"On the terrace," Pamela replied.
She lunched quite alone on a broad, flagged terrace, with the sea gently breaking at its foot. The greater portion of the building was occupied by the restaurant, but at one end Pamela noticed a couple of French windows. She remarked to the waiter who served her upon the absence of any visitors but herself.
"It is only this season, Madame, that the restaurant is open," he replied.
"Can people stay here?" she asked.
"Yes. There are two suites of rooms. One is occupied; but the other is vacant, if Madame would care to see it."
Pamela rose and followed him. He opened one of the French windows. A dining-room furnished with elegance, and lightly decorated; a sitting-room, and a bedroom comprised the suite. Pamela came back to the terrace. She was disquieted. It was impossible, of course, that Millie Stretton should stay at the Réserve; but the whole look of the place troubled her.
She mounted into her carriage and drove back. In front of her the great hotel of Eze stood high upon a promontory above the railway. A thought came to Pamela. She drove back round the head of the gorge, and when she came to the hotel she bade the coachman drive in. In the open space in front of the hotel she took tea. She could not see the restaurant itself, but she could see the road rising to the little hill-crest beside it. It was very near, she thought. She went into the hotel, and asked boldly at the office--
"When do you expect Lady Stretton?"
"Lady Stretton?" The clerk in the office looked up his books. "In three weeks, Madame," he said. "She has engaged her rooms from the 31st."
"Thank you," said Pamela.