‘So, if the son Jean took over in 1931, what happened to the parents and Lily-Louise? We need to find out whether our author wrote any journals after that date to find out their fate.’
‘Oui.But I have the strangest feeling about it. Why would their rooms have been sealed up? If the two women left forwhatever reason – travel, escape, family issues – wouldn’t they take their special things? The author’s precious notebooks, her manuscript? Lily-Louise’s artwork?’
‘Yes,’ Noah says, gazing around the suite full of disorderly piles of books. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How old were Lily-Louise and our author, do you think?’
I search the drawer for one of the notebooks I replaced last night. ‘In this one she talks about being married for a long time, almost two decades of mistreatment, so I suppose around forty or so given marriage happened at an earlier age back then? As for Lily-Louise, I’m not sure. I can’t find anything about Lily-Louise’s parents either. Not even a death notice.’
‘The mystery deepens.’
‘Oui.I hope we’ve found her.’ I shake the novel by Adeleine Deschamps.
‘It’s not enough to go on, is it? One fictional work. Why don’t I look further into the Toussaint family? See if I can find out where they went, when they died. We might be able to track backwards from Jean Paul, to Jean, Lily-Louise’s brother.’
‘That would be great. As much as I want to solve this riddle, we have so much to do before opening in a couple of weeks.’
I wait for him to tell me it’s not possible, but he remains silent. Progress? I check my watch and swear under my breath. ‘Sorry, Noah. I’ve got to go. I’m interviewing a chef today. Manon has found a candidate who has experience in French kitchens. I’m not used to interviewing staff so wish me luck.’
‘Bonne chance.’
‘Merci.After I’ve met my self-enforced word count this evening, I’ll compile dates from the notebooks and see where they end? Meet here again in a few days?’ We lock eyes and for a moment time stops. I put it down to being swept away by a love affair from a century ago. I step to the doorway, breaking the spell.
‘Oui,I’d love that.’Noah takes the Adeleine Deschamps novel with him, and I lock up and dash to the kitchen to find our potential new chef opening and closing drawers and familiarising herself with the layout.
‘Désolée,’ she says with a laugh. ‘I wanted to see what I’d be working with. I’m Camille.’ We shake hands as I introduce myself and give her a run down on what we’ve achieved so far and what we hope to achieve with the hotel restaurant.
Camille asks a lot of questions and offers suggestions that make no sense to me, like doing American breakfast waffles at dinner, but I gently steer her back to our culinary vision of serving French bistro food and decide to reserve judgement.
‘I’m not experienced in a kitchen, but simple French dishes will appeal to our guests and locals alike.’
She holds up a hand. ‘Say no more. Why don’t I make you one of my signature dishes and you can let your palate decide? If you enjoy it, we can talk about the ideas I have for this kitchen and whether it aligns with yours.’
‘Parfait.’
‘Would you mind giving me some money and I’ll go and buy some supplies?’ I find my purse and hand over some euros.
Manon appears, wearing her overalls, which are now paint splatted. Somehow they suit her. ‘Did I hear talk about a signature dish?’
‘Oui, this is Camille. My cousin Manon.’
‘Enchante,’Camille says. ‘Give me a few hours and I’ll serve you both lunch.’
Manon calls out to her but she’s already out the front door.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Is Camille American?’
‘Oui.’
‘Huh. I’m sure she said she was French on her application.’
‘Does it matter as long as she can cook?’
‘Non, it’s just I was sure she said she was from Paris. And her references, I haven’t called them yet. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
30
7 DECEMBER
