It didn’t take long to hunt down Dieter and get the key to the Mini from him. Ben walked over to the château’s garage block and found his car squeezed up next to the boxy hulk of a brand new Rolls. He hit a button on the wall to open up the steel shutter, got in the Mini and left a long, deep pair of tyre ruts across the gravel. He didn’t glance back once in the rearview mirror as he left the Steiner place behind.
Then it was the long journey home. And he’d thought he was preoccupied on the way out to Switzerland. As he pushed the car on hard and fast, the thoughts swirled furiously round inside his head.
What was wrong with him? Was this some kind of mid-life crisis hitting? Was he losing his edge at last?
Maybe Rupert Shannon had been right. Maybe the best place for him was behind a desk, marking time until he became just another double-chinned, bloodshot-eyed, cigar-chewing businessman with his gut hanging out over his lap, arteries more furred up than a chinchilla coat and a resting heart-rate of a hundred and fifty beats a minute. The well-trodden road to an early death. Perhaps that was all he was good for.
But the thought that was lodged in his head more than any other – spinning round and round like a pinball as the miles flew by, long after he’d passed back over the Swiss border and was heading westwards across France – was of the woman.
Thinking the same thing over and over again. Round and round, getting louder and more bewildering with every passing mile.
It couldn’t be true. And yet …
He gripped the wheel tightly as he drove, as though somehow by holding on he wouldn’t lose his grip on reality. But he was scared that he was.
So scared that he was shaking. So scared, that he could hardly bring himself to dredge up out of the dark corners of his memory the things that had happened all those years ago. The events that had changed his life and shaped his whole destiny.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sometime after Paris, the first raindrop spattered out of the darkness onto his windscreen. By the time he reached Normandy, around eleven, his headlights were cutting a twin swathe through the hammering rain and the road was slick and shiny.
Rainwater was cascading off the roofs of the buildings at Le Val and streaming across the cobbled yard as Ben pulled up outside the farmhouse. On a normal night, in a normal mood, he might have run to the door to avoid getting soaked by the deluge. Tonight wasn’t a normal night. He didn’t care enough to hurry, and his hair and jacket were dripping wet as he walked inside the door and dumped his case in the hall.
He was about to head for the stairs and the sanctuary of his private apartment when he heard what sounded like a movie playing and noticed the flickering strip of light under the door of the living room down the hall. He walked down the hall, opened the door and stepped inside.
Two faces turned as he walked in. Brooke and Jeff, sitting among heaps of cushions at opposite ends of the three-seater sofa. The lights were off, and the big TV screen threw shadows across the room. Looked like some kind of vampire movie, loud and colourful and bloody. The table in front of Jeff was littered with beer cans. Brooke had a steaming mug of something. Cocoa was her favourite, and she had that homely way of clutching it with both hands.
It was good to see them again.
‘What are you guys watching?’
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Jeff said, shocked.
Brooke was staring at him. ‘You’re drenched.’
‘It’s raining,’ Ben said.
Jeff snatched up the remote and paused the DVD. A big open red-fanged mouth was frozen on the screen. ‘Why aren’t you in Switzerland?’
‘Job’s over,’ Ben said.
Jeff made a face. ‘What are you going on about?’
Ben walked over to the sofa and sat down heavily between them. ‘You haven’t heard?’
‘Heard what?’ Brooke said.
‘I’m surprised Shannon’s gunslinger of a lawyer hasn’t called yet. First thing in the morning, I expect we’ll be hearing from him.’
Jeff and Brooke both looked baffled.
‘Remember what I said to Shannon about being sent home in disgrace?’ Ben said. ‘Well, that’s pretty much what’s happened to me.’
He spent the next few minutes explaining the events of that afternoon, with just a few minor omissions. He didn’t tell them about the woman in the woods. He felt guilty about lying to his friends – but there was no way he could admit the whole truth.
As he talked them through it, he could see the deepening frown on Brooke’s face and the darkening flush of anger on Jeff’s.
