The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Provence by Katrina Nannestad

Author:Katrina Nannestad
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ABC Books
Published: 2018-09-26T16:00:00+00:00

By the time they reached the village square, a small crowd had gathered at the front of the church and around the tables outside the café.

Pippin grabbed Freja by the hand and pushed through. ‘Excusez-moi!’ he cried, lisping and breathy. ‘Excusez-moi, madame, monsieur. Please let us past.’

They broke through the crowd and Freja froze. ‘Oh!’ she sobbed. ‘How awful!’

Henri’s merry-go-round had been destroyed. The canvas walls had been slashed, the horses stolen. Battered brass poles, splinters of timber, shards of mirror and crushed light bulbs lay scattered across the cobblestones.

Only the two white spotted horses remained. They hung askew, their brass poles bent, their legs snapped off — except for one front leg that dangled crookedly from a few stubborn splinters.

Pippin climbed onto the carrousel and crept towards his favourite horse, as one might creep gently towards a scared and injured dog. Wrapping his arms around its neck, he whispered, ‘My poor little horsie. What have they done to you? You have never hurt anybody in your entire life. You have been a kind and faithful horsie and taken me wherever I wanted to go — to Paris, to Nice, to the forest to find the king of the pink ducks.’

Finnegan lay down at Pippin’s feet and whimpered.

Tobias squeezed through the crowd and stopped by Freja’s side. He rested his hand heavily on her shoulder. ‘I say, old chap . . . I say . . . I say . . . I don’t know what to say!’

‘The swan!’ gasped Freja. ‘Monsieur Joly’s white swan with the sparkling wings and glistening eyes!’ She ran around to the other side of the merry-go-round and found a large, empty space where the swan had once been.

At that moment, a deep howl rang out across the village square. Henri staggered sideways, hunched, horrified, staring at the hollow remains of his merry-go-round. He grabbed at his curly hair and moaned, but could not say a word.

Freja ran to Henri and wrapped her arms around his waist. He leaned heavily against her and she pushed back with all her might, struggling to keep him upright.

‘Henri,’ Freja whispered, ‘who would do such a thing?’

Half of Henri’s face twisted and frowned, but still he could not speak a word.

A light breeze blew a tuft of hair — a clump of horse’s mane — past Henri’s feet. He shuddered and made a strange gurgling noise.

Monsieur Diderot stepped forward and took Henri by the elbow. ‘Come, my dear friend. Let me take you inside. There is nothing we can do here right now. We will ring the police, drink a cup of coffee, eat a little something, and then we can talk.’

Monsieur Diderot nodded to Freja. She and Tobias followed the giant and the pastry chef into the pâtisserie. Monsieur turned the sign on the door to ‘Fermé’ — ‘Closed’ — and ushered them through to the kitchen. They slouched around the workbench where the world-famous pastries were made. Vivi rushed about making coffee and hot chocolate. Madame Diderot fetched a strawberry gâteau from the shopfront, but nobody gave it a second glance.

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