by Susan Lewis
‘We have to find this Xavier Lachère,’ she said.
Laurie picked up her mobile.
‘It won’t work here,’ Rachel reminded her.
Putting it down again, Laurie reached out for the land phone. ‘I need to speak to Elliot’s researchers,’ she said. ‘If anyone can dig out information on this Xavier fellow, they can. And while they’re at it, I’ll get them to put some pressure on their contacts in the force, to find out if anyone there knows the man exists. I’m willing to bet a great deal that they do, though why they’ve never mentioned him to you, or why even keep his name a secret …’ She indicated for Rachel to look behind her. ‘The postman,’ she said, as he came in through the gate.
Rachel’s heart plummeted into yet another black hole of dread. She was afraid of all communication now, because no news ever seemed good. ‘Over here, Reg,’ she called, as the postman magicked a biscuit from his pocket and tossed it back over the gate to Romie.
‘Bit of a handful here today,’ he said, trudging across the lawn to the window as he dug into his bag. ‘Looks like rain, too, and your washing’s still on the line. Just in case you forgot.’
‘Thanks,’ she smiled, taking the letters. ‘I’ll go and get it in.’
‘Anna gone now, is she? I noticed her car wasn’t there.’
‘She left first thing this morning.’
‘Nice Porsche,’ he said, peering in at Laurie. ‘I expect that’s yours, is it?’
‘Oh, yes. Well, my boyfriend’s, actually.’
‘Good cars. Our Jason’s thinking about getting himself one. Second hand, like. Three years old. That’s my nephew. You know Jason, don’t you?’ he said to Rachel.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And his family. Please say hello from me next time you see them.’
‘Oh they’re down in the cove all the time, now they’ve moved back into the village,’ he told her. ‘Managed to buy back our old gran’s house, they did, so you’ll probably see them before I do. Anyway, got to get on. Tell Beanie that dog of hers is getting fat.’
‘Because you keep giving her biscuits,’ Rachel chided.
She watched him walk back to the gate, holding the mail in her hand and desperately not wanting to look at it. Such a bunch could only mean that it had been forwarded from London.
‘At last a friendly face,’ Laurie commented, when she was sure Reg was out of earshot.
‘He doesn’t live in Killian,’ Rachel said. ‘He lives in Lizard. Maybe that’s the difference.’ She looked down at the letters, then leafed carefully through. ‘Oh my God,’ she murmured, drawing out a long white envelope that bore no markings other than her typewritten London address. ‘This could be it.’
At that moment Laurie got through to Elliot’s office, but instantly disconnected. Experiencing probably only half of Rachel’s nerves, she watched as Rachel opened the letter.
‘Yes, it is,’ Rachel said, putting a hand to her head as she leaned back against the wall. A sudden rush of bile rose to her throat, and dropping everything she made a quick dash to the bathroom.
Picking up the letter Laurie read the few typed lines, then sat down on the sofa to wait, feeling her own senses responding to all that was happening here, for it was turning out to be much bigger, and infinitely more dangerous, than she’d expected. She knew she’d have to discuss it with Elliot, for there was probably no one more suited to dealing with something so entrenched in politics, arms deals and high-level corruption than he; she just had to make sure that she wasn’t using it to put off facing the problems in their relationship, which she’d been doing for too long.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rachel said, a few minutes later as she came back into the room, dabbing her face with a towel. ‘I thought that was all over with, and now today it’s happened twice.’
‘Would you like some water?’ Laurie offered.
‘No. I’ve just had some, thanks.’ She looked at the letter in Laurie’s hand. ‘What does it say?’ she asked, feeling light-headed again.
Laurie lifted it up and read aloud. ‘“Transfer of funds to be made by July the second from your account to,” then we have the details of another bank, also in Zurich,’ she finished.
‘No names?’ Rachel asked, swallowing hard. ‘Or contact details?’
Laurie flipped the single page over. ‘Nothing,’ she said. Her eyes went back to Rachel’s. ‘The second is next Friday. That gives us the weekend and maybe Monday to decide what to do, if we allow three days for the transfer.’
