she told Deira. ‘One less thing to worry about.’
Deira nodded, even though she couldn’t help thinking that Professor Harrington had been a total dinosaur where his treatment of his wife had been concerned. She hadn’t given his attitude much thought in college. But that was because she’d considered him an old-fashioned man even then. His enthusiasm for male writers and his very male points of view had seemed endearing at the time. But she reckoned they would be wearing to live with.
She turned the laptop towards her and typed in ‘Simenon café’.
‘Voilà!’ she exclaimed as she angled it so that Grace could see the page. ‘Café de la Paix,’ she read aloud. ‘Simenon was an habitué.’
‘So basically you’ve solved two parts of it already,’ said Grace. ‘The crime scene has to be one of his novels, and you’ve found the café too. You’re far more in tune with Ken’s thinking than I could ever be. I knew about Simenon. One of his books was on the curriculum when I was at school. I realise that was over forty years ago, but I should have made the connection.’
‘You would’ve worked it out.’
‘Ken set out this entire treasure hunt for me,’ said Grace. ‘But if you weren’t here, I’d be heading to La Rochelle with no idea of what I was looking for. As it is, I now know I’ve to go to the Café de la Paix and take a photo – I’m presuming that’s the one Ken means. And I know I’ve to read one of his books, although which one, I’ve no idea.’
‘He could hardly expect you to read them at all,’ remarked Deira. ‘Certainly not in one night! And in French, too. It has to be something more obvious.’
‘A title?’ suggested Grace.
Deira clicked on a link to Simenon’s books and began to scroll through them. Then she stopped.
‘The Crime at Lock 14,’ she read.
‘And once again she comes up with the goods.’ Grace beamed at her.
‘Teamwork,’ said Deira. ‘We’ve solved most of the La Rochelle clue before you even get there. The photo of the café will give you the first number, then 14 from the book. Presumably there’ll be something in your hotel about Brigitte, whoever she is.’
‘It must be Bardot,’ said Grace. ‘She has to have stayed there.’
‘You’ll have time to enjoy yourself there now instead of fretting about clues,’ said Deira. ‘Is it a nice town?’
‘It’s very pretty, especially at night. Lovely to walk around. Lively and fun.’
‘Not quite Maigret territory, so.’
‘Was he part of your English lit course too?’ asked Grace.
Deira shook her head. ‘But Professor Harrington urged us to read widely. He liked Simenon’s style. It was quite pared-back.’
‘Like Hemingway?’
‘A bit, I suppose.’ Deira nodded. ‘The professor did seem to favour men who wrote in an almost journalistic way. And of course most were from, or writing about, very different times.’
Grace nodded. ‘For all that he thought he was a modern man, Ken had some pretty antiquated views.’
‘Like?’
‘Me working, for one. He hated it. Thought he should be able to provide for me and the family. Which was the prevailing view back then, I suppose. But later, after the children were a bit older, he still wasn’t mad about me going back to work. And even though he was proud of Aline when she graduated, I don’t think he ever considered her as someone who could get a serious job. Mind you, he was right about that. She faffed around after college and then went into something that was nothing to do with her degree. To be fair, I think her priority was always to be a mum, and even though she works part-time now, I know she’ll give it up if she has another baby. Regan is an entirely different proposition. She loves what she does and she never really saw eye to eye with her dad.’
‘He seemed old-fashioned to me when I was at college,’ admitted Deira. ‘Although in a nice kind of way. But then I suppose I seem old-fashioned to my niece and her friends, no matter how I feel inside.’
‘You’re a stripling in comparison to me.’ Grace laughed.
‘But I’ve still wasted the best years of my life.’
‘Deira!’ Grace stared at her. ‘How can you possibly think that? The best years of your life are still to come.’
‘No, they’re not.’ Deira leaned back in the wooden chair and rubbed her aching side gently. ‘I know we like to say things like that. To believe there’s always everything to live