Read Online Amuse Bouche by Anthony Bidulka - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anthony Bidulka
Tags: Suspense
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Tom Osborn and by such a narrow margin. I was also more than a little worried about his deviation from the itinerary. He had come to Domains des Hauls a full day earlier than planned. What did that mean? Was he playing some kind of game? Was he trying to make Chavell work for his prize? Would he abandon the itinerary altogether? I hoped not. It was my only chance of finding him. All I could do now was choose a spot and try to get there before he did. From the itinerary I knew Chavell and Tom had planned to eventually drive east from the Loire Valley into the Rh6ne Valley and head south after that. I studied the map and chose a place called Cliousclat They had a reservation in the small town's hotel for the day after tomorrow. If I drove hard, I could make it before nightfall. My only worn' was, would that be a sufficient leapfrog to catch up to my prey?
After breakfast, to hedge my bet, I sweet-talked the concierge into calling the hotel in Cliousclat to confirm a booking for Chavell. She proved to be helpful. By the time I returned to 85
Amuse Bouche
the foyer with my luggage, she had not only confirmed that Chavell's reservation remained unchanged but booked a room for me as well.
Never underestimate the power of sweet-talk, straight white teeth and full lips. 1 can be a shameless flirt when I want to.
1 noticed a marked difference as I crossed France from the Loire Valley into the Rhone.
While the Loire appeared dry and lifeless and the river sluggish, the Rhone was rich and green and the river flowed with vigour. Not that I saw much of either, travelling almost exclusively on the autoroute, which allowed me speed in excess of one-hundred-and-forty kilometres an hour. And still cars passed me. 1 stopped only once, around noon, for a quick sandwich. The weather had greatly improved and most of the day was warm and cloudless. Road signs were plentiful and helpful. As long as 1 knew approx-imately what direction I was heading and the names of towns near my destination I could almost navigate without a map.
Almost.
My car was pointed up and chugging into the hills outside of Loriol, a modern town on the verge of becoming a city. I was on a steep, winding road that became narrower with each pass-86
Anthony Bidulka
ing kilometre. I'm sure the view of the valley I was leaving far below would have been pictur-esque in daylight but it was now darker than pitch and my headlights, the only illumination, were having a hard time slicing through the black of night. I had been on the near-vertical road for such a long time I was certain I'd passed through a layer of clouds. The whole scene was beginning to feel too spooky for my liking. Here I was, in the middle of a foreign country, in the middle of the night (well pretty late anyway), driving a rental car and chasing after a stranger to some little hamlet, both of which didn't seem to want to be found.
I considered going back. I could get a room in Loriol and try again in the morning. But the road had gotten so narrow there was barely enough surface to keep my car on, never mind turn around. There wasn't even a decent ditch.
Cliff to the right of me, mountain to the left. I began to contemplate what I would do if I met another car on the road. There was no way two vehicles could pass. I decelerated until it seemed the car was barely moving forward. My sweaty palms tightened around the steering wheel and I could feel a knot develop between my shoulder blades. I continued in that state of discomfort until, thank you stars above, I saw a cheery sign welcoming me to Cliousclat.
87
Amuse Bouche
Entering the village was like entering someone's farmyard. After a minute or two you've seen it all. Yet difficult as it had been to get there, I sensed I had stumbled upon a special place. A place where you could easily believe time had stopped centuries ago. Not unlike the drive up, there was only enough clearance in the street for one vehicle. Unfortunately, the vehicle the street
After breakfast, to hedge my bet, I sweet-talked the concierge into calling the hotel in Cliousclat to confirm a booking for Chavell. She proved to be helpful. By the time I returned to 85
Amuse Bouche
the foyer with my luggage, she had not only confirmed that Chavell's reservation remained unchanged but booked a room for me as well.
Never underestimate the power of sweet-talk, straight white teeth and full lips. 1 can be a shameless flirt when I want to.
1 noticed a marked difference as I crossed France from the Loire Valley into the Rhone.
While the Loire appeared dry and lifeless and the river sluggish, the Rhone was rich and green and the river flowed with vigour. Not that I saw much of either, travelling almost exclusively on the autoroute, which allowed me speed in excess of one-hundred-and-forty kilometres an hour. And still cars passed me. 1 stopped only once, around noon, for a quick sandwich. The weather had greatly improved and most of the day was warm and cloudless. Road signs were plentiful and helpful. As long as 1 knew approx-imately what direction I was heading and the names of towns near my destination I could almost navigate without a map.
Almost.
My car was pointed up and chugging into the hills outside of Loriol, a modern town on the verge of becoming a city. I was on a steep, winding road that became narrower with each pass-86
Anthony Bidulka
ing kilometre. I'm sure the view of the valley I was leaving far below would have been pictur-esque in daylight but it was now darker than pitch and my headlights, the only illumination, were having a hard time slicing through the black of night. I had been on the near-vertical road for such a long time I was certain I'd passed through a layer of clouds. The whole scene was beginning to feel too spooky for my liking. Here I was, in the middle of a foreign country, in the middle of the night (well pretty late anyway), driving a rental car and chasing after a stranger to some little hamlet, both of which didn't seem to want to be found.
I considered going back. I could get a room in Loriol and try again in the morning. But the road had gotten so narrow there was barely enough surface to keep my car on, never mind turn around. There wasn't even a decent ditch.
Cliff to the right of me, mountain to the left. I began to contemplate what I would do if I met another car on the road. There was no way two vehicles could pass. I decelerated until it seemed the car was barely moving forward. My sweaty palms tightened around the steering wheel and I could feel a knot develop between my shoulder blades. I continued in that state of discomfort until, thank you stars above, I saw a cheery sign welcoming me to Cliousclat.
87
Amuse Bouche
Entering the village was like entering someone's farmyard. After a minute or two you've seen it all. Yet difficult as it had been to get there, I sensed I had stumbled upon a special place. A place where you could easily believe time had stopped centuries ago. Not unlike the drive up, there was only enough clearance in the street for one vehicle. Unfortunately, the vehicle the street
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