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

seen the chateau before, albeit from a distance. She followed him up the steps and he rang the bell. The door was answered by the tall distinguished looking man who Claire recognised from the day she was with Thomas.

‘Welcome, Alain,’ the man said. He shook Mitch’s hand before wrapping his arms around him. Then, turning to Claire: ‘Madame Mitchell?’

‘Darling,’ Mitch said, ‘This is Monsieur Guillaume Cheval. Guillaume, this is my wife, Claire.’

‘I am delighted to meet you, Claire,’ Guillaume said, shaking Claire’s hand. Claire felt her cheeks redden. She wasn’t sure whether it was because Mitch had called her darling, or because Simone’s father called her Madame Mitchell, which meant he knew who she was. He hadn’t looked surprised when Mitch announced her as his wife either. Claire wondered how recently her husband had told the Chevals about her. ‘Come in, please,’ Guillaume Cheval said. Smiling as if he was welcoming old friends into his home, he opened the door wide to allow Mitch and Claire to enter.

‘Alain tells me you have important documents that will help us to track down the criminal Heinrich Beckman, Claire?’

Claire shot a look of surprise at Mitch. ‘I telephoned Guillaume from the hotel room when you went down to reception.’

‘I have, sir.’ Claire said, handing the briefcase to Guillaume Cheval.

He looked at her and then at the case. Then he lifted his head to Claire again, and said, ‘Thank you. I want to open it now,’ he said, clutching it as if it was a priceless piece of art. ‘But I must wait. The doctor who treated your husband in Canada is the doctor who tortured my daughter when she was in prison. She is a lawyer now, and she is desperate to see the contents of this case. Come and meet her,’ he said, leading the way across a large entrance hall.

As the trio reached the far side of the hall, Claire stopped. ‘Someone is playing the piano.’

‘My daughter Eleanor,’ Cheval said.

‘She plays beautifully, Monsieur.’

‘Yes, she does.’ The rhythmic sound of the piano grew louder as they neared the end of a short corridor. Guillaume Cheval opened a door. ‘The music room,’ he said, ‘and my daughter, Eleanor.’

Eleanor, who Claire had only ever thought of as Simone, lifted her head from the music score she was reading and gave Claire a bright welcoming smile. ‘Come in.’ she called, from behind the piano. ‘I shall reach the end of this piece in one second.’ Running her fingers along the keys until she came to the last one, she lifted her hands. ‘That’s it!’

‘Beautiful, darling,’ Eleanor’s father said, applauding his daughter, ‘truly beautiful.’

‘You are not biased at all, are you, Father?’

Laughing, Guillaume Cheval motioned Claire to come further into the room. He pointed to a pair of matching settees on either side of a long table that was placed sideways on to the fire. As Claire reached the middle of the room, Eleanor Cheval appeared from behind the piano, in a wheelchair.

Claire stopped in her tracks. The beautiful woman who she had seen in the restaurant the night before, was still unable to walk. Trying not to let Eleanor see how shocked she was, Claire said, ‘You are a wonderful pianist.’ And as Eleanor neared the settee, Claire sat down.

Eleanor Cheval, pushing hard on the wheels of the wheelchair came to a halt beside her. ‘I don’t know the piece you were playing,’ Claire continued, ‘it is French, of course--’

‘Daphnis et Chloé. It was composed for Sergei Diaghilev by Maurice Ravel. It’s a ballet, but Ravel calls it a symphonie chorégraphiqué. Very exotic, and very exciting.’ Eleanor laughed. ‘Would you believe, before the war, I trained to be a ballet dancer?’ Eleanor looked down at her legs and laughed again. This time the laugh was sharp with cynicism. ‘Now I am a boring old lawyer.’ Claire swallowed hard but couldn’t stop her tears.

‘Claire, please do not be upset.’ Eleanor put her hand on Claire’s arm. ‘There are many people much worse than me. I don’t like being in a wheelchair, but I am alive. There were many times in the prison, especially after Alain and the others left, that I could have been killed.

‘But here I am. I may never be a ballet dancer, but I make a difference. My job is important, fulfilling - and I get to see men like Beckman hang, or go to the guillotine. And thanks to you, Heinrich Beckman will be punished for what he did to me, and to the other courageous people in the prison.’

Claire smiled a sad smile acknowledging Eleanor Cheval’s gratitude. She didn’t say anything in reply; there was nothing to say except she was sorry, futile words that could never express how she really felt. She was sorry for the feelings she’d had before meeting the remarkable woman too.

She looked across the table at Mitch. He turned his head slowly from listening to Eleanor and looked at her. He smiled and Claire nodded that she understood what he meant when he talked about loving this extraordinarily brave woman. Before guilt engulfed her, Claire said, ‘What your father has in that briefcase will prove beyond any doubt that Heinrich Beckman is a murderer and an imposter.’

‘Let us go to my study,’ Guillaume Cheval said to his daughter.

Eleanor pushed on one wheel until the wheelchair was facing the door. ‘Coming, Claire?’ she called, over her shoulder.

When Claire was at her side, Eleanor’s father took hold of the handle on the back of his daughter’s chair and began to push her across the room. ‘No, Papa!’ Guillaume Cheval let go of the handle and stepped back. Eleanor looked up at Claire. ‘It is part of my physiotherapy that I wheel myself as much as I can. It builds up the muscles in my arms and back.’ She looked back at her father,