But there was fear too. Clementine had gone to Lucerne to spend time in a clinic because she was ill. Terribly ill. Her treatment had affected her eyesight and now she had grown so poorly that Freja and Tobias had been asked to come at once.
Freja was frightened by what she might find. Would she still be able to see the world-famous zoologist Clementine Peachtree, with whom she’d spent the first ten years of her life adventuring through the Arctic wilds? Would she recognise the amazing mother who’d taken her swimming with seals, perching with puffins, frolicking with foxes? Would that Clementine still be there? Or would her illness have turned her into someone else? A normal person? A dull person? A stranger?
Freja shuddered. She couldn’t bear the thought!
And then, of course, there were the changes that had taken place in Freja herself. When Clementine became ill, she had sent Freja to live with Tobias Appleby. Freja had never met Tobias before, had never even heard of him.
But Tobias Appleby had turned out to be a charming fellow, muddlesome but kind. Together with his overgrown Irish wolfhound, Finnegan, he had made Freja feel welcome. Writer and dog had accepted Freja just the way she was, teaching her to be brave and strong. Even when they travelled to Rome to begin a brand-new adventure in a world suddenly filled with people. Even when they started all over again by moving on to Provence. Freja had adjusted to both city life and village life, despite the fact that she had spent her first ten years surrounded by animals, not people. She’d made friends with adults and, astonishingly, other children. She’d even stood up to thieves and bullies and liars. In short, she had thrived.
Freja stared down at her bright pink hiking boots. They were new, bought yesterday because her old ones were too tight. And her overalls barely reached the top of her socks. She had grown taller by a whole four centimetres since she last saw Clementine.
A tear slipped from her eye. ‘Tobias?’ she whispered. ‘Do you think Clementine will recognise me?’
Tobias stared at her. Noticing the tear drop, his shoulders slumped and his green eyes softened. ‘You silly sausage,’ he said. ‘Why on earth would you worry about such a thing?’
Freja fiddled with Finnegan’s raggedy grey ear. ‘I’ve changed so very much since I saw her last. I’m taller and stronger. I’m even quite bold at times. I used to be scared of people, to run away and hide.’ She blushed. ‘Even if Clementine does recognise me, she . . . she . . . she might not like me any more.’
Tobias’ eyebrows shot upward. ‘Not like you any more?’ he gasped. Then, springing to his feet, he shouted, ‘Not like you any more?!’
‘Boof!’ said Finnegan, his ears pricking up.
Tobias shook his head in disbelief. ‘What’s not to like?’ He flung his arms wide and sent the milk jug flying across the grass. ‘What’s not to love? Just look at you, Freja Peachtree. You’re an amazing child. You’re brave and kind and clever and creative. You can also be sneaky when the need arises. That’s a good thing, by the way — an important survival skill. Furthermore, Clementine will have absolutely no trouble recognising her daughter because you will still fit more perfectly into her embrace than any other human being on earth! A little bit of extra height will just make it a snugger fit.’
Freja scrunched her nose, still uncertain.
‘And if Clementine asks,’ continued Tobias, ‘I’ll be able to tell her that your eyes are still as blue as a glacial lake and your golden curls are as wild and woolly as ever. The only difference is that you now have a rather large amount of straw growing from your head as well. Gathered from the loft during the night, I suspect.’
Freja reached for her curls.
‘Don’t touch it!’ cried Tobias. ‘The combination of straw and hair is perfect. Wild and woolly. Or I should say, wild and chaffy and as crispy as twigs. A halo shining golden in the sunshine. Why, you look like a Swiss barnyard angel. A protector of cows. A patron saint of piglets. You’re an absolute wonder to behold.’
Freja smiled, but her mouth immediately shrank to a pout. ‘But Clementine’s eyes . . .’ she whispered. ‘She won’t be able to see . . .’
‘But you are hers,’ said Tobias, his voice now soft and low. He reached out and squeezed Freja’s shoulder. ‘She will know you instantly. Just as she knows her own hands and feet are there without looking. You are part of her, and she is part of you, and no amount of time or distance or failing eyesight will ever change that.’
Freja sniffed and gave a lopsided grin.
‘Truly, old chap,’ said Tobias. He leaned forward and tugged gently at one of Freja’s curls. ‘You’ll bring Clementine nothing but joy.’
