After breakfast, Claire took a nap. There's nothing to do, anyway, and for some reason, the more coffee she drank, the sleepier she got. Must still be the after-effects of the champagne last night.
When she wakes up, it's still the middle of the day. The sun is still streaming through the windows. It's such a beautiful day to waste holed up in this room. She doesn't know how to call the househelp or Lucille. She doesn't know where Lopez the butler is. The strange thing about this huge mansion is you don't see a lot of people—they seem to be hiding somewhere, or neatly tucked away to avoid being unnecessarily seen.
Claire slips out of the room and out onto a wide, long corridor. The walls are lined with oil paintings of distinguished-looking men of women. At the very end is a life-sized portrait of a young woman who looks every inch like a queen. She must be Gabriel's sister, Claire wonders.
