The storm raged, and guests sat close together, listening to the torrential downpour pound against the church. Flashes of blue and white lightning intermittently illuminated the scenes depicted on the walls and ceiling, where the figures seemed to dance menacingly as each flash distorted the image further. Thunder, at times, was deafening as clouds crashed together to eliminate the heat that had dominated the skies for so long. Windows and doors rattled, and the wind whistled eerily like an unearthly cry of the lost souls above. Now and again, ghostly sounds came from the crypt as though ancient spirits were climbing over the cold marble graves below.
With the sudden drop in temperature, the guests were feeling the chill, and their flimsy clothes held no warmth. Despite the earlier heat, the church suddenly felt as cold as a tomb.
‘How long do you think the storm will last?’ Ahmed asked Waltho. He sat huddled between Jeanette and Pearl, his arms draped over their shoulders to share body heat and keep warm.
‘I don’t know,’ Waltho replied, ‘my phone isn’t working. I don’t have a signal.’
‘All mobile networks are down,’ the expats agreed as they stared at their screens and tapped in vain.
Waltho saw Caroline grip her phone to her chest. Standing, she rocked nervously from one foot to the other.
‘Well, we must make do and mend,’ Bridgette announced. ‘Might I suggest that we pool our resources?’
‘If you think it’s necessary,’ Waltho replied.
‘Any water and snacks, place on a pew,’ Bridgette instructed, ‘and those who feel in need can tuck in.’
Waltho thought that Bridgette made a good point. Caroline was deathly pale in colour, and he wondered when she’d last eaten.
Ahmed produced a juice bottle, and the twins rummaged for two apples and a banana. At the same time, the expats emptied pockets of mints, chewing gum and a misshapen cereal bar.
Sally had a bag of macarons at the bottom of her tote bag. ‘I’d forgotten about these,’ she said as she examined the broken biscuit-like shapes.
Fran victoriously held up a large bag of sticky jelly babies that hadn’t fared well in the heat. ‘Anyone need a sugar hit?’ she asked, passing the bag around. ‘Caro, you’re the colour of custard. Get your laughing gear around a couple of these.’
To Fran’s surprise, Caroline reached out and unglued a sweet. Closing her eyes, she placed it in her mouth.
Bridgette dug deep into her rucksack and held up a flask of brandy. ‘I always keep this handy in case of emergencies.’ Unscrewing the lid, she took a long glug.
‘It’s quite spooky in here.’ Sally looked around. ‘Do you think there are any ghosts?’ she asked. ‘I love a good ghost story. Does anyone have one they can share?’
Waltho stood up. The last thing he needed was a party of pensioners scared out of their wits. ‘I don’t think that we need to hear…’
A sudden crash of thunder directly overhead halted Waltho. It shook the guests, and they shivered as the rain sounded heavier, battering against the roof. Eyes were wide as they looked up, and Fran’s gaze fell on Noah’s Ark. She wondered if he might have room for a few more as she studied Noah and the animals climbing aboard.
‘What’s that tower all about?’ Sally asked as she adjusted a zoom lens and pointed it at the ceiling.
Bridgette, whose emergency brandy didn’t seem to extend to anyone else, moved to the group’s centre. ‘The Tower of Babylon had a curse. The people built it for their own convenience, not their obedience to the will of God,’ she said.
Jeanette and Pearl huddled closer to Ahmed and gazed at the ceiling. The expats nodded, and Caroline looked away.
‘The people were doing their own thing, and not what God wished, and he felt it symbolised the arrogance of humans.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sally asked.
‘Well, in my interpretation, God thought that humans were seeking to be free of his influence; they thought they could waltz into heaven on their own, and they arrogantly built the tower out of inferior materials. Brick instead of stone and tar instead of mortar.’
Another crack of thunder resounded, and Ahmed gripped the twins. ‘I hope I’ve done enough to get into heaven,’ he anxiously muttered.
‘So, they didn’t use the durable materials that God had created,’ Sally concurred.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Bridgette took another slug of brandy. ‘They didn’t give glory to God, and what you see depicted in these paintings is the aftermath of the tower falling down.’
More clouds thundered as the guests studied the haunted eyes of those fleeing from the tower, and as the storm raged on, everyone felt a sense of unease.
‘Do you think the tower’s curse is manifesting inside the church?’ Sally seemed intent on mischief-making.
