Hannah Emery - The Secrets of Castle Du Rêve - A thrilling saga of three women’s lives tangled together in a web of secrets

But as she glanced at Harry, his strides long, his emerald-green tie blowing slightly in the pleasant breeze, his jaw strong, his countenance confident of exactly where he was going, Victoria realised that what Sally said about boys bore absolutely no relation to Harry, because Harry was a man, and what was more, he was the man who Victoria was going to marry.

‘Ah,’ Harry said. ‘So who do you think has the missing girl?’

Victoria forced her mind to return from her daydreams and gathered her thoughts back to when she had last read some of The Blue Door . ‘I don’t know yet. I feel as though we’re meant to think the girl’s teacher has kidnapped her. But I don’t think that he has a house with blue doors in it. He lives in a small flat, doesn’t he? And the ransom note said that she was behind a blue door. The man who plays music on the street is rather strange, but I think he’s too much of an obvious choice.’

‘What do you make of the detective?’

‘Oh, I like him. He’s not very confident in himself, but I think he should be. I’m sure he’ll crack the mystery.’

‘Well, you try and beat him to it. I’m positive that you will. You’re clever enough,’ Harry said, as he pushed open a set of heavy double doors.

The room where the talk was to take place was not so much a room but a theatre. The worn red chairs ascended up from the wide expanse of stage and were all empty. Victoria imagined what it would be like to sit in the theatre and listen to lectures about books, writing and poetry. Why had it never occurred to her before that there was a life outside Lace Antiques? Sitting in these red chairs and listening to lectures about books would be nothing like the monotony of school. It would be a whole new exciting world.

‘He’s not here yet,’ Harry said. ‘Why don’t we sit down? He won’t be long.’

‘Did you always know you wanted to work here?’ Victoria asked him, settling into a red seat that was harder and less inviting than it looked.

‘Yes. I did, actually. I used to live at the top of the hill and look up at the spires of the castle from my bedroom window and wonder how I’d cope if I didn’t one day have something to do with it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

Victoria nodded vigorously. ‘It’s very beautiful. I’ve always wanted to come here and my mother never let me. But whenever I’m walking up Castle Street and I see the castle it seems to want to pull me in somehow.’

Harry nodded. ‘I agree. I always felt rather the same. But the funny thing is, even though I got what I wanted, and I work here, I’m stuck in the ugliest block of the lot. No spires, no turrets, no nothing.’

Victoria laughed. ‘I’d noticed that. You should ask to be moved to the very top of the highest turret.’

‘I might!’ Harry laughed too, and Victoria fought the urge to touch him somehow, satisfying herself slightly by shuffling a little further towards him.

‘Have you worked here long?’ she asked.

‘Eight years. I studied English here and then a few years later I started as an assistant lecturer.’

‘Your dream came true,’ Victoria pointed out.

Harry gazed at Victoria for a few moments, something flickering across his features. ‘I suppose it did. Well, one of them did, at least.’

Victoria stared back at him, until they heard the heavy door of the lecture theatre swing open and the air in the room shifted with the presence of another person.

‘Ah. Here’s Robert,’ Harry said, touching Victoria’s hand and then standing up. ‘Let’s get started.’

Robert Bell was much shorter than Victoria had imagined him to be, with tufts of grey hair and a rather round belly. He smiled at Victoria and held out his hand to shake it. She took it, the new thrill of shaking hands with authors and sitting in lecture theatres flickering inside her like a candle.

‘Robert, this is Victoria Lace, one of your biggest fans,’ Harry said to Robert.

‘I’m reading The Blue Door at the moment,’ Victoria said, handing Harry’s copy of the book to Robert. ‘I haven’t finished it, I’m afraid, although I’m very much enjoying it. I was wondering if you’d sign it for me?’

‘Of course,’ said Robert, taking a pen from his breast pocket.

To Miss Lace

May your life be filled with dreams come true and blue doors opened.

Best wishes,

Robert Bell

Victoria read it and smiled at Robert. She thought of the sudden new feelings she had since she’d met Harry, the empty shop, the TAKEN ILL sign, her absent parents.

‘Thank you, Mr Bell. I hope so too.’

The lecture theatre began to fill up soon after Robert had signed Victoria’s book. Robert spoke quietly and the audience strained to hear his words. He talked about how he never, ever planned his books, how he wrote every day in his shed (even in the winter, he said) and how the characters became as important to him as his friends (some girls at the back sniggered at this).

‘You have to write about what you know,’ Robert said towards the end of his talk. ‘Or at least start with that. Write about the kind of people, places and feelings you know, and the rest will follow.’

Victoria gazed at Robert as he spoke. What did she know? The shop, her favourite novels, her sleeping mother and her angry father. That wasn’t enough. Her eyes drifted over to Harry and lingered on him for a while. What would it be like to know him: to know him properly ? What would it be like to know how his skin smelt when he first woke up, and how his hair felt beneath her fingertips, and how his voice changed when he was frustrated, or excited, or sad? Her blood fizzed and tingled beneath her skin as she watched him. A daydream began to cloud her mind, where she lived with Harry and could touch him and talk to him whenever she wanted. The daydream flickered before her eyes, beautiful and inspiring, gently lulling her along to the dulcet melody of Robert Bell’s voice.

When the talk had finished, and Robert had answered a smattering of questions, the theatre slowly emptied, the prospective students numb and silent after an hour of being talked at. Robert spoke briefly to Harry and appearing to be relieved to take up his notes, waved at Victoria and left the room.

The theatre was now empty except for Victoria and Harry. They were back where they had started.

‘Thank you for letting me have your book signed,’ Victoria said as she stood and wandered over to the stage. ‘Perhaps I could bring you my copy instead? And then it’ll have been a straight swap.’

‘I’d like that. So, what did you think of Robert Bell?’

‘I thought he was wonderful. I want to be a writer too.’

‘What do you want to write?’

‘I want to write mysteries, like he does. Nobody would expect me to write mysteries. I’d like to surprise everyone.’

‘Well, remember where you started, won’t you. When you’re a famous mystery author, remember who introduced you to your muse.’

Victoria nodded and stared up at Harry so hard, so intently, that she ached.

‘I’m quite sorry that the talk is over. It feels so very flat going back home after that,’ she admitted.

Harry looked at his watch. ‘Would you like to get a drink?’ he asked after a few seconds. ‘I’d quite like some fresh air and a walk, if you’d like to join me.’

My Queen Victoria,

Sarah and I had a silly disagreement today, which culminated in her throwing an omelette at me, just like you did on that wonderful day that feels like so long ago. I should have been angry at Sarah, or at the least, shamed. Instead it made me think of you: your sweet, sweet kisses and your terrible cooking. I would rather eat a raw omelette every day than be without you.