What Happens at the Beach... (11 page)

‘So can you remember who the pope was in 1209 who started the whole thing off?'

He gave her a grin. ‘Yes, miss. That would be Innocent III. A dodgy choice of name for a man responsible for thousands of deaths.' He shook his head. ‘How on earth he could justify a holy crusade against people who called themselves “Good Christians” beggars belief.'

‘Power and money; that's what it was all about. Remember that the Catholic Church back then wasn't just a spiritual power. The Cathars were refusing to pay their tithes, their taxes, to Rome. Something had to be done, before other people started imitating them.'

‘
Pour encourager les autres
.'

‘Precisely.'

They visited the cathedral of Saint-Nazaire in Béziers, taking it in turns to wait outside with the dog. This fine Romanesque cathedral had been built in the thirteenth century to replace the previous one, destroyed in the fire that followed the massacre. From its raised position, dominating the surrounding countryside, it was easy to imagine an invading army spread out all around. Mark caught her eye.

‘The leader of the crusade, Simon de Montfort? How do I know that name?'

‘One of his titles was Earl of Leicester. It was his son who was credited with establishing the first parliament in England, not to mention giving his name to a university in Leicester.'

Mark nodded, leaning against the stone wall above the river, his eyes looking southwest over the fields and vineyards. ‘So Montfort probably stood in this self-same place, planning where to go next.'

‘If you listen hard, you might hear the clip clop of his horse's hooves.' She was smiling. His response surprised and pleased her.

‘God, I love history. You come to a place like this and you can feel it.' His voice was husky with emotion. She smiled more broadly. He was voicing what she had so often felt. She nodded at him.

‘This is only the start. I'll take you to places where the events of the past just scream at you.' She stopped smiling. ‘But you'd better be prepared. Some terrible things happened down here in this part of France.'

As they walked around, Mark made copious notes and took loads of photos, finally declaring himself well pleased with the morning's work. At just after twelve they returned to the car.

Mark glanced at his watch and then across at her. ‘Hungry?' The dog looked up and wagged his tail. Natalie grinned, but Mark ignored him. ‘Or do you need to get home to your grandma?'

‘No, she's fine, as long as she doesn't drink too much wine with her lunch. As for food, yes, I suppose I could manage a little something to eat.'

They drove out of town and stopped in the little town of Capestang, a few kilometres along the road to the west of Béziers. This was no longer the motorway, but a wide, well-surfaced ordinary road, bordered by lime trees that would have provided excellent shade on a sunny day. It was still overcast but, as they pulled up, the clouds were beginning to break up and had changed from grey to white. Even better, the wind had dropped considerably. In consequence, although the sun wasn't quite out, the atmosphere was less gloomy and they chose to eat their lunch outside on the terrace of a little restaurant, facing the Canal du Midi, with Barney stretched out under the table at their feet. As they had their meal, they watched a steady procession of pleasure craft chugging slowly to and fro along this artery that linked the Atlantic to the Mediterranean.

Although Natalie had expressed interest in eating something light, they found that the restaurant offered a
menu du jour
that included the local speciality,
cassoulet
. It was a substantial, warming winter dish of beans, sausage and duck confît so, seeing as the sun still hadn't broken through, they opted to try it and it proved to be excellent, arriving in an earthenware dish, straight from the oven and very, very hot.

Before long, Mark was taking a second helping, although Natalie decided that one plateful was enough. The Labrador wasn't given the option. As Mark concentrated on his food, Natalie had a good opportunity to study him more closely. His T-shirt today was old and faded, printed with the name of a hundred-mile bike race, and his chin unshaven. His close-cropped hair was business-like, rather than stylish, and he looked the complete antithesis of Philippe or David. If she hadn't known about his considerable wealth, she wouldn't have thought it for a moment. She decided that she rather liked that about him. She also liked his muscular forearms, covered with a light coating of fair hair. There was, she decided, something very sexy about men's forearms.

