Midnight had been and gone. Freja, Finnegan, Vivi and Tobias hung out the kitchen window, waving and woofing as the last of their guests departed.
‘Bonsoir! Bonsoir!’ cried Edith and Cosette as they disappeared around the corner with their papa.
Freja did not move but lingered in the space between Vivi and Tobias, a space filled with vanilla, ink stains and love.
Tobias grabbed Freja’s hand and squeezed it. ‘What a remarkable detective you’ve been, old chap. Everything has worked out spiffingly because of you.’
Freja scrunched her nose. ‘I made lots of mistakes and could easily have missed the truth,’ she said. ‘I was completely jumbled about Mimosa Astérisque.’
‘Aaah!’ Vivi smiled. ‘But I think Mimosa is what you English might call a red herring. All good crime stories have them — a very convincing distraction that leads you away from the real villain. Is that not so, Tobby?’
Tobias nodded. ‘Right you are, Vivi! Mimosa was a classic red herring. Anyone might have been led astray by her foul temper and raging jealousies.’
‘Mimosa led me far, far away!’ cried Freja. ‘And then there was the case of Madame Joly’s missing rabbits, Nina and Odette. It turns out that they simply escaped because the latch on the door of their hutch was broken. I got distracted by an ocean full of red herring and missed all the clues about Gerard Lachance.’
‘No,’ said Tobias. ‘I don’t think you did. You were watching and learning and filing things away at the back of your mind for the exact moment when they would come in handy. You were out and about, being brave and adventurous, talking to people, learning their stories, watching and listening and noticing things that the rest of us didn’t see. That took real determination, talent and intelligence. I couldn’t have created a better lead character for one of my novels if I’d tried. You’re a true heroine.’
Vivi wrapped her arm around Freja’s shoulders and pulled her into a lemon soufflé hug. ‘Our beautiful heroine.’
They wandered back to the table where the squirrels were snoozing on the breadboard. Vivi passed a fork to Freja and Tobias and, together, they ate the final slice of celebration gâteau. Then Finnegan licked the plate . . . and Freja’s face . . . and the breadboard around the squirrels.
‘Tobby?’ asked Freja. ‘What will happen to Gerard Lachance?’
‘Justice,’ he replied. ‘Good old-fashioned justice.’
‘But we cannot prove that he destroyed Henri’s merry-go-round, or broke into our house, or blew up Monsieur Diderot’s oven.’ Freja frowned. ‘He won’t go to jail.’
‘No,’ said Tobias. ‘But there are worse things than prison. He has lost everything.’
‘Only his wealth,’ said Freja. ‘And that’s not so very important. Clementine and I were never rich, but we had a brilliant life together. Freedom and beauty and love — that is what truly matters. They are what make us matter.’
‘Yes,’ Tobias agreed. ‘But Gerard has none of those things. He is a small-minded, selfish man, and all that he had was tied up in his wealth. Even his offers of friendship and love were tied up with his money. So, now, he has nothing. He will leave Claviers tomorrow and he will be forced to start out in the world with no friends, no family and no idea of how to use his heart and mind to create something beautiful with his life.’
‘You’re right, Tobby!’ gasped Freja. ‘He has nothing . . . and he has no-one to blame but himself.’
‘On the other hand,’ said Tobias, his voice softening, ‘here, at this humble kitchen table full of dirty dishes and scattered crumbs and toppled wine glasses, we have everything!’
Vivi looked along the table and sighed. ‘So many dishes. I will help clean up before I go home.’ She reached for a plate, but Tobias intercepted her grasp.
Freja held her breath and watched in silence as Tobias pulled Vivi’s slim olive hand to his lips.
He kissed it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then, pressing her hand to his heart, he leaned forward and kissed Vivi. He kissed her fully on her delicious, plump raspberry-gelato lips.
Remy lifted his fluffy red head and blinked at Tobias. ‘Snookle pock,’ he chirped, then fell back to sleep.
‘I love you,’ said Tobias. ‘I love you with all my heart, Vivi.’
And he did not say it in a French squirrel accent.
And he did not jump with surprise at his own words.
And he did not blush.
He looked Vivi right in the eyes — her chocolate-ganache eyes with their liquorice-thick lashes — and said it loudly and clearly once more.
‘I love you, Vivi.’
Freja lay in bed, her eyes wide open. Finnegan snored at her side. She fondled one of his velvety ears between her fingers and smiled.
‘Family,’ she whispered. ‘Vivi, Tobias, Finnegan and me. We’re like a family.’
‘Boof-oof,’ Finnegan murmured at the mention of his name.
Freja giggled, then stopped. She felt her cheeks burn and she realised that, yet again, she’d forgotten all about Clementine. Vivi, Tobias and Finnegan had pushed Clementine from her thoughts.
‘Clementine,’ Freja whispered. ‘Mummy Darling Heart. You are my real family. My blood family.’
Freja sat up. ‘What a muddle,’ she muttered into the darkness. ‘I love Clementine and miss her, but I also love Tobby and Vivi and Finnegan and want to be with them. But if I’m with them, it’s because I can’t be with Clementine, which makes me feel sad . . . and guilty . . . and . . .’ She tugged at her ear. ‘It’s absolutely confusing. I’ve become a total scatterbrain. Or, perhaps, I’ve become a total scatterheart.’
She gasped and let go of her ear. ‘Oh deary, deary me,’ she murmured. ‘I’m acting like Tobias all the time nowadays — tugging at my ears, muttering to myself.’ She scrunched her nose. ‘Saying things like “Deary, deary me!” and “Absolutely!”’
She frowned, then whispered, ‘Perhaps Tobias, too, is blood family.’
Climbing over Finnegan, Freja tiptoed to the armoire and pulled out her scrapbook. She plucked the strip of three little black-and-white photos from inside the back cover. She threw open the window, hooked back the shutters and stared at the photos in the moonlight.
Clementine and Tobias.
Tobias and Clementine.
‘Who is Tobias Appleby?’ whispered Freja.
She gazed across the tops of the olive trees, silver in the moonlight.
‘Who is Tobias Appleby?’
She plucked at the leaves of the wisteria that grew across the windowsill. And then she plucked at a curl that hung down over her forehead. A curl that looked just like those in the photos — those growing on young Tobias’ head.
‘Who is Tobias Appleby?’ she repeated. ‘Is he a dear friend? Is he my uncle? Or . . .’ She took a deep breath and dared to ask the question out loud for the first time ever: ‘Is he my father?’
She looked across at Pippin’s bedroom window. Pippin had a mother who loved him but could not be there. He had an uncle who was there but did not love him. And he had Henri and Edith and Cosette and so many people in Claviers who loved him dearly and were always there.
‘They are all his family,’ said Freja, ‘except for Gerard Lachance.’
She took one last look at the photo and decided that, for now, blood did not matter. She had a family. Clementine, far away. Tobias, Vivi and Finnegan right here.
Freja kissed the photos of girl Clementine and boy Tobias and sat them on the windowsill beneath the wooden seal.
‘Family,’ she whispered, ‘is where love lives. Family is where I am safe and hugged and helped to become a braver, kinder person. That is enough . . . for now.’