The Palace of Possibilities

The call came as Charlotte Bennett erased a staircase for the fourth time.

The proportions were right. That was the trouble: every line behaved, and the result felt dead.

Sunlight striped the terrace table and warmed Charlotte’s hands. Beyond the railings, the Riviera glittered with a confidence she had once found intimidating and now rather liked. The staircase on her page was elegant, as the previous three had been. None of them invited anyone to climb it.

Behind her, Max dropped a slice of toast. Alessia, who had witnessed the tragedy, informed him that the floor was not a plate.

‘You promised me breakfast in bed,’ Charlotte called without looking up.

‘I promised you breakfast,’ Max said. ‘The rest is an allegation.’

‘You also promised to behave,’ Alessia said.

‘No,’ Charlotte replied, finally turning. ‘That was never part of the arrangement.’ Alessia's answering smile was wicked enough to distract Charlotte from the drawing. Charlotte held her gaze until Max noticed and cleared his throat with theatrical patience. ‘Not yet,’ Charlotte said. ‘You've still got to make the coffee.’

Their laughter followed her back to the drawing. She tried another line. The graphite caught on the rough paper. With a small, furious sound, she set the pencil down. Her phone vibrated against the table. A Swiss number.

‘Charlotte Bennett.’

‘Miss Bennett, my name is Isabelle Vollenweider. Helena Laurent suggested I speak with you. I represent the trustees of an estate above Lake Brienz.’

Charlotte put down her pencil. ‘What sort of estate?’

‘A private house. Or it was. There is disagreement about what it ought to be now.’ ‘I'm an interior designer, not a marriage counsellor.’

A quiet laugh. ‘Helena said you were direct.’

‘Helena is tactful. Tell me what you need.’

‘An independent assessment. A concept with enough substance to help the trustees decide whether to restore the property or sell it. You would be paid for the initial work, regardless of their decision.’

Charlotte wanted photographs. Instead she asked about ownership, planning restrictions and structural reports. Isabelle answered the first two questions, then went oddly quiet at the third.

‘There is a sealed section beneath the eastern terrace,’ she said. ‘The records are incomplete. The engineers have not been permitted to open it.’

‘Why not?’

‘One trustee believes it contains nothing worth finding. Another believes it may determine whether the house can be saved.’

‘And you?’

‘I believe we should stop making decisions about a building without understanding it.’ Charlotte turned towards the terrace doors. Alessia stood in the doorway holding two coffees; Max, behind her, had finally accepted the loss of his toast. They watched Charlotte's face change.

‘How long do I have?’ Charlotte asked.

‘The trustees meet in three weeks. There is also a prospective buyer. The chair has authorised an inspection, but he cannot guarantee that authorisation will survive the meeting.’