There was something else about the rain, something she had never told anyone. It reminded her of a cottage filled with colour and music, of the scent of green apple, and of a man’s voice calling her Princess and reading stories about fairies, knights fighting dragons, and a Prince Charming who was as handsome as he was brave.
Of course, her grandmother had told her enough about her squalid childhood to know that these couldn’t be real memories, but dreams and fabrications. Still, it was nice to imagine that the scent of green apple was her mother’s perfume, that the man’s voice was her father’s and that her world had once been beautiful and filled with love…
Her mobile chiming broke through her thoughts. She pulled the phone out of her bag and frowned in alarm when she saw the number on the display.
‘Hi, Lynette, what’s up? Is it Grandma?’
‘Everything’s fine, sweetie, don’t you worry,’ her grandmother’s nurse replied.
Aurora sighed in relief and relaxed her grip on the phone. ‘She seemed tired when I phoned earlier.’
Lynette chuckled. ‘She’s not tired now. She’s writing a list of complaints for the next golf club board meeting. Something to do with the new waitresses’ uniform lowering the tone, I believe.’
That sounded like her grandmother all right.
‘Well, I suppose it keeps her busy. Listen, I can’t talk for very long. I’m at a reception at Florent Maupas’s house.’
‘Oh, very nice. What is he like?’
‘His house is beautiful, and filled with incredible works of art.’
‘Never mind his house. I asked you about the man. Does he have come-to-bed eyes and a sexy French accent?’
‘You know I don’t care about those things!’
‘Nonsense. Every woman cares about those things, even you, Dr Arctic Frost – or whatever they call you at the Institute.’
‘It’s Black Ice, actually, although I’ve heard a few people call me Black Death on occasions.’
‘Black Death? What on earth for?’
‘Because I make people uncomfortable.’ She made light of it, but it did hurt that people clammed up when she walked into the staff room, or that nobody ever invited her for a drink after work. Her colleagues believed that she was her grandfather’s spy. Little did they know that if Augustus was harsh with his staff, he was a thousand times harsher with his granddaughter. Things had become worse in recent weeks as her grandfather’s death had caused uncertainty about the Institute’s future.
It had been a relief to leave the Institute’s toxic atmosphere and take up Maupas’s offer of a secondment in Paris, although after her gaffe with Castel, she may be back in Manchester sooner than anticipated.
‘They’re only saying that because they’re not as clever as you,’ Lynette said. ‘Not only can you bring ancient manuscripts back to life, but you paint like an angel too, even if you insist on hiding your work in the attic room.’
‘You know how much grandmother dislikes my paintings because it reminds her of… somebody she’d rather forget.’
Lynette sighed. ‘You indulge her far too much. Having said that, it is true that you’re far too wrapped up in your work. You should look up from your dusty old books once in a while, or you’ll miss your Prince Charming and will forever remain a lonely Sleeping Beauty.’
Aurora tutted. ‘Not that again! I may have the misfortune to be called Aurora, but I’m not some simpering princess wasting away in a tower. I am a professional art historian who loves her work and doesn’t need a man, whether he is Prince Charming or not. Anyway, Prince Charming isn’t real. He only exists in fairy tales.’ And in her most secret dreams, but she wasn’t prepared to tell anyone about that.
‘Of course he is real. You just haven’t met him yet,’ Lynette decreed. ‘Anyway, the reason I was ringing was because Mrs James from number sixteen brought over some post. It’s addressed to you, but was delivered to her by mistake. The envelope is postmarked from Bruges.’
‘Bruges? That’s where Professor Lebrun lives. Can you open it?’
‘I sure can.’ There was the sound of paper ripping, and Lynette spoke again. ‘There are several pages of notes and photos of old paintings and illustrations with felt-tip marks all over. Wait a minute. There’s a letter too.’
‘What does it say?’
‘“Chère Aurora,”’ Lynette started. ‘“I found these notes today, which I believe are related to a project of Arsène’s you have taken over since his accident. I thought you might find them useful. I will let you know if I find any more papers, but our apartment was broken into when I was visiting Arsène in hospital, and I haven’t had time to put everything back in order yet. Sincères amitiés.” And it is signed Patricia.’
‘It’s from Arsène Lebrun’s wife. Poor woman, how awful for her to have to deal with a break-in on top of her husband’s accident.’
‘You know them well, don’t you?’
‘Professor Lebrun was my PhD thesis supervisor. He is the most eminent palaeographer I ever met, and the kindest of men. Both he and Patricia always made me feel welcome when I visited Bruges.’
Her heart ached to think of the elderly professor now so desperately ill in hospital after being injured in a hit-and-run accident. It hurt too to know that it was because of his accident that she had been hired to assess Maupas’s manuscript in Paris.
‘What do you want me to do with the papers?’ Lynette asked.
‘Post them to my hotel. In the meantime, it would be great if you could scan and email them to me tonight.’
‘That may be beyond my capabilities, but I shall give it my best shot. I will text you if I can’t do it.’
‘Thank you, Lynette.’
‘You’re welcome, sweetie. And one more thing… Try to loosen up. You’re in one of the most romantic cities in the world, surrounded by sexy Frenchmen. Grab hold of one and enjoy yourself. It will be too late when you’re my age. Books and paintbrushes won’t keep you warm at night.’
It was far easier to agree than start another argument, or even object that no sexy Frenchman would ever look at her twice, so Aurora made a vague promise to have fun and bid Lynette goodnight.
She turned to the garden and sighed. Filled with shadows, and with trees and bushes dripping with rain, it was the only place she wanted to be right now. Soon she would have to slip her shoes on again, go back inside and confess her faux pas to Florent Maupas.
Footsteps at the other end of the terrace signalled that she was no longer alone, and Cédric Castel’s tall silhouette stood out against the glow of the garden lights. Immediately anger quickened her pulse. What did he want now? Had he not caused enough trouble already? She gripped the balustrade and forced a deep breath in, kicked her shoes behind her and hoped he wouldn’t notice she was barefoot.
‘Still here?’ She tried to sound blasé but was grateful for the shadows hiding her heated face.
He nodded. ‘I’ve been playing cat and mouse with the security staff, and so far I’m winning. I wanted to apologise. I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. It wasn’t my intention.’