The firefighters continued to keep a cordon around the area even when it was clear that the fire itself had been extinguished, but after a time, the guests were allowed to enter the main building, where the management shepherded them into the public rooms, saying that all of the bedrooms needed to be checked before they could return to them.
‘Deira!’ Grace finally saw her, in a tracksuit and fleece, standing barefoot at the window overlooking the garden. ‘Are you OK?’ When Deira didn’t say anything, she went over to her and repeated the question.
‘My car,’ said Deira. ‘I need to get to my car.’
‘I don’t think they’ll let anyone into that space for a while,’ said Grace. ‘Anyhow, the car is the least of your worries. The most important thing is that you’re all right yourself.’
‘The car is the most of my worries.’ Deira’s face was white, her green eyes clouded with anxiety. ‘It has to be all right.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ lied Grace. ‘Come and get a coffee. Or hot chocolate. Or whatever it is they’re handing out.’
Deira followed her wordlessly. There was nowhere to sit in the café, so Grace continued walking through it towards the hotel bar, where, although the seats were taken, there were deep window sills suitable for perching on.
‘I’ll get you something,’ said Grace, who had decided that Deira was in shock. ‘Don’t move.’
A few minutes later, she returned with brandies for both of them.
‘The queue for hot chocolate was longer,’ she said. ‘So I thought we should make the most of what we could get.’
‘I don’t usually drink—’
‘Nor do I,’ interrupted Grace. ‘But take a sip anyhow. It’s a pretty decent cognac.’
Deira did as she was told, then made a face. ‘Decent or not, the only time I drink brandy is hot with lemon and honey when I have a cold.’ But her voice was stronger and Grace thought she looked less fragile than before.
‘I’m not a big fan either,’ she admitted. ‘But hey ho. Needs must.’
Deira smiled faintly and took another sip.
‘Feeling better?’ asked Grace.
‘What happened?’ Deira responded with a question of her own.
‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Grace. ‘I was asleep when the alarm went off.’
‘The car will be ruined.’ Deira’s teeth began to chatter. ‘I’m so fucked.’
‘Your insurance will cover it,’ Grace said.
‘Even if it does, he’ll kill me,’ said Deira.
‘Who?’ asked Grace.
‘My partner – my ex-partner,’ said Deira. ‘Everyone thought it was mine. But he took out the loan.’
Grace looked at her in confusion.
‘I was the one with the mortgage, you see,’ said Deira. ‘He did the car. But I paid the insurance. It’s comprehensive, so it covers fire. But does that only mean the car itself going on fire? What about damage in another fire? Does that count? And if it’s a write-off because of fire damage, will they pay out? How much will they pay? I don’t know that either. Gavin will freak, I do know that.’
‘Gavin’s your ex?’ Grace grasped at the most fundamental part of Deira’s incoherent monologue.
‘Yes.’ Deira buried her face in her hands. ‘I knew it was a mistake. I was looking for a sign. But there wasn’t one.’
Grace hadn’t entirely got to grips with what the younger woman was saying, but she did know that she was very distressed. So despite her natural inclination not to get involved in anyone else’s emotional issues, she put her arm around her shoulders and hugged her gently, as she used to do when any of the children was upset. They stayed like that for what to Grace seemed like an age, as her arm had gone numb by the time Deira sat up straight again.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her voice suddenly steadier and calmer. ‘I don’t know what happened to me there. I’m fine now.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Grace. ‘Obviously you’ve had a lot going on and tonight’s escapade has added—’ She broke off and gave Deira a wry smile, ‘I was going to say fuel to the fire, but I guess that’s horribly inappropriate.’
Deira laughed. A shaky laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
‘What’s done is done,’ she said. ‘I can’t change it, I just have to find a way to deal with it.’ She took another sip of brandy. ‘Though I’m not sure I can deal with it if I drink much more of this. It’s terrible.’
‘I’ll go and see if I can rustle up a hot chocolate this time,’ said Grace. ‘Stay there.’
Deira did as she was told, sitting deeper into the window alcove and pulling her knees up against her body so that she could rest her chin on them. No matter which way she looked at it, this was a monumental cock-up. Of course Gavin was always going to find out she’d taken the car, but she’d expected to have a few days before having to properly worry about him. And even then, when he ultimately realised that it hadn’t been actually stolen and that she was the one who’d taken it, all that would have happened was that he’d have lost his temper with her, which wouldn’t have been anything new. Not these days. Admittedly she’d been concerned that by some weird cosmic process he would have immediately sensed the car had been taken from its parking bay beneath the apartment and suspected her, but despite her earlier worries about him setting the police and/or the gendarmerie after her, that hadn’t happened. Besides she’d been mentally prepared for that situation. She’d rehearsed the conversation. But she certainly hadn’t rehearsed telling Gavin she’d taken the car and allowed it to become a burnt-out wreck.
‘Here.’ Grace returned with a large cup of steaming hot chocolate. ‘Get this inside you. And take another couple of sips of the brandy too.’
‘Thanks,’ said Deira. ‘You’re good in a crisis.’
A member of staff walked into the bar and announced that the fire services had now declared all the bedrooms safe.
