Finding Margo by Susanne O'Leary

truck.”
    “Oh, but I really enjoyed it. And my job isn’t really that fancy.”
    “And she’s so modest too,” Gráinne laughed.
    “By the way,” Margo said on an impulse, “do you know someone called Jacques Coligny?”
    “Yes, slightly. Why?”
    “Oh, no reason. I read something about him in a magazine recently,” Margo lied. “And I thought you might know him. He seems to be a big star in France.”
    “Yeah, he was a champion a few years back. He doesn’t ride in competitions anymore, but he buys and trains horses for a lot of the international teams,” Gráinne said.
    “Do you know him well?”
    “Well enough to stay away from him. Great horseman, I’ll give him that, one of the best. And very clever. Speaks perfect English, great judge of horseflesh, and has a good head for business. And he’s amazing with horses. Seems to be able to talk their language or something. And he’s very popular. But—” Gráinne stopped.
    “But what?”
    “Oh, nothing, just not my type of guy. I don’t trust him. Good-looking, yes, but thinks he’s God’s gift to women, if you know what I mean. Not that he’d look twice at someone like me, but I’ve seen some of the damage he’s done to others. Loves ’em and leaves ’em. Get the picture?”
    “Yes, I think I do,” Margo said, surprised by the venom in Gráinne’s voice.
    “But why are you so interested in him?”
    “No reason. The article was interesting, that’s all.”
    “I see. OK. Well, I better let you go. I’m sure you have more important things to do than talk to me. Now that you’ve come up in the world, I mean.”
    “Actually,” Margo started, intending to tell Gráinne the real story, but was interrupted by a sudden loud beep. “Oh, no! The battery is dying,” Margo shouted. “Gráinne, don’t go. I just wanted to tell you—please,” she nearly sobbed as the line went dead.
    ***
    I t was close to midnight when Margo came back from her stroll around Paris. She hadn’t really done very much, but she had enjoyed her day. In the late morning, she had seen people going into a church for mass and she had joined them, thinking she would sit there and listen to the music and have a chance to think. But once inside, she discovered that she wasn’t able to think at all. No thoughts of any kind came into her mind, and she simply sat there, her mind blank, listening to the sermon, the music, and the murmured prayers of the congregation. It was as if a door had closed in her mind, and she was suffering from some kind of amnesia. She did, however, feel a kind of peace settle on her as she sat there in the dim light, and she emerged from the church into the bright street feeling much calmer and more cheerful. After church, she had gone for a long walk on the banks of the Seine, all the way to Ile St Louis, where she had enjoyed an ice cream while sitting under a willow tree on the water’s edge. Then on to Notre Dame, climbing all the way up one of the towers where there were breathtaking views of the river and the old bridges. Then she had visited La Sainte Chapelle and stared in awe at the magnificent stained glass windows. After visiting a few museums, she had ended up having dinner in a small brasserie on the Left Bank and struck up a conversation with a group of American tourists at the table next to hers. They had invited her to join them for after-dinner drinks at their table, but realising it was getting late, Margo had turned down the invitation and taken the Metro back home.
    The lift in the servants’ stairwell was even slower than the one in the main entrance, and as it creaked its way up, Margo had no thought in her head other than sinking into bed. Except for the sound of the lift, the building was quiet, and Margo looked idly at the different landings as she went up. She noticed that most of them had two or three doors, having been split up into smaller apartments, as Justine had explained. Even so, those apartments would be