Shadow on the Rose by Laura Jane Leigh

Author:Laura Jane Leigh [Leigh, Laura Jane]
Language: en-us
Format: azw3
Published: 2012-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Marion woke up in her own bed. It was morning and the room was filled with light. “You were fast asleep, so I carried you,” James said, buttoning up his shirt. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“You’ll be all right while I’m at work?”

“Of course.” In a casual voice, she asked, “Did you have breakfast?”

“Yes. There’s coffee, if you want it.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.”

“No bad dreams?”

“Well . . . nothing too terrible.”

“What does that mean?”

“I dreamt about the Elliotts again. You needn’t worry—it wasn’t a frightening dream. I’m not upset.”

James frowned. “But you’re thinking about them again?”

“Yes, a little. But I’ll try not to. I know it bothers you. And it bothers me, too. I meant what I said—I have to get on with my own life and forget about theirs.”

“Might be a good idea to go out for a while. Have coffee in a restaurant or go shopping downtown. I know the weather’s not great, but you could take your car.”

“Great suggestion. I’ll do that.”

After James had left for work, Marion went upstairs to change. Already she could feel her thoughts drifting back to the past. Afraid of being alone, she grabbed her handbag and jacket and hurried outside. As she settled into the driver’s seat, she was picturing herself in a busy café. Sitting by the window, she would watch the passing crowd. Later, she would call Gisèle at work and arrange to meet for lunch.

Gaumont. As she drove out into the street, the name popped into her mind. She was thinking about Liliane’s letter. She remembered how afraid Mr Acton had seemed when François mentioned the Gaumont family. Someone on their farm must have seen something the day Mrs Acton drowned. What, though? After so many years, it would be impossible to find out. Unless . . .

She paused, remembering something James had said: Quebec farms stayed in the same family for many generations. Perhaps if she drove up there . . .

No, she said out loud. I’ve had enough of this. Her hands tightened on the steering-wheel. Distracting herself, she planned her day: after her coffee-break, she would go to the Bay department store and buy some new towels and some nice leather gloves for winter.

She parked on Ste-Catherine Street and went into a trendy café. Sipping cappucino, she sat by the window. It was late November now and people were dressed for winter. She noticed some businessmen in heavy, grey overcoats and fashionable women with colourful scarves. Behind her, she could hear a young couple arguing about their relationship.

Gaumont. No matter how hard she tried to distract herself, the name kept popping up. It’s no use, she thought. I can’t rest until I’ve been up there to see things for myself. I know I promised James. I promised myself. But I have to find out the truth.

She finished her drink and went out to the car. Taking the fast, direct route to Quebec, she reached the city in less than three hours.

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