Chapter 4
Gabrielle slumped on a seat in the lecture hall of the University of Paris-Descartes, listening, but only half hearing what the professor was teaching on the subject of social behavior. She smoothed the scarlet material of her skirt over her knees and looked down, admiring the white kitten-heels she’d found at a tiny boutique in the Marais. She pulled the two sides of her denim jacket together, wondering why she’d taken such care with her appearance today. She felt a bit overdressed. Usually, she threw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and trainers to scurry off to class. But this morning, she’d applied makeup, donned a pale pink, fine-knit sweater, and scrabbled through all the hangers in her closet for this particular A-line skirt. It flattered her figure, if the looks she was getting were anything to go by.
Her thoughts slid from the bizarre scene in the métro last night, to the dimly lit shop filled with dusty bottles of wine where she knew Andrew would be working today.
Shaking herself from this stupor, she straightened. This kind of distraction and behavior were not allowed. She wanted nothing to do with a relationship this soon after Lyam. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she focused on the professor, poising her pencil to scribble notes. The class would conclude in thirty-five minutes. Then, she would take the information home to study.
As students poured from the classroom, chattering amongst themselves, Gabrielle hugged her books close to her chest with her head down, and walked purposefully to the exit. She had several good friends here, but she wanted to make the most of today’s studying, while the information was fresh, and not stop to visit. Friends had texted, asking if she wanted to meet up later, and questioning what she’d done over the weekend. She smiled to herself. They wouldn’t believe it if she told them. The smile faded as she considered what had happened with Lyam. Nothing would shock her friends if they had known anything about that fiasco.
* * *
It waslate afternoon when Gabrielle rubbed her eyes and blearily consulted her phone for the time. Four o’clock! Tossing her pencil aside, she slammed her textbook shut, gathered the notes she’d taken, and stacked them neatly on top before standing to stretch. She deserved a break.
At that moment she heard a strange noise at her door. Almost sounded like someone writing on the wood with a rough implement, perhaps chalk. She stopped, heart pounding as she listened intently, but the noise stopped. Tiptoeing to the door she peered through the tiny peephole her landlady had installed a year ago after someone had forced their way into an apartment downstairs, demanding money from an elderly man.
Nothing. There was no sign that anyone had been there at all. Could it have been a child outside the door?
Telling herself it had been her imagination, she decided she needed fresh air. She had no destination in mind. Just a quick walk around the neighbourhood to clear her head and then she would return.
Running a brush through her long black hair, she refreshed her lipstick, and grabbed her handbag before stepping into the hallway. Turning around, her stomach clenched as she read the words scrawled on her door.
Vous avez un jour pour le trouver.
Her hand instinctively went to her throat. ‘You have three days to find it.’ Find what? Could this scribbled missive have been meant for her? Surely not. The words meant nothing. Whoever it was for had been given a limited amount of time to find something, but it couldn’t possibly be directed at her. Hurrying back inside, she ran a cloth under the tap and squeezed a liberal amount of dish soap over it. Then, she rushed back to her door, scrubbing at the words until they were obliterated. Tossing the rag back into her sink, she took several cleansing breaths and strove to push the fear away.
Since the fiasco with Lyam, her senses had been on high alert. But knowing he had been incarcerated for his crimes helped. Still, even though she felt alarmed, she decided to keep the incident to herself. It likely had nothing to do with her.
She locked her door and checked it three times, just to be certain, then exited the building. Wandering without purpose, or so she thought, she surprised herself when she stopped in front of the dilapidated little shop, Caviste de Tremblay.
“Hi!” Andrew grinned as he poked his head through the open window that once again was propped open with one of his uncle’s old boots. “Saw you coming. I was hoping you’d show up. I want to show you something.” He disappeared and she moved to the doorway feeling some sense of normalcy return. After unbolting the door, he stepped outside, grasped her shoulders, and swung her around.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, half laughing and half embarrassed that the people living in the neighbourhood should see such abandonment. “Put me down, Andrew.”
