28

CHAPTER THREE

29Welcome to Olympia! proclaimed a banner as the taxi drove down the road to the athletes’ camp. It was a week later and Alice was sitting in the back, her nose buried in a cycling magazine. She could not decide whether to read it or use it as a fan against the stifling midday heat. You need to do some research, Alice told herself sternly. She could count what she knew about sport on exactly no fingers and she did not want to appear ignorant in front of Adele. Still, it was all very confusing, and after learning more about the merits of x-frames and suspension than she ever thought she would need, Alice could feel her head spinning. She closed the magazine and reached out a hand for the cake box on the seat next to her. Alice knew where she was with cake.

They drew up to a gate at the entrance and a man with a clipboard stepped out of a hut painted red, white and blue.

“Mam’selle Éclair for the athletes’ hall,” the taxi driver said, passing over a card with “official driver” stamped on it. The man carefully checked the list of names on his clipboard before nodding and handing the man a ribbon from which hung a card marked “Authorised Visitor”. 30

“You’ll have to wear that at all times,” said the taxi driver, passing it to Alice. “If you lose it you could get thrown out of the camp.”

Alice looped the ribbon around her neck and they drove into the camp. Alice saw at once that the space had been designed to impress. The chrome and glass buildings were built in a sweeping crescent next to a beautifully kept lawn surrounded by terracotta planters that overflowed with flowers. In the distance, a gleaming white building rose above the others, its façade dominated by carved statues of Olympians and a clockface that took up an entire floor.

“Wow,” breathed Alice.

“That’s the main hall, mam’selle,” the driver said. “It’s where they host all the posh visitors. I guess you’ll be working there, but I have instructions to drop you at the cycle hut?”

Alice nodded and they drove on, past a group of women doing jumping jacks and push-ups on a stretch of green lawn. For a moment, Alice was confused by their heavy make-up and the silk scarves holding their hair back. It did not look ideal for a morning’s exercise, but then she spotted the 31woman with the camera at the front of the group and the man with a notebook standing beside her.

“That’s the gymnasts,” said the driver. “They’re always in demand for interviews. You’ll find the press all over this place.”

As they passed the end of the crescent they reached the stunning building that Alice had glimpsed in the distance. A young man was polishing the chrome handrail that led up to the entrance. They turned the corner away from the building and Alice saw a running track where two men were racing one another and another was shouting instructions through a loudhailer. The camp stretched out beyond her. There were more large buildings, brick built and less impressive than the beautiful welcome hall, and rows of small huts that looked like they had been thrown up overnight.

“Over there is the gymnasium,” said the driver, “and that big oval is the velodrome. Those small huts you see in the distance are the dormitories. Not everyone stays on site. Some of the more local athletes taxi in each day, but there are competitors from all over France here so they have to sleep somewhere. It must be an oven in those tin huts in 32this weather though.”

 The taxi drove down a rough track and pulled up outside a small hut where a young woman in overalls was spinning the front wheel of an upsidedown bike.

“This is the cycle hut, mam’selle,” said the taxi driver. “I’ll collect you at six o’clock from the front gate.”

Alice nodded, picked up her cake box and stepped out. The young woman by the cycle paid her no attention, but there was something familiar about the grimy overalls covered in hundreds of pockets, and the way she bent over the machine. Alice took a step forwards.

“Sophie?”

The young woman turned, revealing the smiling face of Sophie Alain, Alice’s friend and the most talented young engineer in France. Alice had saved her from being kidnapped the previous year after the enemy had learned of her success in developing Ariadne, a glider plane that could fly further than any other invented. At only fifteen, Sophie had the aeronautics world at her feet, so what was she doing mending bicycles? 33

“Alice!”

Sophie leapt forwards and enveloped Alice in a huge hug. Alice was shocked to find how tall Sophie had grown.

“What are you doing here?” asked Alice. “I thought you were in England!”

Sophie nodded. “I was. We showcased Ariadne to every aeronautics company we could find. I can’t tell you anything about it, of course, all very top secret, even for you, but I had a great time and I met some fantastic scientists.”

“But why are you messing about with bicycles?”

“Oh, planes and bicycles have always gone hand in hand, Alice. Did you know that Wilbur and Orville Wright, the aviation pioneers, were cyclists? Aerodynamics are crucial for both.”

“Aerodynamics?”

“It’s basically the science that helps us to make things go faster by making air flow round it.”

“Ah,” said Alice, thinking about how some of her oddly shaped cakes cooked quicker than others and wondering whether that was because the hot air in the oven had more space to move round them.

“Well, I got a very interesting phone call from 34your friend Claude, asking me if I wanted to come and work on some bicycles, and I thought it would make a change to make things fly along the ground for once.”

Alice smiled. So this was what Claude’s little joke had been about. He had put Sophie on the site.

She leaned close to her friend and dropped her voice to a whisper.

“So are you a spy too now?” she asked. She hoped Claude had recruited Sophie; she would be an excellent spy. She was clever and brave and loyal to the core.

Sophie shook her head. “Not like you,” she said. “Claude just asked me to nose around a bit and report back to him, and the first thing that I spotted was these awful letters. I take it you’re here about those? Or are you here for baking?”

“Both,” said Alice, and she quickly explained.

