Free The French Code by Deborah Abela Page B

would be no end to her megalomaniac, conniving, self-seeking, fat-headed, big-mouthed

    â€˜Hey. That’s mine!’
    Fifi hurried away from Max’s plate, where she’d crept onto a chair and stolen her slice of strawberry tart.
    â€˜You love strawberries, don’t you, Fifi?’ Veronique smiled from the lounge where she was brushing her hair.
    â€˜Maybe he can get his own next time.’ Max sent a sour smile back.
    â€˜She,’ Veronique reminded her. ‘What are you writing?’
    â€˜Nothing.’ Max closed her spy notebook and slipped it into her backpack.
    â€˜Sounds fascinating.’ Veronique laid the brush down on an antique table beside her. ‘So, apart from writing about nothing and being in a bad mood all the time, what else do you like to do?’
    â€˜I’m not in a bad mood all the time.’ Max raised her voice. ‘And don’t you think you better stop all that brushing in case your hair falls out?’
    â€˜Don’t you think you should try using a hairbrush?’
    Max’s hands flew to her hips. ‘I use a –’
    â€˜It helps take my mind off Papa and the boys,’ Veronique interrupted.
    â€˜Right. It’s got nothing to do with how beautiful you think you are.’
    â€˜My father has been kidnapped. I don’t think you realise …’
    A police officer knocked at the door. ‘Everything okay, Mademoiselle?’
    Veronique calmed down. ‘Yes, thank you. Everything’s fine,’ Max’s Descrambler translated.
    Veronique slumped back onto the lounge after the officer left. ‘I’m not going to be able to takebeing watched so closely.’ She looked around. ‘Ah, that will help.’
    In the far corner of the room beneath a single stream of warm, orange-tinted light was a sandstone table. It was inlaid with bright blue and red mosaic tiles arranged into climbing snakes and palm trees. Sitting on top, in an open stand, was a leatherbound, yellow-paged book.
    â€˜This will do nicely.’
    â€˜What is it?’ Max asked.
    Veronique brought the book over to the table where Max was sitting and sat beside her. Fifi leapt from the lounge and climbed onto a chair between them. ‘It’s called Le Livre des Enonciations or The Book of Sayings. It has thousands of lines of wise quotes and poetry from men and women, famous and not-so-famous, throughout history.’
    â€˜You don’t think there’s a little too much going on to sit here and read quotes?’ Max asked.
    â€˜It’s no less useful than you writing stories about nothing. And it’s not just “reading quotes” – it’s bibliomancy.’
    â€˜Biblio-what?’
    â€˜Bibliomancy. It’s a way of predicting the future by interpreting a passage picked at random from a book. Papa and I love it. The book has to be oneyou trust a lot. Often people use religious books. St Francis of Assisi was known to use the Bible to help him make decisions.’
    â€˜Isn’t that a little kooky for you and your father to believe in?’ Max frowned. ‘He is a scientist after all.’
    â€˜Not everything comes down to facts and hard evidence. Papa studies the ancient world where many different cultures believed in all sorts of ways to understand their world, and even cure themselves.’
    â€˜Well, I like working in facts and hard evidence.’ Max looked at her watch. ‘Like exactly what time those boys are going to contact us.’
    â€˜Bibliomancy has been believed for centuries.’ Veronique’s smile was full of challenge. ‘But you don’t always get the answers you’re hoping for, so it isn’t surprising you’re too scared to do it.’
    Fifi barked and stared at Max.
    â€˜I’m not scared,’ Max said. ‘I just think it sounds a little wacky.’
    â€˜Papa says scepticism is often a cover for fear. Why don’t you try