Page 69 of The Midnight Carousel

The Sissy Miller Hotel sits ten blocks from the precinct, a leisurely stroll through downtown Chicago.

Pale yellow brick on the outside, it has an elegant mix of cream furniture and veined orange marble inside.

The desk at the furthest end of a square vestibule is a polished mahogany piece that looms large, as if it were constructed on the spot and everything else built around it.

A candle next to the red leather guest book releases the scent of expensive patchouli.

Clearly, Laurent enjoys a certain luxury in life.

The grey-haired receptionist has a liking for him, it seems; she simpers about how happy she is to provide home-made cake without extra charge, and makes no objection to his announcement that they will take their refreshments upstairs, despite the no visitors allowed in guests’ rooms notice.

Next comes the ceremony of pouring and sugaring and adding milk, and sipping from delicate china cups while they engage in small talk about the Illinois weather at this time of year compared with Paris.

‘And is the climate in Joliet very different from Chicago?’ Laurent asks.

Maisie smiles because it’s evident that he’s unaware of the local geography.

‘Joliet is only an hour from here. James and I have been separated for some time, but I chose somewhere near especially so that he could still visit Milo…’ Her voice dies down as it occurs to Maisie that she’s now free to move wherever she pleases.

‘He’s the one good thing to come from my marriage.

’ She stares at the creamy tea. ‘I think I only married James because I needed to feel wanted by someone. It wasn’t fair on him or me. ’

Realizing that she’s slipped into sharing her innermost thoughts with Laurent, Maisie raises her guard. She was on the verge of revealing that she’s always clung to her feelings for him.

He sets down his teacup. They are sitting in armchairs facing one another, and he leans forward.

‘This is what I wished to talk to you about,’ he says, as though he’s been waiting for his cue.

‘I am sorry, Maisie, that I behaved in the way I did. It is understandable that you were deeply hurt.’ He takes a moment to think.

‘My mother’s death affected me deeply, and I was never able to fully love a woman, even my wife, Odette. ’

Maisie presses her lips together. So his feelings never matched her own. ‘I see.’

Laurent must have understood the thoughts invading her mind, because he looks abashed.

‘Apologies, I am not explaining myself properly. It was all prepared in my mind, but now, seeing you…’ He takes a deep breath.

‘What I am trying to say is that I was never in love with my wife, and we are now separated, and I am ready to change. Because I love you, Maisie, and I wish you to come to Paris with me.’

A tornado of emotions renders Maisie short of breath. The excitement of Christmas morning and unwrapping birthday presents and the first snowfall of winter, all rolled into a ball with hope and wonder and a trace of nerves.

‘I… I love you too,’ she whispers, almost too stunned to speak.

It feels surreal to allow these words their freedom.

This is the moment Maisie has secretly prayed for ever since their kiss.

She should be shouting from the rooftops and dancing with joy.

And yet a crushing fear rears its head. France is thousands of miles away, a country with different customs and language, where she knows no one apart from Laurent.

Would it be foolhardy to risk everything for love?

Or is embracing the unknown in her blood?

She thinks of standing in the Jesserton study as a twelve-year-old, agreeing to accompany a near-stranger all the way to America.

That brave adventurer still lives inside Maisie.

‘And you’d be fine with Milo coming with me?’ she asks.

Laurent takes her hand, stroking it in small circles.

‘More than fine. I would very much like to meet and spend some time with him. And he will like my daughter, I am certain.’

Laurent is a father. It seems ridiculous that Maisie has never considered the possibility, even after learning that he had a wife.

She thinks of standing at the lookout spot, her eyes searching across Canvey Estuary.

She thinks of whispering to Tommy as they lay on the Sixpences’ dirty floor, dreaming of ways to escape.

She thinks of a little girl in Paris, imagines her face pressed against a window, waiting for her father to return.

‘What’s her name?’ she asks.

‘Amélie, and she is ten years old. I believe she will be the artist I never was when she grows up. Already she is able to sketch portraits that are a striking likeness. It is quite extraordinary.’

The life Maisie imagined in Joliet is already fragmenting like the tiny pieces of a broken mirror.

Images of strolling alongside the river and the little apartment above the store are replaced by staring at the Eiffel Tower, sipping coffee at cosy cafes nestled in the shadow of Montmartre, spending every day and every night with the man she loves.

Before she floats away with this idea, Maisie brings herself back to reality.

‘She sounds as talented as her father, and I can’t wait to get to know her,’ she says.

‘And I would love to come to France, Laurent, and I will, but there’s something I must do first.’ He looks both relieved and slightly wary.

‘Though I sold my stake in Silver Kingdom, I feel a need to help the workforce with the aftermath of the fire.’ She bites her lip.

The thought of how upset they must be causes Maisie anguish.

‘Hugo is distracted with his own problems, and I’m not certain he’ll be able to deal with it all.

’ She hesitates. ‘It might be a few months. Can you wait that long?’

She already knows the answer, because he breaks into a smile. ‘I will wait as long as it takes,’ he replies.

Minutes pass quickly as they enjoy each other’s company. A discussion about parenthood is followed by talk of moving dates. Maisie feels like she’s living in a fairytale.

‘I have spent four years wishing for this moment,’ Laurent says with a wonderstruck timbre to his voice.

‘Me too,’ she admits.

He sits forward in his armchair and places one hand on her thigh.

It is electrifying, an unexpected jolt of pleasure from such light pressure.

As she looks at him, the question in his eyes asks whether she would like him to continue.

Understanding her silent agreement, he stands and pulls her gently to her feet while his gaze holds her steady.

