Page 48 of The Seaside Homecoming
“A friend of yours?”
“An acquaintance, yes.”
“From France?”
“The Netherlands, actually. Brussels. One of its capitals now, thanks to the Congress of Vienna.”
“How did you mee—”
“Now, if there is nothing else?” He rose abruptly.
At that moment, the man himself appeared in the doorway.
“Bonjour.”
“Ah, Monsieur Lemaire.” Mr. Hammond smiled. “We were just speaking of you. Please meet Miss Summers,l’hôtesse.”
He gave her a crisp bow. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”
“Um ...moi de même,” Claire murmured in reply, the smattering of French she had learned as a girl mostly forgotten.
Monsieur Lemaire went on to ask Mr. Hammond a question in rapid French, perhaps assuming Claire would understand.
She excused herself with a quiet “Excusez-moi” and slipped away, but not before she heard Mr. Hammond’s reply in seemingly fluent French.Russian, and now French too?
She told herself she should not be surprised. Many educated people spoke French. Yet the situation troubled her: the late-night arrival of a foreign guest, Mr. Hammond’s curt dismissal when she asked how they’d met, and his closely guarded past and study.
Claire told herself to focus on her own responsibilities and not let it bother her. But she found his secrecy increasingly vexing.
Later that day, Claire answered the door to find Emily standing there, a thin volume in her gloved hands.
She said, “I hope you don’t mind seeing me again so soon. I fear you shall quickly grow weary of sisters stopping by unannounced.”
“Never,” Claire replied, although privately she wondered if Mr. Hammond would. She opened the door wider, and Emily stepped inside.
“I have brought you a Sidmouth guidebook.” Emily thrust the volume toward her.
Claire thought of the guidebook in the parlour, left there for guests’ use, but said only, “Thank you. How kind.”
“I thought it might help acquaint you—or reacquaint you—with the area. You were here only a few months during our first visit, and that was years ago.”
“I agree. I am sure I shall find it useful.”
“I know Mr. Hammond—or even Fran—probably already bought a guidebook for the boarding house. No doubt the older one, published by Mr. Wallis. This is a newer one, published by John Marsh. I suppose those names mean nothing to you, but the thing is, well, can you keep a secret?”
Daily.“Yes.”
“I wrote this one.”
For a moment, Claire stared in amazement, then she threw her arms around Emily—the little sister who’d always wanted to write a book someday. “How wonderful. Congratulations.”
Emily’s face shone with pleasure. “I should mention that my name does not appear in it, and Mr. Marsh made several changes before it was printed. And sadly it’s already out of date as his library has since closed, but otherwise I think some of the descriptions are rather good.”
“I am sure they are, and I look forward to reading it. Now, can you stay for a bit? I was just about to have a cup of tea.”
“Yes, if you are sure I won’t be a bother.”
“Not at all. Though it won’t be a silver tea service brought in by a footman. It will be two plain cups and saucers carried by yours truly.”