‘Let me get this right,’ Jeff said. ‘You save the old bugger’s arse, and then he gives you the boot just because you, completely on your own, can’t stop a whole team of armed kidnappers from legging it back to their van? Maybe if he’d taken your fucking advice about the choppers—’
‘Anyway, what happened, happened,’ Ben interrupted quickly. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it now. Just one thing I need to do, and this whole nightmare will be over.’
‘What do you need to do, Ben?’ Brooke asked quietly.
‘The only thing I can. Pay Shannon off.’
Even in the dim light of the screen, Jeff’s face went distinctly pale. ‘Pay Shannon off?’ he echoed.
Ben nodded. ‘Every penny.’
‘That’s one point two million,’ Jeff exploded.
‘I know how much it is.’
Jeff gaped. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘I messed up,’ Ben said. ‘Now I have to pay the price.’
‘We’ll take this to court,’ Jeff protested. ‘Unfair dismissal. Steiner’s put us in this position.’
‘It can’t get to court,’ Ben said. ‘Even if we won, we’d never survive the bad publicity. And if we lost, we’d end up paying legal costs on top of everything else. There’s no other choice.’
‘This is nuts,’ Jeff muttered. ‘Absolutely nuts.’
Brooke was watching Ben anxiously. Her drink sat cooling on the table in front of her.
‘You’re talking about an awful lot of money, Ben.’
‘More than the business can afford,’ he admitted. ‘I’ll have to take out a mortgage on Le Val, or go to the bank and beg for a loan. Scrape it together, somehow. Then we hand it over to Shannon, and we move on.’ He tried to smile and look optimistic. He knew it wasn’t a convincing act.
‘What if you can’t raise that much?’ Brooke asked.
Ben shrugged. The answer was obvious, and the look on Brooke’s face told him that she’d known it even before she’d finished asking the question.
‘Then we’ll have to sell up,’ he said quietly. Hearing the words out loud was almost more than he could bear.
The three of them sat there in silence. Jeff looked thunderstruck, and Ben knew what he was thinking. Le Val was just as much home to Jeff now as it was to him. If it had to go on the market, all the work they’d both put into it would be lost. And all just to pay off shit like Rupert Shannon.
Jeff stood up. His face was tight.
‘I’m sorry, Jeff.’
‘It’s not your doing, mate,’ Jeff said. There was emotion in his voice. He turned to leave the room. ‘See you in the morning,’ he muttered.
Then he was gone, and Ben and Brooke were left alone.
‘I think I’ll turn in too,’ she said, getting up. ‘Though I doubt if I’ll get any sleep tonight. Not now.’
‘I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to get pissed out of my mind.’
She smiled. ‘Come to think of it, that sounds like a very good idea. Mind if I join you?’
‘Be my guest. There’s enough wine on the rack to kill both of us.’
It was cold up in Ben’s quarters, and he arranged kindling sticks and a couple of dry logs in the fireplace while Brooke filled a couple of glasses of wine. She sat cross-legged on the big soft rug next to the hearth, watching him. ‘You’re a pretty good firelighter,’ she commented.
‘I oug
ht to be.’ In a minute or so the blaze was crackling up the chimney, and he settled next to her on the rug. She handed him a glass.
‘What can you drink to on a night like this?’ she said.
‘Here’s to good old Saint Geneviève,’ Ben said, raising his glass.
‘Who’s Saint Geneviève?’
‘The patron saint of complete and utter disasters and fuck-ups. An old friend of mine.’ He downed his wine. Reached for the bottle and refilled the glass.
They drank in silence as the rain lashed against the windows, and watched the flames curl and lick around the logs in the fireplace. Ben knocked the wine back hard and fast.
‘We need another bottle,’ he said. ‘Or two.’
‘So soon?’
‘I mean business.’ He started clambering to his feet. ‘I’ll go down for it,’ she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and standing up. ‘I’ve just had an idea.’
‘What idea?’
