Flowers of Darkness by Rosnay Tatiana de

Author:Rosnay, Tatiana de [Rosnay, Tatiana de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Science Fiction, Suspense, thriller, Adult
ISBN: 9781250272553
Amazon: 1250272556
Goodreads: 53138064
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2020-03-12T07:00:00+00:00

NOTEBOOK

It was easy to get into the building. I only had to hang around in front, pretend to be talking on my phone. I had waited for my husband to leave. He had walked out with a dreamy expression on his face, and pink cheeks. I felt like slapping him. I watched him walk away toward the Métro.

I wondered if I still loved him. I wondered if I had ever loved him the way I loved Toby.

But what was left of all that now? A sort of companionship? Two people growing old? Is that all that kept us together? The fear of being alone?

The bearded young man I had seen before stepped out of the building and politely held the door open for me. I murmured a thank-you and walked in.

I discovered a poorly kept building, which surprised me, as my husband was usually fussy about that type of thing. The entrance smelled of cabbage soup and dampness. The elevator was minuscule and did not seem safe. I ignored it, walking up the six flights.

There were three doors per landing, and with each landing I passed, I could hear people getting on with their lives. Music, laughter, the sound of plates and cutlery, the whine of a vacuum cleaner. Quarrelling, a child crying, the blare of a TV set.

It was an old-fashioned, run-down Parisian building, with worn-out floorboards, scored walls, paint that was fading and splotched.

And it was here that my husband had chosen to live behind my back.

On the doorbell by the middle door, there was his name, François ANTOINE. It was here. No turning back now.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders. What was I going to say to this woman? Hello, I’m Mrs. Antoine. I’m François’s wife.

I imagined her face. Would she be horrified? Ashamed? Would she roar with laughter?

If I waited too long, I’d never ring. I’d end up fleeing in a panic. I had to do it now.

No thinking, no planning things out. Action.

I reached out and rang the doorbell.

It made a tinkling sound.

I imagined her thinking, Who’s that? Maybe she was in the shower. Maybe she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Maybe she was still in bed, the rumpled sheets still smelling of my husband.

I waited and listened. No noise was coming from that apartment. She had to be there. François had left five minutes ago, and I would have seen a blond lady come out.

I had only seen the young bearded guy.

I rang again, longer this time.

No answer.

I knocked firmly. Then I pounded.

I wanted to shout “I know you’re in there. Stop hiding and open the door.” I wanted to swear, to kick the door in.

No answer.

As I stood there, incensed, confounded, the door on the left opened, and the grouchy old man I had already seen poked his head around and stared at me.

“You’re making a lot of noise,” he said.

“I’m looking for the blond lady who lives here.”

He stared at me even harder.

“There’s no blond lady here.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I’ve been living here for the past thirty years, and if a blond lady had moved in, I would have known.

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