The Devil's Cave: A Bruno Courrèges Investigation (Bruno Chief of Police 5) by Martin Walker Page A
Authors: Martin Walker
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back, maybe next week, for a few days to do some admin and find out if it’s going to be possible to cope with my mother at home. Maybe I can find a young school-leaver who can combine some cleaning with keeping an eye on Mother, like babysitting, to give me a break.’
‘You know what the minimum wage is here, and then you can almost double it for the social charges,’ Bruno said. ‘But I’ll ask around.’
Pamela rang off, and Bruno saw that Bess and Victoria, who had done this ride with Pamela a thousand times, had reached the end of the firebreak and had now turned round and begun to trot back. He put the phone into its holster and urged Hector into a trot, pondering the impact the arrival of Pamela’s mother might have on their affair. At that moment he spotted a white horse being led by a tall woman emerging from the small clearing. It was presumably the same horse he had seen from the corner of his eye.
‘Can you hear me this time?’ came a woman’s voice. She was standing at the far side of the horse, and as she spoke she removed her black riding cap and pulled something at the back of her neck to release a great rush of dark, glossy hair that fell over her shoulders. She stepped forward, and he heard the clicking of spurs on her riding boots. Pamela had taught him never to wear them; his horse should work with him through trust rather than fear. It took him a moment to recognize the woman from the white sports car. Her name came to him: Eugénie.
‘Yes, I hear you,’ he said, stopping. ‘But I didn’t know you’d spoken before. Can I help?’
‘My horse started limping. I think maybe he has something caught in his shoe.’ She spoke like a Parisian but there was some regional accent underneath it that he couldn’t identify, perhaps Alsace or somewhere near the Swiss border. Without the sunglasses, her eyes were dark brown. With her raven-black hair he’d have expected an olive complexion, something of the south. Instead she had the light skin of a blonde.
Bruno dismounted, tying Hector’s reins loosely around the nearest tree, and fixing the leading rein to Victoria and Bess. The two mares ambled across to Eugénie’s horse, which whinnied in greeting. She looked lame, favouring a foreleg.
‘Do you know your horse well?’ he asked her when his horses were secure. ‘Have you looked at her foot?’
‘It’s only the second time I’ve ridden her and she won’t let me look at it.’
The horse didn’t look temperamental. A mare, she was smaller and looked a lot older than Hector. She seemed calm in the company of Bess and Victoria. Bruno approached her through them, trailing his hand across Bess’s flanks. The white mare let him stroke her nose and he began whispering to her as he’d seen Pamela do to a strange horse. Finally he knelt and felt the foreleg. There was no swelling so he picked up the foot to examine the shoe and found that it was hanging slightly loose, two of the nails gone and others on their way. He didn’t see how Eugénie could have ridden it without noticing it, or hearing it. He took a small all-purpose tool from the pouch on his belt and unfolded the pliers, pulledout the remaining nails and handed the woman the horseshoe.
‘I’d walk her home if I were you,’ he said. Some might have called Eugénie beautiful, her complexion a perfect ivory and her features classic. But there was a lack of animation or perhaps too much self-control in her face. He would like to see her laugh, or be excited by something. ‘And she’ll need to see a
maréchal
before you ride her again.’
‘You know your horses,
Monsieur le chef de police
,’ she said, making no move to leave nor to comfort her horse. ‘You must be an expert, from the speed you were going when you raced past me.’
‘I’m a beginner,’ he laughed. ‘I only started riding last year, but I’ve had a great teacher and a wonderful horse. This is Hector. He’s the expert, not me.’
He expected her to
‘You know what the minimum wage is here, and then you can almost double it for the social charges,’ Bruno said. ‘But I’ll ask around.’
Pamela rang off, and Bruno saw that Bess and Victoria, who had done this ride with Pamela a thousand times, had reached the end of the firebreak and had now turned round and begun to trot back. He put the phone into its holster and urged Hector into a trot, pondering the impact the arrival of Pamela’s mother might have on their affair. At that moment he spotted a white horse being led by a tall woman emerging from the small clearing. It was presumably the same horse he had seen from the corner of his eye.
‘Can you hear me this time?’ came a woman’s voice. She was standing at the far side of the horse, and as she spoke she removed her black riding cap and pulled something at the back of her neck to release a great rush of dark, glossy hair that fell over her shoulders. She stepped forward, and he heard the clicking of spurs on her riding boots. Pamela had taught him never to wear them; his horse should work with him through trust rather than fear. It took him a moment to recognize the woman from the white sports car. Her name came to him: Eugénie.
‘Yes, I hear you,’ he said, stopping. ‘But I didn’t know you’d spoken before. Can I help?’
‘My horse started limping. I think maybe he has something caught in his shoe.’ She spoke like a Parisian but there was some regional accent underneath it that he couldn’t identify, perhaps Alsace or somewhere near the Swiss border. Without the sunglasses, her eyes were dark brown. With her raven-black hair he’d have expected an olive complexion, something of the south. Instead she had the light skin of a blonde.
Bruno dismounted, tying Hector’s reins loosely around the nearest tree, and fixing the leading rein to Victoria and Bess. The two mares ambled across to Eugénie’s horse, which whinnied in greeting. She looked lame, favouring a foreleg.
‘Do you know your horse well?’ he asked her when his horses were secure. ‘Have you looked at her foot?’
‘It’s only the second time I’ve ridden her and she won’t let me look at it.’
The horse didn’t look temperamental. A mare, she was smaller and looked a lot older than Hector. She seemed calm in the company of Bess and Victoria. Bruno approached her through them, trailing his hand across Bess’s flanks. The white mare let him stroke her nose and he began whispering to her as he’d seen Pamela do to a strange horse. Finally he knelt and felt the foreleg. There was no swelling so he picked up the foot to examine the shoe and found that it was hanging slightly loose, two of the nails gone and others on their way. He didn’t see how Eugénie could have ridden it without noticing it, or hearing it. He took a small all-purpose tool from the pouch on his belt and unfolded the pliers, pulledout the remaining nails and handed the woman the horseshoe.
‘I’d walk her home if I were you,’ he said. Some might have called Eugénie beautiful, her complexion a perfect ivory and her features classic. But there was a lack of animation or perhaps too much self-control in her face. He would like to see her laugh, or be excited by something. ‘And she’ll need to see a
maréchal
before you ride her again.’
‘You know your horses,
Monsieur le chef de police
,’ she said, making no move to leave nor to comfort her horse. ‘You must be an expert, from the speed you were going when you raced past me.’
‘I’m a beginner,’ he laughed. ‘I only started riding last year, but I’ve had a great teacher and a wonderful horse. This is Hector. He’s the expert, not me.’
He expected her to
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