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

by Katrina Nannestad

  ‘Research?!’ cried Freja.

  Tobias sat upright and rubbed the back of his head. ‘Yes. For my crime novel. The one I’m setting in a castle. I wanted to know if the canopy over the count’s four-poster bed could support the weight of a man. It would make a marvellous hiding place. People look for intruders under their beds all the time, but they never expect one to be hiding on the top of their bed.’

  Freja nodded. ‘You’re right! It’d be a great hiding spot! Except . . .’

  ‘Yes, well . . . I now know that the silk canopy can’t support the weight of a man. But I had to try, didn’t I? I mean, if one is going to include something like that in a novel, it has to be authentic. You can’t just write willy-nilly, slapping any old thing in a book and hoping that no-one finds you out to be a liar or, even worse, a turkey.’

  ‘What if the bedposts were sturdier?’ asked Freja. ‘And the fabric thicker. Velvet, perhaps. Or a handwoven tapestry. I’m sure they had tapestries in castles in days of yore.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ murmured Tobias. ‘Days of yore.’ He rubbed his chin and stared at the splintered bedposts. ‘Good thinking. Everything was made of sterner, stodgier stuff in those times . . . the beds . . . the fabrics . . . even the food. Bread was so hard it sometimes broke teeth, and the porridge was stodgy enough to plaster walls and pave roads.’

  Tobias sprang to his feet, unravelled the rest of the silk from his torso and dashed into the sitting room. Within seconds, the keys of his typewriter could be heard clackety-clacking.

  Freja shrugged and returned to her own bedroom. Her heart gave a little leap of joy. It was all so very beautiful and luxurious — the four-poster bed with pink-and-green silk canopy; the sea of silk-covered pillows and quilts; the green flocked wallpaper with its oversized leaf pattern; the bedside tables with crystal lamps, potted pink orchids and her own carved wooden seal — a Norwegian treasure she’d had for as long as she could remember; and the pink marble bathroom with its twin sinks, fluffy white towels and giant tub surrounded on three sides by floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Wandering into the bathroom, Freja found a pink crystal bottle. She pulled out the stopper and sniffed. It smelt fresh and floral, so she ran a bath and poured in the entire contents. Bubbles frothed thick and white, rising higher and higher above the top of the bath. When they started to overflow and spread across the floor, she turned off the taps and climbed in. There, she soaked peacefully while gazing out across Lake Lucerne to the distant Alps. Until Finnegan appeared at the door, barked, galloped across the floor and leapt in with her.

  By the time Freja dressed, a large trolley was standing in the middle of the sitting room. It was draped in white linen and laden with serving dishes covered in shiny silver domes. Manfred stood at its side, clicking his heels, bowing and smiling.

  ‘Guten Tag!’ he sang with his lovely German accent. ‘I hope the night was filled with deep sleep and the morning saw you awakening with a spring in the step and a rumble in the stomach, for I have taken the liberty of bringing my favourite guests a fine Swiss breakfast.’

  Freja clasped her hands. ‘Oh, it looks lovely! I’ve never had silver domes over my food before.’

  Manfred chuckled. ‘But it is what lies beneath the silver domes that is truly exciting.’ Then, pushing the trolley towards the balcony, he called, ‘Bitte. This way. The sun is shining and the view is lovely.’

  Once the girl, the dog and the writer were seated at the outdoor table, Manfred lifted the domes, one by one. ‘Bircher muesli made with Switzerland’s finest apples and oats,’ he announced. ‘Freshly squeezed orange juice with a sprig of mint for zing. Finely sliced cheeses — Appenzeller, Tilsiter and Gruyère. Cured meats from the fattened pig. Warm crusty bread with butter and jam.’

  ‘Boof!’ cried Finnegan, and he lunged at the trolley.

  Manfred slammed the silver dome back down over the bread and jam, catching the edge of Finnegan’s nose.

  ‘Oooow!’ Finnegan howled.

  ‘Uh-uh!’ commanded Manfred, pointing at the dog. Surprisingly, Finnegan obeyed. He stopped howling and hung his head in shame.

  ‘And now . . .’ said Manfred, a sparkle in his eyes. Reaching beneath the cloth to the bottom shelf of the trolley, he drew out a teapot in the shape of a cuckoo clock.

  ‘I say!’ cried Tobias. ‘That’s absolutely splendid. There’s even a cuckoo popping out through a little china door! Well done, Manfred!’

