Page 2 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)
M elody made her way down to the lobby in the lift, which was operated by a very tall young man.
In fact, Melody wasn’t sure if she’d met anyone in Amsterdam who wasn’t tall.
The young man nodded and said, “Good afternoon,” in English.
That was another thing she’d noticed: everyone seemed to speak excellent English, which was fortunate, given that she hadn’t mastered more than a couple of words in Dutch.
The lift reached the ground floor, and the doors opened onto the sumptuous lobby adorned with crystal chandeliers, velvet curtains, and marble columns.
While they made their way to Amsterdam by train from Marseille, Rat informed her they were resuming the charade of her being an upper-class young woman travelling around Europe, chaperoned by her brother.
At the time, Melody didn’t realise that, for at least one of them, this wouldn’t be much of a charade.
Given this story, it was entirely plausible that they were staying in one of Amsterdam’s grandest hotels.
In addition to its palatial furnishings, the hotel was one of the first buildings in the Netherlands to feature electric lighting, hot running water, and a telephone exchange.
The first two were great luxuries after the deprivations experienced during much of their trip to Morocco, the last, a significant advantage considering the true nature of their stay .
As Melody crossed the highly polished marble floor, periodically punctuated by plush Persian rugs, she noticed the mingling scents of polished wood, beeswax, cigars, and roses. The latter emanated from the glorious flowers that seemed to adorn almost every flat surface.
Melody planned to make her way directly to the revolving oak-and-glass doors, bypassing the rich mahogany front desk manned by an eager young man in a smart black suit.
The young fellow, whose name she thought was Robert, was busy talking to a man.
As she got closer, Melody started; the man was Alessandro.
She was so flustered at the sight of him that she instinctively hid behind the nearest marble column.
Almost immediately, Melody realised the absurdity of her behaviour. What on earth would she say if Alessandro caught sight of her hiding?
She was just about to reveal herself when she heard him say to Robert, “I need to speak with Mr Sandworth as soon as possible. Do you know when he will return?” Robert was quite soft-spoken, and she couldn’t hear his response, but the shake of his head was a good clue.
Alessandro asked for a pen and paper, wrote a note, and handed it to Robert.
“Please make sure he receives this as soon as possible.” With that, Alessandro thanked the man and turned to leave.
Without a moment’s thought, Melody allowed him to leave the hotel before slipping out of her hiding spot to follow him. If she’d taken a moment to reflect on her actions, Melody might have considered how it would appear if Alessandro realised she was trailing him.
Despite Alessandro’s professed gratitude for all that Melody had done to secure his release, most of their interactions since had been marked by awkwardness and stiff formality.
Of course, things were uncomfortable between them even before Alessandro was arrested.
She’d been unable to forgive or forget ever since Venice, when it became painfully obvious to Melody that Alessandro’s supposed courtship was nothing more than an attempt to stay close to her brother in order to monitor his activities.
Perhaps the most irritating aspect was that, most of the time, Alessandro appeared oblivious to her coldness towards him.
Or when he did notice it, he seemed to find it almost amusing, as if he were dealing with a precocious yet truculent child.
Melody assumed – well, she’d hoped – that she’d proven herself capable and worthy of his professional respect by the end of their Moroccan adventures, but this seemed not to be the case.
Now, it occurred to her that if she wanted to be taken seriously as someone mature and competent enough to aid Alessandro and Rat on whatever mission they were undertaking in Amsterdam, her case wouldn’t be helped by stalking him like a jealous lover.
This thought flickered through her mind as she made her way out of the hotel, but by the time she stopped to see which way Alessandro was going, it had vanished.
Luckily, the streets were busy enough that she could keep her distance and remain unnoticed, yet not so busy that she lost sight of her prey.
Amsterdam’s carriages jostled for space with rumbling carts and the occasional clanging tram.
Alessandro navigated the bustle easily, crisscrossing streets and navigating canals and bridges with the familiarity of a local.
Once again, Melody wondered what else she didn’t know about Alessandro; did he once reside in Amsterdam?
Melody followed at a distance, constantly attempting to judge if she was too close. As Alessandro passed the grand front of St. Nicolaaskerk, its bell tower casting long shadows across the street, he paused for a moment. Quickly, Melody turned and feigned interest in a florist’s pushcart.
After a brief pause, Alessandro turned west, walking briskly along Prins Hendrikkade, past a procession of freight offices and tobacco merchants. Melody kept pace behind a pair of women strolling with a gaggle of children, thankful for their cover.
At the corner of Brouwersgracht, he turned left, and the bustle of the previous streets began to fade.
