As Colette set up the curtains over the windows, Nora held the ladder beneath her. A few weeks had passed, and now the duo were setting up Colette’s new home in Honfleur. There was a lot to do, and not a lot to unpack – Colette’s new life was finally within her reach.
That was until the doorbell rang. Colette climbed down from the ladder and went to answer it. She was wearing white overalls and a long-sleeved shirt, tennis shoes, and a pastel blue jacket.
The mail carrier gave her a letter sealed with a red wax stamp in the style of the Bardot family crest, a phoenix curled around the letter B.
Why in the world would Arabella write her a letter instead of just calling? Nonetheless, she opened it with a little butter knife and read the contents.
‘Dearest Arienne,’ the letter’s handwriting was neat, but hurried, ‘There’s a rumor I think you should know of. I would have called you to tell you, but I’m not sure how secure the phone line is right now.’