The Sanatorium(29)

She reminds Elin of Laure; edgy in that pared-back, European way that always makes her feel slightly inadequate. Cropped hair, gray-painted fingernails, minimal makeup—artful sole flick of eyeliner, dark streak of matte lipstick. Silver hair grips, decorated with tiny stars, stud the front sections of hair.

Yet the closer Elin gets, the more the illusion is shattered. Margot’s nails are chipped, bitten down, the lipstick bleeding into fine lines etched around her mouth.

Coming level with the desk, Elin spots a half-eaten croissant on the shelf below.

“Is this about Laure?” Small flakes of pastry are still stuck to her lips. “Is she still not back?” Margot tugs at her dark top, pulling it loose over her stomach.

She’s not at ease. The hasty removal of the pastry, this masking of her body . . . she’s softer than she’d like, and conscious of it. She’s tall, too, Elin observes, looking at her long legs folded beneath the desk.

“No, I . . .” Hesitating, Elin feels a flash of panic. Is this a mistake? Is she letting her mind run away with her? Laure’s only been gone a few hours.

Too late. She’s here now.

“She definitely hasn’t been here at any point this morning?”

“No. I’ve been here since the spa opened.” Margot’s eyes flicker to the door as if she half expects her to suddenly appear. “You really think she’s missing? That it’s something serious?”

Margot’s face darkens. Elin catches a flash of silver in her ears, tiny, striated arrows pointing to the floor.

“We don’t know, but this was meant to be their engagement celebration, so her taking off . . . Isaac thinks it’s out of character.”

“He’s right. Laure wouldn’t want to worry anyone. Not deliberately.”

Elin considers this. She has to tread carefully now. “Laure hasn’t mentioned anything to you? Any concerns that might explain why she’d leave so suddenly?” She forces a smile. “I’ve tried to ask Isaac, but . . .”

An awkward pause. Again, Margot’s hand comes up to her waist, loosening the folds of fabric over her stomach. “Look, this is awkward.” Her cheeks are flushed. “He’s your brother.”

“It’s fine.” Elin softens her tone. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

Margot nods. “I think they’ve been having problems. Laure . . .” She bites her lip. “Recently, she’s felt a bit . . . how do I say? Claustrophobic . . . in the relationship.”

Elin notices the curious rhythm to her speech. It isn’t just the German inflection to her English, it’s staccato; a beat too long between each word.

“Since they’ve been engaged?”

“No. Before too.” Margot hunches over the desk, picking at her fingers. Tiny fragments of gray nail polish flutter to the desk.

“Why get engaged if she’s having doubts?”

“Laure thought making a commitment would help, that if they were engaged, Isaac would feel more secure.” Margot sweeps the flakes of nail varnish away, knocking her bag over in the process.

It tumbles to the floor, contents flying. Loose hair grips scatter, together with nail varnish, a book, an envelope. Margot bends down, scrabbling to pick them up.

“Has it worked?”

Margot shrugs, flushing. “I . . . I don’t quite know how to put this. She said recently, Isaac’s been . . . aggressive. Not himself.”

“Aggressive?” Elin tries to keep her expression neutral.

Margot nods. “She didn’t go into it. Look, speaking about it like this makes it sound like they’re not happy. They’re fine. Laure worries . . . that’s normal, surely? When you’re about to commit.” She hesitates. “I’m not sure she meant it.”

Elin tries to quell the growing sense of unease gnawing at her stomach. “Has she mentioned anything else she’s worried about? Friends, family?”

Margot shakes her head.

“What about work? Isaac said she’s been working a lot lately.”

Something flickers across Margot’s face, so fleeting that Elin isn’t sure if she’s imagined it. “Yes, but there hasn’t been any pressure. Laure loves her job.”

Elin nods.

“Look, I’ve probably said too much. They’ve got their issues, but like I said, I don’t think it means anything.”

So why mention it? Why reference any of this if her mind hasn’t automatically made the connection? Margot might not consciously want to implicate their relationship worries in Laure going missing, but she has.

“I understand. There’s one more thing . . . I wondered if you knew why the police are here?”

“It’s nothing to do with Laure,” Margot says hastily. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”

“So what is it, then?”

The flush on her cheeks darkens. “I don’t think I’m meant to know.”

“Please.”

A pause. Elin holds her breath. Tell me. Tell me.

“They’ve found some remains. A body.” Margot lowers her voice. “Behind the forest. They think it’s the architect who designed the hotel. He’s been missing.”

Daniel Lemaitre. Relief floods her body. It isn’t Laure.