The House with Nine Locks, page 31
‘So how does it feel, having someone else get there first? Hard? Mixed feelings, at least.’
‘No.’
Saskia tilted back her head and exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘Oh, come on.’
Sebastian dug his hands into his pockets. ‘You must have seen the way it was: rotting away. It was tragic. Now it’s saved …’ He shrugged. ‘I’m relieved. I used to feel guilty every time I left. Adelais must have felt the same way.’
‘No, she didn’t.’ Saskia dropped her cigarette and stamped it out on the terrace. ‘She saw an opportunity and took it.’
‘If you say so.’
‘And if there was a feeling involved, it would be the feeling that she didn’t need you, and that this would prove it, beyond any doubt. She’s succeeded there too, hasn’t she?’ Saskia gave Sebastian a smile and turned away. ‘Your taxi’ll be here in five minutes. Make sure you don’t miss it.’
Sebastian was too stunned to respond. Saskia disappeared into the dining room, leaving him alone. He asked himself if it could possibly be true: that Adelais had restored the countess’s hunting lodge, had realised the dream they’d shared, in a spirit of defiance, of retaliation? If so, it could only be that she had felt wronged.
He looked out over to the pond. Artemis did not seem unhappy with her beehive. She wore it with serenity, as if enjoying the joke. Sebastian remembered Adelais’s first visit, when he had told her about his plans. She had promised to come and stay when he opened the hotel. She had asked him if she could have breakfast in bed. The thought of it always made him smile.
Saskia Helsen was wrong: there was no spite in Adelais, no appetite for revenge. Her memories of this place had been precious to her, just as they had been to him. They had shared something enchanting and she hadn’t wanted to let it go. Instead, she had brought it to life, made it real, and everlasting. That was the Adelais he knew: a girl who never gave up.
Sebastian looked back at the hunting lodge, once more radiant against the dark sky, and the idea took hold – an impossible idea, but one he could not keep back – that she had saved it as much for him as for herself. It was a testament to her love, a monument to the life they should have shared. The sudden sense of loss was overwhelming. He sat down on a stone bench. They had met as children and that was how he had gone on thinking of her. The difference between them was that she had grown up. She had grown to love him, love him like no one else, and he had simply missed it. He buried his face in his hands. He would have given anything to go back, to tell her was sorry, that the best days of his life had been spent with her, that he wished he had never left. But it was too late now, far too late. His return had been like a spectre’s at the feast. All Adelais wanted was for him to be gone. If there had been any doubt about that, her friend had erased it.
He got to his feet. He’d planned to say goodbye to Adelais before he left, but that would mean interrupting her again, another awkward moment. It was better to slip away.
The band had come to the end of a number. A clatter of applause followed him as he made his way slowly to the front of the hotel. Cars were lined up along the driveway, polished paintwork frosted with snow. From an upstairs window came a peel of laughter. Sebastian turned up his collar. The world felt cold.
Somewhere out of sight an engine spluttered to life. A scooter came round the side of the building. For a moment, he thought it was going to hit him.
The scooter pulled up beside him. The rider wore a helmet and goggles. ‘Get on.’
‘Adelais?’
‘Get on.’
Sebastian gestured towards the road. ‘I’ve got a taxi coming.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
‘But I—’
‘I cancelled it.’
‘What?’
‘I can take you.’ Adelais revved the engine. ‘Do you want to catch that train or not?’
Sebastian climbed on the back of the Vespa. There was more room than on his father’s old bicycle, but not much. He hung on tight to Adelais as they took off down the drive. Just ahead, beside the gates, was a tall fir tree, decorated with a spiral of electric lights. They had not been turned on when Sebastian arrived.
‘Adelais?’ He leaned forward. ‘I missed you. I wanted you to know.’
Adelais tapped the side of her helmet. He would have to speak up.
‘I said, I missed you.’ Sebastian was shouting. ‘In Antwerp. I never—’
Adelais pulled over and took off her helmet. ‘Start again.’