“I’ll try to get you a copy of the notes,” Sophie said. “I managed to smuggle the first one out when Adele thought it was a one-off, but since they started arriving more regularly, Adele keeps them and rereads them. She shouldn’t. Hugo thinks that it’s a rival trying to rattle Adele before her races. 35Do you really think that they might be linked to the enemy?”

“Claude thinks it’s possible.”

Sophie shuddered. “I had hoped that they were from someone who wanted another cyclist to win. Well, if this a new Éclair mission, you’d better meet Adele and Hugo.”

Sophie gave the wheel one final spin, tutted at the rattling noise it made and then turned and led Alice into the hut. Inside was a small workshop with three bicycles set into a rack at one end. A workbench ran along the wall opposite, filled with toolboxes and clamps. In the middle was a very interesting contraption that looked like a small-scale model of a bicycle in a narrow tunnel. At the other end of the hut was a curtain, pulled across the width of the hut. Alice could see the corner of a bunkbed peeking out from behind it and presumed that was where the occupants slept.

Underneath the hut’s only window was a comfortable but battered-looking sofa on which a boy and girl of about sixteen were sprawled. The girl was flicking through a notebook while the boy read a magazine. Sophie was struck by how similar 36they looked – both tall and dark with hair that curled in exactly the way that Alice wished her own would.

“Adele. Hugo,” said Sophie. “I want you to meet Alice, an old friend of mine.”

“What is she doing here?” asked Adele, barely glancing up from her book. Alice was a little taken aback, but Hugo nudged his twin and looked apologetically at Alice.

“Adele always likes to know what people do,” he said.

“I’m just fed up of reporters and people coming to gawp,” Adele said. She closed the book with a snap and stared at Alice.

“Oh, I’m not a reporter,” Alice said. “My mother and I own a pâtisserie, Vive Comme L’Éclair.” She held out the cake box, hoping a gift might make Adele less frosty. “I’m here to create gâteaux and pastries for the gala events. One of my friends mentioned that he knows your papa and asked me to bring you this as a present.”

Hugo’s eyes widened, but not at the sight of the cake box.

“What friend? Has he heard from Papa?”

“Claude…” 37

“Uncle Claude!” cried Adele. “How do you know him?”

“Never mind that. Has he heard from Papa?” Hugo repeated. “He disappeared so suddenly, we’ve been worried about him.”

“He didn’t disappear,” Adele said, sending him a glance that very clearly meant “leave this to me”. “He’s away. And he left us a note saying not to worry about him.” She turned to Alice. “He’s very clever, you see, and he often goes off on trips looking for new ideas for his work. He’s an engineer like Sophie.”

“It’s just that he left very suddenly this time,” Hugo butted in. “It’s been weeks and he normally never goes away unless Maman is home, and she’s off on one of her expeditions, looking for a rare mountain lion or something.”

“Yes,” said Adele firmly. “But he’ll be back for my final timekeeping race, just you wait and see, Hugo.”

Adele leaned back on the sofa and crossed her legs. Alice noted that she had not been asked to sit down. In spite of her professions of friendship, there was something about the way Adele was acting that 38made her feel as though she was being kept at a distance.

“I’m sure your parents are very proud of you,” Alice said.

Adele waved the compliment aside. “Papa’s prouder of Hugo, you know,” she said. “Hugo hasn’t got a mechanical mind, but he’s just as creative as Papa. Papa builds the most exquisite clockwork models and Hugo draws the plans for him.”

“Papa is brilliant with anything like that,” said Hugo. “He has a friend who runs a clockwork and automata museum. He used to take us there all the time when we were little.”

“Drag us there, you mean,” said Adele. “It was more Hugo’s thing than mine. Anyway, Papa is brilliant but he can’t draw, so Hugo draws up the plans for all his inventions for him”

“Hugo has entered the national competition to design a medallion for our Olympians,” Sophie said. “You should see his designs. They are amazing.”

Alice looked at her with surprise. “But surely the hosts will design the medals?”

“It’s not the medal for the Olympics,” Sophie explained. “It’s a team medallion for everyone 39representing France. There’s a competition for artists.”

“Did you say your friend had had word from Papa?” Hugo asked for the third time.

Alice wished she had good news for the twins. She suspected that Adele was putting on a brave face and was more worried than she would admit. Perhaps she would be less starchy if Alice was meeting her at a better time.

“He hasn’t seen him in a while, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “He just asked me to bring you something nice from the bakery.”

She moved forwards and put the cake box down on a low table. She unfolded the tabs on the side and the box fell open revealing a gateau iced in red, white and blue. A ribbon was laced through the icing with medals hanging from it. On top, crafted from biscuit and glazed so that it shone, was a perfectly cut bicycle. The spokes were created from spun sugar and the wheels spun with the light draught that floated through the hut’s window.

Hugo gasped. “That’s incredible,” he said. He gazed at Alice and a look of recognition crossed his face. “Oh! Your bakery – is it the place in the middle 40of the city that always has those incredible creations in the window? There was one with an entire ballet scene on it last week and I’m sure those dancers were moving!”

Alice laughed. “That was one of mine,” she agreed. “They were sugar-craft on very thin wire, so every time there was a breeze they would shimmer.”

“You make the best macarons,” Hugo said. “Columba loves them. Pistachio are her favourites.”

“Columba?” asked Alice.

Hugo looked around the floor of the hut. He made a tutting noise and a small grey and white pigeon peeked its head round the edge of the sofa and let out a soft coo.

“Meet Columba,” said Hugo.