Pillows like the nurse had held that afternoon.
Pillows that she had run into and mistaken for a fat man’s belly.
Pillows.
Big fat squishy pillows.
‘Huh,’ she said as she reached the top of the staircase. ‘I must be tired and ready to sleep at last, because all I can think of is pillows.’
CHAPTER 25
Poof!
The next morning, Freja bathed and dressed carefully. Tobias was already at his desk, typing away, fingers tapping, elbows flapping, as he muttered merrily about wicked kitchen maids, heavy rolling pins and squishy-squelchy heads. Freja approached slowly, knowing that the writer did not slip easily from the world of his novel back into real life.
‘Tobby,’ she whispered, placing one hand on the desk.
The writer continued to type and mutter and chuckle.
‘Tobby,’ said Freja, a little louder.
But still the writer worked on.
‘Boof!’ Finnegan planted his front paws on the desk and licked the page in the typewriter.
The writer jumped, leaned back in his chair and scratched his head. Looking across at Freja, he blinked and tugged at his ear. Then, suddenly, his face stretched into a grin. ‘Freja!’ he cried, flinging his arms wide, knocking his cup from its saucer. Tea ran across the desk where some was absorbed by the pages that had already been typed that morning. Finnegan set to slurping up the remainder.
‘My word!’ continued Tobias, unperturbed. ‘You look absolutely marvellous this morning. Of course, you look marvellous every morning, but today you positively shine! Acorns tied to the ends of your bootlaces! Fresh pink orchids stuffed down your socks! And what’s that you’ve pinned around the hem of your dress?’
‘Fern leaves,’ said Freja. ‘I picked them from the pot on our balcony.’
‘Fern leaves! Nature’s answer to lace — fresh green lace! Brilliant!’ Tobias pressed his hand to his chest. ‘And then there are your eyes and mouth and hair. The jewels of your outfit. Exotic treasures. Eyes like sapphires. A smile like a row of pearls. And hair that looks like a haystack that’s been tossed and turned with a pitchfork, then chewed at by a herd of hungry cows.’
Freja wrinkled her nose. ‘Hay is hardly treasure,’ she said.
‘It is if you’re a cow!’ said Tobias. ‘In fact, if you lined up a hundred cows and gave them each the choice between a bucket of rubies, a wheelbarrow full of gold coins or a trough full of straw, I do believe that at least ninety-nine of them would choose the straw. For treasure is in the eye of the beholder.’ He gazed at her so fondly that Freja’s breath caught.
Finnegan, having slurped up the tea, now gobbled the tea-sodden pages, ripped the remaining page from the typewriter and trotted to the far side of the room where he lay on the rug to finish his literary snack.
Tobias sighed. ‘Silly puppy. Then again, it is breakfast time, so I suppose he’s rather hungry.’
‘Could we have breakfast in the Palm Room today?’ asked Freja. ‘Please.’
‘The Palm Room?’ repeated Tobias. ‘For breakfast?’
‘It’s foggy again,’ said Freja. ‘Not really the weather for breakfast on the balcony. And I dressed up especially for the Palm Room.’
She blushed, for the real reason she wanted to dine in the Palm Room was to spy. Surely, if Monsieur de la Fontaine’s chocolate order sat in the cloakroom, Monsieur de la Fontaine, too, sat somewhere in Hotel Schloss der Freude. Perhaps he would be in the Palm Room for breakfast this morning and she would kindly point him out to Manfred. With all the worry over the chocolate thefts, Manfred seemed unable to give his full attention to his guests. He’d been so very kind to Freja. Helping him out was the least she could do in return. Besides, she needed something to distract her until they could visit the clinic once more and get to the bottom of the truth. The truth about Tobias Appleby.
‘The Palm Room for breakfast sounds jolly!’ agreed Tobias. ‘I’ll just grab my cardigan and we’ll be off.’
‘Boof!’ Finnegan bounded across the Palm Room to the breakfast buffet, grabbed a sausage, tossed it into the air and swallowed it in one gulp. Before Freja could reach him, he’d repeated the trick with a boiled potato, three rashers of bacon and a pickled onion. The pickled onion reappeared seconds later, spat back into the bowl with the other onions. Finnegan licked it, poked at it with his nose, growled, then sprang away.
Freja giggled. ‘Serves you right, silly. Pickles aren’t meant for dogs.’
