Freja nodded, satisfied that she now had her entire day planned so that it would be full of simple, harmless activities. She stepped onto the Spreuer Bridge and gazed down at the frothing water as it flowed through the weir. She looked up at the bridge’s roof and noticed the paintings on the gables below the ceiling. Truly noticed them for the first time.
Freja gasped. ‘They’re horrible!’
A woman carrying a basket full of groceries stopped and chuckled. ‘But of course they are horrible,’ she said with a strong German accent. ‘They are Totentanz — The Dance of Death. The pictures are old, painted in the 1600s when death was an everyday occurrence — accidents, hunger, war, plagues, even the common cold.’ She walked beside Freja, pointing up at each painting as they passed. ‘See the skeleton. Here he is talking to the fisherman . . . the priest . . . the lady. He is the Grim Reaper, Death, and he wants everyone to dance with him. Everyone! Both young and old, rich and poor, male and female, Swiss and English.’ She smirked a little at these last words.
Freja stared up into the woman’s cold blue eyes and shuddered. ‘Well, I don’t like dancing!’ snapped Freja. ‘And nor does my mother!’ And without another word, she ran the rest of the way across the bridge. But instead of heading for the funicular train that would take her back up the hill to Hotel Schloss der Freude, she followed the River Reuss past the grand old banks, theatres and museums, until she ran out of breath and had to stop.
Freja wiped her sleeve across her eyes and stared up at the Jesuit Church. It was big and white, its two towers topped with exotic onion-shaped domes. It was different from the churches in Rome and Provence, but still, God would probably be somewhere nearby. She pushed open the heavy timber door.
Inside, the church was bright and white, the curved ceiling covered with curly-scrolly gold bits and pretty paintings that might have been of saints and angels, or they might have been of people like Nonna Rosa and Pippin and Manfred. She didn’t mind which. What mattered was that, unexpectedly, they made her feel safe and calm. They reminded her of friendship and kindness and love and miracles.
Freja slipped into one of the pews, closed her eyes and pressed her hands together. ‘Dear God,’ she whispered, ‘I have chocolate to make Clementine strong. Doctor Claudia has medicine to make her see. And the mountains have the marmots to make her laugh. So if you could just help out a little bit too . . .’ She sniffed. ‘Nonna Rosa said you’d hear me anywhere. But I’m here in your house to save you the bother of straining your ears over the wind and the rushing water and Tobias’ typing and Finnegan’s barking and the piano playing in the Palm Room.’ She plucked a loose thread from the hem of her dress. ‘I suppose what I mean is . . . what I’m asking is . . . Please, God, would you help the medicine and the chocolate and the marmots and me to make a miracle? A miracle for Clementine?’ She realised that tears were now streaming down her face. She wiped them with her sleeve, then whispered, ‘Because, to be honest, I think that skeleton on the Spreuer Bridge might be headed up the hill towards the clinic.’
CHAPTER 27
The Leckerbissen Museum of Hidden Trash and Treasure
Freja was not sure how long she’d been in the church, sniffling and praying. She wondered if she might even have dozed off for a while. But a hand, soft and light on her shoulder, made her eyes spring open.
‘Vivi,’ said Freja. ‘What are you doing here?’
Vivi slid into the pew beside her. ‘We have been looking for you all over the city — Tobias, Finnegan, Manfred, Rolf, Herr Basil, François-Louis, Daniel. We were very worried.’
Vivi wrapped her arms around Freja and pulled her close. The pretty chef smelt of chocolate and vanilla and brown sugar. So delicious! thought Freja. She breathed deeply, then burst into tears.
‘There, there,’ cooed Vivi. She rubbed Freja’s back until the gasping and sobbing subsided.
‘Do you know what I do when I am sad?’ asked Vivi.
Freja shook her head. She couldn’t imagine Vivi crying, for she seemed always to be smiling and laughing and making other people happy.
‘When I am sad,’ said Vivi, ‘I tie a pink apron with white polka dots around my waist and I make happy food — macarons, croissants, cupcakes and chocolates in the shape of pencils.’ Vivi lifted Freja’s chin and smiled into her face. ‘Does that sound like something you might like to do today, Freja? Would you like to come with me to Leckerbissen and make happy food?’
