Read Online Bubble in the Bathtub by Jo Nesbø - Free Book Online Page B

quiet side street and each ordered a croissant. Plus one for Lisa to take back to the hotel for Nilly. But Nilly would have to wait a bit, because first Lisa had to hear Juliette Margarine’s story.
    â€œI don’t know exactly where Victor is,” Juliette said. “But I was there when he left, and I know what he was thinking. This is a long story, I think I’d better start at the beginning.”
    â€œGood,” Lisa said, taking a rather large bite of her croissant.
    â€œThe whole thing started one Sunday many years ago as I was strolling through Montmartre right here in Paris. There are always lots of painters there offering to paint tourists’ pictures for a reasonable price. But in the middle of all these, I came across an eccentric-looking young man I recognized from the university. He was studying chemistry, just like me. I knew that his name was Victor Proctor, that he was a promising inventor, and that he came from Norway. I had occasionally had the sense that he wanted to speak to me but didn’t quite dare. But on this day in Montmartre, he came over to me and pointed to a strange contraption—a machine he said he had invented himselfthat painted portraits, in just a fraction of the time the other painters took and for half the price. So I let him—or actually his machine—paint me. But when the painting was done, he looked at it for a few seconds, then ripped it up and groaned in despair. I asked what was wrong, and he explained that it was another one of his failed inventions. Because the portrait machine hadn’t come anywhere near capturing the beauty of my face. He gave me my money back and was about to leave, but I asked him if I could at least buy him a café au lait for his trouble. We came to this very café that you and I are sitting in now, and we talked about chemistry together until it got dark. Then we ordered some wine and kept on talking, about our lives, what we liked and what made us happy, and about our dreams. And by the time he walked me to the Métro station that evening, I had been in love with him for ages and knew that he was the one I wanted. Imagine, I just knew!” Juliette laughed. “All I thought about from that day on was thiscute young inventor from a country way up north.”
    â€œCute?” Lisa said dubiously. “Doctor Proctor?”
    â€œOh yes, he was quite handsome, you know. I looked for him at the university every day that week, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. On Sunday I went to Montmartre again, and there he was, standing in the exact same spot as the last time but without his portrait machine. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering, but he lit up when he saw me and we kissed each other on both cheeks the way we do here in France. When I asked what he’d been up to for the last week, he said that he’d been waiting. ‘Where?’ I asked. ‘Right here,’ he answered. ‘Waiting for what?’ I asked. ‘For you,’ he answered. And from that day on, Victor and I were a couple.”
    â€œOoooh,” Lisa sighed. “How romantic!”
    â€œYeah, it was.” Juliette nodded. She smiled a little sadly and drank a sip of her coffee. “But unfortunately, there was someone who had other plans for me.”
    â€œYour father, the baron,” Lisa said. “He didn’t want you to marry a poor inventor. Right?”
    â€œYes, in a sense that’s true, but he wasn’t the one who came up with the plan I’m talking about. You see, the Margarine family is an old, aristocratic family. Nobility. My father is a baron. My mother was a baroness and that makes me a baronette. At one time we also had money. All the way up until my great-great-great-great-grandfather, the Count of Monte Crisco, was beheaded by Bloodbath the Executioner during the French Revolution over two hundred years ago. Unfortunately the family fortune then went to his