The Chateau Read online

  THE CHATEAU

  Catherine Cooper

  Copyright

  Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

  Copyright © Catherine Cooper 2021

  Jacket design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

  Jacket illustration © Shutterstock.com

  Catherine Cooper asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008400255

  Ebook Edition © 2021 ISBN: 9780008400262

  Version: 2021-06-30

  Dedication

  With heartfelt thanks to the scientists, researchers, the medics, the health workers and the volunteers, you are all amazing.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part Two

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Part Three

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  Also by Catherine Cooper

  About the Publisher

  I hold your hand as you take your last breaths, hooked up to countless machines in the hospital. Your eyes are closed and you look at peace. I stroke your cheek, which feels clammy and cold, but you don’t respond. I’m not sure if you even know I’m there. You are so young to have your life snatched away, so unfairly. None of this is your fault. Someone will have to pay.

  Prologue

  October

  Chateau Amaryllis is a fairy-tale French chateau – the kind you might expect a princess or Sleeping Beauty to live in. It’s so picture-perfect it almost looks fictional. Like a castle in a theme park or a film.

  Many of the chateaux in the area look stunning at first glance, Aura and Nick have learned since they arrived in the Mozène region in the South of France a few months ago. But once you look closer, things might appear a little different. In some of the wine-producing chateaux, for example, the tasting rooms will be impressive but if you peek into some of the non-public rooms on your way to the loo, like Aura always tries to if she gets the chance, the surroundings are often much shabbier. Things are often not as they seem.

  But at Chateau Amaryllis, things are just as they appear from the façade throughout – at least when it comes to physical appearance. It’s not open to the public – its owner Thea would consider that crass – but if you are lucky enough to be invited in, you’ll find that wherever you go, everything is pristine. The four turrets are each topped by immaculate slate without a tile out of place – there’s no running around with buckets in the attic every time it rains in Chateau Amaryllis. The leaded picture windows don’t have cracks – and this evening every single one is lit up with bright lights so it looks even more impressive than usual as you come down the drive, which is lit with real flambeaux. In daylight you would see that the enormous, freshly-painted shutters are a gentle pale blue colour, not quite typical of the region, but created especially by an artisan paint colourist in Morocco. Now that it is almost dark, the shutters give the place a somewhat menacing look, but even so, no one can deny the beauty of the chateau.

  Inside, the huge atrium and its several floors of balconies with intricate metalwork are lit with what looks (and smells) like hundreds of Diptyque candles, the light from their flames making the enormous crystal chandelier at its centre twinkle. Young waiters and waitresses wearing old-fashioned black and white, with the addition of zombie make-up and dripping fake blood for tonight, circulate with silver trays of champagne flutes.

  It’s Hallowe’en, and the usually spotless chateau is draped with fake cobwebs. A couple of aerial performers dressed as demons perform twists and turns in two large hoops suspended above the polished flagstones without any obvious safety ropes, drawing gasps from the costumed guests below.

  Passing through the atrium into the garden, more flambeaux light the way. Aura, Nick and the rest of their little group walk across the lawn to reach the marquee – almost as black as the night and also covered in fake cobwebs. Zombies and ghosts jump out to give the guests a minor fright as they arrive, prompting squeals of both delight and terror. Later, these ghouls will be part of a show, created especially for this party. Thea doesn’t want her guests presented with something they may have seen before, certainly not.

  Seb and Chloe, dressed as a devil and a cat respectively and carrying a camera and sound boom, follow Aura and Nick. Helen trails afterwards, feeling somewhat exposed
in a sexy nurse’s uniform which has been customized for the occasion with fake blood and ripped fishnet tights. She is carrying Bay, who is dressed as an adorable pumpkin. Little Sorrel, in his favourite Spiderman costume which he is rarely allowed to wear, trots alongside, holding her hand tightly. The children are wide-eyed and breathless – they’ve never seen such drama and spectacle before. Aura is secretly pleased with her witch costume and Nick feels a little awkward, dressed in a black robe with a giant hood and carrying a huge scythe – Death itself.

  A young woman dressed as Mary Poppins but with the addition of zombie make-up (not too much though, so as not to scare the little ones) spots the children and accosts Helen, showing her where to take them. One corner of the garden has been set up as the children’s area with a haunted house bouncy castle and a small marquee kitted out as a playroom for the evening. Inside there are several similarly dressed nannies, a low table shaped like a coffin with silver-coloured plastic crockery already laid out, and a darkened area with cots for sleeping. Inside the cots, the fleecy blankets are pumpkin-orange with printed black spiderwebs, and the tiny pillows are small, padded ghostly figures. Everything has been thought of.