He did, with a laugh, but held her by the arms, leaning back to take a good look at her. “You are a beautiful woman Gabrielle. But I’m not just referring to your looks. I mean, you’re stunning, no doubt about it, but it’s who you are on the inside that’s most attractive.”
Gabrielle felt her face flush for the second time in five minutes. No one had ever said such things to her before, apart from her parents and family, of course. But her relatives were obligated.
“Merci,” she said, ducking her head in a mock curtsy. “Now, what is it you ‘ave to show me?” He gestured that she proceed him inside the shop. She did, noting that one long wall was bare and all the bottles from it were sitting in the center of the room under several threadbare looking sheets.
“I’m cleaning and then I’ll repaint,” he said flinging an arm wide to encompass the long narrow space. “It needs brightening up. Think I’ll build a few shelves and add new lighting too. I visited several other wine shops today and took notes.” His handsome face took on a mischievous look. “Don’t worry. I didn’t offend anyone with my language skills, I hope. All I tried was a polite bun jure.”
Gabrielle lifted her eyebrows and pretended to wipe perspiration from her brow. “That is a relief. I would not want you to tarnish your reputation as, what did the man call you? Ah…Superman?”
Andrew laughed, then turned to make his way along the narrow path between covered bottles. Actually, Gabrielle couldn’t help but agree with the label. This man towered above her, his shoulders broad and his muscles bulging beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid, button-up shirt. The cowboy boots had been replaced with a pair of grey, rather run-down looking trainers, but his usual snug-fitting jeans were still in place, belted securely at his waist.
She lifted her eyes to the back of his head, realising too late he’d been speaking. What was wrong with her? That was the second time today she’d been daydreaming.
“Désolé!” She cut into his discourse apologetically. “Could you repeat that? My thoughts were wandering.”
“I said, I explored a little more of my inheritance today. It was pretty enlightening,” he flicked a glance over his shoulder. “The more time I spend here, the closer I feel to my uncle and the sadder I am. Sure wish I would have known him better.”
Andrew passed through the back room where he’d built more display crates and stacked them in a teetering pile. There were two closed doors on either side of the room.
“That one leads to the cellar where he kept the inventory that wasn’t on the shelves.” He pointed, then stopped in front of the other door, tucked away into the far right corner. Grasping the handle, he turned it with a protesting squeal and shoved, motioning that Gabrielle should enter.
She wandered into the gloomy space; hearing Andrew flick the light switch behind her. The room was thrown into stark relief. Facing her was a rickety single bed with a few blankets tossed over it in disarray. The pillow looked flat and lumpy. At one end of the room was a counter on which sat a kettle, microwave, a small one element cooker, a toaster, and a stack of clean dishes. A tiny refrigerator balanced on a table nearby.
One tired looking armchair sat in the corner, and next to it a small table on which a lamp, a stack of books, and an empty wine glass resided. In the other corner was a free-standing rack of old suits and shirts, two pairs of shoes, and behind that another door, presumably leading to a bathroom.
“He lived here,” Andrew said, stating the obvious. The room fairly reeked of melancholy. Uncle Olivier had not been a happy man when he died.
“But didn’t he own an apartment next door?” Gabrielle was puzzled. “Why would he live here? It’s not nice at all.”
“We’ll never know for sure,” Andrew said with a regretful twist of his lips. “But I have a theory. That’s the other part of what I want to show you.”
He waited for her to exit the dreary little room before switching off the light and shutting the door. They retraced their steps through the shop and out to the street. Andrew drew the set of ancient keys from his pocket, locked the shop behind him and strode to the door leading to his uncle’s other home, fitting a key into it he explained his theory.
“I talked to my mother last night. She told me that six months before my uncle’s passing, his wife, Clarisse, had died. I remember Mom flying here to be with Olivier for the funeral. She said he was distraught. Mom said Uncle Olivier and Aunt Clarisse had been the happiest couple she’d ever known. They adored one another. The one great sorrow of their lives had been that they never were able to have children. Consequently, her death left him alone in the world.”
