‘Five people and only one bathroom?’ asked Melanie. Melanie came from an incredibly wealthy family, and they had gone to a very prestigious school. Both places had high bathroom to people ratios.

  ‘Six people and one bathroom,’ said Roberto. ‘The residential tutor shares our apartment too.’

  ‘Friday, you’ve got to do something to get her out of there,’ said Melanie. ‘I drank three bottles of water on the flight to keep my skin hydrated. My bladder can only hold it in for so long.’

  Friday stood up wearily.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Adam. ‘Negotiate the bathroom’s release?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Melanie. ‘Friday is terrible at persuading people. But she is good at picking locks.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Roberto. ‘I really need a shower. Making pizza is sweaty business.’

  ‘We know,’ said Adam. ‘We can smell you.’

  ‘You don’t get the sweat in the actual pizza do you?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Of course,’ said Roberto with a wink. ‘That’s the secret ingredient that makes Giuseppe’s pizza the best in Paris.’

  ‘Gross,’ said Adam.

  ‘You’d better do something, Friday,’ urged Melanie.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Friday.

  When Friday stepped into the corridor, she found there were four rooms leading off on one side. A pretty blonde woman in her early twenties was leaning against the door of the first room.

  ‘Hi,’ said Friday. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Oh, hello,’ said the woman. She looked a little embarrassed. ‘You must be Friday or Melanie.’

  ‘Friday,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’m Kate,’ she said. ‘I’m your residential tutor. It’s my job to make sure you don’t starve, don’t stay out past curfew and get to your lessons without getting lost.’

  As Friday came nearer, she could hear sobbing on the other side of the door.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ said Kate. ‘I’m supposed to be welcoming you and showing you the ropes, but this has been a bit of a hiccup. Sophia isn’t too happy to be here.’

  ‘Just go away!’ called the muffled voice from inside.

  ‘Your roommates are here,’ Kate yelled through the door. She was trying to sound cheerful. ‘Don’t you want to come out and meet them?’

  ‘No!’ called Sophia. ‘Tell them to go away.’

  Melanie had come over to see what was happening.

  ‘We’d quite like to use the bathroom,’ Melanie called through the door.

  ‘I don’t care!’ wailed Sophia.

  ‘Have you tried ringing her father?’ Friday whispered to Kate, trying to speak at a volume that Sophia couldn’t hear through the door.

  ‘I did,’ Kate whispered in reply. ‘He’s turned his phone off.’

  ‘I guess that’s one way to delegate childcare,’ said Friday.

  ‘It’s not uncommon to have new students cry and be upset because they’re homesick,’ said Kate. ‘But we’ve never had anyone lock themselves in before. I wasn’t trained on how to deal with this.’

  ‘You don’t have a master key?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No,’ said Kate. ‘The porter is supposed to have one, but she lost it.’

  ‘How did she lose it?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I didn’t like to ask follow up questions,’ said Kate. ‘The porter scares me. She refuses to speak anything but French. And even when you speak French to her, she acts like you’re so horrible at it that she can’t understand you.’

  ‘Come on, Friday,’ said Melanie. ‘This can’t be too hard for you. You break into rooms all the time.’

  ‘If you could get the door open that would be wonderful,’ said Kate. ‘I tried calling a locksmith, but when he realised he’d have to carry all his equipment up five flights of stairs, he was going to charge an extra hundred euros.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Friday. She bent over to look at the lock, then closely inspected the entire doorframe and finally rapped her knuckles on the door. ‘Well, it’s a solid timber door, set into a steel frame and with a French-made Dom RS Sigma lock.’

  ‘And what does that mean for those of us who aren’t familiar with European lock manufacturers?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘It depends on what you want to do,’ said Friday. ‘There are lots of different ways you can break through a lock. You could try kicking the door in.’

  ‘That sounds awfully athletic,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Friday. ‘And I don’t think it would work here. Usually, when people kick doors in, they’re actually kicking the doorframe out. The timber of the doorframe is the weakest part of the lock. But in this instance, the doorframe is made of steel, so you’d break your ankle before you broke that.’

