But then I reasoned that they were playful but not cruel. Surely they would not have put me through something as harrowing as this, knowing I had been ill. And anyway, the concierge had said they were not here. Presumably she had checked before she locked the door last night. And the messenger boy had been sent away with the telegram undelivered. Then I noticed that among the correspondence on the mantelpiece there was another telegram—the one I sent from the dock saying that I was unfit to travel on from Le Havre.
Could it be that they went to meet me there after all? And couldn’t find me for some reason? Perhaps they mistook the name of the pension in which I was staying, or … I broke off this train of thought as I tried to remember … did I actually say I was docking in Le Havre? Surely Daniel had done so in his cable to them. But what if neither of us had spelled it out and they had mistakenly gone to Cherbourg instead? I gave a sigh of relief at having come up with a plausible explanation and went to explore the rest of the apartment. There was a small kitchen to one side of the living room. On the other was a hallway with a large but rather primitive bathroom containing an enormous claw-footed tub, a lavatory, and a bidet. Beyond it was a bedroom with a ridiculously ornate bed and a chest that might have come from Versailles, and finally a small box room containing a narrow bed, made up with fresh linens, and beside it a baby’s crib. Seeing this brought tears to my eyes. They were expecting me. They did know I was coming. I’d have to show this to the hostile concierge woman to prove that I had a right to be here.
I went back to the main room, put Liam down on a bearskin rug by the fireplace, and wondered about lighting a fire. It felt awfully cold and damp. There were ashes in the grate, quite cold, but there was a half-full scuttle of coal beside it. I found newspaper and started a fire. The chimney was smoky but I began to feel better as the welcome warmth spread across the big room. I sat in the armchair by the fire and nursed Liam. Then as he fell asleep, I put him in the crib and decided that I felt hungry myself. The remains of the meal on the dining table looked inviting until I discovered that the bread was hard as a rock. I cut myself a slice of white soft cheese and then scooped some paté out of a crock. Suddenly tiredness overcame me and I went to lie down next to Liam. When I wake up they’ll be here, I told myself.
I awoke to thunderous knocking and leaped up, my heart pounding. For a moment I couldn’t remember where I was but then I ran for the front door, hoping for a telegram. Have been detained. See you tomorrow, or something that might explain their disappearance. But it was only a thin and bony Frenchman with a drooping mustache bringing up my trunk. He lingered as if he expected a tip, then grunted when I gave him one that was obviously not as big as he expected. I hadn’t quite figured out French money yet, although there seemed to be about five francs to the dollar. I was glad to have the trunk; opened it and found a clean diaper for Liam. I would have to ask the procedure for doing laundry. I suspected that grouchy Madame Hetreau would not be pleased. I certainly couldn’t hear any other babies in the building. Maybe there was a laundry nearby to which I could send Liam’s clothes.
The question of money jumped into my head. If Sid and Gus were gone for a while, how long would the cross concierge let me stay? And I’d have to supply my own food.
“This is ridiculous,” I said out loud and my voice echoed from the high-molded ceiling. Something was seriously wrong. Sid and Gus cared about me like a sister. They would never let me worry about where they were and what had happened to them. As I carried Liam across to the bathroom to change him I tried to come up with plausible reasons for their absence. They had gone to the country for a day and been in a vehicle that had met with an accident. Or one of them had suddenly taken ill, as I had, resulting in their need to stay on.
But they could still have sent a telegram, even from the French countryside—unless they were both seriously hurt and lying unconscious in a hospital … or dead. I felt a great lurch of fear in the pit of my stomach. I was alone in a strange country. How would I ever find out what had happened to them? What would I do if they had died?