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

light, while the woman stood under it and put on her gloves. Claire knew by the way the man carried himself that he was not Mitch. She watched the couple walk under the awning and stroll off down the street arm in arm.

Shivering, Claire pushed up the sleeve of her coat and squinted at her wristwatch. It was too dark to see the time. She rubbed her gloved hands together, but it made no difference, they were numb with cold. It must have been two hours since she had left the restaurant - and she might have to wait another two hours - a prospect that didn’t please her. She leant against the wall and closed her eyes. What could she learn about this woman that she didn’t already know, by watching Mitch leave with her? Nothing. Her hands began to throb. She couldn’t afford a night in freezing conditions. She had been a civilian for too long, she was soft now, her body wouldn’t take it. She pushed herself off the wall and was about to leave the alley when the restaurant door opened. Mitch stood in the doorway. Claire held her breath expecting to see Simone join him, but he was alone.

As he walked into the light above the awning, Claire watched her husband turn towards the restaurant’s window. He lifted his arm in a half salute, half wave, before walking briskly on. So, Simone hadn’t left with him. She had probably arranged with the taxi driver who took her to the restaurant to pick her up after she’d dined and take her home. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter, Claire had already lost her husband to a beautiful Parisian woman whose name was not Simone but Eleanor Cheval.

Keeping her distance, Claire followed Mitch back to the hotel. There were only two hotels in the town with vacancies. Even so, it was an extraordinary coincidence that she and Mitch were staying in the same one. She hung back in the shadows outside the door and waited until she saw him cross from reception to the lift. The doors opened and he disappeared inside. When the doors closed, and Claire could see the lift going up, she went into the hotel.

The night manager smiled as she approached the reception desk. ‘Good evening, Madame.’ He took the key to her room from a pigeonhole on the back wall.

‘Good evening.’ Claire didn’t move.

‘Is there something I can do for you, Madame?’

‘No. Thank you.’ She began to walk across reception to the stairs, then turned back. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’d like to…’ She wanted to say leave, go home to my daughter... If she left now, or even first thing in the morning, she could be with Aimée in less than twenty-four hours. But she had promised Dr Puel that she would take his grandson’s papers and the other documents he had entrusted her with to Guillaume Cheval of the Jewish Council in order to arrest and put on trial the professor of psychiatry Lucien Puel - real name, Heinrich Beckman - for his crimes.

If she left now she couldn’t keep her promise. She felt suddenly nauseous. The room began to spin. She lost focus and grabbed the reception desk. ‘Are you all right, Madame?’ the night manager asked. ‘You look quite unwell.’ He came from behind the desk and took hold of Claire’s arm. ‘Perhaps you should sit down for a moment? I will get you a glass of water.’

Claire’s heart was pounding. Her legs felt like jelly. Holding onto the desk and then the doorframe she let the young man guide her into a small office. It was sparsely furnished with only a filing cabinet, desk and chair - and a telephone fixed to the wall.

The night manager helped her across the room to the chair, then left her to fetch water. When he returned, Claire asked if she could make an important telephone call to Paris. ‘I’m not supposed to… I would be dismissed if--’ He tutted and exhaled loudly. ‘Oh, all right,’ he said, looking up to the heavens. ‘As you are not well, we will call it an emergency. But please be quick, Madame.’ The young man went to the door and stood guard.

Claire dialled Thomas’s number in Paris. It rang out for several minutes but there was no answer. Thomas probably hadn’t arrived home. She thanked the night manager, told him if anyone telephoned for her, no matter what time of the night, even if it was in the early hours of the morning, he was to put the call straight through. The night manager looked bewildered, ‘Very well, Madame!’

Thanking the young man, Claire walked towards the lift. Halfway she stopped and returned to reception.

‘Madame?’

‘I will be leaving in the morning.’

The night manager looked shocked. ‘I hope everything at Le Petit Château has been to your satisfaction, Madame?’

‘The hotel is fine, but I cannot stay here,’ Claire said, near to tears. ‘Please prepare my bill. Would you also arrange for a taxi to take me to the station in time to catch the nine o’clock train to Paris?’

‘Certainly, Madame. I shall do it now. And your bill will be waiting for you when you have had breakfast.’

‘I’d like something light in my room, if that’s possible?’

‘Of course. Croissants and coffee at 7.45?’ Claire nodded. ‘I will send the porter for your luggage and arrange for a taxi to pick you up at 8.20. That will give you plenty of time to get to the station for nine.’

‘Thank you.’ Claire put two francs on the reception desk to cover the cost of the telephone calls the night manager would have to make. ‘Good night.’

‘Good night, Madame Belland.’

Claire undressed and got ready for bed. The few clothes she had taken out of her suitcase and hung up in the wardrobe when she arrived at the hotel