Freja thought about Leckerbissen and the pretty chandeliers with bluebirds and pears and the chocolate doll’s house and the tall mugs of hot chocolate with clouds of whipped cream and Frau Niederhauser dancing around with a twinkle in her eye and a truffle in her mouth.
‘Yes, please, Vivi,’ she whispered. ‘I would like that very much.’
‘Good! We will send Tobby a message and he will know you are safe with me and the chocolate.’
When Freja entered Leckerbissen, Frau Niederhauser did not mention Clementine or Tobias or the frantic search for Freja. She did not tut-tut or sigh or look worried or angry. She simply offered her little friend some chocolate. ‘Schokoladenknopf?’ she asked, holding out a crystal bowl filled with chocolate buttons. ‘They’re Margrit Milk. Vivi made them yesterday.’
Freja sniffed. ‘Danke,’ she whispered, took a button and popped it into her mouth. As she followed Vivi into the kitchen, the chocolate melted, slowly, luxuriously, and the soft, creamy sweetness spread across her tongue, into her cheeks, down her throat and into her heart. ‘Margrit Milk really is the best,’ murmured Freja.
‘It certainly is popular right now!’ Vivi laughed.
‘Oh, that reminds me!’ cried Freja. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of chocolate shards. ‘Look what Tobias and I found this morning on the path behind Hotel Schloss der Freude.’ She spread the pieces across the kitchen bench.
François-Louis peered over their shoulders. ‘Ha! It is the chocolate fob watches Daniel and I made yesterday while Vivi was making buttons and feathers. Daniel made a fine nougat flake which I mixed through the chocolate before pouring in the mould. You can barely see the nougat, but the smell, the taste . . .’ He closed his eyes, pressed his hand to his chest and sighed.
Daniel blushed from the far side of the kitchen where he was stirring a pot of caramel on the stove.
Vivi smiled. ‘I was hoping to take one home for my dessert, but the fob watches sold just ten minutes after they were placed on the shelves! A dozen of them, all gone in a wink, a little before the afternoon rush for hot chocolate and gâteau!’
The back of Freja’s neck tingled. ‘Who bought them?’ she asked.
‘A sweet, elderly woman,’ said Vivi.
An image of Madame Belmont in her ninja slippers floated into Freja’s mind.
Vivi continued, ‘I will never forget her. She was plump and stooped and hobbled with a walking stick, but was dressed very beautifully in traditional Swiss clothes — a frilly white blouse and a dirndl with flowers embroidered all over. And she wore a bright, floral scarf around her long grey hair.’
Not Madame Belmont, thought Freja.
‘She asked for Margrit Milk,’ said Vivi. ‘I showed her the tiny chocolate buttons and the paper-thin feathers I had just made, thinking an elderly woman would like something delicate and light. But she was not interested. Not one little bit. But when I showed her François-Louis’ fob watches, her eyes glowed — rather greedily — and she declared that she would take the lot!’
‘All twelve?’ asked Freja.
‘It seemed strange to me too,’ said François-Louis, ‘but as Vivi packed them into a pretty gold box, she explained that her husband was a clockmaker and it was his birthday and the fob watches were the perfect gift.’
‘But they weren’t the perfect gift!’ cried Freja. ‘Her husband must have hated them because he took them into the forest where he broke them into tiny pieces and threw them away!’
François-Louis’ eyes bulged. ‘Nein! I don’t believe it
. Everybody loves Margrit Milk. Everybody loves Daniel’s and my creations!’
Daniel did not stop stirring his pan of caramel, but he nodded vigorously.
François-Louis poked at the chocolate shards Freja had scattered on the bench. ‘See? There is only a little chocolate here. Maybe the old clockmaker dropped a fob watch or two by mistake when walking through the forest, nibbling on his birthday treats.’
Freja cast a nervous glance towards Daniel, then whispered, ‘But this is just a little bit of the chocolate we found. The rest of the shards are in Tobias’ pockets. It’s quite likely that all twelve fob watches were broken or crushed.’
