Page 29

I slept on the sofa all afternoon. My cheek stuck to the cushion and my head was too heavy to lift. A tiny niggle in my temples made me moan and reach for a bottle of water I had left there earlier. Sight of the large windows and high ceiling reminded me I was still in Paris and then I heard the growl of an engine followed by a sharp beep of a horn. Despite the large room, every corner of my mind felt hemmed in, and car fumes invaded the air. I yearned for Heatherbridge with its fresh air and open spaces. The tender way Danny had soothed Laura popped into my head. One part of me was relieved everything had not gone too far with Danny earlier, but a bigger part of me ached for him.

When I walked past a mirror in the salon, I noticed my face was a lovely shade of pink and I resisted the temptation to pick the dry skin on my nose. Following a shower, I scrambled in the bottom of my suitcase for my emergency pair of shorts and a vest top. Amelia’s outfits would be confined to the depths of the wardrobe when I got home. The almost romance with Danny was over and so was my search for my aunt. Bella appeared to have been found.

‘Robert, Robert. Are you there?’ I called upstairs, padding through the salon and into the kitchen. I filled the kettle, searched for tea and noticed a bottle of water on the kitchen counter. A note instructed me to drink the water and help myself to rotisserie chicken. Aroma of the warm chicken made my stomach rumble. There was a mixed salad in the fridge. I tore some chicken onto a plate, scooped out some lettuce from the plastic containers and ripped off a large chunk of baguette.

Seated in the large armchair, I put my feet on the coffee table and sipped sweet tea. Slowly, the wine haze lifted. Because it was my last evening, I would go down to the square later to buy a selection of cakes for Robert who had been so generous with his welcome. Beeps arrived like a round of bullets on my phone. As I ambled to my room to check for messages, a photograph in a bookcase caught my eye. I knew the face. The heavy silver frame filled my hand, and I held it up to the light to see the detail. I took a photo with my phone so that I could enlarge the image.

Opening the photo gallery on my phone, my suspicions were confirmed when I recognised a young Aunt Ada dressed in a seventies maxi dress standing beside a man who was the image of Felix. ‘Robert,’ I whispered. Robert must have been my aunt’s lover. Why hadn’t Robert told me of his connection with my aunt? He had been so kind to me and treated me like a member of the family. I was sure Airbnb hosts did not usually provide constant food and offer the guests transport unless they were paying for it. Though suspicious, I shook my head because I had an instinct that Robert was a good man, and was doing Felix, his son, a favour. My phone buzzed.

Check out Twitter and Ada’s blog!!!!!!!!!!!!! ’ Grant urged in five messages.

Twitter notifications showed hundreds of retweets and lots and lots of comments about the blog. Fans were excited Bella had been spotted and were hopeful of another story. So, I responded to the comments and scribbled down ideas for a blog post about today, but I would not let them know I had chatted with Bella. Without thinking, I wrote a tempting slice of one hundred words about the sighting.

Once the blog post was sent, I returned to my Word document and wrote more of the story for the Heatherbridge Literary Festival. As I worked out the route of the characters, I described too much, so I paused to plan the narrative and responded to comments on the blog. The Chez la Mère Sylvie Bistro caught my eye, surrounded by customers seated at the tables. The windows on the floors above had been flung open and couples were seated at the windows on the upper floors. There were certainly no apartments above the restaurant. I wondered whether Robert had gone up to his studio to work. ‘He paints, I write…’ This suddenly echoed in my mind. Where had I read this? It was in the letter Jemima showed me. Robert painted and she wrote her blogs. Robert was her lover in Paris. Hope bounced in my mind as I imagined her upstairs in the studio awaiting me and my discovery. This was like one of the treasure hunts, she organised for me as a child. She was leading me to her, I could sense it.

My bare feet felt the metal of the spiral staircase as I negotiated the stairs. Despite the heat, a chill rushed through me and made me wish I had brought my cardigan. I knocked. ‘Aunt Ada, Aunt Ada, are you there? It’s me, Maisie.’ The handle of the door would not move. Hand flat, I hit the door again. ‘Robert, hello. Are you there? Aunt Ada? Anyone?’

When I was halfway down the spiral staircase, I heard a key in the lock and listened to the door creak open. A lifetime passed on the stairs as I willed Aunt Ada to open the door. Like a child at Christmastime, I waited for my wish to come true.

‘Maisie,’ said Robert. ‘Let’s talk, my dear. It’s time now.’

So, he had been waiting for the right time.

‘What’s going on?’ Hands on hips, I refused to sit down now. ‘Where’s my aunt? What on earth have you done with her?’

He held my hand.