Rachel’s insides were in chaos. She had no idea what she wanted to do now the letter was here. The prospect of clashing with someone as powerful as Franz Koehler was becoming too horrifying even to contemplate.
The phone rang, making her jump.
For a moment they both stared at it, then pulling herself together Rachel said, ‘It’ll be Anna, letting me know she got back all right,’ and picking up the receiver she said, ‘Hello?’
‘Hi. Is that Rachel?’
It was a male voice she didn’t recognize, but there was no discernible foreign accent. ‘Yes,’ she answered, turning to look at Laurie.
‘It’s Elliot Russell here,’ he told her. ‘Is Laurie still with you?’
‘Oh yes. Yes. She’s right here.’
After handing the phone over, Rachel left them to speak privately and went outside to start taking in the washing. To her dismay, she was so close to tears that she wasn’t at all sure she’d be able to hold them back, or indeed finish the task at hand, for she was already clinging to the sheet she’d taken from Anna’s bed, as though it were her sister herself. She loved Robert, absolutely adored him, but she wished he wasn’t having one of his crises right now.
Pressing the sheet tighter to her face, she struggled even harder to fight back the tears. Perversely, it wasn’t the email or the letter that was pushing her over the edge, but the phone call from Elliot Russell, for it was hearing his voice, asking for Laurie, just like Robert’s when he asked for Anna, that reminded her Tim would never be asking for her again. It was strange and cruel the way those little things crept up on her, and they did all the time. Maybe she was going to need more than just a few moments to get herself together, because the despair was suddenly so black and overwhelming, that she was starting to sob, and right now it felt as though she might never be able to stop.
When Laurie came outside some five minutes later, it was to find the washing half collected in the basket, and no sign of Rachel. She looked around, then finally spotted her, at the very tip of the headland, sitting on a grassy bank next to the tiny hewer’s hut, staring out to sea.
Laurie’s heart went out to her, for she could only begin to imagine how terrible her inner torment must be. She guessed, too, that it might have been the call from Elliot that had finally tipped her, for she remembered only too well just how awful it was when friends received calls from the men who loved them at times when she had no one. Not that it could be compared to the agonizing loss Rachel was having to deal with, it was simply that Laurie understood, and almost wished she could tell her, that the call truly wasn’t one she’d have wanted.
Deciding to leave her in peace for a while, Laurie went back inside and curled up with her notepad and the email in the window seat. The view down over the small bay was restricted from here, but she could still see the dramatic rise of the headland opposite as well as several cottages that sprawled up over the hillside. Not wanting to think about Elliot, she found her mind veering away from the email too, as she reflected on what she’d learned about this tiny fishing cove in the past couple of days: which was that there was undoubtedly some kind of smuggling operation going on. There had to be, for them to be able to afford the cars and expensive coastal cottages whose prices had been vastly inflated by Londoners buying them up as holiday homes. In fact, considering what a hard time it was for fishermen all round now, she really didn’t blame them for trying to supplement their incomes, she just hoped it was only booze and cigarettes from across
the Channel, and nothing more exotic from further afield, though she rather suspected it was, given the amount of money they seemed to be making. The real problem, however, at least as far as Rachel was concerned, was how leery they were of having her in their midst when her circumstances made her such a magnet to the very people the locals were trying to avoid, the police and the press. It was clearly why they were snubbing her, trying to force her out, for they were understandably afraid that she was going to jeopardize their newfound livelihood.
Noticing that the rain had started again, and remembering the washing, she leapt up from the window seat and ran outside to finish bringing it in. By the time she’d dumped the basket on a draining board, and turfed out an umbrella, it was threatening to turn into a downpour, so grabbing her leather jacket and a large plastic raincoat from a peg in the washing-machine niche, she set out along the footpath to where Rachel was still sitting, staring out at the darkening sky and swelling, grey sea.
‘Here,’ Laurie said, putting the raincoat around her.
Rachel smiled, and drew the back of her hand across her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just needed to be alone for a while.’