Gabrielle and Andrew passed through the door, closed it behind them, and began to climb a steep set of creaky wooden stairs to the next floor. With each step, her skirt swished around her bare legs. Feeling the coolness of this dark, entrance she shivered and crossed her arms over her chest.
Andrew, several steps ahead of her, spoke softly, yet in this silent tomb-like entry, his voice carried loud and clear. “Mom said their love for one another was apparent in everything they did. They held hands, even after sixty years of marriage, treated one another with great respect, and shared their lives together with joy. When Clarisse died suddenly of a heart attack, Uncle Olivier was devastated. Mom stayed here with him for more than a month. At his request, she cleaned the upstairs apartment and cleared the kitchen of all food, bringing it downstairs to the shop. I think it was at that point that he closed his business,Caviste de Tremblay, and retreated from the world. Six months later, he died...”
Andrew paused as he reached the landing and the keys jangled again. “I believe he died of a broken heart.”
“Oh, that is so tragic.” Gabrielle felt tears prick her eyes. The poor man. She could only imagine a love such as that.
With his hand on the knob, Andrew drew a deep breath before continuing his tale of true love. The dim light from an old-fashioned, shaded bulb on the landing cast shadows over the grim set to his jaw. He blinked rapidly. The retelling of these events had caused an emotional response in the man, and Gabrielle liked him all the better for it.
“It’s also my belief that Olivier never again darkened the door of the home he had shared with Clarisse. I don’t think he could bear it. He must have taken up residence in the dark little room behind their beloved shop until he died.” With a sigh, Andrew twisted the doorknob and gave it a push. “Please…enter.”
As she stepped inside, Gabrielle sucked in a breath at the sight that greeted her. It was nothing like the dull, dingy place she had expected. She stood in a grand entryway, surrounded by mirrored doors where coats and shoes must reside, hidden away so as not to detract from the aesthetic beauty of the space. She walked a few steps to peer around a corner to the right.
A huge salon opened up, flooded with light from ceiling to floor windows that had been thrown wide open. Late day sunshine and the rustling whisper of outside trees danced on a breeze throughout the room, while sheer, white curtains fluttered across the polished parquet floor. It was a magnificent period property, classically decorated. Cream-coloured walls led to vaulted ceilings, ornate with embellished mouldings. A long, tan-coloured sofa sat against the far wall with a softly curving back, arms that curled inward to hold its occupants close, and a multitude of colourfully matching pillows for comfort.
Opposite the sofa, three deep armchairs in shades of fuchsia, picked up rose-pink colours from the cushions. A cozy rug spread across the center of the floor and on it was a low coffee table of light-coloured wood that matched two other end tables holding antique lamps. Reading glasses adorned a stack of books at one end of the sofa, waiting patiently for their owner to return. Artwork graced the walls, picking up hints of the rose colour. Two palm trees sat on either side of the windows, long since dead; stark reminders of the life that had once thrived and loved within these walls.
It was clear the room had been lovingly decorated by the hands of Uncle Olivier’s late wife. Gabrielle felt tears rise in her throat once more. The room ached to be loved again.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice hushed and reverent as though they stood in the presence of Clarisse herself.
Andrew shuffled over to stand beside her; hands shoved in his pockets.
“I would never have suspected this was here when I looked at the shop and those back rooms.” He shook his head. “The rest of the house is just as beautiful. I’ll show you another day.”
“The poor man gave up ‘is ‘ome when she could not share it with ‘im,” Gabrielle said musingly. “It is so sad.”
“I know.” Andrew ran a hand along the archway beside him and gestured into the adjoining room. “The kitchen’s all up to date, and spotlessly clean. But the air was stale when I first came in. That’s why I opened the windows. I’m sure no one has been in here since my mother cleaned out the fridge.” He sighed.
Following her instinct, Gabrielle walked toward him, holding out her arms. Andrew moved into them, and she hugged him tight, feeling his body shudder.