  It wouldn’t be quite true to say that all of the voices are British – there are American accents, some Dutch and a smattering of German and Italian. And while no one is speaking French, you can catch the odd hint of a French accent here and there. Thea doesn’t speak French, so to be admitted into her circle, you have to speak English. She hasn’t got round to learning the language; she hasn’t felt she’s needed to as yet.

  There are around two hundred guests. Many of them, like Aura and Nick, have been invited because they live in other chateaux in the area. Thea assumes that if someone lives in a chateau like she does, they’ll probably be her type of person. So far, she hasn’t been too far wrong. But obviously, that can change.

  The rest of the people here are the best of the other expats that Thea’s found so far. Some retired bankers, a few creative types such as wedding photographers and musicians, some families with high-flying husbands commuting back and forth and usually unambitious wives staying put in the countryside with the kids. A disproportionate number of retired policemen. It’s not quite the crowd she would have chosen for herself, but most of them are OK in their way, or at least useful to her in some way or another.

  Dinner is a huge success. A hog roast is always a crowd-pleaser, even if a little redneck for Thea’s tastes. She’s endowed it with more class by having it served by waiters at the long table set out on the lawn (buffets are so declassé, Thea thinks) to follow the massive seafood platters created from the raw ingredients brought in from Brittany this morning. It’s so important that seafood is absolutely fresh – she wouldn’t want to take any risks.

  To accompany the roast, there are exquisite salad creations placed in the middle of each table, designed by a food artist she had a brief affair with in London and recreated by a small catering company from the local town. They’re not quite as good as the real thing would have been, but impressive enough, Thea thinks.

  She is particularly pleased with the dessert, which is a huge contrast to the rest of the meal – one corner of the garden has been set up to look like a fairground where guests can order ice cream made in nitrogen, artisanal candy floss in several all-natural flavours, or dip home-made marshmallows into a six-foot-tall chocolate fountain.

  Everything is simply perfect. It’s a party that none of the guests will ever forget, Thea is sure. Extravagant parties aren’t really a thing in the Mozène – even among the few people like Thea who can afford to throw them. But Thea has money and she enjoys extravagance, so she doesn’t see why she should hold back. She watches with a satisfied smile as Seb zooms in on the blue ice cream as it emerges from the white vapour. She’s delighted her chateau is going to be on TV now, too.

  Suddenly, there is a scream. And then another. Someone Thea doesn’t know, one of the waitresses, is crying and yelling hysterically.

  ‘Call an ambulance!’ she is shouting, in between sobs. ‘There’s a body. Someone’s been killed.’

  PART ONE

  1

  September, Mozène, France

  Aura

  ‘I can’t believe we’re actually living here!’ I say. ‘Look at this view! I’m never going to get used to it.’ In front of me fields roll almost as far as the eye can see, until you get to the snow-topped mountains. It is amazing.

  Nick looks up from the table where he is browsing through a catalogue of what looks like about a thousand different types of drill and sighs. ‘Yeah. It is amazing. Or it will be once we’ve renovated.’

  He stands up and turns to face the chateau. It’s a typical French chateau, like the ones you see on all the property programmes, only all the shutters are half-rotten and many are hanging off the walls, plus there’s a huge crack running from the top to the bottom of one of the turrets. ‘I mean, look at this place!’ he says, waving his arm. ‘Why is it so bloody big? And falling to pieces? What on earth were we thinking?’

  ‘Nick! Don’t be so silly! It’s going to be incredible. When it’s all finished there’ll be a part for us and the boys to live in, another part for the paying guests, like we said. Maybe a multipurpose studio for yoga and painting and the like, so we can run themed weeks. Who wouldn’t want to come and stay somewhere like this?’

  He smiles. ‘Yeah. I guess. It will be pretty special once it’s all done.’ He puffs out his cheeks. ‘A lot to do though …’

  We both look at the crumbling render, the ancient woodwork with paint so badly peeled you can’t even tell what colour it once was, and the muddy field where you can still see occasional hedges and perennial flowers popping up from when it used to be a formal garden.

