Noah hands me a moleskin notebook. ‘More interesting is that these three authors used pseudonyms. Their real nameswere kept quiet, whatever they were, but interestingly enough they chose to stick with feminine pen names.’
‘Right.’ Back then it was routine to use masculine names, or initials, to disguise the fact the author was female, which is awful and sexist, but that’s how it was for a lot of female writers. The names Noah has compiled are:
Thérèse Fournier
Adeleine Deschamps
Clothilde Labelle
‘These authors were all published?’ He nods. ‘Do you know the titles of their books?’
‘Turn the page. I made a list of their works.’
I turn the page and try to recall how our mystery author described her published works, something along the lines of ‘the summer novel’ and ‘the novel set on the coast’. These titles don’t mention either of those, but that doesn’t mean they’re not set in summer or by the sea.
‘We have to find these novels and see if they match up with what we know so far. Actually, our best bet is to look on the shelves here first. You’d think she’d have copies of her own novels, wouldn’t you?’
‘Great idea.’
We search high and low, gently moving the double and often tripled-stacked books, including all the novels that spill out onto the floor and those plonked on the desk and tucked away in drawers.
I yelp when I findThe Year Time Slowedby Adeleine Deschampsand hold it up for Noah to view. ‘Shouldn’t I feel a thrum, a pulse, a sign that this isherbook?’ I asked, giddinesstaking over that we might be one step ahead in figuring out who she was.
‘Oui, a hundred years is sufficient time for her to work out how to message from the afterlife.’
I fall back on the chair and run a hand over the cover. It’s green, featuring only the title of the book and her name. I open it to see if there’s any inscriptions, any clues, but find nothing.
‘No other Adeleine Deschampswhere you found this?’ Noah queries.
‘Non, and isn’t that weird? I have triples of every edition of my own work waiting to be shelved when the library is renovated.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking too. Unless… when she escaped her controlling husband, she didn’t want to be reminded of them and what she’d lost: her royalties, her voice.’
It makes sense. ‘If she was running for her life, then the books wouldn’t have mattered; all she’d have been thinking about was her safety and getting out of his clutches. You’re the literary scholar, Noah – would you like to read this first? You might be able to tell if the writing style is similar to what’s written in the notebooks.’
He grins. ‘Sure. I’d love that.’
I hand him the novel, which he holds tight to his chest as if to protect the words within. I lean back on my chair, excited to share the spoils of my own investigations. ‘I did a little digging too, back through old archives on the internet about the Toussaint family. They were renowned for their patronage for supporting aspiring writers. This literary philanthropy continued with their daughter… Lily-Louise, who would often pay house calls on writers she admired.’
‘Lily-Louise must be L. L.! Great work, Anais.’
‘Oui!Merci.’ It’s thrilling to see the same level of enthusiasm from Noah as I felt when I discovered what her initials stood for.
‘She paid house calls, you said? So, she could have visited our writer and that’s how they met? By chance…’
‘I sense Lily-Louise saw an unhappy woman in a controlling marriage and vowed to help…’
Noah nods. ‘And our author found true love with Lily-Louise? We know from the love letter you found in the bedside drawer in suite twenty they were plotting her escape from the controlling husband, and she asked whether she could come here. And that she’d come with nothing but her heart and soul and an abundance of love… which was my favourite part of that letter.’ So, Noahisa romantic? I loved that part of the letter too and it strikes me as sweet he’s memorised that part of it, just like I have.
‘Oui. I sense they made plans to be together quickly after that letter. You couldfeelthe urgency in her words about the need to escape, not only him, but because she yearned to be with the woman she fell in love with.’
‘I agree. The writer arrived here, we think sometime after 1924 under an assumed name with support from the Toussaint family, who kept her real identity a secret, we presume so her husband couldn’t find her?’
‘Looks like it.’ From what I’ve read in the notebooks, the Toussaint family had welcomed her with open arms.
‘What happened to the Toussaint family?’ Noah asks.
‘There wasn’t much on the parents themselves, but they had a son, Jean, Lily-Louise’s older brother, who took ownership of the hotel around 1931. Thenhisson Jean Paul sold the hotel to the previous hotelier, the one you met.’
