Read The Seven Turns of the Snail's Shell: A Novel Online
Authors: Mj Roë
The Mercedes pulled up in front of a quaint hotel on a quiet street just around the corner from the canal. The entrance was through a small cobblestone courtyard. There was no one in the tiny lobby when they arrived. The breakfast room off the lobby was darkened. Anna pressed the button on the bell at the front desk. A thin, blond-haired woman appeared. Anna guessed that she was in her late forties.
“
Bonsoir, M’sieur
, ‘
Dame
. Ah,
vous êtes les américains
?” the woman said, taking obvious note of Mark’s attire. “
On vous attends. Vous devez être fatigués
. Jean-Michel,
viens toute de suite. Ils sont arrivés, enfin
.” Her accent was thick, and she sounded as if she had cotton balls stuffed in her cheeks. Anna remembered from her previous visit to Strasbourg that the regional Alsatian patois had been difficult for her to understand.
“
Bonsoir
,
Madame
.
Oui
,
le vol de Los Angeles a pris du temps
.”
Mark stood by in silence as Anna apologized for their late arrival. A dark-haired young man, Jean-Michel, appeared from the back office and escorted them to the elevator. At the third floor, the doors opened to a long, darkened hallway. Jean-Michel pushed a button, and the hall lights came on. They walked down the hallway to a door at the end.
“This light thing will take some getting used to,” Mark remarked to Anna.
“They’re on a timer. It’s called a
minuterie
. It’s pretty common in hotels in France, especially in the provinces. Saves electricity. I think it’s kinda quaint.”
“Actually, it’s not such a bad idea—saving energy, that is.”
Their suite was decorated Alsatian-style with a low, wood-beamed ceiling. A large fireplace was surrounded by two upholstered loveseats. A writing desk stood beneath a window that overlooked the street. On a small, round table sat a silver bucket containing a bottle of Moët et Chandon champagne in a bath of melting ice.
Mark looked around, his hands on his hips.
“Umm, there’s something missing here. Where are we supposed to sleep? There doesn’t appear to be any bed.”
Jean-Michel smiled and pointed his index finger straight up. “
Voilà
,
Monsieur
.
En haut
.”
Their eyes followed the direction of his finger. Above a small, open stairway, tucked under a large beam, could be seen the corner of a bed in a loft overlooking the room below. Anna climbed the stairs. Her slightly muffled comments floated down as she disappeared into the loft.
“It’s got a down comforter and huge pillows. Euro style. Looks comfy.” She appeared at the top of the steps. “Where are you sleeping, Mark?”
“Ah,” he said, scratching his head. This definitely wasn’t going the way he had intended.
To their amusement, the bellman proceeded to demonstrate how one of the loveseats could be pulled out to a full-size bed. “
À votre service
,
Monsieur
.”
“Er, mercy.”
Anna made a mental note to teach Mark how to pronounce
merci
correctly with the accent on the last syllable.
Jean-Michel opened the door with a professional nod.
“
Bonne nuit
,
M’sieur
. ‘
Dame
,” he said as Mark handed him a tip.
Once they were alone, Mark poured them each a glass of champagne then opened his briefcase and started taking out the contents.
“Oh, no, Mark, you’re not going to work tonight, are you?”
“No, it’s just that…” he was fumbling around looking for something. “I’ve got something for you. Ah, here it is.” He pulled out a little package. “I bought this for you at the duty free shop in the airport in Paris while you were freshening up. It’s to say mercy,” he pronounced
merci
wrong again, “for making this trip with me.”
The prettily wrapped package contained a bottle of Allure perfume.
“The woman who helped me spoke English.” He grinned. “She told me that Chanel is very popular.”
She hugged him. “You are a thoughtful man, Mark.”
“Haven’t you figured out by now that I’m an incurable romantic?” He put his arms around her shoulders and kissed her. “I’m on cloud nine now that you are here with me.”
Anna looked up to the loft. The fatigue she had felt on the plane was suddenly gone. What the hell. She was in France again. She threw her arms around his neck.
“Make love to me, Mark,” she whispered softly into his ear.
A
t eight o’clock in the morning, Anna was awakened from a deep sleep by sounds from the street. It was still pitch dark. She wrapped a blanket around her, put on her slippers, and descended from the loft. A market across from the hotel was getting its morning deliveries. Fresh produce was being unloaded from a farmer’s truck. C
amionettes
, small delivery trucks, their doors open, lined the street, panels advertising Orangina, Badoit, Perrier, Vins fins d’Alsace. Anna watched the charming and provincial scene with fascination from the window over the writing desk. She heard pigeons softly cooing from their perch on the red tile roof overhang. At dawn the cathedral’s bells began to toll. Anna peered into the distance. The outline of the single, tall spire of the great pinkish-red Gothic cathedral dominated the view.
Mark appeared behind her in his sweats. She turned to look at him and put her hands on her hips. “You look rejuvenated.”
“I’m going for a morning jog,” he announced.
“In this weather? It’s bitterly cold out there.” Anna glared at him.
“Hey, I’m up to it.” He glanced out the window at the canal. “The water doesn’t look frozen, and the rain or sleet or whatever it was has quit. Besides,” he reassured her, “I’ve been conditioned. I’ve been jogging in Central Park while I’ve been in New York…in the snow. There were always lots of runners out. Got this winter running garb there.”
Anna laughed as she watched him pull on a heavy jacket, winter leggings, and gloves.
“No wonder your luggage was so bulky.”
He isn’t likely to meet up with a crowd of runners here
, she thought.
Hardly anyone ever jogs on the streets in France.
Out he went, looking for all the world like an athlete in training.
In he came, freezing and grumbling, a half hour later.
