The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Lucerne (The Girl, the Dog and the Writer, #3)

by Katrina Nannestad

  The girl and the mother lay together for a long time. Soaking up one another’s presence. Breathing in one another’s breath. Silently telling one another, ‘I love you. I need you. I love you.’

  ‘But how did you know it was me?’ asked Freja when, finally, they had hugged and kissed and laughed and cried enough to talk sensibly. Freja lay upon the bed wrapped in Clementine’s skinny but familiar arms. ‘You can’t even see.’

  Clementine smiled, all teeth and joy, and she squeezed Freja tighter, ever closer to her body. Her explanation was one of dizzying simplicity: ‘You are mine. I would know you anywhere.’

  Two hours later, Tobias and Finnegan returned. Freja and Clementine heard them coming from afar.

  ‘Slow down, puppy!’ cried Tobias. ‘I know you’re not used to a leash, but it’s regulation! And you really shouldn’t have rolled in that mud puddle after the kind lady bathed and blow-dried you so nicely. And I’m really not sure that you should be bringing that inside. We are in a medical clinic, after all.’

  The staircase echoed with clomping and stomping, snarling and growling, bumping and thumping and wrestling.

  ‘Ouch!’ yelped Tobias.

  Glass shattered.

  ‘The window on the stairwell?’ suggested Freja.

  Clementine smiled. ‘Tobias never changes, does he?’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Freja. ‘He’s just perfect as he is . . . Odd, but perfect.’

  Clementine nodded.

  ‘Here!’ cried Tobias, his voice now loud and clear. ‘This is our floor, Finnegan. Time to settle dow— Argh!’

  There was a skidding-scuffling-galloping sound along the corridor and, a moment later, Finnegan charged through the door to Clementine’s room, a large stick in his mouth. Tobias was skating along the floor behind him at the end of the leash.

  Suddenly, the leash snapped and Tobias tumbled backward, falling on his bottom with an ‘Ooof!’ His hand landed heavily on the gold chocolate box.

  Finnegan surged forward and leapt up onto the bed. He dropped the stick at Clementine’s side and flicked his tongue across her nose. Then he lunged at Freja and licked her face all over, back and forth and around and about, then lifted his head to the ceiling and howled with delight. He had been separated from the girl for far too long and, now, here she was once more, safe and sound, her fingers tangled in his shaggy grey fur just the way he liked.

  Tobias staggered to his feet. He rubbed his bruised bottom, kicked the box with the squashed chocolate cow back out into the corridor, walked across the room and stared down at Clementine. His shoulders drooped.

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan, snapping at the air near Tobias’ nose.

  Tobias jumped, pulled back his shoulders, tugged at his left ear and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Hello, old girl,’ he said. ‘It’s jolly good to see you again.’

  Clementine smiled and felt around with her hands, slowly, gently, moving over the stick, the dog’s shaggy grey tail and Freja’s face and hair. Finally, she grabbed Tobias’ hand and squeezed it.

  ‘Wonderful,’ she sighed. And, suddenly, the bandage over her eyes was damp. ‘This,’ she whispered, ‘is what I have been waiting for, longing for. My precious family.’

  CHAPTER 5

  A Schloss to sleep in

  The girl, the dog and the writer stood on the steps at the front of the clinic.

  The girl wiped a tear from her eye. The visit with Clementine had been happy and sad and comforting and disturbing and like coming home, all at the same time. The tear was as much from confusion as anything else.

  The dog held the stick in his mouth. He’d fully intended it as a gift to Clementine, but couldn’t bear to leave it behind when they’d departed.

  The writer stared out into the distance and rubbed his chin. ‘What I’d really like right now,’ he declared, ‘is a train ride.’

  Freja scrunched her nose. Why would Tobias suddenly be longing for a train ride? She could understand if he’d said, ‘I feel like a nice cup of tea and piece of hot buttered toast,’ or, ‘I could really do with a little nap,’ or even, ‘I’d love to go for a swim in the lake, then sun myself on the pebbly shore.’ But, instead, out of the blue, he wanted to board a train!

  Freja giggled. It was odd, but then again, not so very odd for Tobias Appleby. After all, Tobias was not a normal man, but a strange and absent-minded writer. One never knew what he might say or do next. Which made it exciting — and sometimes a little bit scary — being a part of his life.