‘I really don’t think that there is any such thing as a curse,’ Waltho said. ‘Perhaps we should change the subject and go back to my original suggestion of a game of charades?’ He was determined to lighten the mood as he watched the seated group. However, Bridgette and Caroline were standing up. ‘Caroline, why don’t you start?’ Waltho asked.
All eyes turned to Caroline.
Taking a step towards the group, Caroline suddenly seemed to falter. Reaching out blindly, she grappled with thin air. Before anyone could stop her, Caroline’s knees had buckled, and her feet slid away as she tumbled.
Momentarily frozen, everyone stared at the unconscious body lying on the cold surface of an inscribed stone slab.
‘It’s the curse of the tower!’ Sally exclaimed.
* * *
Caroline couldn’t explain what had happened. One moment, she was watching Bridgette necking a flask of brandy while discussing the terror of the Tower of Babylon, and the next, she could hear Jeanette and Pearl conferring on the need to find a pulse and check Caroline’s breathing.
Now, she realised she was lying on her back with her feet raised on Bridgette’s rucksack, and Jeannette was loosening the belt at her waist. She could hear voices in the background and was aware of Waltho’s concern.
‘Do I need to find a doctor?’ he asked.
‘Pearl and I are trained nurses,’ Jeanette replied. ‘We both worked on the major trauma unit at the Royal United Hospital in Bath before we took early retirement to open our gift shop.’
‘Is she alright?’ Waltho sounded anxious.
‘It looks like she’s fainted. Stay calm,’ Pearl assured as she checked Caroline’s pulse. ‘She’s coming round, which is a good thing. Blood will be flowing to her brain in this position, and her body is recovering.’
‘Checking for any cuts or bumps,’ Jeanette said, her warm fingers gently feeling Caroline’s head before touching her body. ‘All fine,’ Jeanette declared.
‘I want to sit up.’ Caroline struggled to pull her body into a sitting position.
‘Feeling sick?’ Jeanette asked. Quick as a flash, she upturned the Tilley hat from Bridgette’s head and held it to Caroline’s mouth.
‘I say!’ Aghast, Bridgette stamped her feet but was relieved when Caroline pushed the hat away.
Moments later, Caroline sat on a pew, a cereal bar in her hand as Jeanette held Ahmed’s juice to her lips. ‘Take a sip. It will do you good.’
‘How is she?’ Caroline heard Waltho ask. Is he concerned for me? She could almost sense his anxiety, and it felt strangely calming to know that he hovered nearby.
‘Just a faint,’ Jeanette said. ‘Lack of food, I’d say, and she’s probably dehydrated in all that heat, we’ll need to keep an eye on her, but no harm done, I’m sure.’
‘Thank goodness.’ Waltho sounded relieved. ‘Please, tell me if there is anything I can do.’
‘Nothing while the storm continues. Let’s wait for it to pass.’
Caroline looked up as Waltho moved away. She saw him turn, and their eyes met. For a moment, Caroline was paralysed. She had a peculiar feeling in her stomach and wondered if she would be sick. Someone called out for Waltho, and he waved a hand to show he’d heard. As he moved away, Waltho smiled, and for a moment, Caroline felt as though a glorious light had been turned on in the church and a heavenly chorus of angels were singing.
Was she hallucinating? But Waltho’s smile was wide and his kindly eyes warm.
‘Are you alright?’ Jeanette touched Caroline’s shoulder. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Caroline didn’t reply.
What she’d seen held no comparison to a ghost, and she longed to call Waltho back and have his reassuring presence beside her. But she knew he was keen to appease the situation and divert everyone’s attention from gales, ghosts and a fainting woman. She watched him calm the guests and felt their eyes bearing down on her.
Turning away from the penetrating stares, Caroline was relieved that Jeanette and Pearl were beside her, not Fran, creating a fuss. She remembered the jelly baby she’d eaten, retrieved from the bottom of Fran’s bag. It was probably contaminated from months of moulding away in the depths and, she thought with a grimace, could have been the cause of her complaint.
Waltho had revived his original suggestion of charades, and the guests were miming TV programmes. Caroline looked on in horror as Fran crouched down and crawled away on all fours. As she returned to the group, she poked out her tongue and began to pant.
‘Rovers Return!’ Ahmed shouted out excitedly. ‘Coronation Street!’
Caroline sighed as she bit into a broken macaron and tasted the soft, sweet filling.
