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Back The Rose Labyrinth Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. Cover
  2. THE ROSE LABYRINTH
  3. Titlepage
  4. Copyright page
  5. Dedication
  6. PROLOGUE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. EPILOGUE
  42. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  43. BIBLIOGRAPHY
  44. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  45. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Calvin’s eyes narrowed involuntarily as he looked at the face, grappling with the implications of the question. What had this to do with him? But it took only seconds for him to connect it to the theft from the Staffords’ house in the country—knowing it occurred while Will was in critical condition in hospital. He opened his mouth to speak to Professor Walters, then changed his mind and tried to conceal a thought. How far would these people go? He was distracted by discomforting ideas that were quickly showing his instincts to be right about their willingness to do whatever it would take to get their prize; until he quite suddenly focused on the lovely woman who looked right through him from the blue background, in her richly embroidered bodice. His eyes widened.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “But I believe I had lunch with her a few weeks ago. It may even be”—he was so struck by the image that he found himself thinking aloud, but the words couldn’t be called back—“that she is currently the key-holder.”

16

THE DOORBELL RANG AGAIN. THE PORTER WAS EITHER AWAY FROM HIS DESK OR he had allowed a man to come up right to her threshold. “Taxi, love. Ordered for the name of King?” Lucy looked at the man mystified. “I have this note to give you, and then I’ve got to hang on for ten minutes.” He winked at her, gave her a sealed envelope, and turned. “I’m out front when you’re ready.”

Grace was running late for work with all the interruptions this morning. “What is it now? If it goes on like this, I’ll never get out the door…” She laughed and peered over her friend’s shoulder at the handwritten words on the card:

3rd Feb. Mademoiselle. Bring a warm coat, sensible shoes—and your passport! Depêche-toi…Alexandre

“I’ll put these in water for you.” She took over the luxurious box from the porter’s previous intrusion. “Get yourself together, Lucy. You’re obviously off somewhere disgustingly romantic. Like Paris?” Grace started singing a Piaf song, and swooped on a vase.

“I don’t get it, Grace. He leaves a card and an expensive bottle of my favorite Bulgarian Thé Rose perfume for Christmas, before I go to Shropshire; then he’s unavailable in January. The longest phone call has been just ten minutes, and that’s a poor substitute for seeing him. I could destroy a garden of daisies trying to work out how he feels. I could find it irritating you know: I do find it irritating! He’s interested; he’s not interested…”