‘A brilliant one.’
He tossed a couple more logs on the fire while she was gone, poked them around so that orange sparks flew up the chimney, and felt the heat on his face. After a few minutes Brooke returned, balancing two more bottles on a tray along with a plate and a covered platter.
‘So this is your brilliant idea,’ he said.
She took the lid from the platter. ‘Marie-Claire’s famous chocolate gâteau.’ She sat down beside him, laid the tray on the rug in front of them. He quickly opened the second bottle. As he poured their glasses, she dipped a fork into the cake and ate some. Her eyes sparkled in the firelight.
‘God, this is good.’ She loaded up another forkful and carried it towards his mouth.
He clamped his lips shut, shook his head. ‘I don’t like sweets much. You eat it.’
‘Help you soak up all this booze.’
‘I don’t want to soak it up. Defeats the object. What I want is for it to get into my bloodstream and circulate round to my brain, as quickly and efficiently as possible. What’s the point otherwise?’
‘Come on, Ben. You really must eat some of this. It’s a secret family recipe. People round here have gone to war for it. To have it offered to you and not eat it is a sacrilege. An insult to the gods.’
He smiled and put down his glass. ‘OK, you persuaded me. It wouldn’t do to offend the gods.’
‘Definitely not.’ She held the fork up to his mouth. He opened it, and she fed the cake to him. He drew away, sliding the piece off the fork with his teeth. Chewed once, paused, chewed again and swallowed. It tasted rich and creamy. Cognac and almonds and home-churned butter. A hint of coffee in there somewhere, and traces of flavours he could only guess at.
‘You’re right. It is pretty damn good.’
‘Have another bit,’ she said. ‘It’s the ultimate in comfort eating.’
‘In that case, maybe just another bit.’
‘Let’s just chocolate ourselves to death,’ she said. ‘Right here, right now.’
He threw up his hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘Fuck it. Why not?’
She fed him another forkful, and then had another herself.
‘You were right,’ he said. ‘This was a brilliant idea.’
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the flames. Then Brooke turned towards him to say something.
‘Hold on,’ he said, interrupting her. Raised his finger and moved it towards her face. ‘You’ve got a bit of cream right there.’ He gently wiped it from the corner of her mouth, then carried it back towards his own mouth and licked his finger. ‘You were about to say something,’ he said.
She looked blank. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘You’re drunk.’
‘Getting there.’
But it didn’t matter that they didn’t say much. Ben was thankful for the companionship. Brooke was someone he felt relaxed around and could comfortably share a silence with. Her presence made him feel better. He could smell her subtle perfume, and the fresh apple scent of shampoo when her hair brushed near his face. It made him think of sunshine, summer meadows, nice things that seemed to belong in some inaccessible parallel world.
‘I don’t get it,’ he said eventually. The chocolate cake was finished now, the empty plate and the fork between them on the rug.
‘What don’t you get?’
‘You and Rupert Shannon.’
Brooke sighed.
‘What do you see in the guy?’
‘You mean, what did I see in the guy?’
‘Past tense?’
‘Very past tense. It’s over.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since when do you think? Since all this happened. I don’t like the way he’s behaved. I think it’s disgusting, and I told him so at the hospital.’
Ben paused for a moment. ‘OK, what did you see in him?’
‘Why d’you want to know?’
‘Fine. It’s none of my business. Forget I ever mentioned it.’
She shrugged. ‘He seemed fun, and exciting to be with. He made me laugh. And he’s never been this obnoxious before.’
‘He’s a gobshite.’
She laughed. ‘Definitely a gobshite. That’s something I’ve come to realise.’
‘I could have told you before.’
‘Some psychologist, eh?’ She paused, and her smile fell away. ‘It’s not that easy sometimes, you know. Being me, I mean.’
‘Being you is hard? I can’t imagine why.’
‘I’m a professional woman living on her own. I work strange hours, I’m often not around. It’s difficult to meet guys. Especially the right guy. You don’t come across very many of those.’