“It’s impossible to run on those cobblestones. And doesn’t anyone ever pick up their dog’s poop in this city? It’s an accident waiting to happen. I nearly sprained an ankle twice.”
Anna laughed. “It’s the law that owners are supposed to pick up after their dogs, but the French always ignore it. That’s the way the French are.”
She had managed to unpack, get a shower, and don a pair of black wool pants and a hunter green turtleneck sweater while he was out.
“You smell good, gorgeous.” He snuggled into her.
“It’s the new perfume you gave me.”
“Mmm…sooo good,” he moaned as he nuzzled in closer and kissed her. “Last night was fantastic.”
Anna couldn’t understand her own emotions. She was drawn to him sexually, that was certain, but was she in love with him? She drew back suddenly, releasing herself from his embrace.
His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just…oh, nothing.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. I’m famished. The breakfast room is still open.”
The cozy, wood-paneled room off the lobby was mostly deserted. Mark and Anna poured generous, oversized breakfast bowls of
café crème
and slathered slim
tartines
and big flaky croissants with rich, sweet cream butter and fresh fruit preserves.
“What say we do some sightseeing today?” Mark said tentatively as he sat down. “I don’t have any meetings scheduled until tomorrow, but after that my agenda is pretty full. You said you had visited Strasbourg before?”
“Yes. A few years ago. I was on my way with a friend to visit the Black Forest in Germany for a weekend. We didn’t stop over for very long. I think I only saw the cathedral. We had lunch and did some shopping.”
“I was in Strasbourg once myself. I was five years old, so I don’t remember much, but everything sure seems smaller now. Except for the cathedral. It’s still as huge as I remembered it. I came across it in the square this morning. I have the strangest memory of seeing something inside that everyone was oohing and ahhing over.”
“The astronomical clock, probably. My friend told me about it. Something about a parade of the Apostles every day around noon. I’ve never seen it myself.”
The friend she had been with was C-C. They had walked around the cathedral square arm in arm, and he had told her about going to see his grandparents who lived in Strasbourg. She was silent for a minute, looking at Mark, but seeing and hearing C-C across the table from her, his gray eyes, not Mark’s hazel eyes, staring back at her from years ago.
“Every summer,” the gray eyes stared at her as her memory replayed C-C’s narration, “
Maman
would take me with her to Strasbourg to visit
Grand-père
. My favorite thing to do was to go with him to see the astronomical clock in the Cathédrale Notre Dame. This is no ordinary clock like the
gros horloge
over the street in Rouen. This clock was magical to a little boy. Everyday just after noon, the clock literally woke up. I remember it in vivid detail.
Grand-père
and I would walk up the cobblestone street that led to the cathedral. Then we would wait impatiently by the south portal, looking up at the spire, until the guards would let us file in.
Grand-père
, in his soft, low voice, would bend over and whisper in my ear all the details he knew about the clock.”
Anna couldn’t recall all the rest of the details, but the story had gone on for some time.
“Well, then…” Mark had been watching her face. The expression was different somehow, melancholy. His hesitant voice brought her back to the present. “I…I’d like to see that clock.”
“There’s something else I’ve got to do this week, Mark.” Anna stared pensively into her coffee. “I didn’t mention it before, but there is someone I have to find while we are here.”
Anna shared with Mark the story of the Christmas card she had found in her grandfather’s keepsakes box.
“I have a feeling that if I can find the person who sent it, if he is still alive or maybe his wife…maybe this is just another piece of the puzzle. I’m not sure what I’ll learn, but it’s worth an attempt.”
“Maybe my contacts here can help,” Mark offered. “They’re a legal firm. They must have access to all the directory information. I’ll get on it tomorrow.”
The day was cold and clear. Anna nestled her nose in the soft, fake fur collar of her coat as they stepped out into the cobbled street. They walked past the market, now bustling with Strasbourgeoises purchasing their daily produce, and across the bridge over the canal into the main part of the city.
Immediately, she noticed the difference. In Paris, she was used to blending in. Now she was walking with Mark, who was unmistakably and recognizably American from his Nikes up. She heard the whispered comments as they walked past.
“…
américains
…”
The comments didn’t seem malicious, just made out of curiosity, she thought, until a little street kid threw a pile of dirt at Mark and ran away.
“What the…?” Mark wiped his neck. “I’d like to beat that kid to a pulp.”
“Check your wallet,” Anna said. “The kid’s likely a pickpocket.”
Mark immediately put his hand on his back pocket.
“Nope. Wallet’s still there,” he said with a sigh of relief, winking at her.
They rounded the corner, and directly in front of them was the massive pink cathedral. Anna had forgotten how imposing it was. It filled up the entire view ahead of them.
“One of the great Gothic cathedrals of Europe,” she said as they went inside. Oddly, it felt cold and unwelcoming to her.
A
nna had just powered down her laptop after reading her email when the phone rang.
“Hi, gorgeous.” It was Mark calling from the law firm’s office in the center of Strasbourg. “I think we may have found your Guy Know All,” Mark mispronounced the name, but Anna was getting used to his attempts at French. The other morning he had greeted the blond woman at the front desk in the hotel with a big, toothy “baan jur” to which she had replied in a reserved fashion in perfect English, “Good morning, sir.”
“Good news?” Anna held her breath.
“Yeah. Good news. He’s still alive. There’s a partner here who knows him. Or he did know him. Apparently, this character was a banker for a long time in Strasbourg. Well known, I guess. He retired several years ago. The partner said that he had moved to a small town. Anyway, the admin here found an address for him. It’s not far from Strasbourg. I’ll get all the information. If you want, we can rent a car on Saturday and drive out. I’ll be wrapping up here by the end of the week anyway. I’m game to try driving in France. Couldn’t be that much different from L.A.”