“Guess I could move in here right away, and save myself the money for a hotel,” he said, resting his cheek against her hair. “After all, it belongs to me.” He pulled away and gave her a tremulous smile. “But somehow, it feels sacrilegious. I think I’ll just clean up the back room of the shop and camp in there for a bit.”
Gabrielle nodded. She would feel the same way now that she’d seen the upstairs.
“Anyway,” Andrew said, as he walked across the room to pull the windows shut. “I’m hungry and there’s no food down there. None that’s edible,” he qualified. “If I asked really nice, do you suppose you’d show me a good place to buy some groceries and cleaning supplies? Then, I think I’d like to see the Eiffel Tower and take you for dinner. Is that a lot to ask, friend?”
“I don’t think it is possible,” she said, shaking her head and noticing his attempt at a smile fade. Quickly she added. “The order of operations is incorrect. If you are going to live in France you must get your priorities straight. First we shop, then eat, and after, we sightsee. Comprenez vous?”
Andrew relaxed and the smile she was becoming so fond of, returned. “If you’re asking if I agree, then yes. I get it. So, you’ll come?” His boyish hopefulness was nearly her undoing. She fought back an unreasonable urge to take his face in her hands and kiss him. But that would not be a good idea.
Instead, she said, “Oui, I will take the evening off from my studying, but let us go now. D”accord? It grows late.”
* * *
They wereravenous by the time they left the Monoprix, the closest store to where Andrew was staying. Hurrying, they unloaded cleaning supplies and the small amount of food he’d bought into the tiny room at the back of Caviste de Tremblay. Fortunately, there were plenty of good restaurants nearby. Gabrielle freshened up a little while Andrew changed his clothes and added his ever-present boots, hat and leather jacket. Then, they were off.
Andrew held out his arm encouragingly. After a moment’s hesitation, Gabrielle decided they were friends and deemed it natural to link her arm through his as they strolled along the street in search of somewhere to eat. As a rule, Gabrielle didn’t go out much, so she had no idea where to take them. In the end they let their noses guide them. The delectable scent of fire-roasted pizza won them over and they found themselves stopping beside the outdoor patio of an Italian restaurant boasting an authentic Neapolitan pizza experience.
The April evening was fragrant with the sweet scent of blossoming trees and the mouth-watering smell of fresh bread and spicy Italian food. The street bustled with the sound of laughter and conversation from this and several other eateries. People were enjoying the opportunity to get outdoors and enjoy the warm evening air. They seated themselves outside at a tiny table for two and picked up the menus that lay in wait for them.
Surreptitiously, Gabrielle watched Andrew from beneath her lashes. He looked with interest at the lively happenings around him, people going about their business, dog walking, visiting—all hazy with the fading light of the sun. He had barely glanced at the cardboard menu.
“Do you need some ‘elp deciphering the words?” she asked. Their server, a grizzled, gray-haired man wearing baggy black pants and a white shirt with a red bandana around his neck, came to take their order. He waited patiently with pencil poised over a small notepad.
“Naw. For once I don’t need help” Andrew said with a twinkle in his eye. “I took a course in Italian back in high school.”
She arched her eyebrows and smiled up at the server. “ Bonsoir Monsieur. Une pizza Margherita, s”il vous pla?t.”
The man scratched busily on his pad. “Oui, mademoiselle. Et pour vous monsieur?”
“Bonsoir,” Andrew said in an almost perfect imitation of Gabrielle. He winked at her before continuing“An all-meatcalzone, please.” Andrew pointed at the item on the menu card, just to be sure the fellow understood. He then jabbed at a drink on there too, holding it up for the man to see. “And a bottle of Zinfandel.”
The man leaned close, squinted at the paper, and then nodded, his face breaking into a wreath of smiles. “Oui, monsieur.” He whirled around and hurried back inside the building.
Andrew sat back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Indeed, it is a proud moment.” Gabrielle chuckled. “I almost hate to puff your ‘ead any larger, but I ‘ave to admit you are learning.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Tell me, what are your plans for tomorrow?”
