Chapter 34
34
A week later, the bookshop is busier than ever as the spring days grow warmer and the promise of summer creeps closer. I’m preparing for an impromptu book club catch up, as I’ve got some questions for the group. As I arrange the space, I find myself unable to look in the direction of Henri’s empty chair, which has been vacant since our falling out over our daughters.
‘Why don’t you call him?’ Valérie says. ‘Talk it out.’
‘I can’t.’
Soon, the book club members arrive and I’m quickly swept away by the chatter. It’s a more subdued group without Agnes and I miss her dominating presence, but she’s still recuperating at home. Henri’s absence is also remarked on. I brush it off, not wanting to get into it.
I direct the conversation back to Un Baiser D’adieu. ‘Thanks for coming today. I had something to discuss.’
Ziggy sends me a questioning glance. ‘But it’s not Henri?’
The group waits in anticipation.
‘No, it’s not Henri, it’s about the poetry book by Larivière. ’
Ziggy runs a hand through her short tufts, now bright blue, and says, ‘OK?’
‘I read it again, sort of forensically this time. Looking for clues, locations, themes, things like that.’
‘And?’ Lucy asks.
‘Do you remember the poem, “The River, oh the River”?’
There are murmurs of assent. ‘If you go upstairs, everything you can see outside that window is mentioned in that poem and there are a lot of references to this exact area.’
‘Well, the river is long, Coco. You can see it from many vantage points.’
I swallow a frustrated sigh. ‘It’s more obvious than that. There’s a line about Le Petit Prince , which I always thought jarred a bit, but if you go upstairs and look out the window and straight down, on the side of a building are the words faded but still visible: Le Petit Prince. Now, that can’t be a coincidence?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lucy says. ‘Isn’t it best left a secret?’
Isidore shakes her head. ‘Secrets only stay buried so long. That’s the way it is.’
‘Has anyone heard from Agnes?’ Ziggy asks.
Why are they so disinterested? I let it drop for now. The bigger question is why am I on a witch hunt for this author? It just feels close, like there’s a mystery to be solved, but not even the so-called obsessive fan girl Ziggy is interested. I’ve never been so moved by a book of poetry before, and I can’t seem to let it go. There are a lot of mother and daughter references so perhaps that’s why I’m so stuck on it, because it feels like Eloise and I are so fractured right now.
‘I saw Agnes yesterday,’ I say. ‘I took her a bunch of books. She’s looking much better.’
‘Is she staying with her husband then?’ Lucy asks.
‘Looks that way.’
We all fall quiet.