  ‘Oh, look!’ cried Tobias, pointing to a hill on the other side of the river. ‘There’s a railway track! Right there! It appears to run from the town, up the hillside, to that quaint little station beside the castle.’

  Freja gasped. For, sure enough, perched on the hilltop, surrounded by lush green forest, was a castle. A real live castle! It was white with turrets, spires and a sweeping terrace, and looked like it belonged in the pages of a fairy tale.

  ‘I rather like the idea of my next novel taking place in a castle,’ said Tobias. ‘It’s a brilliant setting when you think about it . . . all those towering turrets . . . dangerously high balconies . . . secret passageways . . . dark cellars . . . lurking servants . . . The perfect spot for a crime or two . . . or three or four . . .’ He chuckled and stared into the distance once more.

  Freja waited for a few minutes, then tugged at his sleeve. ‘Tobby,’ she whispered, ‘it’s getting late. Shouldn’t we be finding somewhere to stay for the night?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ cried Tobias. ‘How about yonder castle?’

  ‘But . . . but . . .’ Freja scrunched her nose. ‘It’s a castle! You can’t just wander in and stay for the night. Not unless you’re royalty!’

  ‘Oh, but you can!’ cried Tobias. ‘You can stay for as many nights as you like. Provided you pay. You see, the castle is a hotel.’

  Freja stared at him, eyes wide. ‘A castle pretending to be a hotel?’

  ‘Or is it a hotel pretending to be a castle?’ asked Tobias.

  Freja giggled. ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘Either way,’ said Tobias, ‘it’d be a jolly place to stay, don’t you think?’

  Freja nodded at him, her blue eyes sparkling, her golden curls bouncing up and down.

  ‘Excellent!’ cried Tobias. Then, bending his knees, he offered her the crook of his arm. ‘Shall we away, old chap?’

  Freja linked her arm through his and whispered, ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan, and, stick in mouth, he trotted after them, tail wagging.

  The train was a funicular, just one small red carriage that clanked and whirred its way up the hillside.

  ‘It’s like riding a toy train!’ cried Freja. ‘This is lovely, Tobby!’

  ‘It’s thrilling too,’ cried Tobias, ‘when you consider the steepness of the track and the fact that the only thing keeping us from rocketing out of control, down the hillside, and crashing in a mangle of timber and steel and bones and moans at the bottom, is a single cable attached to the undercarriage.’

  An elderly woman in the seat behind them gasped and clutched her handbag to her chest.

  ‘I know!’ cried Tobias, turning towards her, his eyes shining with excitement. ‘If I was a villain, I’d creep into the station at night with a pair of bolt cutters and —’

  DING-DING!

  They’d arrived at the little brick station and the woman leapt out of the carriage with surprising speed for one so old.

  The girl, the dog and the writer disembarked at a slower pace and walked along a path, bordered by flowers and shrubs, to the castle entrance. Freja stood at the bottom of the sweeping stone staircase. She giggled and her heart fluttered with excitement.

  ‘Willkommen im Hotel Schloss der Freude!’ said the bellboy, a lad no more than sixteen. He was dressed in a red coat with two rows of brass buttons, black trousers, shiny black shoes and white gloves. A little red pillbox hat sat askew on his head. He smiled, trotted up the stairs ahead of the
m, held open the glass door and waved them inside.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Tobias. ‘Danke! Danke! We’re terribly glad to be here.’ He grabbed the boy’s free hand and shook it so hard that his glove came off. Both the writer and the bellboy stared at the white glove now hanging from Tobias’ hand.

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan. Dropping his stick to the ground, he leapt up and snatched the glove in his teeth. He shook it from side to side, snarling and growling and rolling his eyes. When sure that it was dead, he dropped the glove at the bellboy’s feet, picked up his stick and trotted inside.

  ‘Sorry,’ whispered Freja.

  ‘Terribly sorry,’ said Tobias.

  And they followed Finnegan into the lobby.

  ‘My word!’ gasped Tobias. ‘That’s quite something, isn’t it?’

  ‘Quite something,’ echoed Freja, eyes boggling. The ceilings soared, the marble floors shone and the potted palms looked large enough to house a flock of toucans and several large monkeys. Blue velvet lounges sat in front of blue velvet curtains which hung beside blue velvet wallpaper. Towering floral arrangements filled the air with the smell of lilies and roses and bliss.