“More cleaning. I think I should focus on the back rooms, so I can move in as soon as possible. It’ll make working there a lot easier. And you? Do you have classes every day?”
“No. Not every day. The semester is drawing to a close. But I must devote myself to studies every day if I want to pass my exams.”
“I see. And what will you do once you pass them?”
The question took her off guard. She’d been so focused on her finals that her plans to take on the troubles of the world had been quite vague. It had remained an obscure time somewhere in the future that would never arrive, yet that very moment was almost here. She watched an older, gray-haired woman and two small children approach along the sidewalk. The lady walked slowly while the children bounced excitedly around her.
“I suppose I will look for a job, per’aps in an education setting, working with teens.”
“Here in the city? Or would you return to where you grew up?”
“I love Paris,” she said simply. “It is where I want to stay. What about you? Are you missing les vaches?”
“The cows?” He laughed. “No. I miss the wide open spaces, but when I left Calgary there was still snow on the ground. You’ve got flowers and green grass. I don’t miss winter one bit.”
“What is it like to ‘ave so much cold weather and snow?” She leaned her chin on one closed fist to await his answer.
“You get used to it, I guess. As long as you dress properly, a person can withstand the cold. The worst part is how long winter lasts. Sometimes it stretches into seven months of the year.”
She shivered. It sounded intolerable. At that moment their meals arrived, sizzling hot. After the wine was poured, they applied themselves to the food.
* * *
To reachGabrielle’s favourite spot to view the Eiffel Tower for the first time, she led the way back to their usual métro stop of étienne Marcel. Though they had to change lines twice in order to reach her chosen destination of école Militaire.
Once up to street level, Andrew dragged his feet. He was clearly interested in the majestic buildings that greeted them, but she urged him onward.
“The buildings are all part of the military training school of Paris. We are in the seventh arrondissement, southeast of the Eiffel Tower,” she said. “But we need to keep moving if we are to see the tower before darkness engulfs it.”
They were running out of time. She hoped, if they hurried, to have a few minutes of light before darkness fell and the tower was illuminated. Hemmed in on both sides with tall buildings, she led him down the sidewalk at a fast pace. Soon they reached a spot to cut across the street. They entered Champ de Mars, a huge landscaped green space filled with burgeoning flowers, shrubs, and lofty trees that glowed red in the deepening shades of sunset.
She sighed. The light was magical. The setting sun had painted the sky in a wash of pink and gold.
Andrew was so focused on his immediate surroundings; he didn’t notice the great structure looming before him. Granted, it was partially hidden behind trees, but it amused her that he didn’t see the spear-like tower stretching into the heavens.
He reached for her hand, and she allowed it to be engulfed in his own, filling her with a sense of security she had never known before. She should pull away, distance herself from this man who was becoming too dear to her, and far too quickly. But she didn’t. A stab of fear rose inside her as memories of her recent past flooded her mind, including the eerie message scratched on her door, but she quickly quelled them. This man was nothing like Lyam.
They hurried on. She mused as to the point at which he would see the reason for the journey, wanting him to discover the Eiffel Tower without her aid. Only hoping he would catch on before it began to glow with the golden lights for which it was so famous.
They crunched along a gravelly path on the east side of the park. Still, the whispering leaves of the many trees that lined the trails appeared to hide la tour Eiffel. The rosy glow of evening was upon them. Soon, it would be dark and Gabrielle could wait no longer.
Slowing, she nudged him with an elbow. “Attention, Superman, I think your x-ray vision is slipping. Look up there.”
Dutifully, Andrew squinted through the gathering dusk. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “We’re almost on top of it!” Without her urging, he quickened his steps and led them now. Out to the center of the park he strode, to a place where his view was unobstructed and magnificent. He pulled up short and gazed at the huge tower. “That’s fabulous,” he murmured.
