An Astronomer in Love
208
An Astronomer in Love
208Paperback
-
PICK UP IN STORECheck Availability at Nearby Stores
Available within 2 business hours
Related collections and offers
Overview
SHORLISTED FOR THE EDWARD STANFORD VIKING AWARD FOR FICTION 2024
‘Perfect for the poolside or sitting outside a café with a pastis and olives’ The Times
Part swashbuckling adventure on the high seas and part modern-day love story set in the heart of Paris, An Astronomer in Love is an enchanting tale of destiny and the power of love from bestselling author Antoine Laurain.
In 1760, Guillaume le Gentil, real-life astronomer to King Louis XV, sets out for the oceans of India to document the transit of Venus. The weather is turbulent, the seas are rough and his quest may be more complicated than initially thought.
250 years later, estate agent Xavier Lemercier chances upon Guillaume’s telescope in a property he's sold. As he looks out across the rooftops of Paris, he discovers an intriguing woman with a zebra in her apartment.
Then the woman walks through the doors of his office, and his life changes forever . . .
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781913547721 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Gallic Books |
| Publication date: | 05/28/2024 |
| Pages: | 208 |
| Sales rank: | 134,334 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x (d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
‘I’m sorry for disturbing you, Monsieur Lemercier,’ said the woman, who didn’t seem at all sorry, but rather convinced of her right to demand the immediate clearing out of the cupboard in question. As Xavier had suspected, the apartment had since been refurbished; the office had been transformed into an open-plan kitchen living room, the old-fashioned ceiling mouldings had disappeared, and from what he could tell the kitchen at the end of the corridor had been converted into a children’s bedroom. An aluminium scooter stood in the hallway. You saw it more and more in the city. Adults had appropriated this child’s toy with an obviousness that often unsettled Xavier. They praised, with the greatest sincerity, the lightness and fluidity of moving around the city, the ridiculousness of such a mode of transport never crossing their minds. Céline herself had dreamed of buying one for commuting to work.
‘Here it is,’ said Madame Carmillon, opening the much-vaunted cupboard door with a flourish. The cupboard was hidden in the panelling of the wall and had a small key in guise of a handle. Xavier had simply not seen it. It wasn’t even on the apartment inventory. It contained three ancient rolls of fabric, a vase, a broken barometer, and a varnished, rectangular wooden chest, which must have been about five feet tall and a foot wide. It had leather straps held in place by large upholstery nails. Three old iron padlocks, opened with numbered codes, held it closed.
‘It’s mostly that,’ said the owner, pointing to the chest. ‘It weighs a ton,’ she added. ‘My husband has a trapped sciatic nerve from running. There’s no way he could lift it, and neither can I.’
‘I understand,’ said Xavier, and he took the chest out of the cupboard. A ton was an exaggeration, but it weighed at least sixty pounds.
‘I’ll deal with the fabric and the old barometer,’ Madame Carmillon conceded, appeased by having the estate agent at hand to deal with the matter immediately. ‘But get rid of that chest, Monsieur Lemercier.’
The leather straps were carefully positioned to allow you to carry the trunk on your back, diagonally, like a hunter’s rifle. Its weight was therefore spread over two shoulders, making the load much more manageable. Strapped in like this, Xavier bade his old client goodbye and made his way back through the streets to the agency. At a crossroads, he passed a cellist who was carrying his instrument case on his back in the same way. The man glanced at him, then did a double-take, no doubt wondering which instrument Xavier played.
‘W-w-we don’t have the code,’ said Frédéric.
‘No, Frédéric, we don’t have the code,’ Xavier agreed.
‘Wh-wh-what could it be?’
The two men stood each side of the chest, which was standing on the ground. ‘We won’t know until we get the padlocks open, Frédéric.’
‘We need an a-a-a-angle grinder to saw it open,’ said the trainee.
‘We don’t have an angle grinder, and we’re not going to buy one just for this.’
Frédéric’s face lit up. ‘We need a locksmith,’ he said.
‘Yes…’ sighed Xavier. ‘There used to be one around here, but he’s gone.’ They stood in silence for a minute. ‘I’m going to go and see Claude,’ Xavier decided. ‘He might have an idea.’
The antiques dealer down the road from the agency had been there long before Xavier’s arrival on the street. Contrary to what the name of his shop suggested – Smiles of the Past – its owner never smiled anymore. His sales figures were in freefall; no one was interested in snuffboxes, old corkscrews, vintage mercury mirrors, glass inkwells or rosewood bedside tables anymore. These objects weren’t of interest to the new generation, and the few collectors who continued to bargain-hunt got them at rock-bottom prices on eBay. Claude was nearing retirement, and now spoke only of the olive trees on his property in the Mediterranean, where he planned to move to the following year. He continued to open his shop every day to ‘clock in’, in his words.
‘It’s a trick,’ he murmured.
‘A trick?’ Xavier repeated. The rectangular chest had been placed on the merchant’s desk, and he was examining it with a jeweller’s magnifying glass wedged in his right eye like a monocle.
‘The codes don’t do anything,’ he said. ‘It’s buggered. We’ve been duped. That means there’s a trick to it… I don’t understand why each padlock has a fleur-de-lys embossed on the back. Why the king’s crest? Wait…’
He got up and took an old dip-pen from the window display and resumed his work, scratching at one of the fleur-de-lys with the steel sergeant-major nib.
‘Pass me the oil,’ he said. Xavier passed him a bottle of gunsmith’s oil, which he had taken out to polish one of the padlocks. The antiques dealer poured a drop onto a cloth, then wiped it over the royal crest.
‘Got it!’ he cried.
‘You found it?’ asked Xavier.
‘The fleur-de-lys, they’re the secret. They turn to the right.’
He used his thumbnail to spin the fleur-de-lys on the first padlock, and it opened with a click. He did the same with the other two, which clicked identically. The three padlocks gave way. He got up from his chair and opened the chest on his desk.
They were both silent as they looked at its contents.
‘What is it?’
‘A telescope,’ breathed the antiques dealer. ‘A very old telescope.’