‘You’re saying you’re lonely.’
She thought about it, then nodded. ‘I do get lonely, sometimes. London can be a very lonely place.’
‘I don’t understand why. You could get any guy you wanted.’
She snorted. ‘Somehow I don’t think so.’
‘I mean it. You’re fun to be with.’
She looked at him. ‘Really? You think?’
‘Absolutely. And you’re smart.’
Her lips curled into a bitter smile. ‘And opinionated.’
‘Maybe. But I like that about you.’
‘It drives most guys away.’
‘Only the arseholes. Think of it as a kind of filter. Quality control.’
There was another silence, just the crackle of the fire and the rain against the window panes. The wind was up, gusting down the chimney.
‘You know, Rupert wasn’t my first choice,’ she murmured.
Ben didn’t say anything. Took another deep sip of wine, then reached in his pocket for his cigarettes.
‘Of course, I couldn’t have my first choice,’ she added in an undertone.
But he didn’t seem to hear her as he flicked his lighter and lit up.
Brooke watched him, studied his face, the firelight throwing shadow into the lines bunched up on his brow as he sat quietly smoking. He’d always been a pensive man, she thought. But tonight he seemed unusually preoccupied, and something told her that there was more to it than what had happened with Steiner. Even more than the fear of losing Le Val and everything he’d worked for. There was something else.
‘What is it, Ben?’
He shrugged, took another drink. ‘I know you,’ she said. ‘I can see something is troubling you.’
He said nothing.
‘What happened in Switzerland?’
‘You know what happened. I—’
‘No,’ she cut in gently. ‘Not that. I’m asking you what really happened. You might have convinced Jeff with that story you told earlier on, but you didn’t fool me. There’s something else. Something you didn’t want to tell.’
He didn’t answer immediately. ‘You’re right,’ he said finally.
‘Then tell me.’
‘It’s hard to explain. I still don’t really know what happened. I think I saw someone.’
‘Someone?’
‘Someo
ne I used to know. Someone I wasn’t expecting to ever see again. But I’m probably wrong. In fact, I’ve got to be wrong. It’s impossible any other way.’ He picked up his glass again and drank some more wine.
‘Why? What’s impossible? Stop drinking and talk to me.’
He shook his head.
‘Who did you see?’
He was quiet for a long moment.
‘Come on, Ben. Who was it? You know you can trust me.’
‘It was a woman.’
‘Oh.’ She dropped her hands in her lap, fidgeting.
He glanced at her, seeing the look in her eyes. ‘Not that kind of woman,’ he said.
‘What kinds are there?’
‘Not an old flame. Nothing like that.’
‘A former colleague?’
‘Not that kind either.’
‘An old friend?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Then what?’
‘Let’s have another drink.’
‘Let’s not. Let’s talk about this. Why don’t you want to tell me the rest of it?’
‘Because I can hardly believe it myself,’ he said. ‘Because I think it must mean I’m going crazy.’
Brooke was quiet, watching him. She reached out and touched his cheek, tenderly. ‘You’re not crazy,’ she whispered. ‘You’re the least crazy person I’ve ever known.’
He grunted. ‘People change. People lose it.’
‘Not you.’
‘What makes me any different?’
‘You’re a lot different, Ben Hope. So tell me.’ He leaned forward, elbows on knees, ruffling his hair with his fingers. ‘I think I saw my sister,’ he said quietly. ‘Your sister?’
He nodded, slowly. ‘My sister Ruth.’
She looked baffled. ‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’
‘That’s exactly it,’ he said. His voice was just above a whisper, and she had to lean close to hear him. ‘I didn’t think I had, either. Not any more. Not for a long time.’ Then he turned his head slowly and looked Brooke in the eye.
‘Ruth’s been gone for more than twenty years,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘I told you it was crazy,’ he said when Brooke just stared at him. ‘Someone lost and gone, someone who’s just been a memory to me for most of my life, just turned up and is out there somewhere.’
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