The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Lucerne (The Girl, the Dog and the Writer, #3)

by Katrina Nannestad

  ‘A key?’ asked Freja. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Lady P. ‘Positive. You see, my dear, dear husband, Lord P, died six months ago.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ whispered Clementine, and she felt about until she found the woman’s bandaged hand and took it in hers.

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ said Lady P. ‘He was a good man. A fine husband. Kind and jolly and rather fat, which made him a delight to cuddle.’

  Freja giggled, then blushed.

  ‘Giggle away,’ said Lady P. ‘Lord P would not want us to mope. Besides, you would have laughed uproariously had you seen him in real life. Not only was he fat but he had the most ridiculous taste in clothes — all stripes and checks and polka dots that did nothing to hide his ample girth. He had a horse called Walrus — he named him after reading one of your papers, Clementine! He and Walrus were both fat and slow and charmingly good-natured. They’d set out on a ride and return four hours later, having barely left the garden, but in wonderful spirits. I once found them asleep in the conservatory, Walrus on his side, his head in the hydrangeas, Lord P on his back, his head against Walrus’ rump. Both were snoring so hard that the glass panes in the ceiling were rattling fit to shatter!’

  Freja laughed until she hiccuped. Clementine giggled, softly, weakly, until it fizzled with a sigh.

  ‘I think she just fell asleep,’ said Freja, ‘halfway through a laugh.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ whispered Lady P. ‘She’s had a rough time of it, I suppose.’

  ‘You too,’ said Freja.

  Lady P smiled. ‘Yes, but I will get better.’

  So will Clementine, thought Freja, but for some reason the words stuck in her throat and she couldn’t speak them out loud.

  An awkward silence hung in the air.

  Finally, Lady P said, ‘The key! I do remember! After my dear fat husband died, I was presented with a key. Unbeknown to me, Lord P had opened a safety deposit box in a Swiss bank and had instructed his lawyer to pass the key on to me after his death. Apparently, the box contains something of great value. Something that will support me in the lonely years ahead. Diamonds, rare antiques, a small but priceless painting, wads of cash, black pearls . . . I do not know. I have come here to Switzerland to find out.’ She pursed her lips. ‘The trouble is, I can’t remember what I have done with the key and, even if I could, I can’t recall which bank I am supposed to visit.’ She rolled her bandaged hand into a fist and knocked her head three times. ‘Wretched, wretched amnesia. It’s a curse and a half.’

  ‘But surely Jane knows,’ said Freja. ‘Can’t she tell you about the key and the bank and everything else when she visits?’

  ‘Jane . . . Jane . . .’ Lady P yawned her words. ‘Dear, oh dear . . . remembering is . . . all so very . . . tiring.’ And suddenly, she, too, was dozing.

  Freja lay down between the two women, took a block of Herr Berna’s chocolate from her pocket and bit off the corner. Finnegan ran across the room and out the door, one of Lady P’s bandages trailing from his mouth.

  ‘Bandages. Amnesia. Keys. Swiss banks,’ Freja murmured through melted chocolate. ‘It sounds like the makings of a crime in one of Tobias’ novels.’

  ‘A crime,’ muttered Lady P. She moaned, then started tossing her head from side to side on her pillow. ‘A crime . . . A crime . . .’

  Freja sat up and stroked the woman’s hand. ‘It’s okay, Lady P,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just a dream. You’ve had a terrible accident. No-one’s committed a crime.’

  ‘A crime!’ shouted Lady P, her eyes flying open. Turning to Freja, she gasped, ‘Oh dear. I remember. I remember it all. It wasn’t an accident at all. Jane pushed me off the cliff!’

  Two hours later, the police departed, having recorded all that Lady Pembleton was able to share. The story, as far as she could remember, was this: Since arriving at Pembleton Manor three months ago, Jane Smith had been a devoted companion and secretary. She had expressed a vague interest in the safety deposit box, but only so far as hoping that its contents were of enough value to allow Lady Pembleton to live in luxury for the rest of her life. It was Jane who had suggested a little trip to the mountains before visiting the Swiss bank. It was Jane who had expressed a longing to hike to the lookout on the edge of Mount Pilatus, the lesser known lookout where very few tourists ventured. And it was Jane who, at the edge of the lookout, had ripped the safety deposit key from the chain around Lady P’s neck, then shoved her off the cliff.