And, as if to add his own support, Finnegan leapt up, wiped his tongue across Freja’s face and dribbled into her lap.
‘Boof!’
CHAPTER 2
Sausages and swans
The journey down from Herr Ummel’s mountainside dairy was truly beautiful. They drove for miles and miles past lush green meadows filled with fat, lazy cows. Of course, sometimes, when Tobias took his eyes from the road to gaze at the snow-capped Alps, or a golden eagle soaring through the clouds, they drove through the lush green meadows and sent the cows galloping. But that, too, was wonderful in its own special way.
The meadows were dotted with dark timber chalets, three and four storeys high, with sturdy wide roofs to keep the snow away from windows and doors in winter. Freja loved the way the buildings were made cheerful with pops of colour from painted shutters and window boxes filled with flowers in pinks and oranges, yellows and reds.
When finally they came to the edge of the sparkling blue lake, Freja felt that her eyes might soon grow tired from so much colour.
‘Clementine must love it here,’ she sighed. But then her breath caught as she realised that, perhaps, Clementine had barely been able to see the green meadows, the blue waters and the timber chalets, let alone the flowers and the caramel cows.
Freja clutched handfuls of Finnegan’s shaggy grey fur and pressed her face into his back. ‘Soon,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I will find out soon.’
‘Look!’ shouted Tobias above the roar of the motorcycle’s engine. ‘We’ve found Lucerne at last.’
Freja wiped her nose on the dog’s ear and lifted her chin. They drove past a row of grand waterside hotels and onto a bridge.
‘The River Reuss!’ Tobias pointed to the river that broke free from the lake and flowed through the centre of old Lucerne, where churches, footbridges, houses, walls and towers all vied for attention.
‘Look at me,’ cried one of the churches, ‘with my crisp white walls, my elegant spires and my onion-shaped domes!’
‘Nein, look at me,’ shouted a covered wooden footbridge, ‘with my weatherworn timber and my shingled roof! And see how the river runs clean and clear between my sturdy stilts.’
‘But wait! Look at us,’ sang the elegant apartment buildings, ‘with our finely carved window frames, our wide arched doors and our views to the mountains, majestic and blue in the distance!’
‘Nein! Nein!’ yelled the Town Hall. ‘Over here! Look at my solid stone walls, my flags and flower boxes, and my beautiful clock tower with domes and spires and flashes of gold.’
‘But look here, further up the hill!’ sang Museggmauer, the old city wall. ‘I have stones as large as cows and watchtowers to keep you safe from harm.’
Freja saw it all, heard it all, as they crossed the main bridge and looked straight up the river into the heart of old Lucerne. She stared, her eyes and mouth growing wider and wider. Her spirits, which had been so very low just a moment before, now soared. She pulled Finnegan into her arms and laughed. ‘It’s magical! Like a city from a fairy tale.’
‘Boof!’ Finnegan turned around and grinned into Freja’s face. His tongue flapped in the wind and slapped her across the cheek. He, too, seemed excited by the beautiful town. Although he might simply have been glad to be embraced by the girl. He adored her and could never be close enough, touched enough, hugged e
nough.
‘Boof!’ he said once more and licked his wide pink tongue across Freja’s face.
‘Look out!’ squealed Freja.
‘Whoopsy!’ cried Tobias, and the motorcycle bumped and bounced up over the kerb, onto the footpath and zoomed around the corner. For an exciting but terrifying moment, the wheel of the sidecar lifted from the ground and Freja squealed again.
Tobias pulled on the brakes and they came to a halt just centimetres from the trunk of a shady tree. Freja’s head lurched forward and cracked into Finnegan’s.
‘Ouch!’ said Freja.
‘Woof!’ barked Finnegan.
‘Perfect parking spot!’ cried Tobias, pulling off his goggles and riding cap. ‘Here we are. Here at last. A day or two after we’d planned, but no use crying over spilt milk and better late than never and too many cooks spoil the broth.’
Freja giggled. ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth? What do the cooks have to do with our arrival?’
‘Well!’ cried Tobias, climbing off the motorcycle and staring at his watch. ‘I’m glad you asked. It’s now midday on the dot . . . or close enough . . . Actually, it’s eight minutes after . . . so I suppose there’s nothing on-the-dot about it at all. The clinic has rest time from midday to three o’clock, so we have three hours to kill until we see Clementine.’