  ‘It would not be fun getting up and down the five flights of stairs with a broken ankle,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Alternatively, I could pick the lock,’ said Friday. ‘But this is a quality European commercial cylinder lock. It’s got multiple anti-drill and anti-picking design elements.’

  ‘So it’s unpickable?’ said Kate.

  ‘No, I didn’t say that,’ said Friday. ‘No lock is unpickable. It’s just that good ones take a while to do.’

  ‘My bladder would prefer not to wait,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Also, I didn’t bring lock-picking tools with me,’ said Friday. ‘So before I began, I’d have to make lock-picking tools, which are very specific. I’d need a suitable small, flat screwdriver and a thin length of metal that I can bend to make a pin for turning the tumblers.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Kate. ‘That’s doable. We’re all art students in this building. People here have all sorts of weird things for making sculptures and mixing paints.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Friday. ‘But whenever you break in somewhere you have to consider the risks.’

  ‘There is no risk,’ said Kate. ‘It’s the Institute’s door. They won’t mind if it’s damaged.’

  ‘No, but Sophia will,’ said Friday. ‘We have to spend the next six weeks sharing a room with her. Bursting into a bathroom where she has sought refuge would be a terrible way to start that relationship.’

  ‘Well done, Friday,’ said Melanie. ‘That’s uncharacteristically empathetic of you.’

  ‘Then what do you suggest?’ asked Kate.

  ‘When you analyse the risks and rewards of all the possible ways in which we could get that door open,’ said Friday, ‘the best strategy would be to find out if Roberto gets a staff discount.’

  ‘What?’ said Kate.

  ‘Roberto works at a pizza shop,’ said Friday. ‘According to his shirt, it’s the best in Paris. Everyone likes pizza. It smells fantastic. Sophia has been in there for an hour. Before that she was in a car. It’s probably been hours since she’s eaten. She’s got to be hungry.’

  ‘I feel hungry,’ said Melanie. ‘And that’s just from hearing you talk about pizza.’

  ‘The walk up those stairs alone is enough to make anyone hungry,’ agreed Friday. ‘And we’re all teenagers, and teenagers are always hungry. There is a twelve millimetre gap at the bottom of the door where the air can get through. If we order six large pizzas, she’ll be able to smell them.’

  ‘We could get a fan to waft the smell in,’ said Melanie.

  ‘We don’t have a fan,’ said Kate.

  ‘We don’t need one,’ said Friday. ‘We can use thermodynamics. It’s five degrees centigrade outside, compared to nineteen degrees in here. If we open that window . . .’ Friday pointed to the window at the end of the corridor. ‘. . . the warm air from the lounge will be drawn up and along the corridor, creating a circular convection pattern with the cold air from outside. The smell will waft past her door. That will be the fastest way to get her out of the room, while causing the least damage to the property and allowing her to save face.’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ said Kate.

  ‘Worst case scenario, we all get to eat pizza,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Now I’m feeling hungry too,’ said Kate.

  Twenty minutes later, six extra-large pizzas arrived. Although Roberto did have to run down the stairs to get them, because the delivery boy refused to bring them up. But it was worth it, because they did smell fantastic. The garlic, tomato, oregano and cheese combined to create an odour that was nothing short of magical. Friday, Melanie, Kate and the two boys all fell on them, eating with such enthusiasm that they totally forgot about Sophia.

  Two pizzas were gone before they realised that there were six of them sitting around the coffee table. Sophia had let herself out and was onto her third slice of margherita. Everyone pretended they hadn’t noticed. Friday and Melanie were finally able to use the bathroom, while Sophia ate a double helping of tiramisu that Roberto’s uncle had thrown in as a complimentary dessert.

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ Melanie asked.

  Sophia nodded. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s just . . .’ She shrugged. She was clearly a bit embarrassed about the fuss now. ‘I was expecting to spend the next six weeks with Daddy. But he says I’ll be happier here because he’s going to be busy with work.’

  ‘You probably will be happier here,’ Melanie pointed out.

  Sophia shrugged. ‘I think he was more concerned that he would be happier with me here.’