My throat tightened. Aunt Ada was not waiting for me in Paris. Now my face burned and tears started to fall. ‘Where is she?’ She seemed distressed in the blogs and had led me here. I had to check, so I knocked on the door. ‘Aunt Ada, are you there?’

Robert removed the key from his pocket and opened the door into a cavernous space crammed with paintings on easels and large canvasses rested against the wall. Huge windows framed a mass of plants on a tiny balcony and the room echoed with the rumble of the city. My eyes moved around the room as I searched for the sleeping quarters. ‘Where is she? Is she in the bedroom?’

‘My bedroom is here.’ He opened the door at the end of the room, but my legs refused to move.

There were white walls, white bed linen and white curtains. The empty room made me sob. ‘Where is she?’ I whispered. ‘How do you know her?’

Robert’s eyes shone with tears. ‘We met when we were very young, and I let her down. Ada came to Paris to study and was an au pair for Sylvie’s younger siblings. I came out to visit her. Sylvie was a beautiful, elegant woman and I was weak and flattered by the attentions of the sophisticated Parisienne. Sylvie fell pregnant and your aunt went home to England for good. I’m afraid I was also seduced by the glamour of Sylvie and her family’s lifestyle. I married Sylvie, but my heart was always with Ada. When Sylvie passed away, I wrote to Ada many, many times but she had settled in Yorkshire. I even bought the house next door, but she refused to let me live there, so Felix bought it from me at the price I paid. I was an idiot and Ada was stubborn and principled. But I let her down.’

‘So, Felix knows about the two of you.’

‘He knows we were together before he was even born. He probably guessed why I bought the cottage next door after Sylvie passed but never asked questions. Obviously, I didn’t move there so… And I suppose he didn’t want to think of someone replacing his maman.’

Scanning Robert’s face, I hoped to find answers. I tried to replay the conversation as I searched for clues. I used the present tense in relation to Ada to see if he would correct it, but he did not. Tired of my efforts to assess the situation and armed with the knowledge of Bella, I asked, ‘Did Aunt Ada help Bella with her writer’s block? Did she edit her books?’

‘Yes, I suppose she did.’

‘But she never lived above the bistro opposite, did she?’ I declared, pointing at the window.

‘No.’ he said, with sadness in his eyes, suggesting bad news was on the horizon.

‘Did it take a long time for my aunt to find Bella?’ I imagined my aunt searching the streets and struggling to climb the steep hills in Montmartre.

He smiled at me and then walked towards the window.

Searching for Bella was obviously an opportunity for her to visit Robert. ‘So, are you Bob she refers to in her letters?’

He nodded. ‘Should I make us some coffee.’

‘No, thank you. I need to think clearly. Just water for me.’ Something was amiss and he was not answering my questions.

Robert closed the doors leading to the balcony and waved at someone with both of his arms outstretched. His face creased with concern, and he called someone on his phone. ‘Come on, pick up.’ He removed a large, flat wooden box from an elaborate roll top bureau. The dark wood felt smooth on top, but around the edges there was some intricate carving. Using the brass key, I opened it to discover an old fountain pen and a battered copy of a Bella Mystery. When I removed the items, I found an envelope with my name written on it in my aunt’s handwriting.

Dear Maisie,

I’ve treasured this portable desk since your grandmother passed away as it contains a family gift. I am Bella Caron, the author of the mysteries. Your grandmother, Isobel Cartwright, wrote the first two books and passed on the gift to me. Isobel, known as Bella to her family, was born Cartwright. Caron is a French surname for Cartwright. Now I pass the pen name on to you. You are Bella Caron. You’ve found her, Maisie. I know you are writing something now for the short story competition. As I have no children of my own, it had to be you - wonderful you - who continued the tradition.

The mystery of the author of the Bella books adds to the intrigue and means readers are desperate to buy them. A little part of them wonders if the adventures of Bella are true and maybe there are unsolved cases out there. You see, your grandmother was very clever and knew how to spin the marketing way before social media came along. And I must admit, I’ve had so much fun staging the sightings of Bella and creating a stir. I was delighted when Bella’s disappearance was reported in the newspapers and online.

So, I am leaving you a legacy of a pen name and an established brand. Most authors wait a lifetime and do not have this opportunity. I have enclosed the name and address of my agent, Henri Duvall, who has instructions for the next steps. But it is down to you from now on. I can’t guarantee you will get an instant publishing deal for more books. The agent may pitch your ideas and champion the new style but who knows. You have a lot of work ahead of you and a very gruelling writing journey. Nothing is free in this life. Your writing will no doubt need polishing, but the agent will give you feedback and suggest courses for you to attend if necessary. Be patient and you will find your voice.