  ‘Oh dear,’ sighed Lady P. ‘How very silly I have been. By now, I suppose Jane — or whatever her real name is — will have been to the bank and used the key to open the safety deposit box. The valuable gift Lord P set aside for me will be gone. And I will never, ever know what it was!’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ whispered Freja. ‘Not knowing is the worst thing of all.’ She blushed, suddenly aware of how silly it sounded. ‘Except for the cuts and the bruises and the squashed nose and the broken leg and the betrayal of your friend Jane.’

  Lady P blinked. ‘No, you are spot on, Freja. Not knowing — that is the worst.’

  CHAPTER 10

  A little bit of pre-dinner poisoning

  Freja stood on the balcony outside their hotel suite, peering through her new binoculars to the far side of the old town. Tobias would be waiting for her in the dining room, but she wanted to feel close to Clementine just one last time before the day was done.

  After half a year, Freja had almost grown used to being away from her mother. Not that she hadn’t missed her every single day. The longing had simply become normal, something manageable that she could pack away into a little box inside her mind for a few hours at a time while she lived her strange but exciting new life with Tobias and Finnegan.

  But now that she had been reunited with Clementine, the things Freja had missed most had grown big and beautiful and special once more. The love. The hugs. The shared history of their lives together. Knowing that she was Clementine’s daughter. Knowing that Clementine was her mother. And knowing that nothing could ever take that away. It gave her a pure and perfect sense of belonging.

  Freja scanned back and forth along Museggmauer, the old city wall, until she found the clinic. ‘There!’ She adjusted the focus and followed the façade upward, stopping at the third-storey window to Clementine’s room. From this distance, the only thing visible was a large square of light, but it was enough to make her feel that her mother was a little closer.

  Holding the binoculars in one hand, Freja blew a kiss out across the river. ‘Goodnight, Clementine. I love you!’ Then, not wanting to be rude, she waved. ‘Sleep tight, Lady P. It was wonderful to meet you. Strange, like slipping into the pages of a crime novel, but wonderful.’

  Freja now shifted her gaze closer to home. She adjusted the focus on the binoculars and scanned the hotel terrace below, where guests were enjoying the last moments of daylight. A party of three men and three women sat around a table, gulping cocktails and gobbling away at a large wedge of Emmental — the Swiss cheese with holes all through. Four businessmen with briefcases leaned against the terrace railing, drinking beer and nodding importantly at one another’s comments. One had a large red graze on his cheek.

  Madame Belmont was reading a glossy travel magazine — or was she reading a comic book tucked inside the magazine? — and poking small bits of cake down into her bulging coat pocket. Fifi, her poodle, must have a sweet tooth. Madame Belmont’s clothes and hair were oddly dishevelled and appeared to be covered in a fine layer of soot. ‘Weird,’ murmured Freja.

  Herr Basil the banker lounged back on a daybed. His three dogs lay on the terrace around him like a giant, furry brown-and-white rug and . . .

  Freja lowered the binoculars, polished the lenses on her dress, then raised them to her eyes once more. She giggled. She wasn’t seeing things. Herr Basil really was making a rope out of sheets — tying them together, corner to corner, with giant knots.

  She stared a little longer. ‘I wonder what he’s going t
o do with it when he’s done. Scale a mountain? Rescue a princess?’

  Freja was just about to put the binoculars down when a movement at the far side of the terrace caught her eye. ‘Ha! There she is!’ cried Freja. ‘Blah Woman. If she hadn’t moved her hands, I wouldn’t have noticed her.’

  Freja let her binoculars dangle from their leather strap. ‘I suppose I’d better change for dinner.’

  Inside, a line of toilet paper ran from the bathroom, across the sitting room to beneath the desk. There lay Finnegan, his head and neck wrapped in the rest of the toilet paper so that he looked a little like Lady Pembleton.

  ‘Puppy!’ Freja sighed, but her voice was too filled with love to make the dog feel any sort of remorse. He woofed, licked the desk leg and began to gnaw at the rug. It was Persian, very beautiful, probably very expensive.

