I don’t like having my sleep interrupted, and you never really know. So I went up to the room. I brushed my teeth. Then packed and put my backpack on. I went downstairs. The lobby was dark. I left the keycard on the desk. Stood still and listened. Nothing was happening in the hotel. Except for sleep. And mechanical things, like the ticking of a clock, or the mechanism in the refrigerator under the bar in the breakfast room. I went down a little corridor behind the desk. Found the kitchen and a back door. There was no alarm. The back door locked behind me.

A little alley led out to another street lined with closed establishments and apartment buildings, shuttered stores and bolted doors. It was too late to find another room. I walked north-east for twenty minutes and found the river.

I lay down in a copse of trees protected by bushes. I had the backpack for a pillow. It took a minute or two to settle. Then I could hear the water moving along the river bank, over rocks and around branches. I could smell the vegetation and the moist soil.

And across the water came another sound. Familiar music drifted through the trees, skipping over the gently flowing river. I nailed it. Stevie Nicks singing ‘Sara’. 1979. Vintage Fleetwood Mac. ‘Drowning in the sea of love. Where everyone would love to drown.’ And along with Stevie’s sweet voice I began to make out the tinkling of glasses, the light laughter of a man or a woman. The sounds of a Saturday evening. And the low gravelly chuckle of Simone Vaugeois floated in the crisp evening breeze.

Chapter Twelve

When I turned up the driveway to Brumaire, Stevie Nicks was howling the last of her sweet song. Sara wasn’t going to change or stop, but Stevie would be there for her. Forever. The drive was packed with cars. A woman was smoking a cigarette on the terrace steps and looking at her phone. Beside her was a half-glass of champagne.

I nodded politely, “Bonsoir madame,” and kept moving.

Two tables had been set out on the terrace. A bunch of well-dressed people lounged around the table to my right. I didn’t know them from Adam, but I know how to walk into a party uninvited. First thing. You don’t make eye contact. Second. You smile and keep moving. You act like you have always just recognized someone who’s just a little bit beyond. This gets you through the outer layers. Before some guy asks if he can help you.

You keep moving. Not too fast, not too slow. Then you do what you have to do. You take them out, or whatever. I wasn’t planning on hurting anyone. But I did want to meet my cousin, Gilles Vaugeois.