So this is it. This is Claudine’s final move.
Odette is terrified.
But there is something more to it than that. After so long in the dark, fumbling, here at last is something concrete. Claudine has shown her hand so openly, thinking that Odette will never return to confront her.
Odettecannotlet that become true.
Somehow, she has forgotten how to breathe. Her chesthitches; her heart hammers. She is faint and trembling, desperately drawing at breath that does not come.
A weight settles on the bed beside her, then her mother’s cold arm embraces her, and she lets herself be drawn down to lie with her head on her lap. She smells of rot now, carrion sweet and sharp, like the old city churchyards when the rain comes heavy and the ground splits to spill out fresh and decayed bodies alike. If she is truly mad, maybe that is no bad thing. In these moments, it is a muddled confusion between herself and her mother: did she die that day, too? Is she the ghost haunting the world?
Lydia runs her fingers through Odette’s hair, and Odette thinks of the last time they were together like this, in the studio in Herne House, the nude propped against the wall, surely her mother’s masterpiece.
‘Come and be with me, my girl.’
‘What do I do, Mother?’ Her voice is a whisper.
‘Do not let them get away with this.’
Odette presses her face into the shroud and sobs.
Words are all very well, but what can she do now? The trap has closed around her. They will arrive in Munich in the morning, and Odette has nowhere else to go: no money, no friends, nothing to do but keep going. It seems now a foolish errand to walk forwards into destruction. But has she not already done that? Is it not too late to turn away?
If she were a woman like Miss Rosebury, she would at least have the means to move about the world on her own.
Then, there, an idea – only the flash of it, but even in the moment she lets it rest in her mind, it grows, unfurls, each step falling into place.
There is one way out. One narrow, monstrous path along the cliff edge.
For a moment, she baulks at what she must do, then shakesherself. Is it any more monstrous than what she has done to Cecilia, what has been done to Odette and her mother? There is nothing left in life for her. There are no more consequences for her actions.
This is the only way.
6
Odette
MUNICH IS WET AND SLICKwith the mulch of fallen leaves, piling in the gutters and turning the cobbles as slippery as ice. Even here, it has been a warm winter, and in places, browned and curled leaves still cling to the branches. They have arrived early in the morning, around eight, and the city is alive with people going to work or returning from the factory night shift. There are Christmas decorations in the shop windows, and a great tree set in the square. It makes no sense to Odette that her world and this one can occupy the same time and place. Things continue, normal lives are lived. How alien it all is.
She cannot look at Miss Rosebury. They are about of a size, though Miss Rosebury is slim at the bust where Odette is thick. Walking side by side from Bahnhofplatz, down Schützenstraße towards the Hotel Deutscher Hof, they match each other’s pace, Odette’s fitted coat flashier than Miss Rosebury’s cape. Every time Miss Rosebury’s bag knocks against Odette’s hip, a shiver of anticipation snaps through her.
At the hotel, they are shown into a private sitting room that has been reserved for the meeting. Frau Sterne will take Odette from here to the spa town, Miss Rosebury has explained.
Odette remains dumb. Nodding. Looking at anything but a face. Eyes. Her mother moves with her now, at her back, as though they are connected by string, Lydia a puppet animated byher own movements, or—
Frau Sterne is tall and broad and does not look unkind so much as disinterested. The sitting room is small but comfortably furnished, with a ceramic stove in the corner, as is the continental custom, throwing out heat enough to make Odette sweat. There is coffee set on the table and a plate of biscuits, and two men, smartly dressed, standing with their backs against the wall – to take her bags, Odette is assured, but from the thickness of their arms, she understands their real purpose, if she were to cause any trouble.
Odette sits in the chair indicated and watches as Miss Rosebury takes the letter from her bag and hands it to Frau Sterne. They make some small talk, but Odette can barely hear it. Frau Sterne opens the letter causally, skims the contents. There is only the slightest flicker of hesitation. She glances first at Odette, then at Miss Rosebury. Odette cannot breathe. This is it.
Frau Sterne folds the letter and slips it into her pocket, then turns to Miss Rosebury. ‘You must have had such a terribly long journey,’ she says, pouring the coffee. ‘I hope our hospitality will be restorative.’
Miss Rosebury demurs. ‘It is the nature of my work, and I am well accustomed to it.’
‘I am sure you have taken exemplary care of your charge.’ Here Frau Sterne flashes Odette a quick look, so brief it is almost unnoticeable.
Miss Rosebury seems reluctant to engage in the attention paid to her, rewarding it with only a tight smile.
‘Will you take some refreshment?’ Frau Sterne indicates the coffee.