‘Non, mais c’est incroyable!’
‘I know,’ I said, pulling my chair closer to him and delighting in this shared moment. ‘Having studied their letters at Honresfield, I’m certain this is Emily’s penmanship.’
‘Bien joué, ma belle,’ he said, kissing me on the lips and I felt as though I were sitting on a cloud.
I’d never been so happy. I would tell him. Right away.
‘Armand—’
‘You must let me handle this for you,’ he said, cutting across me.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I will approach some of my collectors. I also have good contacts at the auction houses. Mon Dieu, where to begin?’ He laughed, he was so giddy with excitement.
I reached across and took the notebook and sewing box back from him.
‘There’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of making the arrangements.’
He looked at me rather quizzically.
‘I have contacts in the rare book world too.’ I had intended to say it lightly, but I noticed a slight edge to my voice.
‘But this is of huge significance, Mon Opale. We must achieve the greatest price for this, it will secure our reputation for ever.’
It was astonishing how quickly he had begun to talk of ‘we’ and ‘our’。 The elusive Armand had suddenly found it very easy to commit. I stood up and put the box back in the desk drawer, locking it with a key I replaced in my trouser pocket. I finally understood what it meant to have the wind taken out of your sails.
‘Thank you, Armand, but as you can see, I have been running a successful business for some time now. I found the manuscript and I will decide what is to be done with it. Besides, I’m not sure it belongs in private hands. It might be of greater value to a museum.’
‘Oh please, you cannot equate this little shop with the real world of rare literary antiquities. Opaline, you must see sense. I did not want to be forced into saying this, but you give me no choice. No serious collector will deal with a woman. Coming from you, they will never believe the provenance of the item and even if they do, they will know they can undervalue it.’
Armand revealed all of his true colours in a dazzling display. He didn’t think me capable or up to the task because of my gender.
‘I thought we were equals,’ I said.
He stood up and walked towards me, attempting to take my hands in his, but I pulled away.
‘Now you are being ridiculous.’
‘Ridiculous?’
‘I am not questioning your ability, I am simply being realistic. It’s the world we live in.’
‘And you have no interest in changing it, do you? It suits you better to maintain the status quo. That way, you can take my success and pass it off as your own!’ I was shouting now. He had suddenly become ugly to me. The man I had adored for all this time, even though I’d always suspected that he was using me somehow.
‘Why did you come for me at the hotel that day? I can never quite work out why you went out of your way to help me.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m not sure you’ve ever done anything for anyone unless it somehow benefits you.’
He looked at me as though he wanted to strike me, and the woman inside of me that I was still in the process of becoming raised her chin to him. His eyes burned and his jaw tightened.
‘Perhaps you thought I could be of value to you, another contact.’
For the first time, I could see how insecure he was, underneath that glossy veneer. ‘Because deep down, you don’t believe you’re capable of achieving anything on your own, do you? That’s why you charm people into giving away secrets, so you can steal them and make them your own.’
‘Ferme ta gueule, salope.’
I wasn’t terribly familiar with French slang, but I knew the word for whore. With that, he turned on his heels and walked out, never to return.
Chapter Thirty-Two
MARTHA
I woke before dawn. I had tossed and turned all night and it sounded like the house had too. Something caught my eye in the morning gloom. The ceiling. I reached over to turn on my bedside lamp and looked up. Where the light pendant used to be, at the centre of the room, were now roots. A knot of tiny tendrils was growing out of the hole in the ceiling, like a chandelier. I stared at them for a while, until all I could see was their intricate beauty. Each root was made up of tiny, smaller roots, which broke into smaller roots again. All playing a vital role. Suspended, they seemed to search the air for something of value to nourish them. I wanted to reach out and touch them but jumped when my alarm rang.
‘I feel like I’m going to vomit.’ I stood behind Madame Bowden, brushing her hair, as she sat regally at her dressing table.
The room was gloomy, as she kept the curtains closed to the cold, grey morning. Today would be my first day as a student in Trinity （albeit an evening class in literature） and I was, frankly, shitting myself.
‘Dry toast.’
‘I thought that was for pregnancy?’
‘Good God, you’re not pregnant, are you?’
‘Of course not!’ I stole a glance at her reflection in the mirror. It’s strange how people can look so different in a mirror – the features seem to shift around, like shadows as the sun passes overhead.
‘Listen to me, Martha – if you’re not scared, then you’re not living.’
I wasn’t sure I wanted a weird pep talk at that moment, but it was what I got. I pursed my lips, gave her a withering look and hurried downstairs to make us both some toast before I set off.
My mind was frazzled and full of doubts. What if I humiliated myself by not knowing anything? Would I make any friends or end up sitting alone for the entire term? What if, what if, what if … The thoughts were endless. Where had the feeling of strength from the other night disappeared to? Why did my life always feel like two steps forward and three back? I grabbed my jacket and my new backpack from the hook in the hallway and stopped short by the spot where Shane had tumbled over the bannister. I reached out and touched the wooden newel post. It felt smooth and solid under my hands. I tried to breathe deeply into my belly like that yoga girl on YouTube said. Apparently it helped to calm anxious thoughts.
I counted one … two … three.
The house creaked softly and I closed my eyes for a moment. I had an image of a cradle being gently rocked in a bough. Madame Bowden’s words returned to me. If you’re not scared, you’re not living. Up to now, I had never associated fear with anything positive. But maybe there were different kinds of fear.
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
My eyes flew open wide. She was there, again, sneaking up on me.
‘What?’
‘You’re going to miss your bus at this rate, now shoo!’
I didn’t move and looked at her with pleading eyes. ‘What if I can’t do it? What if everyone else is smarter than me?’
‘I don’t recall you having any doubts about your abilities to work here – and, frankly, you were mediocre at the start.’
‘Thanks. That really helps,’ I replied flatly.
She pursed her lips and sighed heavily.
‘Tell me, that book you’ve been reading in the kitchen when you think I’m not looking …’