The menu included wine, water and coffee and by the time they got up to leave just before two o'clock, both of them were pleasantly full. After giving the dog some food and a drink of water, they had a gentle stroll along the towpath at the side of the canal. Just like the road, the canal had been planted with lime trees many years ago and the vessels on the water were now well sheltered from the sun that chose this moment to make its first appearance of the day.

‘That's better.' Mark sounded as pleased as she was at the sight and feel of some sunshine. ‘I wonder if all the holidaymakers will jump in their cars and desert Carcassonne for the beach this afternoon after all.'

Natalie shook her head slowly. ‘It's a thought, but we'd better not risk it. Anyway, you said you wanted to see the wild countryside, and the Montagne Noire will definitely give you that.'

They set off in the car once more. After a few minutes Natalie's phone rang and she answered it. It was Amy and her first question was tricky to answer with Mark sitting right beside her.

‘So, Natalie, how are things going with you and your handsome employer?'

‘Erm, things are going fine, thanks, Amy. I'm just in the car with Mark now, heading up into the hills to look for traces of the Cathars.'

‘And is he wearing shorts? Can you see his lovely suntanned legs? Is he muscular as well as handsome?' Amy was enjoying putting her on the spot.

‘The view's fine, thank you, Amy. So, how're things with you?'

‘I'm fine. I'd be better if I was in a car with a handsome man wearing shorts. Tell me, Natalie, does he smell nice?'

‘Absolutely. I'll send you an email tonight with all my news.'

‘Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Bye.'

Natalie put the phone away and gave Mark the briefest of explanations. ‘That was Amy. She's my best friend in Cambridge.'

As they drove up the increasingly narrow, winding roads towards the top of the imposing ridge of hills that constituted the Montagne Noire, the sky continued to clear, and the visibility improved considerably. By the time they made their first stop, high above St-Pons, they could see southwards all the way to the high Pyrenees that rose to three thousand metres and beyond. From the natural observation platform formed by an outcrop of rock, Natalie pointed out a number of salient points that they would visit over the coming days and weeks. Mark's camera was much in evidence as the afternoon progressed, particularly when they dropped down from the mountains to the fortress of Lastours, to the north of Carcassonne.

‘Is this one of the famous Cathar castles?'

Natalie smiled. ‘If you'd asked me that ten years ago I would have said yes, but recent archaeological discoveries appear to show that these towers came later. Anyway, the fortress is well worth a look and you'll get a really good idea of what the countryside's like from up there.'

They parked in the car park and he bought entrance tickets from a man in a little shed while she changed out of her sandals. Then they climbed the narrow path to where four towers had been built high on the hillside. At one point, as they were scrambling up the steep path, she slipped and his hand snaked out to catch hers and haul her upright before she fell over. For a second, their eyes met, but then he turned away, releasing her hand as if it were scalding hot. It was almost as though he didn't want to make physical contact with her. In spite of her resolution to keep things strictly business-like between them, she felt puzzled, and her hand tingled all the way to the hilltop as a result. By the time they got there, the sun now shining brightly from a near cloudless sky, both of them were sweating and Natalie made no complaint when Mark suggested taking a break. They sat down on a convenient rock, a respectable distance between them, and admired the view, Natalie keeping up a running commentary on the surroundings and the historical events that had taken place there. After a while, Mark turned towards her with a smile.

‘You know something? You're going to make a really good lecturer. You know your stuff and you know how to put it across to even the thickest kid in the class.' His smile broadened. ‘That would be me.'

Natalie smiled back at him. ‘Don't you do yourself down. You've been a very good boy and you've done all your homework. I reckon you're going to be teacher's pet.'

‘That sounds rather nice.' There was a brief pause while Natalie reflected upon her choice of words, then Mark mercifully changed the subject. ‘So, how're things going as far as lecturing jobs are concerned?' Natalie had told him she was looking desperately for a position. ‘Any leads?'

She shook her head, grateful to get back to practical matters. ‘Afraid not. The thing is, there are so few openings in the field of medieval history. My dad always told me to do accountancy or law. That's where the money is, he said.' As she spoke, she found herself thinking of David and his family once more, but she shrugged the thought away.