‘Woof!’ said Finnegan, snapping at the bottom of a passing waiter.
‘Come on.’ Freja placed her hand on his back. ‘We’ll sit over here with Tobias, and I’ll order you a schnitzel and some sausages.’
Tobias flapped his serviette in the air and tucked it beneath his chin. Taking a second serviette, he poked it into the dog’s collar, then nodded at Freja to indicate that she should do the same. Smiling at the waiter, he cried, ‘Crêpes Suzette for three, please.’
‘For breakfast?’ asked Freja. ‘Isn’t it a dessert?’
Tobias nodded, grinned, then said to the waiter, ‘And I’d like a jug of extra brandy on the side, please! A large jug.’ He pulled a box of matches from his pocket and shook them in the air. ‘And I’ll light the brandy myself . . . just in case the flames get out of control . . . which I don’t plan for them to do, but one never quite knows . . .’
Freja scrunched her nose and tried to look concerned, but couldn’t help giggling. It really was rather fun to watch the writer working through dangerous new ideas. It was sometimes scary, often embarrassing, but always entertaining.
Finnegan, obviously dismayed that no-one had mentioned schnitzels or sausages, crept down from his chair and slunk away to the buffet once more.
Tobias leaned back and called across the tables to Frau Isch. ‘Crêpes Suzette for breakfast, my dear lady! Research! I’m bursting to know how high the brandy flames will whoosh.’
‘Flames?’ cried Frau Isch, clutching her pearls. ‘Here in the restaurant? Wunderbar!’
A murmur rumbled around the Palm Room, followed by one or two gasps and some tittering. By the time the crêpes arrived, a small but excited crowd had gathered near their table, eager to see the great Tobias Appleby at work.
As it turned out, they got to see the great Tobias Appleby leaping about, yelping and flapping at flames with his serviette. The serviette caught on fire, then ignited the tablecloth, which, in turn, ignited a nearby potted palm. The palm was transformed into a giant flaming torch, the hotel alarm system was triggered with bells and sirens and sprinklers, and everyone had to be evacuated onto the terrace. Even the guests who’d still been in bed or lounging about their rooms in their pyjamas. Even Finnegan who was most upset at being dragged away from the buffet where he’d been wolfing his way through a tray of sliced ham.
‘Fabulous! Marvellous!’ cried Tobias.
‘Yes,’ said Freja, brushing soot off her dress. ‘It’s amazing how high the flames from one little crêpe can leap.’
‘What?’ cried Tobias. ‘Oh yes, that was rather jolly. But I was talking about the fog — the way it forms a veil over everything out here on the terrace, as though hiding secrets. Deep, dark secrets.’
‘Hmmm,’ Freja murmured. ‘Fog and a little bit of smoke, I think, Tobby.’
‘Yes, perhaps. But, still, it adds an aura of mystery. I’ll be sure to add more fog to the scenes in my story that centre around Count Ferdinand’s castle.’ Tobias chuckled. ‘And then there are all the people in their sleepwear. There’s a novel full of characters here on the terrace, right before our eyes.’ He pulled his notebook from his pocket, his pencil from behind his ear. ‘Why, look at Herr Basil the banker, for instance. His slippers are on the wrong feet, his reading glasses are crooked and his dressing gown is so twisted about that it’s almost on back to front. He looks like a mad professor — the type who wanders about in his basement all day long, making poisons and explosions and special acids that burn through safe
doors.’ He wrote some notes, then pointed his pencil. ‘And look at Rolf, the bellboy. He’s wearing silk pyjamas. Expensive silk pyjamas. Odd for a young chap who earns so little. Perhaps he has a rich aunt who gives him silk pyjamas for Christmas. Or maybe he steals them.’ He chuckled. ‘Imagine that! A thief who steals only pyjamas. What a jolly novel that would be!’
Freja looked at Rolf with a suspicion she hadn’t felt before.
‘And then there’s Madame Belmont’s slippers,’ Tobias continued. ‘Fine kid leather. The type worn by tightrope walkers . . . or ballerinas . . . or cat burglars.’ He raised his eyebrows and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘You could sneak around all night long in slippers like those — breaking into apartments, watching people sleep, squirting poison into tubes of toothpaste, stealing jewellery — and you wouldn’t wake a soul.’ He tugged at his ear and chuckled. ‘Yes, yes. They’re creeping slippers — genuine cat burglar slippers.’
