Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (15 page)

I felt less enthused. We were to dress to the nines and then sit on stone seats to watch men harass a bull? I’d had far more fun sneaking past the bull in Mr. Hanneman’s fenced north quarter back home. That animal had won prizes at the state fair.…

Well
, I told myself,
at least the amphitheater will be of interest.
My heart skipped a beat. A real Roman amphitheater.

“That gate appears sunken,” Vivian said, hands on hips, waving at the Porte Auguste with her fan, then turning the fan on herself again. It was only midmorning, but with the roofs folded back on our touring cars, the summer sun had already set us to perspiring.

“Well noted,” Art said after taking our photograph from across the street, looking up at the place. “Over time, the city has been built up and roads paved and paved again. The Porte Auguste is but one of two city gates left. We’re fortunate it remains at all. See those two larger arches at the center? They were for the chariots and horses—and the two smaller arches on either side were for pedestrians. Quite organized, don’t you think?”

Vivian gave it a dubious look, clearly ready to move on, and Art returned to his vehicle. But my eyes moved to Will, who was presumably sharing the same information with the young men in the car ahead of us, waving back toward the gate, pointing to the far right and then tracing the line to the left. Something Felix said made him laugh, and he was so handsome in that moment—brown hair shining in the sun, eyes alight with joy—that I sucked in my breath. I’d not seen him even smile in the last two days. And to see him laugh…

Vivian looked over at me and frowned. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I said, quickly glancing back to the gate after I sat down beside her again. “I only was thinking…would it not be a delight to travel back in time and see Rome in all her glory?”

“Hmph. Maybe,” she said, continuing to fan herself. “Perhaps travel via chariot was cooler than this infernal touring car.”

“Be glad we’re not in buggies,” I chided.

“Or on mules!” laughed Lil.

I nodded, smiling with her, but as I did so, my eyes slipped back to Will. He was striding past to rejoin Art and Hugh in the car behind us. We shared a long, delicious glance.

“What’s your secret, Cora?” Nell asked, and my heart skipped a beat as I quickly looked to her, worried she’d caught us. The girl was madly fanning herself, her apple cheeks truly resembling apples, they were so flushed.

“Excuse me?”

“How do you manage to look so fresh while the rest of us perspire?” She dabbed at her forehead with a lace-edged handkerchief.

“Trust me, I’m far from cool,” I said, picking up my own fan, relieved to have narrowly avoided discovery and now feeling the heat of embarrassment.

The driver in the touring car behind us beeped his horn, and our vehicles made their way into the flow of traffic. Blessed air blew by us, and we held onto our hats.

Antonio, riding in front with the driver, turned to tell us what we were seeing as we drove. The Maison Carrée, an elegant Roman temple built in AD 2, was “one of the best preserved in the world,” shouted Antonio over the noise of the wind. I craned my neck to get a better view of the elegant, finely fluted columns that surrounded the temple. Next, past many stately, grand homes, was the vast Jardin de la Fontaine. Antonio droned on about the eighteenth-century gardens capitalizing on the water source here in the city. “Above them in the distance, the octagonal structure, you see?” he said. “It is Tour Magne, once part of the Roman walls.” Antonio shook his head sorrowfully and lifted his dark brows. “One of the best views of the city is up there.” Clearly, he regretted that we hadn’t time to stop.

We moved on, turning and turning again until the huge amphitheater came into view. “Les Arénas,” Antonio said, lifting a proud hand toward it in the distance, as if introducing us to his girlfriend. I brought a hand to my chest and gasped. I’d never seen so grand a structure. If this was so remarkable, what would it feel like to see the Coliseum in Rome?

“She holds twenty-five thousand spectators,” Antonio said over his shoulder, looking from us to the arena. “Chariot races, gladiators, and now, tonight, a bullfight.”

“I confess I prefer the bullfight to a gladiator fight,” Vivian said.

“Not me!” Lil said with a giggle, leaning toward Nell. “I’d prefer to see men in all their…manliness.”

“Lillian Kensington!” Vivian said, sounding aghast. But we were all smiling.

We drove out of the city, then, out into the countryside, past farms with neat and tidy rows of lavender, olive groves, and vineyards. An hour later, we turned, and up ahead, we could see greenery that could only mean one thing…a river. We pulled up beside a small chateau that overlooked what we learned was the Gardon River, and the men led us around back to where five rowboats were waiting.

“Oh, a boat ride,” Lillian said, clapping her small hands together.

“I admit,” Vivian said to me, “it does sound welcome. To be on the water.”

I nodded in agreement, waiting for us to be assigned our boats. Will told the younger girls they’d be with him and Hugh. I shoved aside my disappointment, pretending to have nothing but my own assignment in mind. “You, Cora,” Will said, barely looking at me, “will join Felix and Art.”

“Excellent,” I said, turning to take my brother’s proffered arm as we traversed across the wide expanse of rough limestone to reach the boats. Was Will avoiding me? Afraid to be too close to me lest he betray his feelings? Angry I hadn’t ended it with Pierre? Or was he changing his mind? He hadn’t spent any time with me in the days since the funeral, and now with the bear gone…perhaps he was solely thinking about getting us through the tour and getting back to school.

Perhaps
everything
had changed.

“Vivian and Andrew, please go and join Antonio in the last boat,” said Will over his shoulder as we walked. They grouped together behind us, and I envied them, the chance to float the river, holding hands, sharing longing looks, without fear of repercussion. Ahead, I could see the two detectives, each in their own boat, already at the oars. As we clambered into our assigned boats, Yves shoved off with his own oarsman, taking the lead in scouting for any trouble…or perhaps, noticing the boulders that dotted the blue water, he only sought the best route down.