  But Tobias hadn’t yet noticed these glorious details. His attention was totally absorbed by the chandelier that hung from the centre of the ceiling. ‘It’s huge!’ he gasped. ‘It must weigh at least two tonnes. And those crystals look awfully sharp. Why, if that chain was to break free from the ceiling — accidentally, or on purpose — and fall onto an unsuspecting member of the household —’

  ‘Welcome to Hotel Schloss der Freude!’ said a man with a crisp German accent. He bowed and clicked his heels so sharply that the sound echoed through the foyer. ‘I am Manfred, the hotel concierge.’

  Manfred was dressed, like the bellboy, in red and black. His coat, however, had long tails at the back and twice as many brass buttons down the front, and he wasn’t wearing a hat. He had blond hair and a small, neatly trimmed moustache. His blue eyes were bright and clear and looked like they saw everything that happened in his hotel.

  Manfred looked Tobias up and down, taking in his scuffed boots, saggy-baggy trousers, missing shirt buttons and overgrown mop of hair. His blue eyes shifted to Freja, lingering on her feral curls, then to Finnegan who was holding his precious stick-that-was-almost-a-log. Looking back to Tobias, his eyes narrowed for a moment, then bulged.

  ‘You . . . you . . .’ Manfred began, but could not seem to take his words any further.

  Freja waited for Tobias to speak, but Tobias was still gazing fondly at the chandelier. He chuckled and muttered something about squashed innards. She would have to take control of the situation herself.

  Stepping forward, Freja whispered, ‘We’re very sorry for our scruffiness, Manfred. We’ve been travelling for three days . . . on a motorcycle and in a sidecar which is why we’re so windblown and dusty . . . and we slept in a barn last night, which is why I have straw in my hair . . . and Finnegan . . . well . . . there’s no excuse for Finnegan. I’m afraid he’s always that big and hairy and dribbly and smelly. Although the stick is quite a new thing. He seems rather obsessed with it.’ She swallowed and blushed, afraid that she had spoken too much.

  Manfred’s blond eyelashes fluttered and he closed his gaping mouth. ‘But forgive me, Fräulein, Herr, Hund. I did not mean to be rude. It is just that . . . well . . .’ He turned towards Tobias. ‘Are you not the famous crime writer, Tobias Appleby?’

  Tobias dragged his gaze away from the chandelier and scratched his head. ‘Yes!’ he cried. ‘I suppose I am, Manfred.’

  ‘And so this,’ gasped Manfred, pointing to Freja, ‘is the little girl who solved the mystery of the diamond heist in Rome? The one that was in all the European newspapers!’

  ‘My name is Freja Peachtree.’ Freja smiled, her eyes sparkling. ‘You read about the diamonds in the newspaper?’

  ‘Ja! Ja!’ cried Manfred. ‘You are a hero, Freja Peachtree. When I told the story to my niece, Bianca, she thought it was exciting in the highest degree and declared that she wants to be a crime fighter just like you when she grows up.’

  ‘But I’m only ten,’ whispered Freja.

  ‘Ah, but my niece is only seven,’ explained Manfred, ‘and, to her, ten seems ever so grown up!’

  Freja giggled and Manfred laughed along with her. A warm, deep laugh.

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan, dropping his stick at Manfred’s feet.

  ‘And who are you, young man?’ asked Manfred, leaning towards the dog.

  ‘Finnegan,’ said Tobias. ‘My Irish wolfhound. I hope it’s all right for him to stay? I hadn’t realised how very posh it was here when I booked.’

  ‘But of course!’ said Manfred. ‘We have many dogs as guests here at Hotel Schloss der Freude. Madame Belmont over there has a teacup poodle named Fifi in her pocket. Herr Basil, the banker from Zurich, is currently staying in the Grand Gruyère Suite with his three Saint Bernards. And my own dear dachshund, Wilhelm Tell, is hiding behind that counter over there because he took fright at the arrival of your enormous hound just three minutes ago. But he will come out sooner or later. His curiosity always gets the better of him.’

  Freja beamed up at Manfred. He wasn’t nearly as stuffy as he looked and she thought he would add enormously to the fun of staying in the castle.

  ‘Did you say you’re a concierge?’ asked Tobias.