It occurred to Melody to wonder what on earth she was doing; Alessandro might be engaged in something as mundane as visiting a tailor or strolling without a particular destination in mind.
Why on earth did she assume she would learn anything by following him?
As she thought this, Melody slowed, trailing behind a coal delivery cart, almost ready to stop her foolishness and return to the hotel.
Then, she watched as Alessandro crossed the Papiermolensluis bridge before turning onto Herengracht.
The street boasted rows of stately houses, complete with brass nameplates, lace-curtained windows, and well-maintained facades .
Alessandro stopped at Herengracht 76, a tall, narrow house with a blond brick facade, large windows, and dark green shutters. She watched him run up the steps and unlock the front door with a key. Was this where Alessandro was living?
While Melody sensed she’d learned something interesting, she wasn’t sure how useful the information was; after all, she already knew Alessandro wasn’t staying at the Hotel Victoria, and he must be lodging somewhere.
Discovering that he’d rented a house was not altogether surprising.
Or perhaps he owned this house. Just as she was about to leave to try to find her way back to the hotel, she caught sight of a woman approaching number 76.
Something about the way the woman sashayed down the street seemed familiar, and quickly Melody realised it was Fatima.
It seemed that, unlike Melody, Fatima knew where to find Alessandro.
Despite herself, the realisation caused Melody a stab of jealousy.
However hurtful this knowledge was, it paled compared to the sharpness of the pain she experienced when Fatima climbed the elegant stone steps and used a key to let herself into the house.
Alessandro and Fatima were living there together!
Melody always suspected that Alessandro and Fatima shared a romantic history. Certainly, this was what Fatima hinted at multiple times in Morocco. Now it seemed indisputable.
Melody understood that Alessandro was an older, more experienced man.
In fact, this was one reason he’d given her for not continuing their putative courtship, telling her on their romantic moonlit gondola ride that she was a maiden, not a woman of the world, and that to continue kissing her would not be right.
That he and the beautiful Fatima shared a past should not be surprising.
More to the point, given that Melody was sure she’d put any romantic thoughts about Alessandro aside, it shouldn’t matter to her.
Yet it did matter. And realising that the romance with Fatima had reignited, or perhaps had never paused, mattered even more.
Tears were already welling up as Melody turned away and began to walk back to the hotel.
Even as the pain of her discovery caused those tears to fall down her cheeks, a voice in her head tried to rationalise that now she could set aside her feelings for Alessandro for good.
He’d never been and would never be hers.
Whatever small part of her heart remained open to the hope that he would finally declare his love for her needed to be locked away, with the key thrown away permanently.
Melody wiped the tears from her cheeks and muttered under her breath, “Did you really think he would be so grateful that you saved him that he’d throw himself at your feet?
” Even as she uttered these words to herself, it occurred to her that perhaps Alessandro had been so grateful to be released from the Sultan’s prison that he’d thrown himself at one of his saviour’s feet: Fatima’s.
She did not doubt that the other, cunning woman would be all too eager to take the lion’s share of the credit for herself, especially if Alessandro’s love was the prize.
Melody reflected on all she’d endured to secure Alessandro’s release: the long and arduous trek through the Atlas Mountains, her secret visit to the Sultan’s harem to meet with one of his wives, and the danger that Rat faced when he was held captive by the deceitful Alistair Blackadder.
Of course, Melody acknowledged Rat would have gone to Alessandro’s aid and travelled to Fes regardless of whether she’d accompanied him; her brother was totally in the other man’s thrall at this point.
Nevertheless, Melody believed her point was valid: she’d endured a myriad of challenges and trials in order to save Alessandro, yet it seemed that all the credit and reward fell on Fatima’s dainty shoulders. Melody felt foolish and naive.
By the time she found her way back to the hotel after several wrong turns, Melody had worked herself into a state of righteous indignation.
She might not confront Alessandro for his ingratitude or Fatima for her duplicity, but she could compel Rat to tell her what was happening and recognise how much he needed her help.
As she entered the hotel, Melody endeavoured to maintain a calm and casual demeanour while approaching Robert at the front desk.
“Good afternoon, Miss Chesterton. How can I help you?” the young man asked politely.
“Has my brother returned yet?” Melody asked as nonchalantly as possible. When Robert shook his head, she continued, “Are there any messages for either of us?”
Robert turned to the wall of small cubbies where messages for each room were kept, before returning with Alessandro’s note. “A gentleman left this for Mr Sandworth.”
“Thank you. I’ll see that he gets it.” Melody took the note before Robert reconsidered handing it over to anyone other than Rat. Then she hurried to the lift, eager to read it in privacy.