‘Aww, thanks. Look, I’m no Miss Marple but I’d hazard a guess the crashing sound from above was the heavy mirror sitting on the flimsy screw finally falling down.’
I slap my forehead. It’s so obvious in retrospect. We go upstairs to investigate and sure enough at the end of the hallway is the once beautiful mirror face-down on the parquetry.
‘I’ll get a dustpan and broom,’ Manon says and disappears. I lift the heavy frame up and inspect it. The mirror is smashed to smithereens but the frame hasn’t suffered much damage. There are a few nicks and chips but, for an antique mirror, that’s bound to be the case anyway.
Manon jogs back and sweeps up the mess.
‘We can get this fixed. It’s too beautiful not to rescue.’
I stand and stretch, looking at the big hole where the mirror once was. ‘The mirror took a fair chunk of wall with it when it toppled down.’
‘Let me see,’ Manon says, handing me the dustpan and broom. ‘I think I can fit my whole head in there!’ Before I can stop her, her head disappears into the hole.
‘Manon! Who knows what’s hiding in that wall! There could be toxic dust or a build-up of… ah, toxins for all you know!’
‘Ooh la la!’
‘What is it?’ I’m not about to believe her again, not after her last attempt at fooling me.
Her head pops out, dusted with plaster crumbs. ‘Anais! Stick your head in there and tell me I’m not seeing things!’
‘Nice try.’
‘I’m not joking this time! Have a look.’
I lean close to the hole and peer through. ‘Is that part of Noah’s property?’
‘Non, look at the doors.’
My jaw drops when I see the exact same brass numerals that are on each door of L’Hotel du Parc. ‘Suites nineteen and twenty! But – how can that be? Why would they be blocked off with a wall like this?’
Manon considers it for a moment. ‘They must be special? That or they’re derelict.’
I shiver in the cold of the unheated third floor. ‘It’s a little too early in the morning to use a sledgehammer to break downthis wall.’ We’d wake up not only the backpackers but probably Noah next door and nothing is worth hearing him harp on about broken sleep and bad manners.
Manon’s shoulders slump. ‘Oui, we don’t want to disrupt the backpackers.’
‘Tomorrow then?’ I glance at the time on my phone. ‘Technically that is today. Let’s try and get some sleep. Not that I’m going to be able to. I’ll be wondering about what’s behind the doors of suites nineteen and twenty.’
Did a family maybe hide in there during the war? Or could it be as simple as Manon suggests, that the rooms are a mess? But surely then just locking the doors would suffice?
It’s more than that. I can feel the secret pulse like a heartbeat as I make my way back to bed.
8
7 NOVEMBER
After an interrupted sleep I’m startled awake when my phone rings. The caller display shows it’s Margaret. I’d completely forgotten about everything except the mystery upstairs as I tossed and turned, unable to fully get back to sleep after our witching-hour wakeup. I mentally prepare and formulate how to break the news to her, all without the benefit of my first morning coffee.
‘Bonjour, Margaret!’ I say faux sunnily, before a yawn gets the better of me.
‘We did all that yesterday, Anais. Get to the point. Why haven’t I had an update about your manuscript that’s due imminently? And I warn you, I’m in a foul mood after meeting that ghastly celebrity yesterday. Some of the things he said – completely inappropriate. Guaranteed to be the sort of client who will end up being cancelled. Anyway, don’t get me started on privileged men in publishing. We’re here to talk about your writing. So. You… spill.’
‘Ah, well, as you can appreciate, things are a bit hectic at the moment, so I haven’t been in the right frame of mind to – uh, write romance.’ She gasps, not a good sign, so I hurry on.‘You know I’veneveronce missed a deadline but…’ My stomach twists in knots and I can’t quite get the rest of the words out.
‘And you’re just telling me this when your book is about due?’
I screw up my face. ‘Upon reflection, I should have mentioned it sooner.’