‘Ninja slippers!’ gasped Freja.
‘Absolutely!’ cried Tobias, scribbling and muttering and slipping further and further away into the world of his writing.
Freja frowned. She looked from Madame Belmont to Rolf, then over to Herr Basil. Each one looked guilty, as though any of them might be the chocolate thief of Lucerne. And the fog made them all look so very hazy and mysterious — as though each and every one of them had something to hide.
In fact, as Freja looked from one hotel guest to the next, she realised that they all looked a little bit odd, a little bit suspicious, probably because it was so strange to see them in their pyjamas and dressing gowns rather than their suits and dresses and hiking gear. Even Finnegan looked suspicious. Then again, that was probably deserved. He was, after all, slipping furtively between the guests, stealing tissues from pockets, nibbling at the cords of dressing gowns, licking slippers.
‘They all look shifty-eyed and odd,’ murmured Freja. ‘Except for Blah Woman. She just looks boring.’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Tobias, looking up from his notebook.
‘Blah Woman,’ said Freja. ‘She’s so bland that she’s almost invisible.’
Tobias looked about, tugging at one ear then the other. ‘Totally invisible, I’d say. She’s nowhere to be seen. In fact, I’ve never laid eyes on her. Are you sure she isn’t a figment of your imagination, old chap?’
‘No,’ said Freja, trying to locate her once more. ‘I mean yes. I mean, she was there a minute ago. She was wearing a brown dressing gown. I think. Or maybe it was grey pyjamas . . . But now . . . well, she’s just gone.’
‘Blah people are like that,’ said Tobias. ‘So dull that they slip under the radar. Or rather, they slip away without anyone noticing. Which makes it feel like they simply vanish.’
‘Vanish?’ asked Freja.
Tobias nodded. Then, making a small exploding action with his hands, he whispered, ‘Poof!’
CHAPTER 26
Squashed watches and crushed expectations
Two hours later, the girl, the dog and the writer walked out of Hotel Schloss der Freude and down the stone staircase. Tobias was still muttering and chuckling about the flaming palm tree and wondering how he might best use it in a novel. The dog carried his beloved stick, his ears and tail poking proudly up into the air. Freja patted her scrapbook where it sat tucked beneath her arm and marched towards the little red funicular train, her chin held high, her jaw clenched tightly.
It was most unlike Freja to behave in such a bold and soldierly manner, but today she felt as though she was going into a very important battle, a battle for the truth. And she was determined to win.
If Clementine was not forthcoming with all of the family secrets today, then Freja would lead the way by example. She would start by sharing the bits of her scrapbook that she had completed when living in the Arctic wilds with Clementine. But then, no matter how painful it might be, she would point out all the things she had done over the last half-year in Clementine’s absence. She had rehearsed an entire speech. ‘Clementine,’ she would say, ‘it may sadden you that I have done lots of new and exciting things in Rome and Provence without you. And the truth is that there are many things that have happened in my life since the start of the year which I will never remember to tell you. But here, today, I will share all the important bits — even the bits that might upset you a little, like the time I was locked in a cupboard by a dangerous jewel thief, or the time I fell into the river and thought I would drown. Because that’s what a mother and daughter should do. They should share everything. The good and the bad and the embarrassing — their secrets, big and small — and not hide anything important from each other, no matter how awkward the sharing may feel.’
Freja was just running through this little speech in her head for the fifth time that morning when something caught her eye. Something brown and round and flat was squished on the pathway up ahead. The object seemed somehow familiar, so she ran towards it. Finnegan galloped after her.
‘I say!’ cried Tobias. ‘You both seem to have shot past the station. We’re heading down the hill on the little red train, remember?’
Freja squatted down and reached for the flat brown disc, but it crumbled as her fingers closed around it. It had been crushed — ground beneath someone’s boot, perhaps. She rubbed one of the crumbs between her finger and thumb and it melted into a brown smear.
Finnegan snuffled about her hand and licked her thumb. ‘Boof!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Freja. ‘It’s chocolate!’
Looking further along the path she noticed several brown shards. One by one, she picked them up and placed them in the palm of her hand.
