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My pyjamas became my second skin for twenty-four hours as I worked through preparation for school and jotted down a couple of paragraphs for a short story. A diet of toast, cereal and baked potatoes sustained me adequately, but the walls were closing in on me, and I was ready for two days in Paris. My pink laptop would keep me company in the bistros, and I would write something for the Short Story Bash. A complete change would help me to get everything into perspective and writing would be a way to connect with her.

I showered and put on my jogging bottoms and a new T-shirt emblazoned with ‘Feel the Pain’ across the front. It was time for an adventure, so I had to pay for my accommodation in Paris. I logged on to my bank account to make a transfer to Mr. R. Laine, Felix’s father. When I clicked on my bank balance, there were transactions I did not recognise. Oh no, my father always expressed concern about online security. I had not bought anything from Little Paris Books or Google. What was going on? Dreams of Paris evaporated as I rested my head in my hands. Scrolling through the account, I noted down the anomalies. Contact details for the fraud department were on the sidebar, so I phoned the helpline.

‘Hello. I need to report fraud. Someone has been accessing my account. There are withdrawals I don’t recognise.’

‘Let’s go through the transactions. Heatherbridge Stores, Heatherbridge Bakers and one Amazon order. Which one is suspicious?’

‘They are fine. It’s the Little Paris Books and Google. I have not bought anything from them at all. I’d like to report it, please.’

‘Miss Bloom, these are payments into your account and not withdrawals.’

‘Oh.’ I had no idea what the money was doing in there. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I suggest you check it out and call again if you think it’s a mistake. Good afternoon.’

Flummoxed, I stared at the screen. Someone was paying money into my bank account. How could that be? I texted Grant about the bank account and my phone rang instantly.

‘If it’s Google, it might be the Google ads on your aunt’s blog that earn her money. Did she edit for Little Paris Books?’

‘Don’t talk about Aunt Ada in the past tense because she may still be alive. You could be right about money from advertising. I never thought of that.’ As I said it, I wondered if the solicitor had set this up when he asked for my account details.

‘Ah, mon dieu . I should be going to Paris. You could loan me some money. Come on, Maisie, what do you think?’

I really needed to do this trip alone and not be distracted by Grant’s plans to investigate the night scene in Paris. ‘I thought you were all loved up and saving up for a house or was that a tent with the two pounds you saved?’

‘Cheeky! I would love to inherit my aunt’s cottage, get pennies through the letter box and magic money in my bank account. I’m not jealous, honestly. Now, how about you treat your old friend? You can squeeze me on the sofa in your Airbnb room.’

‘What’s happened?’ I asked, knowing there was a reason for his sudden need to escape from his new partner.

‘I’m staying at Mum’s. Chris bought me a savoy cabbage for my birthday. It was presented in a beautifully wrapped box, surrounded it in tissue and there it was. A cabbage.’ His voice wobbled. ‘A cabbage,’ he repeated.

Sitting in front of the laptop screen, I checked my emails while his anger subsided. There would be no reasoning with him until he got it out of his system. I noticed an email from Danny via his business account.

Thanks for your good wishes. Laura is safe and didn’t sell her half of the business to those crooks. We’re staying at my parents in France for now. I’ll be here a while to sort out the business and ensure any deals happen with me present. Something amazing is happening at the moment!

Grant interrupted my thoughts. ‘I thought I’d found the love of my life. He’s a surgeon for goodness’ sake and he bought me a cabbage. He’s always saying I need to eat more greens. I spent every last penny on him and had to busk to get enough money to pay for my lunch. I got in trouble with the museum for exploiting my role as Darcy.’

Grant’s voice had become high pitched with the drama, so I switched the mobile to speaker phone and tried to read the rest of Danny’s email. What was so amazing in Danny’s life at the moment?

The Gadget Show has asked to do a feature on our trekking app, so we are changing our business plan. We’ve been trying out the app in the Alps because the TV programme wanted a dramatic setting. Exciting times and it’ll increase the value of our company before we sell it.

Slumped in my chair, I stared at the wall and let the screensaver cover up the email.

‘Are you listening, Maisie? What’re you doing?’ demanded Grant.

I closed the email. ‘Is it his pet name for you? You know, like… errr. My little cabbage? I once heard this on a film or was it a TV series. And isn’t the French mon petit chou , which translates as my little cabbage, a term of endearment?’ I soothed. ‘Did Chris give you a clue?’

‘You sound like chuffing Marple again. There was a little ticket inside that said clue. So, if he thinks I’m like a boring cabbage or need to change my diet then there’s no hope for us. I flung my clothes into a suitcase straight away. He told me not to come back until I’d worked out what the gift was. The damned fool, I could see it was a cabbage. And I’m not a diva.’

