Page 34 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt
‘Pa?’ Maia enquired, not wishing to interrupt her father’s deep contemplation of Victor Hugo’sLes Misérables. He raised his eyes to his daughter.
‘Maia, my dearest. Are you enjoying the cruise?’
‘Yes, Pa, thank you. But I’ve finished my book. May I take one from one of your shelves?’
His eyes lit up. ‘Of course, mypetite princesse! Nothing would make me happier.’ He stood up and took Maia’s hand, leading her towards the largest of the shelves. ‘Here is where I keep the fiction.’
‘The made-up stories?’
‘Ah, my dear, there are no made-up stories. They all happened once upon a time.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, I expect so.’ He glanced at his beaten copy ofLes Misérables. It looked to Maia as though it had been read many times before. ‘Eventually someone writes them down. Now, what do you wish for?’
Maia pondered the question. ‘I think a love story. But not a boring one.’
‘Hmm, a wise choice indeed. But you test my ability as a librarian. Let me see...’ He scanned the shelves, running his finger over the rows of books that he had accumulated over the years. Eventually he came to rest on one. ‘Ah! Of course.’ He removed it from the shelf and smiled as he examined the cover. ‘The Phantom of the Opera, by Monsieur Gaston Leroux.’
‘Phantom? It sounds frightening, Pa.’
‘I promise it is a tale of romance. You will love it, I am sure. In fact, if you do not, then I give you permission to throw me into the swimming pool.’ Maia laughed, and Atlas went to hand the book to her. ‘Ah, no! I am sorry, my darling, but this copy is in English. Allow me to see if I have a French edition.’
‘It’s okay, Pa, I’d like to try it in English.’
‘My goodness. You are brave indeed. Are you sure you don’t wish me to find a French version? You are on holiday after all, there is no need to force study upon yourself.’
‘It doesn’t feel like studying. I like it.’
‘Very well, mypetite princesse.’
Floriano’s voice intruded on Maia’s memory. ‘Maia? Are you all right?’ he asked, looking at her from the chair.
‘Sorry, yes. I was in my own world there. Where’s Valentina?’
‘Ma has taken her and young Rory for a swim. Come and sit with me. Tell me about what happened upstairs. What’s this big pile of paper you have?’ he said, taking the pages from her and placing them on the old oak coffee table.
She filled him in on the morning’s events.
‘Meu Deus, Maia. That is a great deal to take in. How are you feeling?’
‘All right, I think. Merry is totally wonderful, and how she’s coping so well in the middle of this chaos I really can’t fathom. Shemustbe Pa’s daughter.’
‘And the diary... you said she mentioned Laurent Brouilly? Is it possible your Pa Salt knew him?’
‘That’s certainly what it seems to suggest, yes.’
‘Well then, what are you doing speaking to me? Why aren’t you reading?’ Floriano gestured to one of the rich blue velvet sofas in the middle of the room.
‘It might sound odd, but I’m a little nervous. What if I discover something upsetting? I don’t know, Floriano, what if it turns out Pa was some sort of international drug kingpin?’
Floriano put a hand on her lap. ‘I do understand. Although I am unsure how many international drug kingpins are admirers of the works of Shakespeare and Proust.’ He glanced around the room.
Maia sighed. ‘No, but you understand what I mean.’
‘Of course. All I can tell you is that you have walked intothe darkness without a candle before, and at the end of your journey, found a light. Truly, there is never a dull moment in the D’Aplièse family.’
‘You’re right there. Do you wish you’d found someone who lived on a quietfazenda, with four chickens, a dog and an ailing grandmother?’
