The Body in the Vestibule

strawberry preserves, and a dish of butter. Faith set to her task eagerly, and by the tune she had finished eating, they were ready to go. Besides the cheese they made from their herd of goats, Clotilde and Frederic also sold honey from their bees, a variety of preserves, batik lamp shades, and sundry articles forged from iron—hooks, fireplace tools, drawer pulls.

Clotilde gave Faith a heavy loden-green wool cape, probably of local origin, considering the style and texture. It seemed to weigh about ten pounds and Faith found it a little difficult to navigate at first, but when she stepped out the front door into the cold, she was glad for every ounce. Monsieur Radis—Felix, he insisted—was already in the driver's seat, pumping the gas pedal, producing reassuring automotive noises. His truck was the same pedigree as the one that sat forlornly to the side of the house. Faith hoped this one would make it to Meyrueis.

Felix motioned her into the cab. Clotilde and Frederic jumped into the back and happily settled into each other's arms amidst the crates. Faith noted their devotion but soon had cause to wonder how much was still- crazy-about-each-other-after-all-these-years and how much was common sense as the truck bounced its way over the rough track. She was grasping a strap that hung from the ceiling for dear life while Felix kept up a running commentary, presumably on the landscape they were passing and the history of the region, in such rapid French that Faith soon abandoned any pretense of comprehension, simply nodding and smiling at what she hoped were appropriate moments. She didn't catch anything about the death of a family member or the silkworm blight, so her responses seemed right so far. Felix appeared to regard personal hygiene with considerably less interest than his brother and sister of '68, if he was one of their group and not indigenous. Faith suspected these particular overalls had had many close encounters with his livestock, and between trying to stay upwind of him and trying to hold on, the time was passing rapidly.

Soon they were on an actual road, careening down the mountain, and as Faith caught glimpses of the precipitous drop and what she presumed was a river—a thin blue-green ribbon—below, she began to realize her ordeal was not yet over. Felix, either determined to get her to the police station as quickly as possible or because it was his habitual driving style—and Faith suspected the latter—was proceeding at breakneck speed in apparent disregard for any vehicle foolish enough to be coming around the narrow bend from the opposite direction. To his credit, he did lean on the horn from time to time with startling results. There was also his disconcerting habit of driving with one hand while he ges- tured with the other. After several repetitions, Faith understood that they were at the top of the Gorges du Tarn, the Tarn being the river, and would soon plummet into Mey-rueis.

The truck was descending almost vertically, and just when Faith was about to cross the line from fear to abject terror, she caught sight of a village nestled at the bottom of two crevices. 'Meyrueis,' Felix announced with a flourish. The whole town was decked with red, white, and blue bunting gathered up with bunches of red silk poppies, cornflowers, and daisies. The tricolor flew from every building and there was an air of great festivity. How did they know? Faith wondered, then remembered that it was Victoire 1945, the celebration of the end of WWII and the reason Tom was able to take the long weekend. Well, it had been a long weekend.

Felix brought the truck to a screeching halt outside the gendarmerie. The oddly assorted party disembarked and f prepared to go inside. Faith, her legs stiff after having spent I most of the trip pressing an imaginary brake pedal to the | floor, flung the woolen cloak about her and led the way. She walked up to the counter, but before she could speak, the man on duty gasped, 'Mon Dieu!' and raced , around to the front.

“Madame Fairsheeld!' He kissed her ecstatically. 'France is looking for you!'

Ten

Faith Sibley Fairchild's eyes flew open in complete panic. Where the hell was she? The sight of the huge clock face of the Eglise St. Nizier filling the bedroom window slowed her heart rate and she took several deep breaths. She was home, or what passed for home these days. She was back in Lyon and the small boy curled up next to her sound asleep, snoring slightly and radiating heat, was her own Benjamin. Her Benjamin—who had not left her side since the whole family had rushed madly toward one another in Chief Inspector Ravier's office a few hours ago.

