In the small town of Saint-Savin, in the shade of a dozen colourful umbrellas, chairs and tables were set out on the cobbled terrace of Martine Le Glacier. The pastel-painted shop displayed a glass-fronted cabinet beneath which a dozen ice creams were packed in frozen trays. The family-run business was headed up by Martine, who looked almost as old as the square’s medieval buildings. Petit in stature, in a well-tailored dress, with simple shoes and neatly styled silver hair, her wrinkles and lines told the story of her years.
Waltho, who’d given his staff the afternoon off, had driven the minibus to Saint-Savin. Now, he shepherded everyone to sit at the café as he greeted the old lady with warmth and affection. He bent down as Martine took his face in her hands and ran calloused thumbs over his skin. Her eyes shone with adoration, and she nodded and accepted a kiss on both cheeks.
Turning away but holding Martine’s hand, Waltho spoke to the guests.
‘I hope you enjoy this indulgence,’ he began and smiled at the old lady. ‘Martine and her daughter are the proprietors, and they welcome you all.’ Waltho felt Martine squeeze his hand. ‘They use the freshest local ingredients, and I know you will be wowed by the creative options. I urge you to be adventurous in your choice.’ Waltho added, ‘Strawberry and pistachio is my favourite.’
Guests took turns to stand by the counter and order. Martine’s daughter, a younger version of her mother, smiled as she scooped generous balls of soft creamy ice cream into vintage dishes and topped them with sauces and wafers.
Fran sank back in her cushioned seat as she dug a spoon into a hazelnut praline concoction. The dessert sat in an amethyst-fluted sundae bowl topped with caramel sauce and sprinkled with toasted pine nuts. ‘Gawd, this is good,’ Fran sighed with pleasure. ‘It’s cooling me down a treat.’
Ahmed sat beside Fran and licked his lips as he tasted avocado gelato, rippled with chocolate sauce. ‘Most unusual but very excellent,’ he said as he studied the contents of the old-fashioned soda fountain dish.
‘Pineapple and coconut for me,’ Sally said, taking a pretty cocktail umbrella from her pale lemon and vanilla white ice. ‘Goodness, this is simply the best, and I want to take this dish home.’ Sally stroked the gold band of her goblet and stared at the leaf and grape design etched into the glass. ‘It’s gorgeous.’
Bridgette bustled over to join the group. She held a long sundae dish that appeared to be piled high with toasted meringue. ‘Baked Alaska!’ she said and sat down. Patting her waistband, she announced, ‘I decided when I got to seventy to hell with any diet; old age is a time for outrage, and if I want to eat everything I see, I shall.’
Plunging her spoon through the fluffy concoction, Bridgette dug into the sponge and raspberry ice cream.
Waltho decided to sit beside Caroline. He ate a strawberry and pistachio combination topped with fruit coulis. ‘What did you choose?’ he asked and sat forward to peer into Caroline’s cornet-shaped porcelain cone.
‘It’s lemon and verbena glacé,’ she replied, ‘and very refreshing.’
Waltho was pleased to see that Caroline seemed at ease after their morning discussion, but he noted that she hardly ate a morsel, unlike everyone else.
Enjoying his ice cream, Waltho watched Martine move amongst the tables, fussing and encouraging guests to try more flavours, and he saw that many went back for another helping. He smiled as he watched Fran push her dish to one side to rub her belly and Bridgette lick a moustache of meringue from her lip.
Turning to Caroline, he said, ‘I enjoyed our earlier chat. Thank you for listening.’
‘Oh…’
Fearing that Caroline would begin to apologise again, Waltho interrupted. ‘Talking about Lauren was very therapeutic for me.’
‘They say that talking about love, whether lost or found, is always good for the soul,’ Caroline replied.
Waltho wanted to question Caroline further, but before he could continue, she pushed her dish aside and looked up at the sky.
‘Is it me, or are those dark clouds?’ Caroline asked.