‘So you may return,’ he said. ‘And we apologise for the inconvenience.’
‘A bit more than an inconvenience,’ said Deira as she warmed her hands on the cup.
‘Well, nobody was injured and that’s the main thing,’ said Grace. ‘Stuff can be replaced.’
‘You’re right.’ Deira’s words got caught in her throat. ‘But people . . . nothing can replace people.’ She winced as she caught Grace’s expression. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so bloody insensitive. I didn’t mean . . . the professor . . .’
‘You’re right,’ said Grace. ‘People can’t be replaced. I know that. I accept that. I’ve accepted it since the day he died. As for your situation, if you want to tell me what’s wrong, I’m happy to listen. I bent your ear earlier today, remember. It was surprisingly good for me. Maybe talking would be good for you.’
Deira shook her head. ‘Another time.’
‘OK,’ said Grace.
She continued to sit with Deira, but eventually she felt her eyes start to close.
‘I have to go to bed,’ she said. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Sure I will.’ Deira gave her a weak smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, Grace. I’m fine.’
But she didn’t feel fine. She felt terrible.
She stayed sitting in the alcove, not in the slightest bit tired, staring ahead of her, allowing the last few months to replay in her mind, as she’d done so often before. She thought of the things she should have said and done, but the bottom line was that the result was always the same.
Gavin had left her.
And before that, he’d lied to her.
She would never forgive him.
She would never forgive herself.
It was almost four in the morning and the sky outside was beginning to lighten by the time Deira decided she was tired enough to go to bed. She deliberately didn’t look out of the window at the damage the fire had caused. It would still be there when she woke up again. Grace was right. It was only stuff. There was no point in stressing. Tomorrow (or more accurately, later today) was time enough to wo
rry about it.
The bartender had closed the bar and most of the other guests had gone back to their rooms, although a few continued to wander around the public areas, which still smelled faintly of smoke. Nevertheless, after the pandemonium of earlier, it was quiet and peaceful.
Deira left her empty cup and half-empty glass of brandy on the bar counter before turning to head upstairs. And then she turned back again. She couldn’t understand how she hadn’t noticed before. The hotel bar, like the restaurant she’d eaten in with Grace, had a nautical theme. A net hung from its ceiling, supporting some green and red glass buoys. Semaphore flags decorated the wall. And on a long shelf was a wooden boat, with a chrome plaque beneath it that said Atlantic Lady. Set into the hull of the boat were five portholes.
Surely, thought Deira, this was the answer to the professor’s clue? A ship called Atlantic Lady. Behind the bar. A place where he might have expected Grace to relax. In a hotel called the Atlantique.
The first clue had given them the number 2. The uploaded photo would give them another number. Along with 5 for the portholes, Grace would be on her way to unlocking the next folder and continuing on her way to whatever prize her late husband had left for her. But that left them a number short if the password was four digits again. Maybe the uploaded photo would give a two-digit number. Or perhaps the first clue was 20 and not 2. The title of the novel was Twenty Thousand Leagues after all. She’d talk about it with Grace later. But right now, she needed to sleep.
She woke up at nine o’clock, her eyes snapping open, instantly alert. She showered as quickly as she could, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and hurried downstairs. The smell of smoke hung in the air and she had to steel herself to walk outside and survey the possible damage to her car.
She wasn’t the only one. Although the fire zone was still cordoned off, a small group of people clustered nearby. Most of them were either taking photos or talking animatedly into their mobiles. Deira edged past them to have a look. And groaned.
Even if the convertible wasn’t the burnt-out wreck of her worst imaginings, it certainly didn’t resemble anything that would be drivable in the near future. The paintwork was bubbled and scorched from the heat of the flames, and a plank of wood from the pergola had burned its way through the fabric top, falling onto the passenger seat and setting it alight too. Only the prompt arrival of the fire brigade had stopped further damage, but it was clear to Deira that the interior would have been ruined by the water from their hoses. As for the mechanical parts, she couldn’t imagine that a few thousand litres at high pressure would’ve done them much good either.
She stayed where she was for a few minutes, but as there was nothing she could usefully do, she abandoned the depressing sight and went into the hotel. Breakfast was being served in the café, and she helped herself to some pastries and a large coffee from the buffet.
‘Deira.’ Grace Garvey, sitting at a window table with a cup of coffee in front of her, waved at her. Despite the drama of the night before, she looked wide awake and refreshed, dressed today in a plain white T-shirt and cornflower-blue capri pants. She’d substituted a blue pendant for the turquoise necklace.
‘Hi.’ Deira plonked her tray on the table. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine. What about you?’
‘Apart from the fact that my car is probably a total write-off, I’m grand,’ said Deira.
‘Oh dear.’ Grace looked at her sympathetically. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Have some coffee,’ Deira said. ‘After that, I might be able to put my mind to it.’
‘Good thinking.’
‘But . . .’ Deira added milk to the coffee and smiled suddenly, ‘on the other hand, I might have solved our clue.’
‘You might? Really?’
‘Yes.’ Deira explained about the boat and the portholes, as well as her idea that the first number was 20 and not 2 as she’d previously thought.