I have asked Felix to be your writing mentor and he has agreed. He knows the Bella Mysteries very well. I urge you not to give up your day job. I want you to teach because you will need the security as a safety net. And take your time to write the book. Don’t be too keen to let it go before you have been through various drafts, beta readers and the editing process. Felix will be brutal but an invaluable critical friend. Patience will be required, my dear Maisie. You are about to feel the pain of the writing journey and maybe suffer the slings and arrows of readers’ comments. You will need to develop a tough outer shell. Always remain polite and don’t make any enemies, no matter how hurtful the reviews may be.

Follow your own dreams, my Maisie. If you don’t write the next novel, then Bella may have to disappear. However, you will gain a regular income from the book royalties each month now the online sales of the back catalogue are very popular. You will always have a healthy income from the books and films but not a fortune, unless your writing career takes off. Whatever happens, I wanted you to have options and not to have lots of pressure. I’m passing on a gift that will give you choices.

Follow your heart! The gift is here for you to open but only wear it if it fits you. Always look around you and don’t miss the obvious details in life.

All my love,

Aunt Ada

I heard a champagne cork pop and Robert handed me a glass with a wide bowl presented on a long stem. ‘Cheers, Ada.’ He held up the glass. ‘To Bella Caron and more of her mysteries. Long live, Bella! You’ll be a great writer.’

A cool breeze drifted through the windows, helping to calm the panic rising. ‘How can my aunt be Bella when I met the author today at the dress shop?’

‘Can you hear me, Maisie? You have a gift and you can do this. I know you’re worried now but…’

He was not listening to me. ‘I met Bella at the dress shop today.’ I said the words slowly and clearly. Worry bubbled in the pit of my stomach and the smell of champagne made me want to vomit. Always look around you and don’t miss the obvious details in life. Had I missed something? I stood on the edge of a discovery that would change my life, but something was wrong. At a loss for words I said, ‘Help.’ Parched, I drank the champagne which left an acidic aftertaste in my mouth as if to remind me of the bitterness of the moment.

Robert had turned his back and was waving at the window.

‘Why are you waving? I just told you I met someone who claimed to be Bella. What is going on?’

‘Claudette in the dress shop is also my cleaner. We asked her to pose for some photographs for the blog posts. She’s probably afraid of saying the wrong thing.’ He tapped frantically on the phone.

‘But she told me she was Bella and her agent had been insisting she write a book she hated and she needed to appeal to readers for support.’

‘Well, yes, she’s playing along with the blog posts and didn’t want to give the game away.’ Walking over to the window, he began to scroll through his phone. ‘Sit down a moment, you’ve had a shock,’ he soothed, without looking at me.

I rubbed my hand gently over the wooden box again.

‘Strange, she’s not answering. She said she’d be back today.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Ada has been staying with me at the retreat. It’s been wonderful, but she had to visit her old friend for a couple of days. She’s supposed to be back today, and I’ve been trying to contact her since I read Felix’s email. I hope she hasn’t lost her phone again.’

The questions spinning around in my head made me lose my balance. ‘So, she’s alive? Aunt Ada is alive?’ ‘But where is she?’ All this time, I had been beside myself with grief. ‘How could she do this to me?’ Words stuck in my throat like shards of glass.

‘She was supposed to be waiting in the apartment opposite with a friend. She wanted me to give you the letter today.’

‘What? I can’t take this in. How?’

‘She wants to explain herself.’ Lines were visible on his forehead and his eyes seemed smaller, suggesting a burden was suffocating him.

‘I don’t know why she would do this to me.’

‘I know, I know… It wasn’t meant to be like this. She didn’t know…’ He held out his arms, but I moved back. ‘I can see you’re upset. It’ll be OK, you’ll see.’

‘I feel a bit… I don’t know, I don’t even know what I’m feeling. Where is she?’

‘I haven’t got a clue. She’s supposed to be here now. I’ve been ringing and ringing her number.’ He showed me the list of calls to her on his phone. ‘Maisie, I’m worried. Your aunt isn’t well.’ Tears flooded his caramel eyes.

‘What? What’s wrong with her?’

‘She’ll tell you herself.’ He looked down to avoid my glare. ‘But believe me, she didn’t know she was presumed dead.’ He clasped his hands.

‘What? Erm. I don’t understand. You’re talking in riddles. But you say she’s gone missing now. Is this another part of the game?’ Then the visit to the dress shop flashed into my mind. ‘There was a hammering sound on the ceiling of the dress shop. Bella, I mean Claudette, turned up the music. Now I think she was trying to drown something out. I tapped out the rhythm of the knocking I had heard and it dawned on me. ‘To be or not to be,’ I said. ‘Oh my word, that’s it. Aunt Ada got me to tap out the soliloquy when I was studying Hamlet at A Level. That’s it. I think Aunt Ada is up there. Do you think she is hiding Aunt Ada? I just knew something wasn’t quite right.’