‘I said, I missed you. Are you deaf?’
‘No. I heard what you said. I just like hearing you repeat it.’
Sebastian did not feel cold any more. ‘Shall I repeat it again?’
‘No need.’ Adelais put an arm around his neck, and kissed him.
After a couple of minutes the scooter’s engine cut out.
FORTY-SEVEN
Adelais woke up early. Sebastian was asleep beside her in the narrow bed, his arms crossed, one hand tucked under his ear, the other resting on her shoulder. She sat up slowly, feeling the chill air on her skin. Sunday morning. Everything in the hotel was quiet. Outside, fine eddies of snow spun past the window. It felt strange, not waking up alone. Like the snow and the silence, it felt like something borrowed from a different life, a life she had stopped daring to hope for long ago.
She eased herself out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. When the brace was back on her leg, she went into the kitchens and made coffee, heating a pan of milk on the range. The fresh bread would not arrive for another half-hour, but Saturday’s was still edible. She cut some slices, spread them with butter and honey, and took everything back to the room on a trolley.
When Sebastian opened his eyes, Adelais was sitting on the floor, watching him over the rim of a large mug. He smiled at her and stretched, his feet banging against the footboard. ‘This bed isn’t fit for a countess. You need a bigger one.’
‘It was good enough until now.’ Adelais handed him a mug. ‘Coffee?’
‘Thanks.’ Sebastian slung his legs over the side of the bed, covering himself with the sheet to hide his nakedness. He pointed at the plate on the floor. ‘Is that honey?’
‘You prefer jam?’
‘No. Honey’s fine.’
Sebastian was obviously hungry, unless he ate so that he wouldn’t have to talk. Adelais did not mind. There wasn’t anything in particular she wanted him to say.
After a while, she stopped watching him and looked down at her toes. ‘So, have you done that before?’
Sebastian’s mouth was full. ‘Done what?’
‘You know. What we did, last night.’
‘Oh. That.’ Sebastian took his time chewing and swallowing. It was a question that apparently needed careful consideration. ‘Actually, no.’
‘Actually no?’
‘I mean, no. Never.’ Sebastian started rearranging the pillows. ‘In spite of my years. Why, was it … wrong?’
‘Do you mean, immoral –’ Adelais tried not to laugh – ‘or just unsatisfactory?’
Sebastian picked up a pillow and made to swing it at her. ‘I’m sorry I spoke.’
Adelais had expected to feel different afterwards: enlightened with secret knowledge, wiser and worldlier. The idea seemed foolish now, given how earthy and simple sex had turned out to be.
‘What about Marie-Astrid?’
‘What about her?’
‘Didn’t you …?’
Sebastian put the pillow back at the head of the bed. ‘She said she wanted to wait until we were married.’
‘So you waited?’
‘I did. She didn’t.’
Adelais frowned. ‘How did that work?’ Sebastian looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You may as well know.’ Sebastian picked up his coffee. ‘She had an affair with one of the partners in my firm: Mr van Roy.’
‘Your boss?’
‘Kind of. For all I know, it’s still going on. That’s why I had to leave. It got too awkward, and they’d have got rid of me anyway, sooner or later.’
‘But your boss? How could she do that?’
Sebastian shrugged. ‘Oh, he’s very rich. Houses all over the place. A flat in Paris. And keeps himself fit.’
‘Is he married?’
‘A widower, or so he claims. Nobody ever met his wife though. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t make her up, to get sympathy.’
‘From women?’
Sebastian brought a hand to his forehead. ‘Poor wounded soul. They want to ease his pain.’
Adelais took a sip of coffee. ‘I wouldn’t. I’d increase it.’
Sebastian laughed. ‘I was pretty furious. It was humiliating. And all those lies. But, you know, once the anger had burned out, I felt relieved. I wasn’t going to spend my life keeping Marie-Astrid happy. I wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing her. I spent two years doing that. It took Mr van Roy to put an end to it.’
