Almost Gone

And then, as she made one final, frantic pass round the floor, she noticed it.

“CASSANDRA VALE.”

A small notice board, held by a lean, dark-haired man in a black jacket and jeans.

Standing near the wall, absorbed by his phone, he wasn’t even looking for her.

She approached uncertainly.

“Hi—I’m Cassie. Are you…?” she asked, the words trailing off as she realized she had no idea who he could be.

“Yes,” he said in strongly accented English. “Come this way.”

She was about to introduce herself properly, to speak the words she’d rehearsed about how excited she was to be joining the family, when she saw the laminated card on his jacket. He was just a taxi driver; the card was his official airport pass.

The family hadn’t bothered to come and meet her at all.

CHAPTER THREE

The cityscape of Paris unfolded as Cassie watched. Tall apartments and somber industrial blocks gradually gave way to treed suburbia. The afternoon was cold and gray, with patchy, blowing rain.

She craned to see the signboards they passed. They were heading toward Saint Maur, and for a while she thought that might be their destination, but the driver passed the turnoff and continued on the road out of town.

“How much further?” she asked, attempting conversation, but he grunted noncommittally and turned the radio up.

Rain pattered on the windows and the glass felt cold against her cheek. She wished she’d taken her thick jacket from the trunk. And she was starving—she hadn’t eaten breakfast and there’d been no opportunity to buy food since.

After more than a half hour, they reached open countryside and drove alongside the Marne River, where brightly painted barges provided a splash of color in the grayness, and a few people, swathed in raincoats, walked under the trees. Some of the trees’ branches were already bare, others still clothed in russet-gold leaves.

“It’s very cold today, isn’t it?” she observed, giving conversation with the driver another try.

His only response was a muttered “Oui”—but at least he turned the heater on, and she could stop shivering. Cocooned in the warmth, she slipped into an uneasy doze as the miles flew past.

Sharp braking and the blare of a horn startled her awake. The driver was forcing his way past a stationary truck, turning off the highway onto a narrow, tree-lined road. The rain had cleared and in the low evening light, the autumn vista was beautiful. Cassie stared out the window, taking in the rolling landscape and the patchwork tapestry of fields interspersed with huge, dark forests. They passed by a vineyard, the neat rows of grapevines curving round the hillside.

Slowing his speed, the driver passed through a village. Pale stone houses with arched windows and steeply sloped, tiled roofs lined the road. Beyond, she saw open fields, and glimpsed a canal lined by weeping willows as they cruised by a stone bridge. The tall church spire drew her gaze and she wondered how old the building was.

This must be close to the chateau, she guessed, perhaps even in its local neighborhood. Then she changed her mind as they left the village behind and wound further into the hills, until she was totally disoriented and had lost sight of that tall spire. She hadn’t expected the chateau to be so remote. She heard the GPS give a “Lost Signal” notification and the driver exclaimed with annoyance, picking up his phone and glancing closely at the map while he drove.

And then, a right turn through high gateposts and Cassie sat straighter, staring down the long, gravel driveway. Ahead, tall and elegant, with the setting sun highlighting its stone-clad walls, was the chateau.

Tires crunched on stone as the car stopped outside a high, imposing entrance and she felt a stab of nerves. This home was far bigger than she’d imagined. It was like a palace, topped with tall chimneys and ornate turrets. She counted eighteen windows, with elaborate stonework and detailing, on the two stories of its commanding frontage. The house itself overlooked a formal garden, with immaculately trimmed hedges and paved pathways.

How would she relate to the family inside, who lived in such grandeur, when she had come from nothing?

She realized the driver was tapping his fingers impatiently on the wheel—he clearly wasn’t going to help her with her bags. Quickly, she climbed out.

The unforgiving wind chilled her immediately, and she hurried around to the trunk, manhandling her suitcase out, across the gravel, and into the shelter of the porch, where she zipped her jacket up.

There was no doorbell on the heavy wooden door, only a large, iron knocker that felt cold in her hand. The sound was surprisingly loud, and a few moments later Cassie heard light footsteps.

The door opened and she found herself facing a dark-uniformed maid, hair drawn back into a tight ponytail. Beyond her, Cassie glimpsed a large entrance hall with opulent wall coverings and a magnificent wooden staircase at the far end.

The maid glanced around as a door slammed.

Immediately, Cassie sensed the presence of a fight. She could feel it, electric in the air, like an approaching storm. It was in the maid’s nervous bearing, in the bang of the door and the chaos of faraway shouts fading to silence. Her insides contracted and she felt an overpowering desire to get away. To run after the departing driver and call him back.

Instead, she stood her ground and forced a smile.

“I’m Cassie, the new au pair. The family is expecting me.”

“Today?” The maid looked worried. “Wait a moment.” As she hurried into the house, Cassie heard her calling, “Monsieur Dubois, please come quickly.”

A minute later, a sturdy man with dark, graying hair strode into the foyer, his face like thunder. When he saw Cassie at the door, he stopped in his tracks.

“You are here already?” he said. “My fiancée said you were arriving tomorrow morning.”

He turned to glare at the young, bleached-blonde woman following him. She was wearing an evening gown and her attractive features were taut with tension.

“Yes, Pierre, I printed the email when I was in town. The agency said the flight lands at four in the morning.” Turning to the ornate wooden hall table, she shoved a Venetian glass paperweight aside and brandished a page defensively. “Here. See?”

Pierre glanced at the page and sighed.

“It says four p.m. Not four a.m. The driver you booked obviously knew the difference, so here she is.” He turned to Cassie and held out his hand. “I am Pierre Dubois. This is my fiancée, Margot.”

He didn’t introduce the maid. Instead, Margot snapped at her to go and make up the room opposite the children’s bedrooms, and the maid hurried away.

“Where are the children? Are they in bed already? They should meet Cassie,” Pierre said.

Margot shook her head. “They were having supper.”

“So late? Did I not tell you that supper must be early on school nights? Even though they are on holiday, they should be in bed already to stay on schedule.”

Margot stared at him and shrugged angrily before walking over to the doorway on the right, stiletto heels clicking.

“Antoinette?” she called. “Ella? Marc?”

She was rewarded by a thunder of feet and loud cries.

A dark-haired boy sprinted into the foyer, clutching a doll by her hair. He was closely pursued by a younger, chubby girl in a flood of tears.

“Give my Barbie back!” she screamed.

Skidding to a stop as he saw the adults, the boy made a dash for the staircase. As he hurtled toward it, his shoulder caught the curved side of a large blue and gold vase.

Cassie clapped her hands over her mouth in horror as the vase teetered on its plinth, then crashed to the floor where it shattered. Shards of colorful glass spilled across the dark wooden boards.

The shocked silence was broken by Pierre’s enraged bellow.