  Freja wandered into her bedroom. She would have to find something special to wear for dinner. The Palm Room was not your everyday restaurant. It was, from what Freja had seen when she peeped through the door earlier that evening, rather posh. For starters, there were more potted palms than one might expect to see in a desert oasis, and a grand piano that someone played twenty-four hours a day. The waiters wore dinner suits, the tables were covered in fine white linen and there were at least ten knives, forks and spoons for every place-setting.

  Freja looked through the drawers of her dressing table, but everything looked drab. Perhaps Tobias had something more exciting that she could borrow. She skipped into the next bedroom and froze. There, on top of the wardrobe, pressed right back against the wall, was a box.

  ‘What’s that?’ whispered Freja, which was a silly thing to do because she knew exactly what that was. It was a treasure chest — the battered little treasure chest that contained all of Clementine’s and Tobias’ secrets.

  In Rome, Freja had stolen the key and sneaked a look inside. There’d been a collection of simple little objects, but without knowing why they’d been saved, they were meaningless. Freja had felt terribly let down — until she discovered the photos.

  Tucked away at the bottom of the chest was a strip of three photos, black and white, the type taken in a booth at a shopping centre or a fair. There, sitting side by side, smiling, laughing, enjoying that moment together, had been a girl and a boy — little Clementine and little Tobias.

  Freja had been stunned. Clementine and Tobias had known each other since they were children! Why hadn’t she been told? Were Tobias and Clementine brother and sister? Was Tobias Freja’s uncle? Freja had asked and he’d said no. A very clear and definite no. And then he’d added that it was far more complicated than that. But what could be more complicated than Tobias being her uncle yet not being a part of her life until the last six months, and only then because Clementine was sick and Freja had needed somewhere to go?

  Nothing could be more complicated.

  Nothing.

  Unless . . .

  Freja stared up at the little treasure chest and wondered all over again.

  She tugged at her ear, then realised that she was doing exactly what Tobias did when he was deep in thought.

  She pulled a curl of hair down in front of her eyes and stared at it. It was just like Tobias’ curly hair.

  She recalled all the times in the last six months when people had mistaken her for Tobias’ daughter.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  And then she asked The Very Big Question aloud: ‘Is Tobias Appleby my father?’

  Ten minutes later, Freja and Finnegan stood in the corridor waiting for the lift. Freja was wearing Tobias’ green knitted vest as a dress — inside out and back to front, because that was how Tobias wore it most of the time. Manfred had delivered fresh flowers to their suite that afternoon and Freja had used these to add the touch of elegance she thought the Palm Room demanded. Cheery yellow crocuses were threaded through the holes in the vest. Two small posies of mixed flowers were tied to the top of her boots by the laces. And dozens of edelweiss were tangled and twined through her curls.

  Finnegan licked her ear.

  ‘Are the edelweiss too much?’ asked Freja.

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan.

  ‘Thank you.’ Freja smiled. ‘And you look very handsome too. I love the way you’ve used toilet paper as a scarf. It looks relaxed but a little bit fancy. Like you’ve made just the right amount of effort for dining out.’

  Freja stared at the lift and tapped her toe. It seemed to be taking an awful long time. She glanced up and down the corridor to make sure no-one was watching, stepped backward, shoved the wood panel on the wall and disappeared down the secret passageway. Finnegan was right behind her.

  This time, Freja felt more sure of the route, moving swiftly along the gap between the walls and down the spiral staircase. Finnegan followed, his nose poking into Freja’s back all the way — a kind of doggy radar system for the dark. Reaching the ground floor, Freja pushed open the shelf that was really a door, slipped into the cloakroom and tripped on a cardboard carton. Finnegan dashed past, a low rumble forming in his chest.

  ‘Berna Schokolade!’ she cried, looking at the carton and rubbing her shin. Then, leaning closer, she found the owner’s name written beneath the factory label. ‘Monsieur de la Fontaine,’ she read aloud. ‘The Frenchman! This is the chocolate the Frenchman bought from Herr Berna’s factory this morning. He must be staying here at Hotel Schloss der Freude.’

  Finnegan growled.

  Freja jumped, worried that someone might be about to enter the cloakroom and find them there. They’d think she was snooping. Or worse, they’d realise she’d been creeping through the secret passage, which she was quite sure was not meant for guests. ‘Because then it wouldn’t be secret,’ she murmured. ‘It would just be a passage. A dark, narrow, stuffy passage.’

