“Hey,” she says, suddenly. “Can I go splash some water on my face? I’m really sweaty.”
“Be my guest.” What else can I say?
She wanders back in a couple of minutes later. I catch a gust of Annick Goutal Eau de Monsieur; either she wears it too （which seems unlikely） or she helped herself when she was in there.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yeah, much, thanks. Hey, I like your rain shower. That’s what you call it, right?”
I continue to watch her as she looks around the room. There’s a resemblance there. From certain angles it’s almost uncanny. . . . But her coloring’s different from Ben’s, her hair a dark auburn to his brown, her frame small and wiry. That, and the curious way she’s prowling around, sizing the place up, makes me think of a little fox.
“Thanks for helping me out,” she says. “For a moment I thought I’d never get out.”
“But what on earth were you doing in the cave?”
“The what?”
“Cave,” I explain, “it means ‘cellar’ in French.”
“Oh, right.” She chews the skin at the edge of her thumbnail, shrugs. “Having a look around the place, I suppose.” I saw that bottle of wine in her hand. How she slipped it back into the rack when she didn’t think I was looking. I’m not going to mention it. The owner of that cellar can afford to lose a bottle or two. “It’s huge down there,” she says.
“It was used by the Gestapo in the war,” I tell her. “Their main headquarters was on Avenue Foch, near the Bois de Boulogne. But toward the end of the Occupation they had . . . overspill. They used the cave to hold prisoners. Members of the Resistance, that kind of thing.”
She makes a face. “I suppose it makes sense. This place has an atmosphere, you know? My mum was very into that sort of thing: energy, auras, vibrations.”
Was. I remember Ben telling me about his mum. Drunk in a pub one night. Though even drunk I suspect he never spilled more than he intended to.
“Anyway,” she says, “I never really believed in that stuff. But you can feel something here. It gives me the creeps.” She catches herself. “Sorry—didn’t mean to offend—”
“No. It’s fine. I suppose I know what you mean. So: you’re Ben’s sister.” I want to work out exactly what she’s doing here.
She nods. “Yup. Same mum, different dads.”
I notice she doesn’t say anything about Ben being adopted. I remember my shock, finding out. But thinking that it also made sense. The fact that you couldn’t pigeonhole him like you could the others in our year at university—the staid rowing types, the studious honors students, the loose party animals. Yes, there was the public school accent, the ease—but it always felt as though there was some other note beneath it all. Hints of something rougher, darker. Maybe that’s why people were so intrigued by him.
“I like your Gaggia,” Jess says, wandering toward the kitchen. “They had one like that in a café I used to work in.” A laugh, without much humor in it. “I might not have gone to a posh school or uni like my brother but I do know how to make a mean microfoam.” I sense a streak of bitterness there.
“You want a coffee? I can make you one. I’m afraid I’ve only got oat milk.”
“Have you got any beer?” she asks, hopefully. “I know it’s early but I could really do with one.”
“Sure, and feel free to sit down,” I say, gesturing to the sofa. Watching her prowl around the room, combined with the lack of sleep, is making me feel a little dizzy.
I go to the fridge to get out a couple of bottles: beer for her, kombucha for me—I never drink earlier than seven. Before I can offer to open hers she’s taken a lighter out of her pocket, fitted it between the top of her index finger and the bottom of the cap and somehow flipped the lid off. I watch her, amazed and slightly appalled at the same time. Who is this girl?
“I don’t think Ben mentioned you coming to stay,” I say, as casually as I can. I don’t want her to feel like I’m accusing her of anything—but he definitely didn’t. Of course we didn’t speak much the last couple of weeks. He was so busy.
“Well, it was kind of last minute.” She waves a hand vaguely. “When did you last see him?” she asks. “Ben?”
“A couple of days ago—I think.”
“So you haven’t heard from him today?”