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Back The Lollipop Shoes
Chapters (96)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Book
  3. The Lollipop Shoes
  4. Dedication
  5. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. PART TWO
  13. 1
  14. 2
  15. 3
  16. 4
  17. 5
  18. 6
  19. 7
  20. 8
  21. PART THREE
  22. 1
  23. 2
  24. 3
  25. 4
  26. 5
  27. 6
  28. PART FOUR
  29. 1
  30. 2
  31. 3
  32. 4
  33. 5
  34. 6
  35. 7
  36. 8
  37. 9
  38. PART FIVE
  39. 1
  40. 2
  41. 3
  42. 4
  43. 5
  44. 6
  45. 7
  46. 8
  47. 9
  48. 10
  49. 11
  50. 12
  51. PART SIX
  52. 1
  53. 2
  54. 3
  55. 4
  56. 5
  57. 6
  58. 7
  59. 8
  60. 9
  61. 10
  62. 11
  63. 12
  64. PART SEVEN
  65. 1
  66. 2
  67. 3
  68. 4
  69. 5
  70. 6
  71. 7
  72. 8
  73. 9
  74. PART EIGHT
  75. 1
  76. 2
  77. 3
  78. 4
  79. 5
  80. 6
  81. 7
  82. 8
  83. 9
  84. 10
  85. 11
  86. 12
  87. 13
  88. 14
  89. 15
  90. 16
  91. 17
  92. 18
  93. 19
  94. Epilogue
  95. About the Author
  96. Also by Joanne Harris
Document

And then I had a weird thought. More than that – an inspiration. I guess it was the Advent house, but I was thinking about the Nativity, and the way everyone comes to the stable at once – the animals and the Magi and the shepherds and angels and the star – without anyone having to invite them or anything, as if they’d been summoned there by magic—

I almost told Zozie right then. But I needed time to sort myself out; to make sure I wasn’t about to do anything stupid. You see, I’d remembered something, too. Something that happened a long time ago, back in the days when we were still different. Something to do with Rosette, perhaps. Poor Rosette, who cried like a cat and who never seemed to feed at all, and sometimes stopped breathing without any reason, for seconds, even minutes at a time . . .

The baby. The crib. The animals—

The angels and the Magi—

What is a Magus, anyway? And why do I think I’ve met one before?

6

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Tuesday, 4th December

MEANWHILE, I STILL had to deal with Roux. My plans for him do not involve contact with Vianne, but I do need him to stay close, and so, as planned, at half past five, I went down to Rue de la Croix and waited for him to come out.

It was closer to six when he left the house. Thierry’s taxi had already arrived – he’s staying in a nice hotel while work on the flat is under way – but Thierry had not yet left the flat, and I was able to watch from a discreet little vantage point on the corner as Roux waited with his hands in his pockets and his collar turned up against the rain.

Now Thierry has always rather prided himself on being a man of no pretensions; a real man who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, and who would never make another man feel inferior for lack of money or social status. This is quite untrue, of course. Thierry’s a snob of the worst kind – he just doesn’t know it, that’s all. But it’s in his manner all the same: in the way he always calls Laurent mon pote; and I could see it now in the careless way he took his time locking up the flat, checking, setting the security alarm, then turning to Roux with a look of surprise – as if to say, ah yes, I forgot—

‘How much did we call it? A hundred?’ he asked.

A hundred euros a day, I thought. Not an especially generous sum. But Roux just gave that shrug of his – the shrug that so infuriates Thierry and makes him want to force a reaction. Roux, in contrast, is very cool, a gas-jet turned to its lowest flame. But I noticed that he kept his eyes slightly lowered throughout, as if afraid of what he might reveal.