As she lay on the big double bed, so quaintly called the lit matrimonial even for those non-espoused, she felt a deep sense of peace. It was over. It wasn't that the horror of the events had left her. This had grown even more intense now when she thought of all the might-have-beens. The underlying peace came from knowing she was safe for sure.

The trip from Meyrueis to Lyon had seemed to take almost as long as her escape from Christophe. First, she'd told the story to the local gendarmes, who were completely over the moon—out of all the gendarmeries in France, the missing Americaine had walked into theirs—then she told it again to Michel Ravier once they succeeded in reaching him by phone. They didn't ask grandmother's shoe size, but they had wanted every detail of the last two days.

Frederic and Clotilde were able to help narrow the search for the farmhouse where she'd been kept captive by their intimate knowledge of the surrounding terrain, especially after Faith described the series of caves. No one expected that Christophe would be at the house, but the police were anxious to check it out. The Lyon police were picking up the two girls and Benoit, as well as the senior d'Amberts, for questioning. Descriptions of Christophe and his uncle were being circulated all over France and surrounding countries, especially at the borders. Faith remembered to tell them about the gun, and he was being described as dangerous—an understatement, Frederic avowed.

When the Meyrueis police had finally produced a car and driver to take her back to Lyon, Faith was numb with exhaustion and saddened to leave the two flower children going to seed, whom she now numbered among her closest friends. It was even hard to leave Felix. When she got into the police car, Clotilde and Frederic had pressed not only the heavy cloak, already too warm in the morning sun, upon her but rounds of goat cheese, a lamp shade, and several iron implements of varying natures. Felix gave her a sack filled with radishes and lettuce.

Her driver had graduated from the same auto-training school as Felix and for a good part of the trip the words deja vu took on new and powerful meaning. Yet, even at many kilometers over the speed limit and with the siren blaring all the way, it had taken three hours to reach Lyon. As they entered the city on the A7, the Autoroute du Soleil, the sun had indeed been shining and Faith clutched the young gendarme's arm in joy when she caught sight of the first bridge, the Pont Pasteur, then the train station and other familiar landmarks. The only thing that would have made her happier at that moment would have been a glimpse of the green in secure little Aleford, Massachusetts.

Michel Ravier had not wanted to keep her long, and after listening again to her story, had told her to get some rest and they'd get together later in the day. He was right. She was ready to drop, and when they'd emerged into the street, the throngs of reporters and photographers had overwhelmed her. Paul Leblanc offered a brief statement to the effect that Madame Fairchild was fine and the police were seeking her abductors. He referred them to Ravier and, like a devoted sheepdog, parted the crowd and shepherded them into the car, where Ghislaine was waiting at the wheel.

“You'll have to have some sort of press conference or they'll never leave you alone,' she advised. Faith and Tom had agreed. But not until tomorrow. Paul had said he would take care of it.

“If I could have kept Dominique's name out of it, I would have,' Faith started to say. Ghislaine interrupted her. 'Absolutely not. It's obvious that she is deeply troubled and if not for you, who knows where she might have ended up.' She gestured toward the street at two young women in high black boots, lace body stockings, and not much else. It reminded Faith of Marie. Michel told her a team had gone to the hotel de ville after he had spoken with her and it did appear that Marie, or someone, had been dragged along the tunnel leading to the river. They planned to exhume the body to see if the evidence matched. Poor Marie, Faith had thought, she couldn't lie in peace even in death.

When they'd gotten back to the apartment, all Faith had wanted to do was sleep, and did almost immediately. Now, fully awake, she wondered where Tom was. She didn't hear any sounds of activity in the apartment. Like Benjamin, her husband had firmly attached himself to her with limpetlike devotion. All three had been napping together.

She got up cautiously so as not to disturb Ben. He'd been told she had been away visiting friends; and had greeted her with wails of 'Why didn't you take me, Mom-mee? Ben would be good!' It almost broke her heart. The Leblancs had entertained him nonstop, Tom had told her— taking the little boy to the zoo at Pare de la Tete d'Or, the Roman ruins in Old Lyon, and to every playground in the area. Still, Ben had been aware of the tension around