  Manfred beamed. Then, holding up his hand, he cried, ‘But I am not finished.’ Reaching beneath the cloth once more, he drew out a dainty pair of binoculars — brass with timber barrels — and handed them to Freja. ‘For Fräulein Peachtree,’ he explained. ‘I am distressed to confess that I have not yet managed to find the slippers in the shape of marmots, but hope that you will accept this as a gift in the meantime.’

  ‘Binoculars!’ cried Freja. ‘They’ll be wonderful for looking down into the town and over to the mountains.’

  ‘Ja!’ agreed Manfred. ‘And when you go hiking, you will be able to watch the ibex on the cliffs and the golden eagles soaring through the skies.’

  ‘Furthermore,’ said Tobias, ‘they’ll come in very handy for spying on the other guests.’

  Freja blushed. ‘Is that allowed?’

  ‘Of course it is!’ cried Tobias. ‘There’s no use staying in a posh hotel with fancy guests if you can’t spy on them and see what they like to do with all that free time and money! Besides, spying is a writer’s best tool. It provides an endless supply of ideas for the characters for one’s novels.’

  Manfred coughed and blushed a little. ‘It is true. I think everyone here at Hotel Schloss der Freude is a little nosey.’ He beckoned Freja to the balcony railing and pointed to the terrace three storeys below. ‘I do believe that Madame Belmont is there reading superhero comics.’

  Freja looked through the binoculars at the small, grey-haired woman. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She’s holding a fashion magazine. A fancy French one.’

  Manfred chuckled. ‘The comic book is always tucked inside a stylish magazine to hide the fact that she is addicted to the superhero action!’

  Freja giggled and moved the binoculars to the left. ‘Oh, that large man with the three Saint Bernards must be Herr Basil the banker. They are all seated around a table eating schnitzels. Schnitzels for breakfast!’ She giggled. ‘Herr Basil looks like his dogs — big and soft, with jowls that flap a little around the sides of his mouth.’

  Manfred chuckled once more. ‘But it is fascinating to spy, ja?’

  ‘Ja!’ Freja agreed, moving her binoculars a little further. ‘And there’s another woman who . . .’ Her voice faded.

  ‘Well, old chap?’ asked Tobias. ‘Use your words. Paint a picture for me. What’s she like?’

  Freja scrunched her nose. ‘It’s sort of hard to say. She’s normal height — neither tall nor short. Normal build — not fat, but not thin. Her hair is brown and straight and, well, rather ordinary. Her clothes are tidy but dull — all greys and blacks. She’s . . . well, if I had to use just one word, I’d describe her as blah.’

  Tobias nodded. ‘Aah, a blah person. They are the trickiest to put into words.’

  ‘Blah?’ asked Manfred. ‘What is this English blah?’

  Freja let the binoculars hang from her neck. ‘Blah,’ she began, ‘is sort of . . . nothing.’ She frowned and nibbled her lip. ‘What I mean is, the woman is bland, boring. There’s nothing about her that grabs your attention. She’s the sort of person who can just sink into her surroundings and not be noticed at all. Unless you have binoculars and you’re looking very hard!’

  ‘Blah!’ repeated Manfred, nodding. Then, staring at Freja, his face lit up. ‘May I say, Fräulein Freja, that you are anything but blah! You are a splendid sight with your blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight and your golden curls blowing wild and free in this fresh mountain air and a garden full of orchids pinned to the hem of your yellow spotted dress.’

  Freja blushed. To hide her
embarrassment, she looked through the binoculars once more. ‘The poor woman really is completely blah,’ she said. ‘Oh, hang on! I’ve spotted it — her one distinguishing feature!’

  But Manfred had ceased to be a spy and became a concierge once more. ‘Now! I must serve your breakfast and leave you all in peace!’ he cried. Returning to the trolley, he distributed the food across the table, making sure to place a full dish of jam before Finnegan. He clicked his heels, bowed, cried, ‘Guten Appetit!’ and was gone.

  CHAPTER 7

  Some walls give. Some walls don’t.

  ‘How about a little outing?’ asked Tobias after breakfast. ‘Lucerne is down below us, winking and waving and begging to be explored.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ cried Freja.

  ‘Boof!’ agreed Finnegan. He dashed into the bedroom and returned with his beloved stick.

  ‘No, puppy!’ commanded Tobias. ‘The stick is too big. It must stay at home.’

  ‘Grrr.’ Finnegan growled, showing the whites of his eyes.

  ‘Uh-uh!’ commanded Tobias, scowling and pointing his finger at the dog as he had seen Manfred do so successfully.