‘Noooo! That is too terrible!’ said Vivi. ‘Then it must be that the old woman dropped the box on her way home and accidentally stepped on them. She was very frail and clumsy. She bumped a bowl of chocolate hearts onto the floor while here in the shop, then ran into the door frame on her way out — as though her plump body was wider than she expected. And her walking stick fell clattering to the floor at least three times.’ Vivi frowned. ‘Poor dear thing. She must have been so sad when the carefully chosen gift for her husband was ruined.’
Freja wrinkled her nose. Why would the old woman need a dozen large chocolate fob watches for her husband, not just one? And what was she doing, walking along the steep forest trail behind the castle when she could barely walk without stumbling on the flat floor of Leckerbissen? And why were the bits of the chocolate scattered so far? It didn’t make sense. Not one bit of it.
‘Enough!’ cried Vivi. ‘Squashed chocolate makes us all sad. There is happy food to be made.’
François-Louis nodded. ‘And chocolate chairs to be made. An over-excited customer gobbled the entire dining suite from the doll’s house this morning.’ He swept the broken fob watches into his hand and wandered back to his own workbench.
Before Freja could say another word, Vivi wrapped her in a pink apron with white polka dots, and handed her a bowl of melted Margrit Milk. Freja stirred the wooden spoon around and around in the bowl. The melted chocolate swirled and blooped, growing smoother and glossier, until Vivi sang, ‘Perfect! Now we pour!’
When Freja had poured the chocolate onto the cool marble board, Vivi passed her a spatula and waved her hand about, miming how Freja should spread the chocolate.
Freja slid the spatula back and forth. ‘Urgh!’ She scrunched her nose. ‘There’s a lump.’
‘Impossible!’ cried François-Louis from the other side of the kitchen. ‘Margrit Milk never forms lumps. It is far too smooth and creamy.’
Freja poked at the lump with the end of the spatula. ‘It’s not chocolate. It’s a . . . a . . .’ She picked the object up and wiped it clean on a cloth. ‘It’s a little key!’ She laughed and held it out towards Vivi. ‘The other day Herr Berna found Tobias’ pencil in the Margrit Milk. Today I found a key!’
‘A treasure for the jar!’ cried Daniel.
‘Huh?’ asked Freja.
François-Louis grabbed a large glass jar from the shelf and placed it beside Freja. ‘This jar is full of the things we have found in the slabs of chocolate we have bought from Herr Berna’s factory over the years. It is funny, ja?’
Freja smiled as she poked about at the contents of the jar. It was full of small, everyday objects — a bobby pin, three buttons, a domino, a paper clip, a pen, a pocket knife, an earring, a bottle cap, a doll’s shoe, a tiny plastic dinosaur, an egg timer, a brooch in the shape of a bird, two coins, a marble and five small spoons.
Daniel laughed. ‘So many spoons! We suspect that Herr Berna spends a lot of time leaning over his vats scooping out melted chocolate and eating it.’
François-Louis nodded. ‘We have also found two wedding rings and a wristwatch, but they were returned to their owners after some detective work.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘In fact, it was the same wedding ring twice, and it was Frau Berna’s! Perhaps she, too, leans over the vats slurping melted chocolate. But other than the watch and the ring, everything else we have found in the chocolate has gone into the jar as a kind of mini museum.’
Freja held the key in the palm of her hand. ‘Should we look for the owner of this?’
François-Louis shrugged. ‘It is small and plain — probably for winding up a clock or to open a music box. I think we may keep it.’ He held the jar out to Freja, bowed and clicked his heels. ‘Fräulein Freja Sweet-tea, you are formally invited to add your discovery to the Leckerbissen Museum of Hidden Trash and Treasure.’
Freja licked the remaining chocolate off the key and dropped it into the jar where it clattered down between the other objects. Vivi clapped. Daniel cheered and took a celebratory slurp of caramel from his wooden spoon. François-Louis marched a full lap around the kitchen bench, holding the jar above his head. And Freja laughed.
‘But the chocolate!’ cried Vivi, suddenly serious once more. ‘We must spread it out while it is still soft and melty.’
François-Louis returned the jar to its place on the shelf. Freja grabbed the spatula and swiped it back and forth once more until the melted chocolate was barely a millimetre thick all over. Vivi nodded her approval and commanded, ‘Now lick the spatula clean!’
