The Seven Turns of the Snail's Shell: A Novel Read Free

there will be no submarines in the Channel threatening to blow us up,” commented the soft-spoken Truette. They all nodded. There was no doubt about their support.
    “One last piece of information.” Jacques paused. The heavyset, brusque man with a deep, growling voice and a commanding demeanor suddenly looked uneasy. “Charlie is with them. Please do what you can to…to assure his safety.”
    Through his thick, dark, square-framed glasses, Narbon stared into a wall stacked with huge wine barrels. He rubbed the stubble of whiskers on his chin as he thought about how he was going to feel when he saw Diamanté again.

CHAPTER 4
     
    T he young man is behind her as she pushes her luggage cart toward the end of the loading platform. The look of admiration is in his eyes as she glances casually back at him. She smiles. At the end of a long journey, she returns. The same man is waiting on the platform for her. He takes her hand. They waltz together. Then, something happens that stops the dancing.
    Anna Ellis awoke abruptly. She stared at the unfamiliar, high-ceilinged room, unable to immediately remember where she was. The chamber, painted in a delicate turquoise with white trim, was fresh and summery. A wrought-iron fireplace in the corner was filled with ballooning violet-blue hydrangeas. A crystal vase with fresh-cut pink roses had been placed on the antique writing desk.
    Anna stretched and climbed out of bed with a sigh. She threw back the sheer white curtains, pushed open the window, and looked out on the street below. The air was balmy and the morning bright and clear. She was in Paris.
    That dream…again. What does it mean? she thought. Had I maybe handled it differently? Had I come back? Maybe things might have been…
    Monique knocked lightly and peeked in her room. “Ah, good morning, chérie . How did you sleep?” Her voice brought Anna back to the present. “Do you want a café crème ? Sabastien and I have just walked down to the boulangerie to get some fresh croissants. Join us in the breakfast room.”
    Sabastien, the Durochers’ gentle Basset Fauve de Bretagne, swished his tail in greeting as Monique winked and quietly closed the door.
    Anna looked down from her window perch. She had arrived just the day before and, jetlagged, had not slept at all well. In fact, she had slept fitfully because of the screaming sirens that had started after midnight and continued for what seemed like hours.
    She dug through her luggage and quickly changed into a tank top and jogging pants. Then she opened the door and wandered down the wide, darkened hallway with mirrored French doors, peering into the salon with its crystal chandelier, cabochon-patterned carpet, and walls covered in red and gold wall fabric. Two striped, two-tone, gold satin-upholstered antique chairs flanked a white marble period fireplace.
    Anna found Monique and Sabastien in the cheerful, mahoganypaneled breakfast room at the end of the apartment’s long, L-shaped corridor. The windows, open to let in the fresh morning air, overlooked the ivy-covered walls of the building’s inner courtyard. The table linens and dishes were in the familiar violet-blue-green-gold pattern of the textiles of Provence. A brightly colored, hand-painted majolica vase filled with blue irises sat in the center of the table.
    “You and Georges have a nice apartment,” Anna said as she sat down and helped herself to a croissant. “It’s so elegant.”
    Monique was pouring giant breakfast bowls of coffee with cream. They had known each other since their student days at Paris University IV, the Sorbonne. Monique’s husband, Georges, was an executive in the French media industry, and they often traveled internationally. Their apartment, just around the corner from the Arc de Triomphe in an eighteenth-century building with a mansard roof, was charming and filled with objets d’art from their travels.
    “ Alors , do you have something in particular that you want to do while