  But the dog ignored him. He wagged his tail, trotted to the door and waited, stick in mouth.

  Freja giggled.

  Tobias lunged forward, grabbed one end of the stick and pulled. But Finnegan clenched his teeth and pulled back. Soon, the dog and the writer were dragging one another around the sitting room. A vase toppled. A pile of books fell to the floor. The tug-of-war looked like it might go on for some time.

  ‘I’ll meet you down in the foyer,’ said Freja. Perhaps she’d catch a glimpse of Wilhelm Tell if she got there before Finnegan.

  ‘Righto!’ yelled Tobias as he was dragged along the rug on his stomach.

  Out in the corridor, Freja pressed the button for the lift and waited. It took a long time coming, so she leaned against the wall. At least, she tried to lean against the wall, but she kept falling backward. A small section of wood panelling had swung open and, before she really knew what was happening, she was inside the wall.

  ‘A secret passageway!’ gasped Freja. A tingle ran up and down her spine. ‘Tobias will be pleased.’

  The secret door closed. All on its own. The latch clicked and everything turned black.

  Freja’s heart thumped against her ribcage and her palms turned sweaty. But then she remembered the hero in Tobias’ novel Three Cursed Pharaohs. ‘If Tommy Pinto was brave enough to wander alone through the secret passages in the pyramids with all those mummies lying around, surely I’m brave enough to wander a little on my own through the walls of a luxurious hotel.’

  Freja wiped her hands on her dress, took three deep breaths and started to feel her way along the wall. She walked for some distance before coming to a bend and a spiral staircase. Carefully, her heart racing — now with excitement more than fear — she made her way down, on and on, around and around, until she felt quite dizzy. Just as she was starting to despair of the stairs ever coming to an end, her feet met with level ground and her hand fell upon timber. Another door! Finding the latch, Freja opened the panel just a crack.

  ‘Coats!’ she cried. ‘Fur coats, woollen coats, ski coats.’ Laughing with relief, she stepped into the hotel’s cloakroom and closed the secret door, which was actually a shelf full of hatboxes. She smiled. ‘My first ever secret passage.’

  Leaving the cloakroom, Freja crept along the service corridor, past a linen room and a storeroom for cleaning supplies, to the hotel foyer. She arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of a tiny black bottom and a pointy black tail disappearing behind the desk — Wilhelm Tell. Finnegan bounded from the lift with the stick in his mouth. Tobias followed, a graze on his cheek and one sleeve of his shirt coming free at the shoulder.

  ‘Tobby!’ shouted Freja, running to his side. ‘You’ll never guess where I’ve just been.’ And as they rode the funicular railway down into Lucerne, she told him all about the secret passageway and, together, they wondered if there might be more concealed within the castle walls.

  From the funicular terminal, they walked into the old town and onto the Spreuer Bridge. It was for pedestrians only and had a covered roof, just like the Chapel Bridge they’d seen the day before. Freja skipped across, smiling as her footsteps echoed off the timber ceiling. Stopping halfway, she hung over the railing and stared at the weir. The river rushed and frothed and bubbled turquoise and white as it forced its way through a line of upright posts. Finnegan stood beside her, his front paws on the railing, the stick between his teeth.

  ‘This bridge is so beautiful!’ Freja cried as Tobias caught up. ‘The heavy wooden beams, the painted gables, the water rumble-tumbling by below. Can we bring Clementine here?’

  Tobias opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  ‘Tobby?’ asked Freja. ‘Can we? When she’s better.’

  Tobias placed his hand on her shoulder. It felt surprisingly heavy. ‘We’ll see, old chap,’ he murmured. ‘We’ll see.’

  Crossing the bridge, they wandered through the narrow streets which, every block or two, widened into town squares with delicious names — Mühlenplatz, Weinmarkt, Kornmarkt. Each square was a little different, but all boasted pretty buildings with painted façades, brightly coloured shutters and cheeky little casement windows.

  ‘Mühlenplatz,’ said Freja. ‘That’s German for Mill Place, isn’t it, Tobby?’

  Tobias nodded. ‘Clever girl!’

  ‘Weinmarkt — that’s Wine Market,’ said Freja. ‘And Kornmarkt means Corn Market . . . or maybe Grain Market. I don’t suppose they’d only sell corn.’ She stopped and pointed. ‘And look! We’re back at Leckerbissen! Can we go in? We could buy a chocolate cow for Clementine — one that hasn’t been squashed.’