Freja obeyed, dragging her tongue up and down the flat metal surface until it was clean and shiny. Sugar and cocoa and sparks of joy buzzed through her veins. ‘Happy food,’ she whispered, then gave a little start, for she realised that she hadn’t thought of Clementine for at least fifteen minutes.
Vivi disappeared behind the shelves and returned carrying a giant chocolate gâteau. It had five layers of cake, each one a lighter brown than the one below. The layers were held together with clouds of chocolate cream and the top was spread thickly with chocolate ganache.
‘Vivi!’ gasped Freja. ‘It looks delicious.’
Vivi laughed, her chocolate-ganache eyes shining like the chocolate ganache on the gâteau. ‘I hope so,’ she cried. ‘It is for Herr Basil. He was so very upset after the mugging yesterday that I decided to make him this special gâteau — a gift to cheer him up. The chocolate we have just spread across the marble is Margrit Milk, his favourite, and we will now turn it into large chocolate curls to decorate the top of this cake.’
Vivi took a knife from one of the shelves and passed it to Freja. Its blade was long and wide, and Freja thought that it would be a marvellous weapon to pop in one of Tobias’ crime novels.
‘Tobias,’ she muttered and found her eyes stinging, her throat aching once more. So many confusing feelings and questions and —
‘Chocolate curls!’ cried Vivi, breaking in on her thoughts. ‘Knife flat. Blade facing away from our bodies. Press gently but firmly like so . . .’ Vivi guided Freja’s hands until a large, perfectly formed chocolate curl had appeared before them.
‘Your first chocolate curl!’ cheered Vivi. She slid a skewer carefully through the centre, lifted the curl from the marble and placed it on top of the gâteau. ‘Now you can do the rest on your own, Freja.’
Freja sat the blade against the edge of chocolate and pushed, slowly, firmly, and watched in delight as a second large and loopy chocolate curl formed. Placing it on the gâteau, she made another, then another, and another, until she was lost in Margrit Milk happiness.
CHAPTER 28
Cake crumbs and beauty spots
An hour later, Freja and Vivi were seated at the café table closest to Leckerbissen’s front window, sipping hot chocolate and nibbling their way through a plate of assorted chocolate truffles — Darkly Delicious, Richly Rummy, Coffee Bomb, Coconut Dream, White Wonder, Brandy Fancy, Dusty Fluff, Vanilla Velvet and Orange Pluck. Freja bit into a Dusty Fluff and a little cloud of cocoa powder floated about in front of her face, tickling her nose.
‘Aah-aah-aachoo!’ Freja sneezed, and a blob of whipped cream from the top of her hot chocolate blew across the table and landed in front of Vivi.
Vivi threw back her head and laughed so loudly that the other customers all turned to look.
Freja blushed. ‘I’m
so sorry, Vivi! It was the cocoa . . . it . . .’
Vivi waved her hand in the air. ‘It is nothing!’ Scooping the whipped cream up with her spoon, she plopped it back into Freja’s mug. ‘In fact, it is better than nothing. It is just the sort of thing Tobby would do. You and he are so very much alike, you know. Both so very charming. Both so very surprising.’
And, as if to prove her point, at that moment Tobias’ head appeared outside at the window, his hair an overgrown mop of curls. He raised his hand to wave, but was knocked aside by Finnegan. The dog threw himself at the window, barking, grinning, dribbling and licking at the glass. His wide pink tongue slurped back and forth, up and down, around and about, as his joy at seeing the girl overflowed. He disappeared from the window and, seconds later, came barrelling through the open door into Leckerbissen.
‘Finnegan!’ gasped Freja. ‘Dogs are not allowed —’
But it was too late. Finnegan slipped through Frau Niederhauser’s hands, dived under the cake table, dashed past Daniel and leapt at Freja. Draping his front paws over her shoulders, he licked her face and neck and ears, then looked to the ceiling and howled. His greeting complete, he jumped up onto the chair beside Freja, slurped the cream off the top of her hot chocolate, then lunged across the table and slurped the cream from the top of Vivi’s.
‘Freja,’ cried Tobias, bumbling to their table. Kneeling on the floor, he stretched out his arms, then dropped them, unsure of what to do. But Freja threw herself at him, and girl and writer settled into one another’s arms as naturally as nougat-niblets settled into melted chocolate.
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