Sebastian held out his hand. Adelais took it. She lay down next to him and let him cover her with the blankets, the warmth of his body slowly spreading through hers. He regretted his years away from Ghent, from her. It was good to know his feelings mirrored hers. And yet, what would have become of her if Sebastian had never left? Where would she be now: working at Aux Quatre Vents, or some other place like it? Perhaps she would have become Mrs Pieters, running a modest household in a respectable district of Ghent, instead of the Astrid Christyn Hotel. She would have got rid of the old weaver’s house and all its contents, for sure. Sebastian was the last person in the world she would have lured into that line of work.
‘I don’t think your friend likes me, by the way,’ he said. His chin was hooked over her shoulder, the stubble rough against her skin.
‘Who, Saskia?’
‘She said you didn’t need me and that I should clear off – words to that effect.’
‘Saskia can be very … protective. And she doesn’t trust men, in general. Her sisters all married unhappily.’
‘So that’s it.’
‘You remember the dance at the opera house?’ Adelais had never planned to tell anyone, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘I think she put something in my drink.’
‘What?’ Sebastian was laughing.
‘I think she drugged me.’
‘You’re serious?’ He sat up. ‘Why would she drug you?’
Already Adelais wished she hadn’t mentioned it. She didn’t want to think about ugly things. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she thought it would be funny. Or maybe she wanted to keep me from you.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘So I wouldn’t get my heart broken.’
Sebastian exhaled a long breath and lay down again. ‘How did you find out?’
‘It was just something she said.’ Captain Toussaint and his boss were in her head now, trespassing on her happiness. ‘I could be wrong.’
‘Have you asked her about it?’
‘What good would that do? She’d deny it. I still wouldn’t know and she’d hate me for suspecting her.’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘So you suspect her in secret and that’s better?’
‘It was ages ago. She’s grown up a lot since then.’
Sebastian’s fingers found the nape of Adelais’s neck. She closed her eyes as they pushed gently through her hair. ‘For the record,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t have broken your heart for anything.’
Adelais took his hand and brought it to her lips. ‘So you say. How do I know? You could be like Mr van Roy.’
Gently Sebastian rolled her over so that she was facing him. ‘I’d never lie to you, Adelais. To other people, yes. But not you. It would be madness.’
‘I know. I was joking.’ She kissed his hand. The scent of his skin was comforting.
‘No secrets then, you promise?’
Adelais held him close. She was glad at that moment that he could not see her face, the hot blush on her cheeks. ‘I promise,’ she said.
The children at Sebastian’s school were putting on a play to mark St Nicolas Day, and Sebastian had to go back to Antwerp to help make scenery. Adelais took him to the station on the Vespa.
‘I’ll be back as soon as the holidays start,’ he said, as he climbed off.
Adelais told him he had better come back or she would hunt him down, like Cary Grant was hunted in North by Northwest, but it was a film Sebastian hadn’t seen.
‘What do you want for Christmas?’ he said, but the train for Antwerp blew its whistle and he had to run before Adelais could think of an answer. Riding back through the city, it occurred to her that she had no answer. She didn’t want anything, at least anything that could be bought in a shop. She had done enough shopping to last a lifetime. Most of her purchases were still hidden away behind nine locks, untouched.
Nadia was on the front desk when she got back to the hotel. Mrs Hofman was there too, complaining. She had turned up in the dining room half an hour after breakfast was over and asked to be fed. The kitchen staff, who had already started preparing for lunch, had refused.
‘An omelette with spring onions,’ she said. ‘Anyone would think I wanted lobster thermidor. Mind you, I know a good few places would have done that for me. Because they know how to look after their customers.’