  Finnegan growled again. He lowered his head and the hackles rose on his back. Someone must be headed towards the cloakroom.

  Freja bit her lip, eyes darting about for somewhere to hide, then she burst out laughing. For suddenly she realised why the dog was growling. A fur coat, lush and cream, hung between the ski jackets and the woollen overcoats.

  ‘It’s just a coat! Come on, puppy,’ she said, giggling and dragging him out into the service corridor. ‘Everything is just fine. We’re as safe as —’

  ‘Aaaaargh!’ A blood-curdling scream came from somewhere near the foyer.

  A shiver ran up Freja’s spine.

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan, planting his giant body between the girl and the direction of the noise.

  ‘I know,’ said Freja. ‘Not safe, after all. But Tobias is there. Perhaps Vivi too. We have to help.’

  Freja grabbed a handful of Finnegan’s shaggy grey fur for courage, and together they sneaked towards the foyer.

  ‘Aaaaargh! You scoundrel!’ wailed a voice with a strong German accent. ‘You’ve poisoned me! I should have known. I should never have trusted you.’

  Freja stared in horror as an elderly woman staggered from the bar into the foyer. She was tall and slim, dressed in fine black silk and many strands of pearls. She might have been quite regal except for the fact that she lurched about like a drunkard.

  ‘Aaaaargh!’ she screamed, this time rolling her eyes and tugging at the pearls around her neck. She staggered towards Manfred, but the concierge remained rooted to the spot.

  Guests rushed from the Palm Room, the bar and the terrace, into the foyer.

  ‘Aaaaargh!’ the woman screamed again and staggered backward towards Freja. Her pearls swayed and clicked and clacked against each other as she waved her thin arms about in distress. Freja put her arms out, ready to catch the woman if she fell, but she jerked and now staggered sideways, headed straight for a giant urn of flowers perched upon a pedestal.

  The crowd gasped.

  Manfred narrowed his eyes and a smile flickered at the edges of his mouth.

  The urn toppled and shattered across the marble floor. The woman clutched at her throat, gurgled,
fell backward and flopped, lifeless, along the full length of the blue velvet lounge.

  A stunned silence filled the lobby.

  Finnegan whimpered and licked Freja’s hand.

  Manfred stepped forward, smirking. He leaned over the lifeless woman and snarled, ‘Ha! It was the cherry liqueur, you stupid old bat! I told you I would take revenge for what you did to my cousin Oliver!’

  Freja’s eyes and mouth grew wide.

  Tobias pushed through the crowd, a notebook and pencil in his hands. He was grinning — actually grinning! — and waved at Freja. ‘Did you see that, old chap? I was hoping you wouldn’t miss it. Wasn’t it marvellous? Wasn’t Frau Isch’s poisoning the most splendid thing you’ve ever seen?’

  Freja felt suddenly dizzy.

  The lifeless woman now sprang to her feet and straightened her silk dress. ‘Danke! Danke!’ she cooed. ‘It was an honour to act out the next scene in your novel, Herr Appleby. A pure honour. I cannot wait to read it.’

  ‘Act?’ whimpered Freja.

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan.

  ‘And me?’ asked Manfred, twiddling the ends of his blond moustache. ‘Was I nasty? Was I wicked? Was I despicable?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ cried Tobias. ‘The smirk was a master stroke. And I do like that moustache twiddling. I’ve recorded it all here and will type it up first thing in the morning.’ He tapped his pencil on his notebook.

  Manfred beamed. He clicked his heels, bowed and retreated behind the desk.

  One by one, the guests returned to their drinks and meals.

  Tobias stuffed his notebook back into his cardigan pocket and tucked his pencil behind his ear. ‘What a jolly afternoon I’ve had,’ he sang, ushering Freja into the Palm Room. ‘Manfred had spread the word that I was writing a novel set in a castle, and everyone wanted to help. A charming businessman from Geneva let us push him down the grand staircase. Madame Belmont climbed into the fireplace in the library and shimmied all the way up the chimney to the roof — quite impressive for a seventy-year-old woman, but apparently she once worked as an acrobat in a circus. Herr Basil the banker has been making a rope from sheets which we’ll use to lower him from the turret as soon as he’s finished. And Rolf, the bellboy, allowed us to lock him in the coal box in the cellar.’