  I shift Bay over to my other hip and he nuzzles into my neck, drooling. ‘I know,’ I reply. ‘But what an amazing place for the boys to grow up, isn’t it? And anyway,’ I continue, ‘I had an idea. I’ve found someone to help us out. And it won’t cost us a thing.’

  Just then Sorrel starts wailing from deep inside the house. Nick rolls his eyes. ‘Nap time over, then. I’ll go.’

  I put Bay down on a blanket with some wooden building blocks and sit carefully on a rickety old chair which was left behind by the previous owners – along with pretty much all the furniture that’s ever been here for the last century or so, or so it seems – and open Facebook on the iPad. I log on to Expats in the Mozène, which has been my go-to Facebook page since all that stuff happened back home and we decided that a fresh start in France was the best thing for us all. I don’t think I could have made the move without it.

  I take a picture of the view and post it with a caption: Finally made it to France! So excited. There is a flurry of congratulations messages from loads of people, sending animated balloons flying all over the screen. I smile to myself – I feel like I know some of them as well as I know my friends from home, we’ve been speaking so much over the last few months.

  Almost instantly a private message balloon pops up in the corner of my phone. It’s difficult to see properly as it’s so small, but I know from having seen the profile picture before it’s an image of a middle-aged man in a high-end sports car.

  Welcome to France! Can’t wait to come and see your new place xxxx

  I smile. Frank has been so helpful since I’ve joined this Facebook site, advising me on everything from how to find someone to help with the garden and install a pool to the rules around home-schooling in France. Frank lives nearby too, so I’m hoping we can become friends and maybe he can introduce me to some of the other locals. Obviously we don’t only want to mix with the expats, but my French isn’t that good so I figure the expat community will be a good place to start.

  Thank you! I’ll give you a shout in a week or two when we’re a bit more set up x

  Nick reappears with Sorrel, who is grumpily rubbing his eyes.

  ‘Hey, baby! Did you have a good sleep?’ I say.

 
He shakes his head and shoves his finger in his mouth. ‘Noises in room.’

  I pull him onto my lap and kiss the top of his head. ‘Old houses like this creak and groan, sweetie, it’s nothing to worry about.’

  He puts his head on my chest and carries on sucking his finger.

  ‘OK, darlings,’ I say, passing Sorrel back to Nick, ‘I’m going to leave you both to play with Daddy now while I go and do some work inside.’

  The interior of the chateau is cold compared to the surprising heat of September outside. I still can’t believe we were able to sell our tiny house in London and buy something like this. The uneven terracotta tiles are beautiful but cold on my bare feet and also a little gritty. It’s dark down here in the hallway, but as I go up the spiral stone staircase housed in one of the turrets, light spills in from the huge upper-floor windows. At the very top is a round room which I’ve earmarked for my study and counselling room. At the moment some of the windows are cracked and the wooden floor is so rotten that it’s probably dangerous – I wouldn’t want the children to come up here – but once it is all renovated, it will be fabulous.

  I sit down at my laptop – thankfully, Frank sorted out the internet installation for us before we even arrived. I’m sure I couldn’t have done it with my limited French.

  To: [email protected]; [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Hi Seb and Chloe, hope you’re both well.

  We’re really looking forward to you arriving tomorrow. Is there anything we need to prepare for you? We are also expecting workmen first thing to start digging the pool and as far as I understand that will be going on for several weeks.

  Let me know what time we should expect you? I’ve made up a room for each of you – they’re a bit rough and ready, but I’m afraid you’ll have to take us as you find us!

  Best wishes,

  Aura

  Nick wasn’t keen on me inviting the camera crew into our new home, especially after everything that went on back in London – he thought it might bring us more unwanted attention. But I pointed out that it would be amazing publicity for the chambres d’hôtes – after all, there are so many people doing this sort of thing now that it’s important to do what you can to stand out. The programme is following people who are moving to France and setting up a new life there – I’ve been watching it for years, dreaming of doing the same, and I still can’t quite believe I’m going to be featured myself. I’ve promised Nick that he can stay in the background; I will deal with the camera crew and make sure they don’t bother him more than is absolutely necessary. I also think it will be fun for the kids to learn how making a TV show works, plus, if I am entirely honest, I quite fancy seeing myself on TV and making my old friends envious about our amazing new place. All the stuff that happened before is in the past now. Yesterday’s news. We are only looking forward.