CHAPTER 46
Florence and Jack talked long into the night. Shredded by exhaustion, disappointment at her progress in finding Rosalie, and fear for her mother, Florence felt wretched.
‘Could you check out how long we’ll have to wait for a ship home?’ she asked Jack.
‘They’re not frequent. I know that.’
‘We might be lucky.’
‘You might even hear back from the archivist at theTimesbefore we can go.’
More than anything she wanted to see Claudette, but her mother had been so desperate for news of Rosalie that Florence hated the thought of returning empty-handed. Claudette was counting on her, and she so wanted to give her mother some peace of mind before she died.
‘I’m going to have my hair cut,’ she said as Jackcame out of the bathroom naked. ‘It’s the last thing I really want to do but I need to do something, or I’ll go crazy.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to come back to bed?’ he said and, reaching for her hand, pulled her to him.
‘You’re wet,’ she said and pushed him away. ‘But I’ve made up my mind. My hair’s a fright and I need time to think. The hairdresser’s is a good place for that.’
‘Your hair looks fine to me.’
‘Then I’m going to look at the church records,’ she said, ignoring him and knowing that being resolute was the one thing that would stop her from dissolving into tears whenever she thought of Claudette.
‘I thought you’d been to the churches.’
‘Only the big ones, and I can’t speak Maltese, can I? Cam said he’d come with me this time. It might help.’
‘See you a bit later then. Shall I get the shopping?’
‘What about the little church in Mdina?’
‘Still waiting for the go-ahead. The wheels seem to turn awfully slowly here.’
‘If we’re able to leave for England quickly what will happen about finishing the apartment?’
‘I’ll work something out.’
She left with a heavy heart, and made her way to Paris Style, the oldest salon she could find where people had been going for decades and the magazines might be from the past. You never knew – Rosalie might be mentioned somewhere.
The woman who was to wash and then cut her hair was called Ganna, a large Maltese lady with huge hands,dressed head-to-toe in black. But her chestnut hair was stunning, long, wavy and lustrous.
‘You want a short cut?’ the woman asked with a gleam in her eye.
Florence shook her head. ‘Just a trim. Tidy it up, please.’
Ganna threw her hands up in the air. ‘A trim, always a trim. I am an artiste. I like to cut, to shape, to change.’
‘Sorry,’ Florence muttered.
Ganna gave in with a shrug, washed Florence’s hair and was remarkably deft with the scissors despite the size of her hands.
The two women sitting next to her were talking about their offspring, when Florence thought she’d overheard something rather intriguing.
She leant forward to listen.
‘Lulu says she heard it from her neighbour.’
‘But is it true?’ the other one said in a mock whisper.