Freja scrunched her nose. She’d been bursting to see Clementine all morning and now . . . She took a deep and wobbly breath, but made herself blow it out slowly and smoothly. ‘I still don’t see what too many cooks spoiling the broth have to do with anything,’ she said.
‘Boof!’ Finnegan snapped at Tobias’ hand as he walked around to the sidecar.
‘Yes, yes, I know, puppy,’ said Tobias, ruffling Finnegan’s shaggy grey ears. ‘You’re hungry and need to eat. Which is exactly where the cooks come in. It’s lunchtime. We’ll find somewhere to eat. Have a little rest. A little nibble. A little walk around the town. We might even find the chocolate shop where Vivi will be training. We can buy a gift for Clementine — something special and pretty and chocolatey.’
‘Clementine loves chocolate,’ said Freja.
Finnegan leapt from the sidecar. He spun a full circle and barked three times. ‘Woof! Woof! Woof!’
Freja giggled and climbed out after him.
‘Hang on,’ she said, turning to Tobias. ‘You said, “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” Lunch and chocolates might explain the cooks, but not the too many cooks, and certainly not the broth.’
Tobias stared at Freja. He tugged at his ear. He gazed across the river. ‘Hmmm.’
Freja smiled, all teeth and sparkling blue eyes. She knew Tobias would come up with a very silly explanation. It was one of the things she truly loved about the writer — the way he frolicked and played with words and ideas.
Tobias fixed Freja with a serious stare. ‘What I meant is this,’ he said. ‘We are not going to eat broth for lunch. Because there are too many cooks working on broth in Lucerne. Everyone knows that. I’m surprised you didn’t know it, Freja — a smart girl like you.’
‘I’m so very sorry and ashamed of myself,’ said Freja, biting her lip to quell another giggle.
‘Apology accepted,’ said Tobias with a nod. ‘So! Too many cooks all making broth. And because they are doing it day in and day out, they are utterly bored and have ceased to take any real pride in it. As a result, the broth in Lucerne is horrible. Completely bland. As tasteless as a mouthful of water. And so, when I said, “Too many cooks spoil the broth,” I was stating a well-known fact about Lucerne and indicating that we are definitely not having broth for lunch. No matter how many waiters try to talk us into it. We’re going to have something yummy, like a schnitzel or some big fat juicy sausages.’
Freja threw back her head and laughed.
Finnegan, however, ran around Tobias, leaping, snapping and growling, the mention of big fat juicy sausages more than his empty tummy could bear.
‘All right then!’ cried Tobias. ‘Sausages for lunch. Here we come!’
He had barely uttered the words when Finnegan lifted his nose, sniffed at the air and bolted away.
‘Spiffing view!’ cried Tobias, gazing out across the river. The girl, the dog and the writer were seated at a table not far from the Chapel Bridge, a footbridge that stretched from one side of the river to the other. It had a sturdy shingled roof on the top and flower boxes all the way along the sides so that it looked like a strange but beautiful variation on the farmhouses they had passed that morning. The water that flowed beneath it was clean and sparkling and as blue as Freja’s eyes.
‘Absolutely spiffing,’ said Tobias.
Finnegan blinked and stole a sausage from Tobias’ plate.
‘Greedy dog,’ murmured Freja. ‘You’ve already eaten three sausages of your own.’
‘Not to mention the pig slops, the puddle of milk, the pitchfork handle and the bootlaces he ate for breakfast,’ said Tobias.
Finnegan grinned and dribbled on the tablecloth.
The waiter walked by and frowned.
‘Do you think Finnegan is supposed to be sitting at the table with us?’ asked Freja. She looked around at the other tables between the pretty building and the turquoise river. ‘It is rather posh here. And the only other dogs seem to be tied up to the lampposts or tucked away in handbags.’
‘Oh, I don’t think we’d fit Finnegan in a handbag,’ said Tobias. He stared at the dog and frowned. ‘You wouldn’t even fit in a suitcase, would you, puppy?’
Finnegan snapped at the air in front of Tobias’ face.
‘No, no, no,’ said Tobias with a chuckle. ‘We wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing, would we, Freja?’
‘No,’ said Freja, ‘but —’
At that moment, the waiter walked past with four plates balanced on his hands and arms. Finnegan lunged sideways and snatched a sausage from one of the plates. The waiter walked on, oblivious to the theft.