‘Please, don’t apologize,’ Laurie insisted. ‘I’ll go again now, I just wanted you to keep dry.’
‘No, I’ll come with you,’ Rachel said, getting to her feet. ‘I can’t sit here for ever willing him to come back.’ Her red-rimmed eyes met Laurie’s and she forced a smile again. ‘Come on,’ she said, hooking Laurie’s arm. ‘I’ve been a terrible hostess since you arrived, so let’s forget about everything else for a while and go and brave the village for a coffee. There’s a nice little place next to the pub, where they used to take all the pilchards for pressing and salting, back in the eighteen hundreds. Then maybe we can take a walk on the beach and have a look at the boats. Or stroll up to the Devil’s Frying Pan. That’s always worth seeing.’
As they started back down the footpath the rain was already beginning to ease off, and by the time they reached the cottage it had stopped altogether. ‘We should pop in and get some money,’ Laurie said, as Rachel made to go past.
Rachel stopped, then turned to follow her inside. ‘I didn’t think about money,’ she confessed, as they went in through the kitchen. ‘We never used to while we were here. If we didn’t happen to have any on us, we’d always pay later.’ She was staring blindly down at the emails, still spread out on the table. ‘I don’t suppose I should rely on that now.’
Laurie was about to answer when someone knocked on the open back door.
‘Hi,’ he said, as they both looked round. ‘Mrs Hendon? Rachel?’
Rachel frowned, not quite able to see the man with the sunlight glaring behind him.
‘Chris Gallagher,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘I live over by Kynance Cove. I met your husband a few times, and I heard you were here. I wanted to offer my condolences, if it’s not too presumptuous.’
‘No, no, not at all,’ Rachel said, glancing at Laurie. ‘Uh, please, come in.’
He stepped up into the shade of the kitchen and Laurie almost felt her jaw drop, for though the voice had certainly been deep and alluring, she hadn’t expected anyone quite as attractive as this. Indeed, with his beautifully chiselled features, jet black eyes and eyebrows, and mop of silvery black hair, he was so good-looking that she could almost feel herself blushing at the way her basic feminine instincts were responding to the strong sense of his maleness.
‘I-I’m sorry,’ Rachel stammered, ‘what did you say your name was?’
‘Chris Gallagher,’ he repeated, holding out his hand to shake. ‘I hope I’m not barging in at an awkward time. I was just down at the beach, and I saw you up here …’
Rachel looked at his hand, then back at him as she took it. ‘Have we met?’ she asked.
The warm texture of his eyes seemed to deepen as he smiled. ‘No, I don’t believe so,’ he answered. ‘But I’ve read a lot of your op eds in various newspapers, and I have to admit, I’m quite a fan.’
She was still looking at him, then becoming aware that it was time to let go of his hand, she withdrew her own and tried to think of something to say.
‘Each time I ran into your husband,’ he said, ‘you never seemed to be around. Actually, I was with him when he commissioned that painting, from Nick Cormant.’ He nodded towards the water-colour of the cove that was hanging on the stairwell wall. ‘It was for your birthday, he said.’
Rachel swallowed, and nodded. Then suddenly remembering her manners, she said, ‘I’m sorry, this is Laurie Forbes, a – friend of mine.’
He turned his darkly magnetic eyes on Laurie, and took her hand. ‘Being a bit of a news junkie,’ he said, ‘I confess I already know who you are.’
‘Please don’t believe all you hear,’ she warned, then immediately felt foolish, despite his laugh. It was amazing, she was thinking, just how profound an effect he was having, and not just on her, she was sure of it, for Rachel definitely seemed flustered too. Then quite suddenly they were saved by a whirlwind appearance from Beanie.
‘Chris Gallagher! Is that you?’ she demanded, charging up the garden path. ‘Yes, it’s you!’ she squealed with delight, as he turned to greet her. ‘I thought I saw you go past.’
‘Beanie!’ he laughed, stepping out into the garden and swinging her round like a child. ‘Did you think I’d forgotten you?’
