The Sanatorium(14)

His hiking boots, the casual, technical clothes—gray fleece, climbing trousers—only add to it, a calling card: I’m important so I don’t need to signal that I am.

“You’ve heard of him?” Isaac replies.

Will nods. “There’s chatter in the architecture world . . . the disruption in his style, approach.” He hesitates. “If it’s not too much trouble, it would be good to get an introduction at some point.”

“I’m sure Laure can sort it, but I’d be careful.” Isaac’s tone is light. “He doesn’t have much luck with architects.”

“Isaac.” Laure flashes him a warning look.

“Daniel Lemaitre?” Will says quickly.

Isaac raises an eyebrow. “You know about it?”

Will smiles. “Architecture’s a small world. Still no news?”

“Nothing,” Laure replies.

“What happened?” Elin says, still watching Lucas Caron.

“Daniel was the principal architect for the hotel. He went missing in the final stages of planning. Didn’t make it home one night. Left the site in the afternoon, and that was it. His car was here, in the car park, but they found no sign of him. Gone.” Isaac snaps his fingers. “No footprints. Nothing. Never found his bag, his phone . . .”

“It was big news at the time,” Laure says. “Cecile and Lucas knew Daniel well. Childhood friends. Lucas was devastated. It derailed the project for a while. The hotel was meant to open in 2017, but it was delayed by a year.”

“No one knows what happened to Daniel?” Will says.

“There were theories. People said he had issues with his business.” Isaac shrugs. “Something to do with expanding too quickly, money problems.”

“People thought he’d bolted?”

“Either that, or—”

“Isaac, stop. Enough. He’ll hear.” Laure flips the conversation. “I think that’s everything tour-wise.”

“Thanks, I—” Elin stops, her eyes alighting on the door next to Laure. It’s nothing like the others in the hotel; ornate, intricately decorated with carvings of fir trees, mountain peaks circling the perimeter.

“What’s this?”

Laure tugs at the scarf around her neck. “It used to be a consultation room. It’s closed now. Not for use by guests.”

“It’s empty?”

“Not exactly.” Again the hand goes up to her scarf—pulling, adjusting. “It’s an archive of sorts. Artifacts stored from when it was a sanatorium. They originally planned to make a feature of it, so guests could learn about the history of the hotel.”

“They haven’t completed it?”

“It’s been postponed.” Laure hesitates. Elin senses her weighing something up in her mind. Finally, she speaks. “If you’re interested, you can take a look.”

Isaac frowns. “Laure, not now. They probably want to unpack.”

“Of course,” Laure demurs. “Another time.”

“No. I’d like to see it. I love anything historical.” It’s true, but Elin can hear the note of challenge in her voice. This is what Isaac brings out in her. Makes her prickly, combative.

Will tenses. “Elin, we’ve only just arrived. I want to find our room, get settled.”

“Well, you go then, with Isaac. We won’t be long.”

“Fine,” he says tightly. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

Elin watches them leave, uneasy. Is this really a good idea? Poking around somewhere private? “Look, don’t worry, really . . .”

“It’s fine.” Laure smiles. “But I’m warning you, it’s a mess. Everything they cleared out before the refurb—it’s been dumped in here.” Pushing a key into the lock, she opens the door.

“You weren’t joking,” Elin murmurs.

The room is piled high with medical equipment: aspirators, bottles, an old-fashioned invalid chair, strange glass contraptions. Everything’s covered with a thin film of dust.

There’s no semblance of order; some things are boxed, others lie heaped on the floor. Office detritus is dotted about in between—cardboard boxes, filing cabinets.

“I did warn you.” Laure raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve seen worse.” Like my place. Disorder had crept up on her—bulging cupboards, books in piles. Clothes still hanging on a flimsy metal rail that intermittently collapses under too much weight. She can’t seem to summon the will or the energy to do something about it.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Laure meets her eye. “All this. What this place used to be.” Something shifts in her demeanor, composure slipping slightly, revealing a familiar energy and eagerness—a glimpse of the old Laure that wasn’t there before.

Elin nods, suddenly aware of not just the mess but the room itself. The air feels dense, stifling. Thick with dust. She imagines it; tiny, filthy particles hovering. Forcing her gaze to the shelf on her right, she picks up a folder. A stack of papers plummets to the floor.

“I’ll get them.” Laure steps toward her, but slips, her foot sliding out from beneath her.

Elin lurches forward, grabbing Laure’s arm to steady her.