‘Why don’t you put your head down?’ Jeanette asked. She’d removed her cardigan and rolled it into a pillow. ‘I’ll wake you when the storm has passed.’
Caroline lay down on the pew, happy to be told what to do. She closed her eyes and counted images of beautiful chateaux with glorious gardens, fountains and lakes.
In moments, she was asleep.
* * *
As quickly as it had formed, the storm suddenly abated, and as Waltho and the guests stepped out of the church, they were stunned by the silence in the square. A surreal stillness had replaced the pounding wind and rain as though nature had taken a deep breath, allowing everything to settle. The dark, ominous haze had lifted, and the sky appeared bleached, milky white.
With relief, Waltho saw that the minibus was intact and parked where he’d left it on the cobbles. But to his alarm, the tables and chairs from Martine Le Glacier were scattered all over the square and the canopy above the pastel-painted shop, soaked from the rain, hung low and was dragging across the ground. Martine and her daughter stood in the doorway, wringing their hands as they stared at the carnage.
Waltho was torn. Instinctively, he wanted to run to the ice cream shop and ensure Martine was alright. But he felt a duty to his guests and needed to get them safely on the minibus and return them to La Maison du Paradis. Turning to the guests, he saw Bridgette, standing with hands placed firmly on her hips.
‘Time to sort out this mise en place,’ Bridgette called out, remembering Daniel’s orderly working method. ‘Might I suggest you toss your keys to Jeanette so she can settle Caroline onto the minibus?’
‘Well, yes,’ Waltho replied, ‘but everyone else needs to…’
But Bridgette ignored his protest. Sloshing through puddles in her hiking boots, she gathered the guests. ‘It seems to me that Martine could do with a hand,’ she began. ‘If anyone doesn’t feel up to it, you can wait on the bus.’
‘You can’t possibly.’ Waltho was moving towards Bridgette, his hands held up in protest.
To his astonishment, the guests piled their bags into Pearl’s outstretched arms and, rolling up sleeves and shaking back shoulders, moved as one to clear up the mess. Ahmed made it his mission to sort out the canopy and, hoisting Sally onto his shoulders, held firm as she reached up and threaded the canvas back into place.
The expats gathered all the chairs and soon had them neatly stacked by the shop as Bridgette commandeered Fran to help with the tables. Brushes appeared in the hands of villagers who’d come out to sweep up after the storm.
‘There, that didn’t take long,’ Bridgette said a little while later, as she rubbed her palms together and cleaned mud from her shorts. Reaching into a pocket, she removed her flask and drained the last of the brandy.
* * *
The village of Saint-Savin slowly returned to normal, and Martine and her daughter embraced the guests. Their thanks were effusive and unrestrained. Everyone clambered aboard the minibus, and as Waltho drove away, arms went up, and hands waved as the villagers said their goodbyes. The phone signal had returned, and mobiles buzzed and bleeped.
Jeanette insisted that Caroline sit at the front alongside Waltho. ‘Sit upright and look out of the window so you don’t feel faint again,’ she’d instructed.
With hesitation, Caroline did as she was told. Suddenly, her phone rang and, in a panic, she dropped it on the floor.
Waltho had briefly taken his eyes off the road, and watched as Caroline scrambled to retrieve it.
‘Hello, Hello?’ Caroline gripped the mobile tightly.
Waltho heard Caroline speak and realised that the line was poor. Caroline had her phone on loudspeaker, still clutched to her ear. He had no intention of eavesdropping but was unable to give Caroline privacy.
But Caroline seemed unaware of being overheard and was intent on the conversation. ‘Oh, I see, I didn’t realise…’ Caroline said. ‘It’s as bad as that… Yes, yes – I understand.’
Acknowledging the grave news, Waltho placed a steadying hand on Caroline’s shoulder.
‘Well, th— thank you for letting m me know.’
Ashen-faced, Caroline ended the call.
Removing his hand, and fearing Caroline was about to burst into tears, Waltho turned the radio on. He drummed his fingers to the music, noting Caroline stare vacantly out the window, her misty eyes fixed on the road ahead. Caroline didn’t speak, but he could see her blink and realised that tears had formed in the corner of her eyes.
At a loss, Waltho remained silent. He felt helpless that he couldn’t pull over and comfort her. It would alert all the guests to her difficulty, and he knew Caroline wouldn’t want sympathy, or her difficulties exposed. But Waltho had heard every word of her conversation, and Caroline’s problems suddenly fell into place.