the convertible.
‘You can fill out a form online,’ he said. ‘But we’ll need a mechanic’s report before we can assess the claim. However, it sounds to me as if the hotel is responsible.’
That was the trouble with insurance companies, she thought. Always trying to shift the responsibility to someone else.
‘What about a replacement car?’ she asked.
‘We can’t supply you with a replacement car in France.’ He sounded horrified at the very idea.
She’d expected that, of course. But without a car, she was stuck in Nantes. Which, while a perfectly nice town, was hardly the number one attraction for a tourist. Why hadn’t she listened to the inner voice telling her that coming away was a bad idea? And why hadn’t she taken heed of any possible sign that would’ve pointed to it? Why hadn’t she gone to Paris?
And what the hell was she going to say to Gavin?
Deira sat down at one of tables outside the Atlantique to wait for the tow truck, and texted Grace. When the other woman joined her a short time later, Deira gave her a résumé of her earlier conversation.
‘How long will you have to wait?’
‘I don’t know.’ Deira’s shoulders slumped. ‘I should’ve known this trip would be a disaster.’
‘Oh, but why?’ asked Grace. ‘The fire wasn’t your fault.’
‘Something was always going to happen,’ said Deira.
‘Why?’ repeated Grace.
‘It . . . it doesn’t matter.’ Deira shook her head. ‘Are you leaving for La Rochelle soon?’
‘I haven’t taken the photo at the museum yet,’ Grace reminded her. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’
‘I’ve no idea how long it will take them to arrive and tow away my car. So I’ll have to wait here. But let me know when you’ve uploaded the photo. I’d love to know if it works.’
‘OK,’ said Grace. ‘See you later.’
She waved to Deira as she drove past, a little guilty at the relief that it was the younger woman’s car that had been ruined in the fire and not the Lexus. Because that would have thrown her entire trip into disarray. Given that Ken had set the timetable by booking the hotels in advance, and that he’d restricted the number of guesses for each clue, she wouldn’t have put it past him to have some kind of time limit on the treasure hunt itself. In fact she had images of the documents on the laptop simply disappearing if she didn’t work out the answers in time, like a scene from Mission: Impossible. She still didn’t really know why Ken had devised this expedition. Or when. She hoped that in solving it, she’d understand her late husband a little more.
But she wasn’t betting on it.
When she returned a couple of hours later, Deira was still waiting for the tow truck. Grace had enjoyed her trip to the museum, which contained displays of manuscripts and books as well as models of some of the machines in Verne’s novels.
‘There was a small boat there too,’ she told Deira. ‘But I didn’t see a name on it. Just in case, I counted the portholes. There were eighteen. So maybe that’s the extra digit, not the 20 from Twenty Thousand Leagues, although that would mean Atlantic Lady was wrong, and it feels right to me.’
‘Too many options and two few guesses.’ Deira frowned.
‘I know.’
‘Did you take the photo?’
Grace nodded and took out her phone to show her. ‘I’ll get the laptop and upload it now,’ she said.
Deira felt she should say that Grace didn’t need to try to unlock the document in front of her, but she was aching to know if they’d solved the clues, so she stayed silent.
‘Oh, look!’ As Grace stood up, she pointed towards the driveway of the hotel. ‘Your tow truck has arrived.’
‘I hope so,’ said Deira. ‘I’m beginning to think they’ve forgotten me.’
But Grace was right. The driver of the truck attached the convertible and told Deira that someone from the dealership would be in touch. She watched as it lumbered back towards the main road, and then returned to the table, where Grace was now sitting with the laptop open in front of her.
‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Did it work?’
‘I was waiting for you,’ said Grace.
‘Gosh, you’re patient. I wouldn’t have been able to contain myself.’
The two women waited while the photo uploaded to the site. Grace tapped her fingers against the side of the table as she watched the progress bar move slowly across the screen.
You have successfully uploaded your photo, said the onscreen message. Please wait.
‘What