Chasing Ghosts by Madalyn Morgan (best fantasy books to read .txt) 📕

eyes, his arms still around her. ‘But…’ He clenched his teeth as if to stop himself from speaking and the muscles at the side of his face tightened and relaxed. Then he took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled a sad smile. ‘I think it’s for the best.’

‘Do you?’ Claire said, holding his gaze. She could feel his breath on her cheek. Every rational part of her being told her to move away from him, but she was drawn to him, she wanted him. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest she thought it would explode. Thomas pulled her closer. He wanted her too, she could feel he did. She lifted her face to his and closed her eyes.

At that moment the shrill ring of the telephone burst into the room. Claire jumped, opened her eyes and lowered her head to Thomas’s chest. He rocked her gently and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. Letting go of her he walked across the room to the dressing table and picked up the telephone. Claire dropped onto the bed.

‘Yes?’ He listened for some seconds. ‘Did he say who he was going to meet?  Was it Cheval? Thanks for letting me know.’ Thomas put down the receiver and turned to Claire. ‘That was my friend. Alain has just asked him to order a taxi to pick him up outside the hotel at 7.45 and take him to Le Restaurant du Parc.’

Sitting next to Claire, Thomas took her hand. ‘He said Alain looked excited. He asked him if he was seeing a lady friend, and Alain said, yes, a very special lady friend.’

Claire leaned into Thomas, her head resting on his shoulder. ‘Would you like me to drive you to the restaurant?’

‘No. I’ll get your friend to call me a taxi. If I get ready now,’ she lifted her head and looked at her watch, ‘I’ll be there before him.’

‘Are you sure you want to see Alain tonight?’

‘Yes! I need to know for certain that he’s having an affair. And there’s that!’ She pointed to Lucien Puel’s briefcase. ‘After tonight I shall know better how to get the information about Heinrich Beckman to Guillaume Cheval.’

Thomas stood up. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the restaurant?’

‘I am.’

‘If you need me, ring me,’ he said, walking to the door. ‘Paris is only an hour away by car. I can come back at the weekend, if...’ Claire nodded. ‘Ring me anytime, whether you need me or not. You know my number in Paris.’ Claire nodded again. ‘Promise?’

‘I promise. Thomas?’ Claire said, as he opened the door. ‘Will you telephone me tonight? When you get home? Let me know you’ve arrived safely.’

‘It may be late,’ he said, ‘I need to call on Antoinette and Auguste, and then I have to pick up my tutorial notes from my sick assistant.’

‘I don’t care what time it is. Please say you’ll phone. I feel as if we’ve been chasing ghosts for a lifetime. I--’

‘I shall telephone.’

Claire sighed with relief.

‘But now I must go, and you must get ready to dine at Le Restaurant du Parc. On my way out, I’ll ask the manager to order a taxi to pick you up in,’ he looked at his watch, ‘half an hour?’ Claire grimaced. ‘It has to be that soon, if you want to be at the restaurant before Alain.’

‘I know.’

Claire told Thomas to drive carefully and they said goodbye, kissing each other on both cheeks - as is the custom between friends in France. Claire opened the door and watched the man who had been her strength leave. ‘I shall wait for your telephone call,’ she said, as he walked away from her. At the end of the corridor, Thomas looked over his shoulder and gave her an encouraging wink. Claire blew him a kiss and waved. A second later he was gone. She returned to her room and closed the door. For the first time since she had been in France, she felt lonely.

Le Petit Château hotel was middle range, clean and comfortable, the type of hotel that catered for businessmen and women, managerial types who perhaps didn’t want to stay in a large city hotel. She hadn’t noticed a bar when she arrived. Without Thomas, she didn’t want to socialise anyway.

She took off the clothes she’d travelled in, had a strip-wash in the small basin in her room, and put on a blue silk dress that was fitted on the bust and waist, had a high collar and a skirt that was cut on the cross so it swung fashionably around her knees when she walked.

After checking her makeup, which was a little thicker than she usually wore, she brushed her hair into soft waves and put on her hat. She again pulled it until it tilted over one eye, and after checking her stockings were not laddered and the seams were straight, she slipped her feet into a pair of smart high-heeled navy-blue court shoes.

Checking her appearance in the dressing table mirror, Claire was happy with what she saw and slipped her arms down the sleeves of a cream woollen coat that belonged to the real Therese Belland.

Satisfied that she looked more like someone else than herself, and therefore wouldn’t be easily recognised, she wrapped a silk scarf the colour of her dress around her neck, picked up her handbag and left the room.

With her head held high, Claire strolled through reception. A few people, guests going into dinner she assumed, smiled and nodded good evening, but most of them didn’t notice her.

She may not be anonymous in Le Petit Château, but she blended in.

The taxi pulled up as Claire left the hotel. She took the steps slowly and by the time she was on the pavement, the driver was out