondering how she intended this meeting to develop. He found it hard to believe she would try anything so crude as an attempt to seduce him.
    ‘Tell me about Antin Investments. Are you a shareholder?’ he asked.
    ‘Haven’t we talked enough about business?’ she said. ‘Why can’t we just relax?’
    ‘You face a long ride back and the light’s going.’
    ‘It sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.’ A pout of reproach was swiftly replaced by that same glossy-magazine smile. ‘Have you eaten? I hear you’re quite a cook.’
    ‘I’m not hungry, after that lunch.’
    It wasn’t true. But he was not going to be put into a position where he’d have little option