Felix offered his hand, and I stepped carefully into the boat while the oarsman steadied it. Felix sidled in, well accustomed to the rocking ways of wood upon water, then Art. “I’m relieved to be in your boat this time around,” I said lowly to Felix as he sat down beside me.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Well I remember your expertise with an oar in a water fight,” I said.

He smiled and reached out to take my hand. “I think it was in that moment, seeing you sopping wet and still laughing, that I realized you were truly my sister.”

I smiled and looked down, embarrassed by our intimate moment.

“Though an oar is a far less effective weapon than a paddle,” he said. “Besides,” he whispered, leaning close to my ear, “our oarsman appears to want nothing of any fun whatsoever.”

I dared to look at the stern man—dressed all in white, with a blue handkerchief smartly tied at the neck—and almost burst out laughing. From his expression, one would have thought this excursion was a form of medieval torture rather than a delightful respite. I ducked my head and tried madly to cover my giggle. But when Felix let a burst of pent-up air out as he turned—pretending something had caught his eye—I was lost. Together, we laughed and laughed.

The oarsman flicked his chin forward, toward us.
“Qu’est-ce qui est si drôle?”

“He wants to know what amuses you,” translated Art from up front, bending over his camera to take our photograph.

“Well, clearly, friend, it is not you,” Felix returned. “Is life so horrendous that you should appear like your horse died en route to the boat?”

“Felix!” I cried, aghast.

“He doesn’t understand English,” Felix whispered, smiling at us both.

“Hmph,”
said the man, clearly dismissing us. Either Felix was right, or he thought us idiots.

“Ignore him,” Felix muttered, and offered his arm. I looped my hand through. “Let’s not allow anything to ruin this gorgeous day on the river, even this fine man manning our oars!” he said, cheerfully waving at the man.

Art shook his head, bemused, and we entered the strongest current of the river, moving rapidly down and around the bend. I took off one glove and leaned over to let my hand drag in the water, watching as my fingers left four rivulets behind them. I dipped it lower, relishing the cooling effect.

The other two boats came closer, and we tied up for a bit, drifting and chatting. Art took more photographs of the group.

“May I have a couple of those for postcards, Art?” Vivian asked.

“Certainly. We’ll get them developed in Nîmes before we move on, and you can post them.”

“Oh, I want one too!” Nell said. “May I have one?”

“Yes, of course.”

I looked everywhere I could at the scenery, working hard not to glance in Will’s direction. A champagne cork popped, and then another, and glasses were pulled from a basket and passed along.

“Please,” Felix said, offering his to the oarsman. “You appear to need it far more than I.”

“Non,” the man said gruffly, giving his head a stiff shake.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. The man looked angry enough to jump overboard and swim to shore. Or deck Felix.

Tiny, perfect strawberries were passed next, and we tossed the uneaten tops in the river, watching as they floated for a while and then disappeared.

Will was half turned in his seat, and when we rounded the bend, I could see why. Up ahead was a triple-level limestone bridge, and we all gasped at the sight of it. At the bottom of the bridge were sturdy arches with columns and breakers thick enough to weather two thousand years of whatever the river brought her way. Above that firm foundation were three levels of beautiful arches.

“The Pont du Gard,” our young bear said proudly, turning back to us. “At a hundred and sixty feet, it is the highest bridge the Romans ever built. They considered it a testimony to their empire and took great pride in it, and for good reason. Here we are,” he said, gesturing across the river, “in the midst of a waterway that has flooded every spring of every year since that bridge was first erected. And still”—he shook his head—“two thousand years later, there she remains.”

The oarsmen separated our boats from the others on the river as we neared the bridge, giving them more room to maneuver, and we all grew quiet, in awe as we got closer and closer, then slid underneath the monolith and past her. “That aqueduct carried water that originated at the springs in Uzés,” Will said, “thirty-one miles from Nîmes, and was in use for close to five hundred years.”

I couldn’t keep myself from it any longer. I looked over to Will, who stared back at the bridge as long as it was in sight. I knew how he loved architecture…the bones of a structure. And I longed to hear him talk about it. See the excitement in his eyes as he explained to me just what a mechanical engineering marvel it really was. But it dawned on me that he wasn’t going to be an architect. He was already the next Bear McCabe. And the thought of it made me feel unaccountably sad.

“Already sad to be leaving the Pont du Gard?” Felix asked, putting a knuckle under my chin.

“What?” I asked, trying to focus on what he was saying. “Oh, yes. You got me. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“I think not,” he said, giving his head a little shake, his blue eyes wide with wonder. “Truly, a most magnificent excursion, this,” he called out, verbally saluting Will. “More champagne?” He held up a bottle.

Will shook his head, and when Felix turned to me, I did the same.

“Friend?
Ami
?”
Felix asked the oarsman, again lifting the bottle. The man practically growled at him.

With a smile and a cock of his eyebrow that said
all the more for me
, Felix tipped up the bottle to his mouth and drained it.

~William~

They returned to Nîmes, and after getting settled into a sumptuous mansion, they separated to their rooms. A light lunch was sent to each suite, where the clients were to rest and change before a quick dinner and then a walk over to the amphitheater to enjoy the bullfight.

With a long groan, Will stretched out atop his bed, staring at the high ceiling and crystal chandelier above him. He checked his wristwatch. He had four hours before they were to meet in the salon downstairs. Will closed his eyes and considered a quick bath. He winced as he thought about squeezing into his light summer suit, tighter than ever, and joining the others in all their finery. Especially considering he’d be sitting in the too-small suit through a sultry summer evening in the amphitheater, on a stone seat.

No. I can’t do it. Not one more day, not one more hour.

His eyes popped open, and he glanced over at his armoire. There was an excellent tailor around the corner. His uncle had purchased a suit from him last summer. And had it fitted for him within the hour. Might he find something similar?