Waltho stared too. ‘The sun seems to have disappeared behind them, but it’s still as hot as a furnace.’ Pushing his chair back, Waltho stood. ‘I must go and settle the bill.’
Moments later, having thanked Martine, Waltho addressed the guests.
‘If everyone is ready,’ he said, ‘I’d like you to come with me to the church across the square.’ He pointed to a sizeable pale building with a tall Gothic spire. ‘Built in 1026, it is known as the Abbey of Saint-Savin sur Gartempe. A Romanesque Sistine Chapel with many beautiful eleventh- and twelfth-century murals that have been well preserved.’
Waltho walked ahead and the guests all followed.
‘I think you will enjoy what you are about to see,’ he said.
* * *
As the group made their way across the square, Caroline followed behind. How she’d longed to finish the delicious tart glacé, but she knew that sorbet was loaded with sugar. Touching the belt of her fitted dress, Caroline felt her hipbones and was satisfied that she’d controlled her desire. It didn’t take much for Caroline to slip up, and if she gave in and ate everything that was placed before her, she knew that it would lead to a binge, and the scales would scream at her the next day. Stanley might have channelled his affection elsewhere, but he’d imbued her with the mantra that fat is foolish and being overweight unattractive.
She had no intention of letting bad habits return.
At the entrance to the Abbey, Caroline waited in the queue. Still hungry, she considered her upbringing as an only child in a terraced cottage in the Northeast mining village. With low wages, food was scarce for families with multiple children of all ages, who crowded around kitchen tables to pile cheap, stodgy food on their plates.
I’ve always felt in the minority, she thought as she stood alone and looked at the guests, happily chatting in groups as they waited.
Even at junior school, where kids wore hand-me-down clothes and second-hand shoes, Caroline was teased and tormented because they thought her name was posh. Her parents gave her whatever they could afford and did their best for their precious child, including feeding her with treats. When Caroline astounded everyone by gaining a place at university, she was topping the scales at an all-time weight, and the plus-size clothes that her mother made were tight.
Now at the front of the queue, Caroline shuddered at the memory as she was handed a guidebook.
‘Are you alright, Caro?’ Fran appeared and touched Caroline’s arm. ‘I thought I saw you shiver, not coming down with anything, I hope?’ Fran tilted her head, her painted eyebrows drawn together.
Caroline wanted to reply that it was nothing that two hundred yards of space between them wouldn’t solve. But instead, she replied, ‘I’m fine, thank you, and I’m looking forward to peace and quiet in the abbey.’
‘Must be the heat that makes her so unpleasant,’ Bridgette said as she joined Fran and watched Caroline move away. ‘The oppressive air is probably getting to her.’
‘Maybe,’ Fran agreed. ‘We could all do with a drop of cool circulating to energise us.’ She opened her guidebook and searched for the index. ‘Now, where are these marvellous murals…’
In an alcove, away from the crowd, Caroline reached into a pocket to remove her phone and, glancing at the screen, noted no calls or messages. She felt her pulse begin to race, and acid rising in her stomach was making her feel nauseous. Her solicitor had promised to call by midweek and was already a day overdue. Did the delay mean news far worse than she’d expected? At any time, she would know the exact details of her divorce, the likely settlement and what she must juggle to begin her life again.
Caroline sighed. She wasn’t hopeful.
Stanley’s dishonesty would have permeated their finances as well as his extra-marital affairs. She’d hoped that this trip to France would take her mind off problems at home, but it seemed to be exacerbating them. It was impossible to concentrate on the classes and trips that had promised to be an excellent diversion.
With nervous fingers, Caroline turned her phone to silent and, gripping it tightly, followed everyone into the old building.
* * *
Inside the church, all eyes were drawn to the vaulted ceilings where pictural scenes of biblical narrative were depicted. Fran stood on the inner porch, her eyes wide and her jaw open as she stared at paintings of the Apocalypse in disturbing detail. As she stepped in, she noted images of the Passion of Christ surrounding scenes of martyrs.