Watching every reaction, he strokes down to her waist with soft, slow caresses.

Her body responds to the tenderness, her back arching, and there’s a gasp of surprise at revelling in an experience that was barely tolerable with her husband.

Laurent undresses her slowly, undoing the buttons of her blouse first, in no hurry, savouring every moment.

Then the skirt and stockings, his fingers tracing up her thighs.

Her undergarments are last. By the time he’s naked himself, she has opened herself completely.

Every emotion Maisie has suppressed for this beautiful man is released, every second of heartache and prayer for his return are expressed as desire.

She welcomes him inside, pulls at him as carnal instinct takes over.

Laurent is an experienced lover, she can tell, as he lets her explore his body with her hands while never looking away, matching the pace of her moans, her waves of pleasure.

They cling to one another, neither wanting to let go.

Afterwards, she lies with her head resting on his chest, tracing figure-of-eight patterns on his skin. If only she could bottle this feeling of being fully alive.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

He shifts position so their heads rest on the pillows, facing one another, an expression of amusement on his face.

‘You are thanking me for our enjoyment?’ he asks.

‘For my enjoyment.’

As though he suddenly understands her gratitude, a shadow of sadness enters those beautiful grey eyes. ‘I am sorry it was not always this way for you.’

He strokes her face and kisses her forehead, pulls her closer. With his hand stroking along her hip, Maisie drifts to sleep, entwined in both body and mind with the man she loves.

She wakes to find Laurent watching her, his eyes lost in thought. Reaching out, she strokes his mouth with her finger, tracing the outline. He smiles, kisses her hand. Knowing she is truly safe here gives Maisie the courage to voice what she’s wanted to say for four years.

‘I never read your letters after the first couple you sent me. I was angry with you. It wasn’t just because you were married.

’ She can see him flinch, and wills herself to carry on.

‘I was devastated about my parents. The truth came completely out of the blue… I was still upset about the disappearances, and you’d only left the day before.

But I still shouldn’t have taken it out on you. ’

His eyes open wide. ‘You read the report the day after I left?’

As Maisie nods, he strokes her cheek, wipes away a tear.

‘You were not meant to see it so soon. Naturally, you were upset about your parents. Sir Malcolm and I had agreed that he would break the news gently when the time was right. It was the only reason I left my findings behind.’ He looks thoughtful. ‘I do not know why that did not happen.’

There is a strain at the edges of his eyes like he’s holding back.

‘You know something else, don’t you?’ she asks.

He is silent but his reddening cheeks give it away. Maisie doesn’t blame him for being reluctant to share any knowledge. She lays her palm on his chest. His heart is pounding. Maisie is breathless, almost too frightened to ask after having long given up on ever finding her parents.

‘Did you meet them?’

He shakes his head. There is a wave of disappointment. But she believes he knows something. She remains calm, hoping to reassure him.

Eventually he speaks.

‘It seems they have spent two decades moving from place to place. I have a map in my study pinpointing their exact whereabouts, year by year,’ he admits.

Maisie looks up at this confession, surprised.

‘You spent your earliest years in Paris with them, in actual fact. Strangely, I suspect near the industrial area where Gilbert Cloutier owned his carousel premises and from where he disappeared.’

Perhaps this explains why Maisie has always felt a connection to carousels. Despite the warmth of lying naked against Laurent, a chill wraps around her skin.

‘Did you ever get close to finding them?’ she asks.

‘I thought at one point I had them in my sights, but by the time I arrived they had been gone for five months, according to their landlady, Madame Florian,’ he explains. ‘But the women became friends, and your mother shared some useful information. She talked about you quite often, it appears.’

There is raucous shouting in the hallway and Laurent waits until the noise dies down. Maisie holds her breath.

‘Her travelling companion was, indeed, your father. And she had a daughter living in England whom she sent there for her own safety.’

Maisie imagines herself as Moses, placed in a basket and pushed across the English Channel.

‘Why wasn’t I safe with her?’ she asks

Laurent’s eyebrows knot together.

‘Because of your father’s violent tempers. If your mother didn’t do exactly as he ordered, it was like a storm cloud was passing through the place, according to Madame Florian. She said the whole house shook when he shouted. If she wasn’t so fond of your mother, she would have thrown them out.’

‘It wasn’t bad enough for her to leave with me,’ Maisie whispers.

Laurent thinks for a moment.

‘Maybe your father threatened to find and punish you both if she escaped. I do not know. What I am aware of is that she told Madame Florian that you were living with her childless sister and thought you very happy.’

It jogs a memory of the day she talked with Aunty Mabel in the linen room at Jesserton, but with a difference in perception.

I’m sorry it took me so long to collect you.

It’s not that I didn’t want you because I did.

But my Bertie thought different . With a sharp pain, she suddenly understands that Mabel was responsible for her ending up in the Sixpences’ care; her husband must have been paying for Maisie’s upkeep there.

The woman that had led Maisie to believe she was kind and caring, who gave her treats, planned their happily-ever-after future, was the same person who had thrown away a little girl like a pair of mouldy socks.

Maisie would have done anything for her aunt back then.

This was a betrayal, an underhand trick.

Defensive, she brushes Laurent’s fingers away. No one can hurt her ever again, if she doesn’t allow them to get close.

Undeterred, he finds her hand hiding beneath the sheets and brings it to his mouth. With a gentle kiss, he looks her in the eye.

‘I will not leave you as they did, if that is your fear. I swear upon all that is precious to me.’

He studies her face with infinite tenderness, and Maisie believes him.