with a reason to carry a gun. None of these thoughts made her feel any more relaxed.
After twenty minutes of their journey the driver managed to disable all of the buttons within Hector’s reach. Kate was relieved, as it had felt as though she was riding on the inside of a very plush but erratic hair dryer. Hector was growing bored. He had eaten his way through everything he found in the refrigerator, played with every button and control he could reach, and wiped his chocolate covered hands on the immaculate leather interior of the Mercedes. The milk he had spilt was still soaking into the seat.
That was the annoying thing about Hector; he was nearly always happy; very happy! Plus, he looked, as he so often looked; like a labrador that has been thrust into a chocolate and jelly filled fridge only to be pulled out grubby, full, and still eating the last thing he’d managed to get his teeth into.
The motorcade veered right into a winding tree-lined drive. Grass-level lights illuminated the gaps between the trees, revealing an immaculate paper-flat lawn stretching away into the darkness.
As the lights from the château came into view it was apparent to Kate that the French authorities believed that discreet could still be grand. The man in the passenger seat with the gun turned around and spoke for the first time in a thick accent both Kate and Hector found difficult to understand.
‘There are guards around the perimeter, but there will only be one person with you,’ he explained, ‘This will be the security grandmother.’
Kate understood this to mean that the security nanny was already waiting for them. She was, for the first time, impressed with Inspector Smithson’s speedy arrangements.
As Hector and Kate got out of the car armed French police peered out into the inky dark of the night, their machine guns at their hips as they tried to look as important and tough as they could. The sirens were no longer blaring but the lights on all of the police cars were still flashing. It made Kate feel anxious. It made Hector feel important, and he grinned as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
‘Oh hello dears,’ came a very English voice, ‘I’m Melinda Warp. I am here to look after you.’
In front of Hector and Kate stood a middle-aged woman. She was slightly plump and only a little taller than Kate.
‘Are you the security nanny?’ asked Hector, in a tone that exuded disbelief.
‘Yes,’ smiled Mrs Warp, ‘that’s right.’
‘But I thought you’d be an Olympic athlete, or a Kung Fu expert, or mud wrestling champion or something like that,’ Hector blurted out in the same slightly disrespectful tone.
‘Well, I’m sure I can do all of those things,’ said Mrs Warp, ‘but first we have to get you up to bed.’
The thought of bed and sleep after such an intense and exhausting day seemed to sap the little energy remaining in Kate and Hector. As she walked towards the château’s doors Kate was surprised to see the motorcade gone. She had not really noticed.
Hector’s sleepy attempt to persuade Mrs Warp that he had a special exemption from cleaning his teeth signed by the UK Prime Minister had no effect, as she clearly did not believe a word of it. Nor would she be persuaded that, despite crash-landing a burning plane, he was really quite clean and did not need a shower.
Hector could barely remember the shower, and it was just a few minutes before he was drifting off to sleep in the warm comforting bed. Kate, despite the worries that swam around her head, soon followed Hector. Mrs Warp’s kind smile was the last thing both Hector and Kate saw that day.
It was the same kind smile Hector saw in the morning. The curtains were open, the sun streamed in, but best of all there was a breakfast tray. Hector had never been allowed breakfast in bed; this was brilliant! Kate was equally surprised, but not as pleased. The idea of prising Hector from a bed where he had glued himself in with jam was not appealing. Nevertheless, Kate was pleased that her and Hector were in the same bedroom. It was reassuring to see her little brother after the frightening events of yesterday.
‘Mrs Warp, when will we see Mum and Dad?’ asked Kate.
‘Very soon dear,’ said Mrs Warp, ‘They are going to let your father out tomorrow.’
Kate could see Hector looking to the window. The bright sunshine of a brilliant spring morning might just as well have written in the air ‘please explore the château’. With five floors, if you included the cellars, and large grounds, the château was an open invitation neither Kate nor Hector were going to ignore.
Just fifteen minutes later Kate’s worst fears were realised, as Hector had managed to get the contents of every little pot of honey, jam, marmalade, margarine and butter onto his face, hands, arms, hair, the bed, the sheets, and even a portion of the wall behind the headrest. As Mrs Warp dragged him out, Kate could even see some jam on one of his feet.
Kate ignored Hector’s shouts for help as Mrs Warp made him wash in the shower. Kate went to the window and looked out over the sunlit lawns and paths. She felt her spirits rise.
Once Hector was out of the shower and getting dressed, Kate asked Mrs Warp about the gardens. Mrs Warp began to describe various plants and trees in much more detail than was needed. As Hector struggled with his socks, and Kate’s conversation with Mrs Warp continued, Kate sensed something unusual about Mrs Warp. If asked she would not have been able to explain her feeling; it was just a feeling. Mrs Warp was odd.
Kate and Hector’s clothes appeared to have been washed and dried in the night. Once they were dressed, Mrs Warp was quite happy for them to explore and enjoy themselves. They started with the cellars, which were a great deal less exciting than they expected. They were full of junk, rubbish and abandoned furniture. One room was locked, and although Hector was excited by the possibility of mystery and adventure, these lively expectations were soon doused by Mrs Warp, who informed them that it was the gardener’s room.
They worked their way up the different floors, finding nooks, hidden rooms and grandiose areas for entertainment. There was an air of decay, painted over with a new layer of synthetic hope. It was a monument to an era passed, but a fantastic place for hide and seek.
A short time later Kate was hiding on the second floor. She could hear Hector’s taunts as he advanced up the main staircase. The problem, Kate had discovered, was that so many of the rooms were poorly furnished. They were large, but there were very few places in which to hide. Hector’s confidence that he had her caught, cornered, and that he was closing in, was justified.
Kate slithered up the banister, trying to press her weight down using her hands so that her feet would not make the floorboards creak. The top floor was much smaller and only had three rooms, but it was her last hope with the advancing, gloating Hector stumping ever upwards.
Kate opened one of the doors, gripping the door handle much more tightly than was necessary, to discover a small cupboard full of coats and old clothes. She quickly buried herself in a smelly pile of discarded curtains.
Kate could feel her heart beating as Hector’s heavy tread reached the top floor. It was only Hector, and nowhere near as dangerous as the previous day’s events, but it was still thrilling and jangling and breathtaking. It was something of a disappointment to hear Hector’s voice exclaim in awe, rather than gloating threat.
‘Wow,’ said Hector, ‘I can see everywhere,’ Then he shouted, ‘Whatever you do Kate, I can see you.’
Kate