Savoy was a clue. I mulled it over and wondered what else was called savoy? I got it instantly. ‘You’re a damned fool! It’s The Savoy. He’s taking you to The Savoy Hotel in London. Dumb ass, it’s so obvious. He probably didn’t have a chance to tell you during your tantrums. You’re great at giving advice but don’t follow it for your own love life. Now who’s a lucky little cabbage?’

‘OMG,’ he said, with excitement in his voice and then the phone went dead.

Distracted with Grant’s drama, I contemplated making coffee but sat down again to torture myself with the rest of Danny’s email. I needed to know if they were getting married so I would not sound disappointed when I congratulated him. The time had come to end the chapter with Danny, and the rush of disappointment surprised me.

It’s been an amazing couple of days with lots of media interest. We are based at my parents’ hotel because it’s a great venue for all the calls and publicity, and it also gets them some free marketing.

I am delighted to hear you’ve been jogging, even if you did try to jog in sandals. I’ll take you shopping when all this is over, and we’ll call somewhere for a couple of beers and a good old chat.

Danny

PS: Please be wary of everyone at this time of year as they are like vipers fighting to win the Short Story Bash. If you’ve found any of your aunt’s plans, then lock them away. DON’T TRUST ANYONE! Beware of Camellia and Nora who still have suspicions your aunt is alive.

Fine. There was no kiss at the bottom of the message. It was clear he wanted a drink and a chat with his good friend, Maisie. Danny would be a more responsible version of Grant. Correction! He was nothing like Grant. He had a successful business and seemed very entrepreneurial. To me he had seemed like one of those laidback sporty types, demonstrating how poor I was at judging people from first impressions. He did not elaborate on Laura because it was probably too personal. However, the warning about the Short Story Bash echoed Felix’s words. It got me thinking.

‘Cooee, anyone there? Hello, Maisie. It’s Nora, I’ve brought Bronte home from a little walkies.’

I closed the email and shut the laptop. ‘I’m coming.’ Was there ever any peace in this place?’

Nora was peeping into the corridor when I arrived. ‘Just to let you know Camellia is now home and is absolutely fine. She was growing cannabis in her pots. I told her not to trust the plants those campers gave to her but she didn’t listen. I called earlier but I heard you talking. Is Felix here?’ She peered down the corridor.

‘No, Felix isn’t here.’

‘Good.’ Moving closer, she took my hands and surrounded me in a waft of lavender. ‘Now, you be careful with Felix,’ she said, tapping her nose. ‘He is rich and handsome but he’s too much of a charmer. If he’s given you…’ She coughed. ‘…any presents, he may be trying to get in your good books, so he has an opportunity to snoop around when you’re not looking. I’ve watched him and he doesn’t seem that upset about your aunt’s passing. They were the best of friends too.’ She tapped her nose and mouthed, ‘Be careful.’

Armed with Danny and Felix’s warnings, I decided to ignore her. ‘Oh, Nora, before you go. Could you please take care of Bronte at the weekend when I go away for a couple of days? I’m going in the morning. I’d prefer it if she stayed at your cottage.’ I did not want to give Nora an excuse to look around the house.

‘My pleasure,’ she said, beaming. ‘Where’re you going?’

‘Paris.’ Excitement forced the word out.

‘Oh, I see. Isn’t that where your aunt is supposed to have … Erm. Died?’ She wafted her handkerchief in front of her face. ‘You know, it all seems very odd. Sometimes, I think she’s still here and will pop out any minute. I notice the light is always on in the potting shed again for some reason. And you’re still getting deliveries of the books she always had for review.’

‘Yes, I get deliveries of books to review, and I’m often in the shed sorting stuff out. I love gardening.’ There was no way I would admit to the secret room in the shed.

‘I see. The garden needs lots of work.’ Nora tapped her nose. ‘You may as well drop Bronte off at my cottage later tonight. Toodle pip!’

Bronte nudged my hand and tried to push me to the kitchen.

When I closed the door, Bronte jumped up and rested her paws on my thighs, ‘Hello, lass,’ I said, rubbing behind her ears. She wagged her tail until it whipped around furiously, knocking a vase off the table in the hall. The tall, blue vase with a pattern that reminded me of the colours of the sea on a summer’s day thudded onto the parquet floor. A triangular piece of it dropped to the floor. When I turned it over to look for any more damage, I noted ‘RL’ signed at the bottom.

Bronte skulked over to me and placed her paw on my leg. ‘It’s OK, lass. We’ll fix it.’ I patted Bronte’s head which gave her the signal to climb the steps and find a way of sitting right beside me. ‘Ouch,’ I laughed when she scratched my leg with her paw. A folded yellow piece of paper fluttered onto the floor, so I opened it up and found ‘Maisie’ written below the initials Blog PW. I recognised the swirls in the handwriting and knew my aunt had written this. ‘PW, what is PW?’ I asked myself. ‘Password for the blog!’ I shouted.