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“You love your house—” Myrna began before Clara interrupted.

“I love you more.”

“There’s no rush,” said Billy, placing his large, worn hands on Myrna’s shoulders.

“Why don’t you break into the attic space?” asked Fiona, who’d gone over to join them.

“The loft is the attic,” said Gabri.

“Yes, but there’s more. You can see by the roofline. I’m not an engineer for nothing. If you look over the roof at the back of the bookshop, toward the river, there’s a whole other space. Not huge, but maybe big enough to convert into another bedroom or study.”

“That’s not right,” said Gabri. “If there was more space up there to rent, Olivier would know.”

Olivier owned the row of shops, and rented space out.

“Believe me,” said Fiona. “There’s a room up there. You should check it out.”

“What’s to lose?” said Clara, her face filled with glee.

“Before you get out your sledgehammer,” said Myrna, “let’s talk to Olivier. He must have plans of the buildings.”

A quizzical look passed between Billy and Ruth. He leaned down and whispered, “Can I come by your place later?”

“Yes. You have the key.”

The key was a bottle of scotch.

That afternoon Myrna, Clara, Harriet, and Fiona joined Olivier in the back room of the bistro. Where Harriet was a civil engineer, Fiona was mechanical. Between them, they figured they should be able to work it out.

“Found these when we bought the place years ago,” Olivier said as he unrolled a yellowed and damp-stained scroll. “They’re the original plans. As you can see, there’s no hidden room up there. Besides, who’d want to build a room, then hide it?”

Harriet and Fiona were leaning over the old drawings.

“I’m sure it’s there,” said Fiona, shaking her head in puzzlement.

“We need to get onto the roof,” said Harriet. “Then I could see for sure.”

“Not now we’re not,” said Olivier. “It’s getting late and we’re almost at the dinner service. Tomorrow, if the weather holds.”

“Before we climb all over the roof,” said Fiona, “why don’t we go up to the church.”

“To pray?” asked Clara. “Who’s the patron saint of wasting time?”

“No,” said Fiona. “Haven’t you ever noticed that from St. Thomas’s you can see the roofline of the shops?”

“You can?” said Olivier. Sometimes it took a relative stranger to see things others missed.

“I wouldn’t have, but the caretaker pointed it out. Said the roofs would need replacing soon and if they expected him to do it, they could go fuck themselves. When I looked, I saw another room, right here.” She placed her finger on the plans, which showed just air. “At least, I think it’s there, though I agree, why would anyone hide a room?”

They decided to meet back at the bistro the next morning and head up to the church.

Word spread quickly, if not accurately, through the village.

Myrna Landers was leaving. Myrna Landers had left.

The library was being turned into a bookstore. That was from Ruth, who wanted them all to sign a petition against it.

“So,” said Reine-Marie later that day as they sat in Clara’s back garden enjoying a predinner drink. “I hear you’re pregnant.”