The reluctant suitcase scuffled along the lonely road. Rita ignored its squeaky protest at being forced to trundle behind her through the French countryside. The sun was burning her fair English complexion and she could feel the perspiration trickling between her shoulder blades as
she lowered her head against the wind.
The Vent d'Autan, the south-easterly wind was blowing had, carrying orange sand that peppered the countryside with a layer of powder like colorful icing sugar. The smell of dust collected in her nostrils making her sneeze, and tiny pebbles slotted themselves into her sandals, punishing her tender feet.
Her mind was still reeling from the shock. She could hardly believe it had been only two weeks since her 20th birthday, because that was when it had all started. Yet she had looked forward to coming on this holiday and spending some time with her younger brother.
How could everything have gone so terribly wrong in such a short time? she wondered. There were so many terrible thoughts crowding other in her mind, they gave her a headache. She stopped walking for a moment to rub her forehead, leaving a streak of dust. In spite of the heat, she felt her skin creep when she remembered the blood on the stairs. Her mouth went dry again at the thought, and she tried to swallow. Tears welled up in her eyes as the pain of the lies hit her once again. She stifled a sob and tried to pull herself together. She was now all on her own in a foreign country without money, job, family or friends. But she had her pride. Nothing in the world would convince her to go back to her family now.
Then suddenly, a tremendous rage overcame her at the injustice of it all and she shot a vicious kick at a stone as she walked. Squaring her shoulders, clenching her fists, she marched on. She had never felt so alone in all her life, but her steely determination to get to the bottom of all this held her together.
'It's a good thing you've got yourself, my little Rita,' she muttered through clenched teeth.
After walking about a mile, although it felt more like five, she heard a vehicle coming up behind her. She stopped, wiping the sweat from her brow as she turned round. The blue Renault slowed down and came to a halt. Rita saw, but did not really notice, a black Fiat pulling up in the shade not far behind it.
'Où allez-vous, Mademoiselle?' the elderly driver called, seeing her struggling with the awkward suitcase. 'Where are you going? Do you want a lift?'
She held her breath for a moment, then made up her mind.
'I'm going to Sorèze,' she announced, 'and then to Spain to find my late father and
the Pearl Stringer.'