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As he dashed to the door his mom asked him to check that his wallet with his euros was in a safe place and his passport was readily available for examination. Andrea kissed her son on the cheek and waved until the Mondeo disappeared from view.The flight to Marseille took just over two hours. Tom Anderson went to pick up the Citroen car he had booked as part of the holiday package and before long they were cruising through the French countryside. The gite was in a tiny village where several of the old cottages had been converted to stylish holiday lets. Madame Blanche, the owner of a number of the gites, met them and showed them the layout. There was a complementary baguette, a block of local cheese and two bottles of vins de pays, one red and one white. Tom Anderson’s eyes lit up. “That’ll do me folks. French bread and cheese, washed down with a country wine. What more could you ask for?”The gite was simply furnished in a rustic style. There were two bedrooms, one with a double bed. She looked like Brer Rabbit's tar-baby and her breathing was an irregular, yet satisfied snoring. The lone figure rolled over in her slumber and snapped to a wakeful alertness. With a retching groan, she hoisted herself to a leaning position. Every muscle in her body ached and every joint was rigid in stiffness. Her world was dark, her eyes burned and her throat was sore and parched. The ebony figurine clawed the thick mud away from her nose and gagging, spat several times on the neighboring grass.Brenda raised a hand to her face and her fingers wiped at the semi-dry mulch that obscured her vision. The caked peat freely crumbled away from the waking woman's face. Brenda delicately brushed the remaining traces and specks away from her irritated peepers with delicate dabs of her fingertips. The first item to come into Brenda's focus was a brandy bottle with two fingers of the elixir remaining inside.Sitting upright, she snatched up the glass vessel and fumbled its cap off with shaking.
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