  ‘Ja!’ Manfred replied, clicking his heels once more. ‘Indeed I am. It is my duty and my pleasure to do anything that might make your stay at Hotel Schloss der Freude more enjoyable.’

  Tobias tugged at his left ear. ‘So, you could send someone into town to collect my motorcycle and sidecar?’

  ‘Ja!’ cried Manfred. ‘It would be my pleasure, Herr Appleby.’

  Tobias grinned. ‘And you could arrange to have our luggage fetched from the freight department at the railway station and for my books and typewriter to be unpacked and ready for action?’

  ‘But of course, Herr Appleby!’ cried Manfred. ‘It would be an honour to do such a thing.’

  Tobias’ grin grew wider. He took his pencil from behind his ear and scratched his head with the sharp end. ‘And if I was to express a longing for my tea to be served in a teapot shaped like a cuckoo clock and for Freja to be brought a pair of slippers shaped like marmots . . .’

  ‘I would say, “Nothing is too much trouble for my esteemed guests, Herr Appleby and Fräulein Freja!”’ cried Manfred with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Slippers shaped like marmots?’ asked Freja, and she laughed until she heard the sound echoing off the soaring ceiling. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she continued to snuffle-laugh through her fingers.

  Manfred smiled. ‘But you must be weary after your open-air travels and your barn slumbers. I will get Rolf to show you to your suite on the third floor and, meanwhile, I will attend to your requests.’

  Calling the bellboy to his side, Manfred murmured his instructions.

  The boy nodded and smiled and turned to the girl, the dog and the writer. ‘Herr Appleby, Fräulein Freja and . . . and . . . big dog with chunk of firewood,’ he said, looking a little fearful. ‘Bitte. Come this way.’

  And so they did. But not before Tobias took one last longing glance at the deadly chandelier and murmured, ‘Splat!’

  CHAPTER 6

  Balconies and bankers and blah

  Freja woke the next morning to a bad smell, something drip-drip-dripping onto her face and the sound of furniture being dragged across a marble floor.

  ‘Finnegan,’ she murmured, opening her eyes and pushing the hound away to his own side of the bed. ‘You stink and you’re dribbling all over me. Again!’

  ‘Boof!’ said the dog and leapt on top of her. He growled and snuffled, licking her cheeks and ears and neck and nostrils until she was squealing with laughter.

  Happiness buzzed through Freja’s body. And not just because of the dog. She realised that, last night, she’d gone to bed and fallen asleep without a dull ache in he
r heart. The raw longing for her mother was gone. She didn’t even dream of Clementine. There was no need because, now, she had the real thing once more. Yesterday, she’d snuggled into her mother’s arms, whispered into her ear and heard murmurs of love in return. And today, and every day from now on, she would do it all over again — hug and snuggle and love and be loved.

  Not that Tobias hadn’t shown her a bucketful of love. He’d been a wonderful friend. Or was he her uncle? Or was he something more? After all these months, Freja still didn’t know. But what she did know was that Tobias and Finnegan would be an important part of her life from now on. Surely Clementine meant for this to be so. Yesterday, in the clinic, as she had held them all close, she had called them her family. Not just Freja, but Tobias and Finnegan too.

  ‘Family,’ whispered Freja. ‘So, Tobias must be —’

  ‘Uh-oh!’ shouted Tobias from afar. ‘I might need some help in here!’

  The sound of fabric ripping was followed by a thump, a bump, a bang and an ‘Ooof!’ Wood splintered, china cracked and glass shattered.

  ‘Tobby!’ gasped Freja.

  The girl and the dog leapt out of bed and ran into the next room. Tobias lay sprawled on the floor, entangled in swathes of purple silk. A pool of black ink spread out beside him, seeping from the depths of his trouser pocket. The four wooden posts of his bed were snapped and collapsed inward, shreds of purple silk hanging from the top of each one. An antique French dressing table lay on its side, its mirror shattered. And the pieces of what was once a beautiful blue-and-white Chinese vase lay scattered at the foot of the bed.

  ‘Tobias!’ gasped Freja. ‘What on earth happened?’

  ‘Research,’ moaned the writer, propping himself up on his elbows. He tugged at the fabric wound around his arm, but unfortunately it was still connected to the remains of the canopy. One of the bed posts creaked, splintered and crashed to the floor.