As they watched, the tower came to vibrant, golden life. Andrew flinched with surprise. She stared at him, enjoying his reaction. He dropped his head and gazed down at her. Their eyes met and locked as he slowly turned, his thumb beginning a mesmerizing circle on the palm of her hand as he caught her other arm and drew her inexorably toward him.
As his face moved closer, Gabrielle’s eyes fluttered shut. Her heart thrilled with anticipation, and she was not disappointed. His lips captured hers in gentle exploration, taking his time, drawing out the moment as he tasted her sweetness. With a shudder, he gathered her to him and the kiss deepened. She lifted her hands to his chiselled jaw and pulled him closer, arching her back as she fused herself to this wonderful man who was stealing her heart.
When at last he broke away, she clung to him, grateful for the darkness that surrounded them so he would not see her desire. He took a ragged breath and squeezed the hand that he still held. “I should get back to my hotel, and you need a good night’s rest, so you can do justice to your studies tomorrow.”
“Oui,” she said in a small, shaken voice, knowing she sounded as though she wanted nothing of the sort.
He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed the palm that still tingled from his touch. Then, he drew it through his arm and tucked her close to his side. “Will you come visit me tomorrow?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “What about the next day, and on into infinity?”
She giggled then and the spell was broken, as he had obviously meant for it to be. He was smart enough to know not to push her for more than she could give. She took a cleansing breath. “I will come each day to check on you,” she said. “If only to give you a few French lessons and make sure you do not get yourself into trouble.”
“Good,” he patted her arm where it rested against his side. “Now, can you get us back to where we began? I’m starting to feel that étienne Marcel métro stop is home.”
They retraced their steps, sauntering along and chatting like old friends. In no time at all they were back at his street, Rue Saint-Denis, and saying good night.
“Would you mind giving me your cell number?” Andrew asked, releasing her hand to reach for his phone. “You’ll be pleased to know I went out, alone, and bought a new SIM card. I’m now the proud owner of a European phone number.”
She hesitated and he continued. “Or maybe you’d rather take mine and then write me if you feel like it,” he added casually.
It was uncanny how he perceived and accepted her reticence. It didn’t even make sense after the way she’d kissed him in the park, that she would back away now. Despite that, his request brought up a memory of Lyam asking the very same thing. If only she had refused back then.
“Of course,” she said, with forced brightness. “I’ll send you a text right now and then you’ll have it.” Digging into her purse, her fingers grazed the forgotten letter she’d received two days earlier. How could she have overlooked it? Unaccountably, she shivered. Grasping her phone, she drew it out, tapping it to life, and entering the number he recited.
“C”est complet,” she said, clicking the phone off and dropping it back into her bag. His phone pinged almost immediately, and he smiled at her in the light of the streetlamp.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to your door?” he asked for the second time since they’d left the métro. “I don’t like thinking of you on these dark streets alone.”
“Paris is a safe city,” she assured him with a shrug. “I ‘ave done it a thousand times. Until tomorrow then, oui?”
“Oui,” he said, but he made no attempt to kiss her again, or to touch her in any way before they parted. “Sweet dreams,” he said before melting into the shadows.
She turned and continued walking. It wasn’t far to her own apartment. A brisk fifteen-minute walk was all. But maybe it was the threatening message on her door, her own imagination at work, or that Andrew had expressed concern for her. Yet she had the uneasy feeling that she wasn’t alone as she strode along the empty, darkened street. She squinted at shadows that had never caused her anxiety before, and glanced furtively over her shoulder, all the while telling herself there was no one there. Why would there be? What would anyone want with her? But she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched.
Hurrying to her apartment, she tapped in the passcode and pushed open the heavy door to the foyer. With relief, she heard it snap shut, then climbed the corkscrew stairs at almost a run. The light would click off before she reached the top unless she was quick, she told herself. That’s why she was taking them at a pace faster than she ever had before. Pressing the automatic light switch as she reached the top level, Gabrielle rummaged for her keys, turned them in the lock, and shoved impatiently at the door. Breathlessly, she slammed it shut behind her not caring what level of noise she made in the quiet hallway.