  ‘This place isn’t so bad,’ said Friday. ‘And we get to go and sketch at the Louvre tomorrow.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Sophia. ‘To be honest, I was also a bit disappointed not to be downstairs in the fourth-floor dorm.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Adam.

  Sophia blushed a bit when she smiled. ‘There’s a boy down there who is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.’

  ‘Really?’ said Melanie.

  ‘He smiled at me when I walked past with my suitcase,’ added Sophia. She grinned at the memory. ‘And then . . . he said, “Hi.”’

  ‘A raconteur as well,’ said Friday sarcastically as she took a big bite of her pepperoni slice.

  ‘Oh, I know who you’re talking about,’ said Kate. ‘He’s only been here a week and he’s caused so much trouble already. All the girls are in love with him.’

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Ian,’ said Kate.

  Friday choked on her pizza. Melanie had to whack her hard on the back five times before she could begin to recover herself.

  ‘But there’s no point getting your hopes up,’ said Kate. ‘He’s seeing someone already.’

  Friday felt slightly better.

  ‘Who?’ asked Sophia.

  ‘I don’t know his name,’ said Kate. ‘He’s a boy on the third floor.’

  ‘Huh?’ said Friday. ‘A boy?’

  Melanie smiled. ‘Now, Friday, you have to be open-minded.’

  ‘I am open-minded,’ said Friday. ‘But you can be open-minded and confused. The two are not mutually exclusive.’

  ‘We’ll have to investigate later,’ said Melanie.

  The next morning, Friday and her tutor group were taken over to the Louvre. Friday was no great art lover, but even her clinical scientific brain could recognise that the Louvre complex was majestic. You couldn’t help but become excited as you approached the entrance.

  The building had started out as a medieval castle, and successive French kings had added to it over the centuries, constructing a great rectangular palace around a massive central courtyard. Then, in the nineteenth century, an angry revolutionary mob had burned down one whole side of the rectangle and, amazingly, what was left was even more lovely as a result.

  The destroyed wing of the palace had been replaced with a beautiful open garden so now, from the courtyard of the Louvre, you could see all the way up the Champs-Élysees to France’s magnificent war memorial – the Arc de Triomphe. It was spectacular.

  But the Louvre building was not just a relic from the past. In the centre of the courtyard was a huge modern pyramid made of glass. It was a striking contrast to the classical architecture surrounding it, but somehow it worked. The glass pyramid hinted at all the excitement contained within. The Louvre Museum extended underground like a rabbit warren. Gallery after gallery of exotic treasures leading one into another. The glass pyramid reminded Friday of an iceberg. It was just the tip. There was ten times more beauty below.

  As students with the Institute, Friday and her tutor group had passes that allowed them to bypass the long security queues. Kate led the way down the escalators into the main lobby. This was itself a huge room with marble walls and floors. There was a gift shop on one side where you could buy everything from erasers shaped like the Mona Lisa’s face, to hand-crafted jewellery costing thousands of euros for the tourists who wanted a souvenir they could really brag about when they got home. On the other side of the lobby was a massive cloakroom. On the third side was an information desk and on the fourth there was a passageway that led through to a metro station.

  Friday spotted Agent Okeke in the gift shop folding tea towels. Friday had to fight the instinct to wave. Agent Okeke glowered.

  ‘This way,’ said Kate. ‘This morning we’re going to be learning about French sculpture. The Marly Horses in the Richelieu wing are one of the most famous exhibits at the Louvre.’

  ‘But the sculptures in the Marly gallery are just copies, a pastiche of Greek and Roman statues,’ complained Sophia. ‘Why are we spending our first day looking at that?’

  ‘Um . . . they’re really famous,’ said Kate. ‘And because everyone likes them. They like the horses. They look really realistic.’

  ‘Also the whole history of Western culture starts with the Ancient Greeks,’ said Adam. ‘Masterpieces from the Renaissance through to Impressionist and Expressionist art can all be traced in a direct line of influence from their origins in Greek and Roman art.’

  ‘What he said,’ said Kate.