‘Look, Tobby!’ she called back over her shoulder. ‘Chocolate. Bits of broken chocolate!’ Sitting her scrapbook on a log, she scooped the front of her dress up into a pouch and wandered further and further along the path, into the forest, until she had gathered all the bits of broken chocolate she could find — enough to fill a soup bowl. Returning to Tobias, she held one of the shards up to the light, examined it from all angles, sniffed it, licked it, then popped it into her mouth. The creamy goodness spread across her tongue and filled her head with a delicious buzz.
‘Well?’ asked Tobias.
Freja nodded. ‘Margrit Milk.’
The girl and the writer sat side by side on the log. One by one, Freja removed the shards of chocolate from her dress and sat them on the open pages of her scrapbook.
‘There are numbers on some of the pieces,’ said Tobias.
‘And this one looks like an arrow,’ said Freja.
Then, both at once, they flung their arms wide and cried, ‘Fob watches!’
Freja fiddled about until she had pieced an entire chocolate fob watch together. She stared up into Tobias’ face. ‘Oh, Tobby. They would have been so very beautiful. Why would somebody do such a wicked, destructive thing after the chocolatier went to so much trouble to make something pretty to look at and delicious to eat? It’s just crazy.’
‘Or spiteful,’ said Tobias.
‘Or maybe . . .’ Freja scratched her head and wrinkled her nose.
‘What is it, old chap?’ Tobias rested his hand on her shoulder.
Freja chewed her lip. She tugged at her ear. Something was poking at the back of her mind. But it just didn’t make sense. Why would she be thinking about swans, here in the forest, far from the river, at a moment like this?
Freja marched into the clinic, rehearsing her little speech in her mind once more. The mystery of the crushed chocolates could wait. Her own life’s mystery was due to be solved. Today she would find out if Tobias Appleby was her father.
By the time Freja reached the staircase, she was feeling quite determined and took the steps two at a time. She almost stomped along the final stretch of corridor to room five, her scrapbook pressed to her chest like a shield. Tobias and Finnegan followed behind, trotting to keep up.
But upon reaching the doorway, the scrapbook slipped from Freja’s hands and fell to the floor. Her legs turned to
mush, her tummy did a somersault and her mouth, which had been fixed into a determined pout, collapsed and wobbled.
Clementine was surrounded by doctors and nurses, touching, squeezing, murmuring, writing on charts. A bag dripped pale pink fluid into her arm.
Doctor Claudia looked across at Freja and shook her head. ‘It is not a good day for your mother. She has a fever and is very weak. I do not think she will wake up today. Perhaps you should give her a kiss and then leave her to rest.’ She paused as though choosing her words very carefully. ‘Perhaps you can visit for a little longer tomorrow . . . Perhaps —’
‘But she’s getting better,’ said Freja. She turned to Lady P. ‘She is, isn’t she, Lady P? You saw how happy and strong she was yesterday . . . and the day before. Her cheeks were rosy and she could see. It was a miracle.’ Freja walked over to Doctor Claudia and said more loudly, ‘A miracle! I’ve been hoping for a miracle for ever so long. I’ve been praying for a miracle. And with Herr Berna’s beautiful chocolate and the fresh mountain air . . .’
‘I’m so very sorry,’ whispered Doctor Claudia. Then, taking Clementine’s hand, she placed it in Freja’s and said, ‘Why don’t you tell your Mami you love her?’
Freja stared at Doctor Claudia, eyes wide. So very sorry? Why was the doctor so very sorry? And why should Freja tell Clementine she loved her when she was asleep? There was no point. Unless it was just to make Freja feel better. Unless . . .
Freja wrinkled her nose. She looked down at Clementine’s pale thin fingers. Her throat ached and her eyes burned with unshed tears.
‘No, thank you,’ said Freja, placing Clementine’s hand gently back on the bed. ‘I think I will wait until she wakes up and can hear me. I might even wait until we’re sitting together on top of a mountain once more.’ And, turning around, she walked out of the room, ignoring Tobias and Finnegan and their kind eyes, then carried on out of the clinic, down the hill and back towards the castle. She would spend the day with Manfred and Wilhelm Tell. Yes, that’s what she would do. She could arrange flowers and water palm trees and greet the new hotel guests and drink hot chocolate and gobble Raclette and talk to Manfred about things like suitcases and bed linen and after-dinner mints and whether Madame Belmont was reading French fashion magazines or superhero comics and how many schnitzels Vipp, Vopp and Vupp had eaten this week and how much Frau Isch’s pearls were truly worth.
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