‘Surely it's all to do with personal satisfaction, fulfilment. I envy you having had the chance to study the Cathars.'

Natalie smiled across at him. ‘I must admit that I do enjoy my work. And, as jobs go, this one with you is about as good as it gets.'

‘I'm not too bad a boss, then?'

‘You're lovely.' She hesitated, realising that this maybe sounded a bit too personal. ‘I mean lovely as in nice, rather than in the aesthetic sense.'

He was grinning at her and she felt her cheeks redden. ‘So that's a polite way of saying I'm ugly?'

Realising she had just dug herself into another hole, she was quick to change the subject. ‘I couldn't possibly comment on my boss's looks. But you're definitely a good boss. You bought me lunch, you saved me from falling on my bottom, and it's not every day I meet somebody as keen on the Cathars as I am. In fact, it's bloody rare.'

‘Well, it's good to be considered a rarity. Now, let's take a look at these towers.'

They got back at five after a fascinating day for both of them. Although Natalie was familiar with all of the places they had visited, she had loved revisiting them. The experience was heightened by the presence of Mark, and, she had to admit, this wasn't just because of his interest in the subject. He told her he had to go back to London for a meeting the next day and she felt a sense of disappointment. They arranged to meet up again the day after and she knew she was looking forward to it. Very much. She bade goodbye to him and the dog, and went down the path to her grandmother's house, knowing she liked him a lot. She found herself wondering if there might be any chance of him feeling the same way about her, although his reluctance to touch her hand for long hadn't been auspicious.

She found her grandmother in the capable hands of her carer, taking a bath. As the sky was by now completely clear and the sun baking hot once more, Natalie decided to take the chance to pop down to the beach for a quick swim before Jeanne went off at six. She changed quickly, grabbed a towel and almost ran down the path. There weren't many people about and Philippe's yacht was no longer moored at the jetty. She dumped her things, ran down to the water's edge and splashed in. The water felt really good. Things got even better a few minutes later when a snorkel, followed by a mask, appeared a few metres ahead of her. She was delighted to see that it was Rémy, spear gun in hand. She slowed down, treading water, and waved at him. He swam towards her, stopping so close to her his shoulder brushed against her arm. She saw that his shoulders, chest and back were matted with thick, dark hair and suddenly he didn't look quite as drop-dead gorgeous as she had thought when seeing him fully clothed. An image of Barney the Labrador crossed her mind and she repressed a smile. He slipped the mask off his face and up onto the top of his head, and removed the snorkel pipe from his mouth.

‘Good afternoon, Natalie.' His long black hair was plastered across his head, down his neck to his hairy shoulders. He looked feral, like a wild animal. His chin was far rougher than Mark's, the stubble more like a short, unkempt beard, and his black eyes were piercing. Natalie felt almost intimidated by his gaze and paddled backwards as the waves threatened to wash her body against his. A wave splashed into her face and she spat out a mouthful of seawater.

‘Oh, hello, Rémy, I wanted to see you.' It really was quite choppy here and she had to be careful to avoid swallowing more water as she spoke. ‘I was wondering. Could you get me a couple of lobsters, please? My grandmother would really love one.'

He gave her a nod and a grin. ‘No problem. I can have them for you tomorrow morning. Will you be down here at the usual time; say around seven, seven-thirty?'

‘It's a date.' She gave him a wave and turned for home, leaving him to reset his mask and resume the hunt.

Once she reached the beach and her feet touched the seabed beneath her, she glanced at her watch. She hadn't been in the water for very long so she had time for a drink in the bar before going back to the house. She waded out onto the beach and dabbed most of the water off her with her towel before heading for the terrace. She pulled a chair out of the shade of an umbrella into the bright sunlight. She spread the towel on it and sat down, her shorts and T-shirt on the other seat beside her. Alain had seen her coming and he appeared almost immediately, wiping his hands on a cloth.