Moving forward, Fran noticed a man lying flat on his back on a pew. Concerned for his well-being, she reached out to touch his foot.
‘Are you alright, dear?’ Fran asked.
The man jerked away and pointed to the ceiling. Fran realised he was studying drawings of Noah’s Ark, which, her guidebook instructed, showed one end of the ark to be Roman and the other Viking.
‘The animals went in two-by-two, hurrah, hurrah,’ Fran sang. ‘The elephant and the kangaroo…’
‘Silence!’ The man, angry and half-seated, pressed fingers to his lips, then lay back down to continue his study of the ceiling.
‘Sorry,’ Fran spluttered and hurried to catch up with Sally and Bridgette.
Standing near the crypt, Sally clicked away with her camera while Bridgette ran her fingers over wall cracks that appeared to have been plastered over.
‘Such a shame,’ Bridgette sighed. ‘In trying to preserve the church, later restoration of the paintings has ruined the originals.’
‘Someone must have had a sense of humour,’ Fran grinned. ‘Look at Eve, standing next to Adam – a beard has been painted on her face.’ Fran pointed to the image. ‘Eve looks like one of Snow White’s helpers.’
‘At least it’s not as grim as this.’ Sally sat on a bench and stared upwards. ‘Poor Saint Savin,’ she whispered, ‘he was victim to iron fingers.’
‘Eh?’ Fran looked puzzled, but Sally’s comment became clear as Fran saw a painting of a man hanging on a post. He’d been clawed to death with iron spikes.
The women looked at the murals, where the garish colours of the Tower of Babylon showed petrified expressions on the faces of those fleeing the devastation.
‘Not the most cheerful of places, is it?’ Fran said as they sat with their backs to the cold stone walls.
Suddenly, a flash of white-hot light and an enormous crack of lightning electrified the church. Blue and purple bolts zigzagged through the aisles. It was followed by a booming sound in the distance.
‘What on earth?’ Fran gripped Bridgette and Sally’s hands.
Overhead hanging lights that had illuminated the building unexpectedly flickered and moments later went out, plunging those beneath into semi-darkness.
‘I thought Waltho said there might be a drop of light rain?’ Fran said as they heard sudden and intense rainfall ricochet off the stained-glass windows. ‘It sounds like the wind is getting up,’ she added as a howling sound came from the nave. ‘Listen…’ Fran gripped tighter. ‘Is that Waltho calling us?’
They squinted through the semi-gloom to see Waltho appear. The remaining guests followed close behind.
‘There you are,’ Waltho said as he saw the friends grouped on the bench. ‘Thank goodness you stayed in the church.’
‘What’s happening?’ Fran asked as everyone settled on nearby pews.
‘The guide in reception says that a storm has blown in, and at the moment, it is raging around the village.’
‘It’s very sudden,’ Bridgette said, ‘I didn’t hear anything on the weather forecast today other than light rain.’
‘Yes, that’s what I heard,’ Waltho agreed.
‘I remember the storm of 1987,’ Bridgette said, ‘Hugo and I were staying with friends in Surrey when unexpected ferocious weather swept across the south.’
Waltho nodded. He, too, remembered weatherman Michael Fish famously declaring that there was nothing to worry about and the weather was calm. Hours later, a terrifying storm caused widespread havoc that transformed areas of the south of England for years to come.
‘I am sure this will soon pass; it’s quite safe here,’ Waltho reassured everyone. ‘We are in a church, after all.’
He didn’t want to alarm his guests and searched for a distraction as rain battered the windows and the wind continued to howl. As his eyes fell on the torrid scenes of hell and damnation painted throughout the building, he determined to keep their eyes from wandering over the walls and ceilings.
Moving to stand before the guests, Waltho took a deep breath. ‘Does anyone know how to play charades?’ he asked.