All these thoughts raced through her mind.
“You should eat. Supper is being served very shortly,” Mr. Weber said, drawing her out of her racing thoughts. Hunger didn’t bother her at the moment, but Mr. Weber urged her into the dining room. “You will feel worse if you don’t eat.”
“I don’t…” she started to argue, but knew he was correct. Mr. Weber waved at one of the staff members, who came to tend to her while he walked away.
Before long, the people from the search party were returning from changing out of their no doubt wet clothes. They were clearly famished from the day’s activities. Like the Schonbergs, pitying smiles were directed at her, but they didn’t approach.
They treated her like a woman who’d been widowed, or deserted. Something bad had happened to her, and they were very sorry for her. The casual attention felt awful. The worst was that she felt as though she was going to fall apart at any moment, which was what they all feared.
A plate was put down in front of her. Two slices of beef and boiled potatoes, all covered in a sauce. Feeling people’s guarded observation, she picked up her cutlery and began eating. It was warm and filling, but she had no appetite. Still, she forced herself to eat, because she didn’t know what else to do. It seemed a reasonable way from stopping herself breaking down in tears.
Something was very wrong. Oliver was missing, and couldn’t be found. The searchers had seemed adamant they would have found him if he was on the mountain. There was still the forest, she told herself, but equally, she couldn’t see why Oliver would have gone into the forest. He had no reason to.
The countess and her party came into the dining room. The casual observation of the diners shifted from Clemmie to them. They all looked quiet and dour as they sat down at one of the larger tables. It was the largest party in the hotel at the moment. There was the governess, the grandchild, the nursery maid to deal with the child, and an older companion. There were servants that weren’t invited to dine with the countess, but Clemmie didn’t know how many there were.
None of the party looked happy or amused, but Clemmie suspected that it wasn’t a joyous household in general. The countess seemed a somber person, who wasn’t impressed by much. Even the child seemed subdued.
Looking back at her plate, Clemmie recognized that it had felt nice to be distracted from her own worries for a moment. And then there were the strange observations of the nursery maid that afternoon, the sounds in the hallway. Obviously, there had to be a logical explanation.
The governess looked exhausted, Clemmie had to admit. There was a nervousness about her bearing.
Desert was some kind of stewed fruit and pastry. It tasted nice, and she forced herself to eat it.
Suddenly she felt alone. Oliver should be there with her, but he wasn’t. Where was he? He couldn’t just have disappeared. Nothing in her could believe that her husband had deserted her. There had been no indication that he was unhappy in their marriage. He’d been so keen to show her Italy and the treasures he’d come across there.
Now she didn’t know what to do. All she could do was wait until he came back to her. Oliver was strong. He would find a way. She had to be patient and believe that he’d come back.
Tiredness hit her so hard, she could barely keep her head up. It was as though all the emotion of the day had now drained the very last of her energy.
Abandoning her desert, she rose and walked out of the dining room, aware that people were watching her. What they were watching for, she had no idea. Were they looking for signs of something? What was it they wanted to see?
Unable to answer that question, it felt like relief when she made it into the still lobby. The American was sitting in the chair he’d sat in before. A quick look in her direction and he nodded without saying anything. She nodded back and kept walking, down into the hallway she and Miss Juno had so intently studied earlier that day. There were no sounds now. The carpet and the walls absorb the sounds of her steps. It made sense that the hotel would invest in such carpets, to dampen the sounds so not to disturb the people sleeping in their rooms.
Upstairs, she made her way into her room, and as she now expected, Oliver wasn’t waiting for her with a tale of his misadventures.
Tears stung sharply and she leaned back on the door. What was she supposed to do? How should she deal with this? She was lost. Something very bad must have happened. Why hadn’t they found him? If he’d been injured, or even dead, on the mountain, they would have found him. So where was he?
Why was this happening? This was her honeymoon. This was not supposed to happen. They should be in Italy by now, not still here, dealing with this… misery.
Sobs had her crouching down along the door. She didn’t know what to do, and this nightmare just continued.
Sitting with her legs crossed, she let her anguish exhaust itself. It had achieved nothing, but she did feel as if she’d released something that clawed inside her chest.
The room was warm, the fire lit in the grate. It cast pale, flickering light across the walls. A lamp had been lit on the wall, and it gave the room a golden, comforting ambiance.
Rising up, she reached behind her and awkwardly tried to undo the buttons down her back. Her dress wasn’t made for dressing and undressing by herself, but she couldn’t tolerate company right now. She was still
