Complete silence met D’Arcy’s words. At last her mother said, “Sorry, someone just brought in some papers for me to sign. I should go. You’re not there much longer, are you?”

“Home next week.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

As she hung up the phone, D’Arcy’s mind circled around her mother’s omission. The silence. The rush to get off the phone. Of course she might actually be busy. Why then had she called?

D’Arcy jumped to her feet and began to pace. What were her options? To ask Victorine. But it was clear Victorine was not going to, willingly, reveal anything about her connection to Jess or the chateau. She could always ask Jess directly, but Jess had cut her off that morning when she’d tried and D’Arcy didn’t think it was accidental. Besides, if Jess knew everything and D’Arcy knew nothing, it put D’Arcy at the disadvantage of simply having to believe what Jess told her. She didn’t know Jess well enough to be able to ascertain if she might omit details or present a biased version of events. If D’Arcy had more information, then she would be better equipped to decide who to ask and what to ask them. Which meant she’d have to find out more from another source. But what source?

A crazy idea started to form, one she hardly knew how to put into practice, but one she felt she had to, nonetheless. She hurried back to the chateau and threw some things into an overnight bag.

She found Josh in his office, talking on the phone, his voice so different to how it had been when he’d told her about his past, now rushed and clipped as if he was under pressure and didn’t like it. She waited for him to finish his call, then indicated her bag. “I need to take the train to Paris.”

He frowned and she hastened to reassure him that she wasn’t doing a runner. “I need to go there just for the night. It means I’ll miss a day of work but I’m confident I can catch up. I’ll work late tomorrow. I won’t miss any deadlines.”

“Why are you going to Paris?” he asked.

“I want to…” She hesitated, aware it would sound strange. “I want to visit the school my mother attended. It’s the one place I’ll be able to find out more about her childhood.”

And rather than remind her that she was in France to work, not to run off on wild goose chases, Josh just nodded and said, “I’ll give you a ride to the station.”

Eighteen

At her favorite hotel in the Marais that night, D’Arcy opened her web browser and typed: Victorine Hallworth and Dan Hallworth.

Everything she expected to find came up. Their jobs, the World Media business, their distinguished reporting and management careers, nothing she didn’t already know and nothing proving that there was any kind of connection beyond the fact that Victorine worked for Dan.

Then she typed in the name Jessica May and again found what she expected to find: information about May’s shift from model to photographer, mentions of her work as a photojournalist in World War II, the iconic images she’d shot, her mysterious disappearance after the war.