Nadia offered to go and make the omelette. Adelais took over the front desk. There was no sign of Saskia, but she usually stayed away on Sundays. Adelais was glad. She didn’t know what to say about Sebastian. It was too soon to pick over what had happened. The thought of it made her feel warm inside, and for now that was all the clarity she needed.
When Nadia returned, Adelais went up to the first floor. On Sundays, the cleaning had to wait until the afternoon, although Hendryck always left the bar in good order. She went from table to table, emptying the ashtrays and picking up discarded cocktail napkins. The air was heavy with the smell of stale smoke. She opened the windows and let a breeze blow through the room. From her place behind the bar, Great-Aunt Magdalena stared out at the winter sky, lips pursed, keeping her thoughts to herself – except it wasn’t Great-Aunt Magdalena. It was the portrait of a stranger they had bought from a junk shop in Roeselare.
FORTY-EIGHT
The Federal Engraving Bureau was being stripped bare. Major de Smet hardly recognised it. The movers had not stopped at the cabinets, the shelving and the furniture: they had unscrewed the workbenches from the floor, removed the lampshades and the light bulbs, and rolled up the linoleum. On his way in, he saw a man loading a stack of varnished lavatory seats into the back of a truck. He wondered if the porcelain was next.
Monsieur Meunier had gained some weight and lost some hair since de Smet’s last visit, but his office was largely unchanged. The rug was rolled up, books and files were lying in stacks around the room, tied up with string, but his desk and chair were still in place, as well as the bright lamp that he had used to examine the bureau’s daily output. More importantly, the safe was exactly where it had always been.
‘Tell me the procedure again, from the moment you arrived in the morning.’ De Smet stood in front of the desk. There was nowhere for him to sit.
Meunier sighed. He could see no point to this line of inquiry. His own theory was that Verlinden, the dead nightwatchman, had been mixed up with communists and had fallen foul of them, for one reason or another. ‘It was the same every day, Major. I’d let myself into the office with my key – I was always the first to arrive. I’d open up the safe, take out the plates and designs for the day, and check that they were all there. Everything goes in the ledger, without exception.’ He brought his hand down on a thick black tome that lay on his desk, as if about to swear on it. ‘Then one of the senior staff would collect them.’
‘They weren’t in here when you used the safe?’
Meunier shook his head. ‘I never unlocked the safe unless I was alone. Not that I didn’t trust my staff, but one can’t be too careful.’
‘And at the end of the day?’
‘At the appointed hour, the plates and designs would be brought back to this office, checked once again against the ledger, and stored in the safe as before.’
‘How long did that take?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Checking the items against the ledger, how long did it take?’
‘It would depend on the volume of work in progress. Not long usually. It was just a matter of counting.’
‘And you always did that yourself?’
Meunier hesitated. ‘Yes. Yes, almost always.’
De Smet nodded to himself. Almost always. It was just as he’d thought. ‘And that would be here? Everything would be laid out here, on this desk?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then you would open the safe and put everything back in.’
‘Correct.’
‘Once you were alone.’
Meunier nodded. ‘Of course, yes. Once I was alone.’
‘Show me.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Open the safe.’
‘There are no plates in there, not any more.’
‘All the same.’
Meunier sighed again, louder. He spun round on his chair and turned his attention to the massive steel safe that was sunk into the wall.
De Smet took a couple of steps to his left. From there, he had a clear view of the director’s stubby fingers on the dial.
That would have been how it all began, the moment of inception. De Smet could picture it perfectly: Monsieur Meunier on the telephone, the receiver tucked under his ear, preoccupied, in a hurry to get home for the evening – he had tickets for the opera perhaps, or friends coming round for dinner – putting the plates and the designs back in the safe while one of his trusted engravers was still standing there, on the other side of the desk. The combination was secret knowledge. The engraver wasn’t supposed to have it. There hadn’t been time to make a plan: he would have memorised the numbers on instinct. De Smet had to admire the opportunism.
Right now, the safe in Meunier’s office contained only a cash box and a single set of designs.