‘I know you never would,’ she crowed happily. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you. Give me another hug.’
Still laughing, he embraced her again. ‘It’s only been a fortnight,’ he reminded her. ‘I wasn’t gone long.’
‘It’s always too long for me,’ she said, flirtatiously. ‘And now I hear that you’re going to be singing with Zac in the pub tomorrow night.’
‘I am?’ he cried in surprise.
‘Oh, yes,’ she assured him. ‘He’s written some new tunes, and lovely they are too.’ To Rachel and Laurie, she said, ‘This man here has got one of the best voices this side of Truro. He’s even better than Wilson and Foggie.’
Laurie’s face was a picture. ‘Than who?’ she said.
Both Chris Gallagher and Rachel laughed. ‘Wilson and Foggie,’ Chris informed her, ‘are the ghosts who sing in the cove on dark winter nights, and warm summer nights too, come to that.’
Laurie looked at Rachel, whose eyes were dancing, then back to Chris. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ she said.
‘Uh-uh,’ he replied, shaking his head and looking at Rachel.
‘Uh-uh,’ Rachel echoed.
Laurie rolled her eyes. ‘All right, I’ll go for it,’ she said. ‘So who are they? Or perhaps I should be saying, who were they?’
‘They’re a couple of fishermen who used to live here – and stumble out of the pub on Saturday nights to sing in the cove,’ Beanie told her. ‘Excellent tenors, both. Fill your heart right up, they did. Still do.’ She turned back to Chris, ‘So we shall expect to see you. Eight o’clock. I’ll let Zac know, unless you see him yourself,’ and without so much as a by your leave, she went beetling off again.
Chris was still laughing, and his smile, Laurie decided, should be licensed, or rationed, or whatever was needed for something that was so devastatingly effective. ‘So, I hope you ladies will be there too,’ he said.
‘We wouldn’t miss it,’ Laurie assured him, jumping in before Rachel could protest.
But Rachel did anyway. ‘I’m afraid I might spoil it,’ she said, surprising Laurie with her frankness. ‘No one’s very comfortable with my presence at the moment, and I don’t want …’ She stopped as he began shaking his head.
‘Just leave that to me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a pretty good idea what the problem is, so it should be all sorted out by tomorrow.’
Rachel looked at him in surprise, though Laurie could see that her cheeks were reddening. ‘But I think it’s about Tim and –’
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her gently. ‘I promise. It’ll all be all right by tomorrow.’
&nbs
p; Rachel and Laurie stood watching him as he walked away, their eyes following him down the footpath, their minds going in a thousand different directions.
‘Who on earth is he?’ Laurie finally managed.
‘Chris Gallagher,’ Rachel answered. Then pulling herself together, she said, ‘Very good looking, isn’t he?’
‘Really?’ Laurie responded. ‘I hardly noticed.’
As they both laughed, and turned back into the house, Rachel caught a glimpse of herself in the small, beech-framed mirror. ‘Well, don’t I look a picture?’ she said, grimacing at her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy face. ‘I think I’d better go and do something about myself before we go for that coffee.’
Still smiling, Laurie returned to the sitting room to start tidying up the table. Further discussion of the email and letter could wait for a while, though she was willing to bet that not more than another hour would pass before they’d be fixating on them again. So why not just enjoy this small respite of an attractive new neighbour arriving just when Rachel needed him most, for if he really could make things easier with the locals, he would be a godsend indeed.
‘I just can’t imagine how you’ve managed to miss him until now,’ Laurie commented, as they strolled into the cobbled courtyard of the Caves, where a young waitress was serving a couple of tourists with a traditional Cornish tea. ‘Beanie’s obviously mad about him.’
‘Beanie’s mad about everyone,’ Rachel responded, picking up a menu.
Laurie picked one up too. Perusing it, she said, ‘I wonder what he does?’
Rachel shrugged.
‘He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.’
Rachel’s eyes widened as she lowered the menu to look across at Laurie.
‘I’m just saying, he wasn’t,’ Laurie told her.
