BooksBarbecue
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

Behind them, no one is watching Madame. Quiet during the festive meal, speaking mostly to Anouk, she now watches Thierry with an expression of stark and uncomplicated horror. Oh, I have prepared Madame, of course. With gentle hints, subtle charm and good old-fashioned chemistry I have brought her to this moment of revelation and now all it takes is a single name and the piñata cracks open like a chestnut on the fire . . .

Vianne Rocher.

Well, that’s my cue. Smiling, I stand, and I have time for a last quick celebratory sip of champagne before all eyes are upon me – hopeful, fearful, furious, worshipful – as now at last I claim the prize—

I smile. ‘Vianne Rocher? That would be me.’

11

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Monday, 24th December
Christmas Eve. 11.00 p.m.

SHE MUST HAVE found my papers, of course, hidden in my mother’s box. After that, it’s easy enough to open an account in my name; to send off for a new passport, a driving licence, everything she requires to become Vianne Rocher. She even looks just like me now; easy again, using Roux as bait, to use my stolen identity in a way that will at some time incriminate us—

Oh, I can see the trap now. Too late, as always in stories like this, I understand what she wants at last. To force my hand, to trick me into revealing myself, to blow me away like a leaf on the wind, with a new set of Furies on my tail—

But what’s a name? I ask myself. Can’t I choose another one? Can’t I change it, as I have done so many times before, call Zozie’s bluff, and force her to leave?

Thierry is staring at her in astonishment. ‘You?’ he says.

She shrugs. ‘Surprised?’

The others are watching her, stupefied.

‘You stole the money? You cashed the cheques?’

Behind her, Anouk is very pale.

Nico says: ‘It can’t be true.’

Madame Luzeron shakes her head.

‘But Zozie’s our friend,’ says little Alice, blushing furiously at making even such a short speech. ‘We owe her so much—’

Jean-Louis interrupts. ‘I know a fake when I see one,’ he says. ‘And Zozie isn’t a fake. I swear.’

But now Jean-Loup speaks up. ‘It’s true. Her picture was in the newspaper. She’s really good at changing her face, but I knew it was her. My photographs—’

Zozie gives him a barbed smile. ‘Of course it’s true. It’s all true. I’ve had more names than I can count. I’ve lived from hand to mouth all my life. I’ve never had a proper home, or a family, or a business, or any of the things Yanne has here—’