‘So that means that all I have left to do is take a photo of the door to the museum,’ said Grace.
‘If I’m right.’
‘I bet you are.’ Grace beamed at her. ‘I’ll do it this morning. Do you want to come?’
‘I have to hang around while they sort out what’s going to happen to the car,’ Deira said. ‘And I really need to talk to the insurance company. Otherwise I’d love to.’
‘I’ll leave in about an hour,’ sat Grace. ‘If you’ve heard before that, let me know. Otherwise I’ll go on my own. I’ll give you my number.’ She took out her phone and they exchanged contact information. Then she headed back to her room, leaving Deira to her breakfast.
Chapter 15
Loire-Atlantique, France: 47.1987°N 1.6537°W
Deira was pouring herself another cup of coffee when her mobile buzzed and caused her to splash a good deal more than she’d intended into her cup. Once again she worried that by some process of osmosis, Gavin had discovered what had happened to the car. But when she took the phone from her bag, she saw a message from Gillian.
Just to let you know that all is well in your house. It’s a good thing we came because you left milk in the fridge! Also, I’ve watered your plants. And I’ve folded your bed linen and put it away along with your smalls. Will do the laundry before we go. Lovely day here.
Deira sighed.
She’d forgotten that she’d left her washed bed linen as well as a selection of her undies drying in the tiny utility room off the kitchen. Naturally Gillian had found them. Even though there’d been no need for her to go into the utility room at all. As for the fact that her sister had put away her underwear . . . Deira was trying hard not to think about the fact that Gill had probably poked through her chest of drawers and seen, along with the lacy lingerie she liked to wear, the sex toys that she and Gavin had often used together in bed. She shuddered but didn’t bother responding. Instead she finished her coffee and got up from the table.
Although she dreaded having to deal with the issue of the car, she knew she had to stay on top of the situation, so she went out into the bright sunlight of a day that was getting more glorious by the minute. The early-morning clouds had parted and the sky was a bright blue. The sun was warm and only the hint of a breeze disturbed the air.
The police had lifted the cordon around the parking area and were now allowing people to inspect their vehicles. The convertible had come off the worst of all of them. When she opened the door, water sloshed from the side panel and soaked her feet. The service manuals in the glove compartment were soaked too. But she was able to find the number for the global assistance package that had come with the car, and when she called it, the person she spoke to was sympathetic, although he pointed out that as her issue wasn’t a mechanical fault, the company wasn’t responsible.
‘But we can get it towed to the nearest authorised dealer if you want,’ he told her. ‘It will be at your expense. Hopefully your insurance will cover it.’
She thanked him and rang the insurance company. After spending an age following the instructions of the automated answering system, she eventually got to speak to a human being. The insurance agent was perfectly pleasant, but Deira felt he didn’t quite believe her story about a burning pergola raining fire down on the convertible.
‘You can fill out a form online,’ he said. ‘But we’ll need a mechanic’s report before we can assess the claim. However, it sounds to me as if the hotel is responsible.’
That was the trouble with insurance companies, she thought. Always trying to shift the responsibility to someone else.
‘What about a replacement car?’ she asked.
‘We can’t supply you with a replacement car in France.’ He sounded horrified at the very idea.
She’d expected that, of course. But without a car, she was stuck in Nantes. Which, while a perfectly nice town, was hardly the number one attraction for a tourist. Why hadn’t she listened to the inner voice telling her that coming away was a bad idea? And why hadn’t she taken heed of any possible sign that wo
uld’ve pointed to it? Why hadn’t she gone to Paris?
And what the hell was she going to say to Gavin?
Deira sat down at one of tables outside the Atlantique to wait for the tow truck, and texted Grace. When the other woman joined her a short time later, Deira gave her a résumé of her earlier conversation.
‘How long will you have to wait?’
‘I don’t know.’ Deira’s shoulders slumped. ‘I should’ve known this trip would be a disaster.’
‘Oh, but why?’ asked Grace. ‘The fire wasn’t your fault.’
‘Something was always going to happen,’ said Deira.
‘Why?’ repeated Grace.
‘It . . . it doesn’t matter.’ Deira shook her head. ‘Are you leaving for La Rochelle soon?’
‘I haven’t taken the photo at the museum yet,’ Grace reminded her. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’
‘I’ve no idea how long it will take them to arrive and tow away my car. So I’ll have to wait here. But let me know when you’ve uploaded the photo. I’d love to know if it works.’
‘OK,’ said Grace. ‘See you later.’
She waved to Deira as she drove past, a little guilty at the relief that it was the younger woman’s car that had been ruined in the fire and not the Lexus. Because that would have thrown her entire trip into disarray. Given that Ken had set the timetable by booking the hotels in advance, and that he’d restricted the number of guesses for each clue, she wouldn’t have put it past him to have some kind of time limit on the treasure hunt itself. In fact she had images of the documents on the laptop simply disappearing if she didn’t work out the answers in time, like a scene from Mission: Impossible. She still didn’t really know why Ken had devised this expedition. Or when. She hoped that in solving it, she’d understand her late husband a little more.
The Women Who Ran Away: Will their secrets follow them? Page 12