  ‘But I agree with Sophia,’ said Friday. ‘Can’t we go and look at the Mona Lisa?’

  ‘Yeah,’ chimed in Roberto.

  ‘We are at the Louvre,’ said Adam. ‘We’ve got to see it.’

  Kate sighed. She stepped closer to her students and spoke in a lowered voice. ‘The staff at the Louvre don’t like how tourists come here, spend five minutes looking at the Mona Lisa, three minutes looking at the Venus De Milo, half an hour browsing the gift shop and then leave. It’s polite to take an interest in the French art as well.’

  ‘French copies,’ scoffed Adam.

  ‘They’re not copies,’ said Kate. ‘They’re homages.’

  Adam rolled his eyes. ‘The art world is so hypocritical. A forgery is wrong. But an “homage” gets displayed in the Marly gallery.’

  ‘Yes, well we’re not here to discuss ethics,’ said Kate. ‘We’re artists. Artists don’t worry overly much about things like that. Students aren’t allowed to sketch in groups in the room where the Mona Lisa is on display anyway,’ said Kate. ‘It’s always crowded. They don’t want large groups clogging up the room for prolonged periods of time. If you want to see the Mona Lisa, you can go and have a look for yourself during the lunch break.’

  Friday and her fellow students followed Kate up the main staircase.

  ‘It’s a funny building,’ said Friday, ‘where you have to go down into the basement to enter, only to go back up above ground to go to the galleries.’

  ‘The tutor group from the fourth floor will be joining us for today’s lecture,’ said Kate, calling over her shoulder as she kept walking.

  As they turned into the Marly gallery, Friday was stunned by the beauty before her. The gallery itself was a wonderful light-filled room. The ceiling was three stories tall. Huge skylights in the roof showed the blue sky above Paris. The room was intersected with staircases and landings, which allowed the sculptures to be set at different heights. The magnificent statues loomed over them.

  ‘Wow,’ said Friday. She found herself looking up the nose of a rearing stallion.

  ‘Definitely wow,’ agreed Melanie.

  Kate had been right, the horses were fantastically portrayed in action poses. But the statues of humans were even more spectacular because they weren’t really humans, they were the Greek gods getting up to all the outrageous, violent, passionate things that the Greek gods always did. Except for one Greek god who was lounging on a stone bench, the sun glistening off his pale blond hair. It was Ian – he fit in perfectly in this beautiful room surrounded by beautiful things. He was every bit as arrogant as Achilles and as petulant as Ares. If he was turned to stone on the spot, no-one would think he was out of place in the company he was keeping.

  Around Ian, there was a bevy of girls. They had their backs to the sculptures. They were focused purely on him. Friday had no idea what the girls were saying, but from their body language – constant self-grooming and lots of unnecessary head tilting – she could tell that they were flirting with her boyfriend. Ian leaned towards them and whispered something. They all leaned forward to listen. Then suddenly they threw their heads back in a cacophony of shrill laughter that reverberated off all the hard surfaces in the room.

  ‘Stop scowling,’ said Melanie. ‘You don’t want to compromise our cover.’

  ‘How can scowling compromise my cover?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Not so much yours as Ian’s,’ said Melanie. ‘Flirting with girls is how he gets information. If people realise that you two are really desperately in love with each other, no-one will tell him anything.’

  ‘But everyone thinks he’s in love with a boy from the third floor,’ said Friday. ‘His cover is already compromised.’

  ‘Not if the boy is very informative,’ said Melanie.

  Friday looked at the boy sitting on the bench next to Ian. They weren’t sitting like they were an item. The boy was ignoring Ian and the girls. He was hunched over his sketchbook, hard at work on a drawing of a man strangling a very upset woman.

  ‘That boy looks familiar,’ said Friday. He was sitting down, but his legs and arms were so long, you could tell he would be tall. But lanky tall. Like he’d never played any sport in his life. His hair was a weird powder blue. A shade that ninety-nine per cent of parents would never tolerate. And ninety-nine per cent of boys would never think of getting. He was wearing a shapeless khaki jacket with lots of big pockets. Everything about him said art student.