‘Finnegan!’ gasped Freja.
The dog gobbled the sausage and licked his lips. He stared at Freja and blinked slowly, innocently, as though nothing had happened.
Freja shook her head and leaned against the wrought-iron fence beside her chair. The river was right below and she watched, smiling, as the crystal clear water flowed by.
A family of swans swam towards them. The cob and the pen were sleek and white, almost too perfect to be real. The three cygnets were almost as large as their parents, but still covered in fluffy grey down. They glided back and forth on the water, as effortlessly as clouds gliding across the sky.
‘They’re beautiful,’ said Freja. ‘So gentle and graceful.’
‘Gentle and graceful?’ gasped Tobias. He flung his arms in the air, forgetting that he held a fork with a sausage on it in one hand. The sausage flew off the prongs, soared through the air and landed on a plate two tables away.
‘Whoopsy-daisy!’ sang Tobias. He rose to his feet and marched across the outdoor café until he arrived at the place where his sausage had landed. Freja watched, wide-eyed, as he smiled, bowed, stabbed his sausage with his fork and marched back with it held in the air like a victory flag. The stunned diners stared in silence as he sat back down before Freja, bit the end off his sausage, chewed, swallowed and sighed with satisfaction. ‘Now, what were we talking about, old chap?’
Freja pushed the remains of her schnitzel towards Finnegan and said, ‘The swans — how gentle and graceful they are.’
Tobias chewed another mouthful of sausage and shook his head. ‘Oh, but they’re not gentle at all. They’re terribly argumentative — like so many families when their children reach those difficult teenage years. They niggle. They nag. And sometimes, they’re downright rude. Even the parents.’
‘Rude?’ asked Freja. ‘But they look so pretty and calm.’
Tobias snorted and pointed his sausage at the swans. ‘Listen,’ he said and began to speak in a German accent.
‘Adelheid! Wolfgang! Fritz!’ he shrieked in a motherly voice with a s
illy German accent. ‘If you kids don’t stay close you’ll be swept away on the current and you’ll be lost. Lost, do you hear me? We’ll never ever be able to find you again.’
‘Ja! Ja!’ Tobias now spoke in a deeper German voice. ‘Your mother is right. You will be swept away and who knows what lies downstream? A hungry bear, perhaps. Bears are bad news, Kinder!’
Freja giggled and Tobias carried on in his crazy German swan voices.
‘I’m not scared of getting lost!’
‘Me neither! And I’m not scared of bears!’
‘And I’m not scared of anything, except Adelheid’s ugly face.’
‘Mami! Mami! Wolfgang thinks I’m ugly.’
‘Nein! I know you’re ugly.’
‘Well, you know what, Wolfgang? You have a face like a duck’s!’
‘You take that back, Adelheid!’
‘Nein! Duck face! Duck face!’
‘Dummkopf ugly head!’
Tobias turned to Freja and grimaced. ‘See?’ he said, now using his normal voice. ‘Arguing. Niggling. Nagging.’ He rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘Swans!’
‘They’re dreadful!’ agreed Freja. ‘Imagine if they went on a camping holiday and had to put up with one another on a rainy day, all crammed into their tent!’
‘It would be a family disaster!’ Tobias agreed. He waved the last half of his sausage in the air.
Finnegan lunged forward, snatched it from the fork and gobbled it up.
‘Well, that’s lunch done,’ said Tobias. ‘Which means it must be time to find some chocolate!’
CHAPTER 3
A little bit of dribble never hurt anyone
‘Leckerbissen!’ cried Freja. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the name of the chocolate shop where Vivi will be working!’
Freja pointed along the quiet cobbled street. The building was five storeys high, its entire yellow façade covered with a painting of a vine. Starting at the ground beside the door, the tendrils stretched upward, weaving in and around each of the windows. Green leaves and golden pears sprouted along the way. Birds, rabbits, ibex, marmots and children nestled in the branches. At street level, the shop had two wide, arched windows, completely unadorned. People walking by could clearly see the delicacies that lay within, which would be sure to turn them from passers-by into customers. Above the windows, a sign dangled from the paws of a brass rabbit at one end and a brass squirrel at the other. In gold lettering, it announced: ‘Leckerbissen’.
The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Lucerne Page 2
