He accepted the glass gratefully, deciding that things were, perhaps, looking up. ‘Merci!’ He raised the glass and said, ‘Cheers!’ Then, remembering more words from his schooldays, said cheers again, this time in French. ‘À votre santé!’

Her lips smiled but not the rest of her face. ‘Dinner tonight will be at a quarter to eight. Your family will please be on time.’

‘Of course. May I see a menu – and a wine list?’ he asked. And instantly saw the stony look on her face.

Her smile frosted over. ‘Menu? I’m afraid we do not offer a choice. Tonight we have foie gras, followed by fillet steak, with cheese and dessert after.’ Her accent was so thick that he almost had to translate her English.

‘Ah,’ Roy said slowly. ‘We have a bit of a problem – you see, neither Kaitlynn nor my wife eat meat – they are fine with fish.’

The woman frowned for a moment, then said, stiffly, ‘Maybe we can give them escargots?’

‘Snails?’ Roy translated. ‘I don’t think so.’

She suggested another dish, in French, which he also recognized. ‘Frogs’ legs?’ he said with a shudder. ‘No, thank you! They would be very happy with just vegetables,’ he said, trying to keep things pleasant.

‘They eat potatoes?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, they like potatoes. And perhaps a salad?’ He nodded at the platter of cheeses. ‘Like that would be fine for the rest of us.’

‘Huh.’ She turned away and walked towards a door. Then she stopped, turned back and said, with a strange smile, ‘You English, you Rosbifs, you are all the same with your strange eating.’

She left without another word.

6

In the pitch darkness, Jack Alexander was trying to think clearly, and his blinding headache made that hard. His skull felt like it had an ice pick sticking into it. His shoulders ached like hell. His wrists were bound tightly together in front of him by what felt like cable ties, which cut painfully into him. The ties were attached to a chain linked to a heavy metal ring fixed to the wall.

Try as he could, he was unable to get any slack to free the bindings. They felt like they were cutting into his wrists deeper and deeper. Was this what it would have felt like to be locked in a medieval torture chamber, he wondered?

He could only breathe through his nose, because his mouth was taped shut, preventing him from crying out. He was painfully hungry and very thirsty. And he needed to pee. He fought that, but it was getting harder with each passing minute. He had no idea how long he had been down here – wherever here was. Hours, for sure, since he had driven up to the front entrance of this horrible dump of a chateau.

Some holiday this was turning out to be, he thought, grimly.