Page 142 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

‘It is my pleasure,señor, but...’ – she looked cautious – ‘please, go carefully into the world, with open thoughts and open arms.’

‘I promise I will, yes. I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas morning! Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll stop the drinking.’ I gave her a wink. ‘I’ll need to be ship-shape for my reunion with Elle. And my daughter!’

She sighed. ‘Señor, I—’

I jumped to my feet. ‘I can’t quite believe it. I’m a father. I’m afather! Ha!’

‘You are, but I—’

‘Perhaps I’ll name her Angelina. Oh, what am I talking about? Elle will have already given her a name. I wonder what it is?!’ I saw Isadora approaching us. She had somehow acquired a black and white kitten, and was carrying it over to the cathedral.

‘Please thank your little cousin. Without her, we never would have met.’ Angelina gave me a nod, and I began to walk away. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ I called back. ‘You have no need to tell me where to go next. I know I must build a safe space for Elle and my child before anything else. Fear not! I know what to do!’ I was so full of renewed energy that I broke into a jog. ‘Thank you, Angelina! I will never forget you!’

With that, I bounded away, millions of possibilities, parallels and dreams spiralling through my head.

I am very proud of Atlantis. As I sit on the edge of the jetty watching the golden sun set on the house, I find myself admiring my design. Mr Kohler introduced me to more than a dozen architects before I was able to confidently select one to deliver the project. There was certainly no shortage of interest – the opportunity to build on a secluded patch of Lake Geneva was an attractive prospect to many. Although several men had exciting visions, there was one thing above all else that I required in my chosen contractor: a bond of trust.

Safety and solitude were at the forefront of my brief. The plans were ambitious and would need to be executed flawlessly. Firstly, I wanted the house to look as though it had stood for centuries. I was aware that word might spread about the eccentric man who was building an enormous property on the lake, and the last thing I wanted was for it to look like it might be owned by one of Mr Fleming’s Bond villains. As a result, I had the house built in the style of Louis XV. In fact, I should mention that as far as anyone who wishes to investigate the land registry is concerned, Atlantis has beenstanding since the eighteenth century. It is amazing what men will do for you when you offer them large sums of money.

The land registry would also inform any prying eyes that the property is owned by Icarus Holdings – a shell company under the stewardship of two directors: Eric Kohler and Georg Hoffman. Over the last fifteen years, Georg has developed a fine legal mind. As per my promise, I paid for him to attend university and law school. Mr Kohler hired him almost as soon as he had graduated, clearly seeing him as a protégé whom he had nurtured from a young age. Eric retired five years ago, and Georg now oversees my affairs.

If Kreeg ever did come sniffing around Switzerland, I am confident that I have taken every reasonable precaution to throw him off the scent.

The casual observer could not, in fact, discern that this property is entirely new. I took great pains to ensure that period materials were used, down to each doorknob and flagstone. Thanks to this, Atlantis boasts an elegant grandeur. Four storeys high, its pale pink walls are punctuated by tall multi-paned windows, and topped by a steeply sloping red roof with turrets at each corner.

The house’s interior boasts every modern luxury; thick carpets and plump sofas adorn the twelve bedrooms which lie within. My favourite floor is the very top, where I specified seven bedrooms should be built. Each has a superb view of Lake Geneva over the treetops. I had hoped, prayed and naivelyassumedthat by now each would be occupied by the daughters promised to me by Angelina all those years ago. However, they remain empty.

One would never know that Atlantis holds many secrets, which I have ensured are completely invisible to the naked eye. Perhaps now it is clear why trust was the key quality I looked for in my architect. Should I or any of Atlantis’soccupants come under threat from an unwelcome visitor in the form of Eszu, measures have been taken to ensure escape is possible. For obvious reasons, I will not state the exact nature of the house’s secrets, but if someone needed to swiftly disappear from the property, a network of hidden lifts and tunnels exists within to guarantee safety can be reached.

I wanted to ensure that the house boasted gardens which would make Flora Vaughan proud, too. Atlantis now benefits from sweeping lawns which sprawl out in front of the house and continue down to the water’s edge. I have planted myriad shrubs and trees which form hidden pathways and secret grottos, produced by over a decade of growth. In the springtime, when the flowers are in bloom, I do not believe there is any more beautiful place on earth.

I only wish I had someone to share it all with.

When I left Granada in 1951, I vowed that the next page in this diary would tell of my happy reunion with Elle and the child which I knew had been born. That is a promise I have broken today.

After my meeting with Angelina, I travelled back to Geneva to begin the process of building Atlantis. When construction was fully underway, I resumed my search of the globe for the woman I love, and my baby girl.

That was fourteen years ago. My daughter is fast becoming an adult, wherever she is.

I began methodically, travelling first around France, visiting towns and villages Elle had mentioned during our time together. In Reims, I met a waitress who told me about a woman with a baby who was making her way to southern Italy for a new start... so that is where I travelled next. I followed vague sightings around the continent, to Spain, Portugal, Germany and Belgium.

To help me, I instructed Eric Kohler to search records inevery nation for the names ‘Leopine’, ‘Elle’, ‘Tanit’, ‘D’Aplièse’... and any variation I could think of. When Eric retired, the responsibility shifted to Georg. I cannot credit the young man enough. He has been nothing short of determined in carrying out what must be very tedious work. Each time he discovers a lead, no matter how tenuous, I board a plane and travel to that location. Then I painstakingly interview confused residents, until I am convinced that the trail is dead. On my quest, I have seen parts of the world I had never anticipated. Kenya, South Africa, India, China...

Reader, I have never stopped searching for them. I have been to every corner of the globe, convinced that one day, as I round a street corner or stroll onto a beach, I will see Elle’s beautiful face once more. But my task has been fruitless.

No doubt you are asking, then, why I have returned to my diary. This morning I received a letter from an old friend, forwarded to me by Georg. I enclose it here:

Dear Bo,

I hope this letter reaches you via the law firm. Monsieur Landowski passed on the contact details to me along with his chisel when he died. ‘In case you need one another,’ he wrote. He was perceptive like that.

Do you think you might be able to meet me in Paris? I am guessing, by the lawyer’s address, that you are residing in Geneva these days, so hopefully the trip would not prove too strenuous. I would offer to come to you, but my sixty-year-old bones will not allow such a thing.

It would be good to see you, Bo, one last time.

Your friend,

Laurent Brouilly