We spend the next day on the barge keeping out of sight, checking what’s going on outside, and occasionally watching the wide-screen television, although only Isobel can understand what’s being said.
‘Look!’ She points. ‘It’s Mum and Dad on the French news! Shhh! I’ve got to hear what they’re saying.’
We watch in strained silence, Isobel listening intently to the French newsreader as pictures of the Landon-Bonds boarding a luxury yacht in Monte Carlo flash across the screen. Then they’re gone, replaced by a story that seems to be about an English pig that has had twenty-seven piglets, which is evidently a world record.
‘So what did they say, Izzy?’ Chase’s normally sunny face is tight and tense. Even his eyes have changed to a deeper, dark grey. ‘Good news or bad news? I mean about our parents, not the pig.’
Isobel expels a long breath. ‘Well, basically, they said that our folks have applied to become citizens of Monaco, but the government wouldn’t accept them, due to some shady worldwide financial dealings they’re allegedly involved in. So they had to leave.’
‘To go where?’ Chase looks upset, and I don’t blame him; it’s not a very nice thing, I would imagine, for your parents to try changing countries without even bothering to tell you. My parents have a policy of informing me when they’re moving from one room to another in case of fire, flood, roof cave-ins, or an earthquake cutting the house in half. ‘Didn’t they say?’
Isobel shakes her head. ‘No, all that was said was that Mr and Mrs Landon-Bond were setting sail for destinations unknown.’
Chase puts his bare feet up on the coffee table and rests his chin on his hand.
‘Oh, well.’ He looks out at white apartment buildings that rise over the mooring basin. ‘Why don’t I just give Dad a ring and find out what his plans are?’
Isobel, now wearing her own clothes, looks fresh and cool, and a little bit older.
‘Good idea. Because if we truly are criminals or belong to a criminal family, I want to know.’
Chase takes a deep breath. ‘Oh, let’s go and get something to eat instead. I’ll ring later. An hour or two won’t make any difference.’
So, under the cover of darkness, we slip out into another mysterious Parisian night where clouds gather to roam a wide black sky lit by a ghostly moon. And then, after some French fries and crepes, we slip back to our wonderful barge, the Solange, and sleep.