  Tobias grimaced. ‘Of course.’ Then, turning to the dog, he commanded, ‘Stay!’

  Finnegan dropped the stick and sat. He wagged his tail, grinned and dribbled on Tobias’ shoe.

  ‘Good boy!’ sang Tobias, astonished that the dog had obeyed him.

  ‘Boof!’ Finnegan leapt at Tobias, placing his front paws on his shoulders and licking his wide, pink tongue across his master’s face. Then, snapping at the air just millimetres from Tobias’ nose, he dashed away, down the street, in pursuit of a cat.

  The girl and the writer stepped inside Leckerbissen and were greeted with cool air and a waft of chocolatey aromas. The life-sized cow sculpture was every bit as beautiful as Freja had remembered, although it now had tooth marks on its left horn — the mark of a hungry customer. The cake table was arranged with a new display of goodies, including a chocolate roll that had been decorated to look like a log, complete with chocolate leaves and a plump chocolate ladybird.

  ‘Precious,’ sighed Freja. Then, casting a furtive glance to the left and the right to make sure no-one was watching, she ran her finger lightly across the chocolate icing and popped it into her mouth. ‘And delicious!’

  ‘Raspberry gelato,’ sighed Tobias.

  ‘Tobby,’ scolded Freja. ‘How can you be thinking of raspberry gelato? We’re in a chocolate shop in Switzerland, not a gelato shop in Rome.’

  ‘Ooooh,’ sighed Tobias, his body turning to jelly.

  Freja followed his gaze and immediately understood. For, there, just metres away, standing in the kitchen, chatting with Frau Niederhauser, was Vivi.

  Wonderful Vivi!

  Vivi, the Italian chef they’d met in Rome, then followed to Provence.

  Vivi, the warm, kind friend who, in Clementine’s absence, had filled Freja’s life with motherly hugs and laughter.

  Vivi, the love of Tobias’ life and the reason he had now turned to jelly.

  Vivi looked as beautiful and fresh as ever. She wore pale blue jeans and a mint-green shirt. The waves of her dark brown hair were held in place with a pink-and-white spotted scarf and her neck was encircled with pale lemon pearls. Spotting Freja and Tobias, she stretched her raspberry-gelato lips into a wide and welcoming smile, fluttered her
liquorice-thick lashes over her chocolate-ganache eyes and waved.

  ‘Vivi!’ cried Tobias, and he dashed forward, forgetting that a glass wall stood between the shop and the kitchen. He struck the glass headfirst and ricocheted backward, landing on the floor with a thud.

  Freja gasped.

  Tobias moaned. He squinted and blinked and blood trickled from his nose.

  ‘Tobby!’ cried Vivi. She dashed through the door and dropped to her knees at his side. ‘Tobby, are you all right?’

  Tobias’ face melted into a wobbly smile.

  Frau Niederhauser bustled out of the kitchen. ‘It looks bad! Very bad!’ she said, leaning over the writer and clutching her apron. ‘Schlecht. Sehr schlecht.’

  Vivi grabbed Tobias’ hand in hers and pressed it to her heart. ‘Tobby,’ she whispered. ‘Tobby darling. Say something.’

  Tobias blinked, slowly, stupidly, and whispered, ‘Raspberry-gelato lips.’

  ‘Nein!’ gasped Frau Niederhauser. ‘The poor man is talking nonsense. He has a brain injury.’

  Freja smiled up at the chocolatier. ‘It’s not a brain injury. He’s talking nonsense because Vivi is here. Because he’s in love.’

  Frau Niederhauser clutched her chest and sighed. Then, reaching sideways, she grabbed a heart-shaped chocolate from the top of a pile and popped it into her mouth.

  Vivi threw back her head and laughed. Her laughter was loud and melodic and was soon joined by Freja’s giggles and Frau Niederhauser’s chocolatey chuckles.

  ‘Love and happiness and chocolate,’ said Frau Niederhauser between chuckles. ‘Perfekt.’

  Tobias nodded weakly and whispered, ‘Raspberry-gelato lips . . . Perfekt.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Margrit the famous cow

  Tobias and Vivi walked arm in arm, along the streets, between the tall, elegant buildings. Finnegan trotted in front, carrying his giant stick between his teeth. As people passed by, he waved the stick back and forth, as if to say, ‘Look at this! Isn’t it the grandest stick you have ever seen? Aren’t I a lucky dog? Don’t you wish you had so fine a stick to call your own?’