Snapping both deadbolts, she flicked on the tiny overhead light, and collapsed against the door, breathing heavily. She was safe. Lifting a hand to her heart she patted her chest, willing it to slow its racing clamour. Then with a sigh, she pulled off her jacket, hung it on one of the hooks by the door and kicked off her shoes. Her feet were killing her. The day had been long, but good.
She smiled to herself as she pushed upright. How foolish she’d been to think someone was following her. Then she froze. Something moved in the salon followed by a slight noise. Were her ears playing tricks on her? She stiffened, immobilized by a sudden, gripping fear. There it was again! A shuffling sound, along with a low groan.
Frantically she looked around for some sort of defense. The hammer! She kept one in a closet by the door in order to hang pictures and make small repairs. Soundlessly, she reached into the cavity and felt for it, nearly knocking over her umbrella, but she caught it just in time. Her fingers curled around the long wooden handle. She drew the hammer from its place and felt the weight in her hand as she lifted it and crept toward the dark salon, her arm raised. Her breath caught and held as a figure stirred on the sofa, sitting up, and rising to their feet.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” a voice screeched.
A woman?
“Gabby? Is that you? What’s happening?” the voice spoke again, each consecutive sentence delivered at a higher decibel.
“Annette?”
“Of course, it’s Annette,” the young woman said irritably, flopping back on the couch and shading her eyes as Gabrielle flipped on the light. “Who did you think it would be? A mass murderer?”
Gabrielle wobbled into the room and dropped into an armchair, the hammer slipping from her grasp and clattering onto the floor.
“Mon Dieu!” Annette flung a hand over her mouth and her eyes grew huge. “You did think I was a murderer. But why? I told you I was coming for a visit, and you gave me a key yourself, a long time ago.”
Gabrielle’s heart was still racing like an outboard motor. It took everything she had to muster up a sickly smile. She hoisted herself onto feeble legs and teetered to the sofa where Annette was still curled up under a blanket.
Gabrielle bent, holding out her arms to the younger woman. “I’m so sorry sweetheart. Hope I didn’t scare you.”
“It’s alright. I guess I might feel nervous too if someone suddenly appeared in my apartment.” Grabbing Gabrielle’s hands, she pulled her onto the sofa. “Are you surprised?” she probed and then giggled, drawing her pajama covered knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She didn’t appear to notice how drawn and pale her sister looked. “Don’t worry, I promise not to interfere with your studying. You won’t even know I’m here. Do you have classes tomorrow?
“I don’t. We can spend the rest of the day together if you allow me the morning to study.” She motioned toward the table where several piles of books were stacked before placing an unsteady hand on her forehead. A nasty headache was forming at her temple.
Annette leaned in to examine her up close. “You don’t look so great,” she observed, finally taking note of her sister’s appearance.
“I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all. For some reason I felt nervous tonight.” Gabrielle pushed a dark cloud of hair from her eyes and mustered another smile. “Probably just because I’m tired. I think we should both get some sleep.” She stood, offering a hand to Annette, and pulling her sister upright. “The sofa makes into a bed, remember? You could have made yourself more comfortable.”
“And have you think the mass murderer was sleeping in your bed?” Annette laughed; her good humor restored. “I don’t think so.”
Together they moved other furniture out of the way, tossed aside the cushions and pulled the innards out of the sofa to create a bed. Once Annette was settled, Gabrielle kissed her on both cheeks and wished her good night before retiring to her miniscule bedroom.
She undressed in the darkness and felt under her pillow for her nightgown. Tonight, she didn’t care about washing her face or applying moisturizer. A lingering feeling of dread still hung about her as she hopped into bed and pulled the covers around her ears despite the warmth of the room.
It wasn’t until she was almost asleep that she remembered the letter. But her purse was by the door where she’d hung it under her coat. She wasn’t sneaking through the salon, and disturbing Annette for that. It could wait till tomorrow.
She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what it said anyhow.