Infinite Spring (Young Adult Fantasy Horror series) (Guardians of The Light Book 2)

by J. A. Armitage

  Alex barely left the house, despite Anais begging him to take a break. He spent every waking hour in front of the computer, sifting through countless pieces of information on hundreds of different women. The only time he left the lounge was when any meal was served and when it was bed time. By the third week there, he had gotten through nearly ninety percent of the women, with no luck. They were no closer to finding Sabine than the day they arrived.

  Anais felt guilty that she could do nothing to help. Once they got through all the records, there was nothing else they could do unless some other clue showed up, but it was looking less and less likely with each passing day. Soon, they would have to go home, unsuccessful in their mission. Winnie would be happy to have them back. She called every day to get an update and to ask them when they were likely to come home. The only good news was that nothing else bad had happened at The Manor and that Andrew seemed to be onto something in his search for Abel and Amber.

  Anais felt for James who looked more and more dejected with each passing day, despite her and Aethelu’s best efforts in cheering him up. He had told her that he planned on staying in Florence when they returned to the manor. He wanted to stay at the farmhouse in case Sabine ever did come home. Anais knew that Aldrich would be devastated by the news, but she could understand his reasoning. He didn’t care about the fight with Jago, only that his daughter came home safely.

  When Alex was down to his last ten or so women to check, it seemed inevitable that they would be heading home soon. They’d not been to the centre of Florence since the first day and Anais knew Aethelu wanted to show the gallery owner her paintings. It wouldn’t hurt to follow up on his dealings with Jago either, although she doubted he would be able to offer them any information. She asked Aethelu if she’d like to come and also extended the offer to James.

  Aethelu jumped at the chance, but James politely declined, saying he’d already offered to help out his neighbour with some chores. He gave them the address of the gallery and a tourist map of Florence so they wouldn’t get lost this time.

  They parked the car in the same place they had parked before but this time made a note of it on the map. Anais was determined to do some sightseeing before they left Florence, and she knew exactly where she wanted to take Aethelu. They were practically on it before Aethelu realised where she was being taken.

  “The Uffizi Gallery!” exclaimed Aethelu. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to come here?”

  She jumped up and down in glee and clapped her hands.

  Anais smiled, captured by the joy in Aethelu’s face.

  “Look, Michelangelo’s David is over there.” She pointed to an instantly recognisable statue in the centre of the square and felt proud that she had remembered the artist who had sculpted it.

  “Actually, that’s a replica” said Aethelu, then laughed when she saw the crestfallen look on Anais’ face. “The real one is at the Galleria Dell’Accedemia.”

  “Great, we’ll go there afterwards.”

  Aethelu could have spent all day at the Uffizi, and in the end, Anais had to practically drag her away from Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, so they could go and get lunch. James had mentioned the name of a restaurant nearby that served the best Gnocchi in Florence. They found the restaurant pretty quickly and ordered two platefuls and a bottle of wine to share. James was right. The food was something special, but Anais refused to let Aethelu order desert, as she had had her heart set on eating traditional Italian ice cream on the Ponte Vecchia Bridge ever since she knew they were coming to Florence.

  The bridge itself was unlike anything Anais had ever seen. It was like a whole village on one bridge. Quaint little buildings lined each side of the bridge with arches every so often to look through and see the Arno River over which the bridge stood. As if the buildings weren’t enough, stalls also ran down the length of the bridge. Many of the shops sold either gold jewellery or tourist junk. Anais fell in love with it, even though it was packed with tourists. They ordered ice cream and sat on a wall by the side of the river, watching the tourists and stall holders. Anais held her breath every time she spotted a woman who looked vaguely like Sabine, but each time she was disappointed. As there were so many young women with long black hair, she eventually stopped looking for Sabine amongst the hundreds of people.

  The afternoon drifted by slowly, most of it taken up by finding the original Statue of David and looking round various other museums.

  Eventually, Anais noticed the time and realised that they still hadn’t been to the Gallery that had sold James’s paintings. They found where James had marked it on the map and headed in that direction. It took them, once again, into the maze of side streets they had got lost in on the first day. They even passed the now empty market where they had done their shopping.

  Finally they came upon a shop with the sign Galleria David hanging above it

  As they entered, a little bell rang announcing their presence.

  It wasn’t the biggest of galleries, but it held quite a number of paintings. Aethelu, knowing what she was looking for, headed straight for a painting on the far wall. Anais recognised it immediately as James’ work. It had the signature ‘Jago’ written in the bottom right corner. The name made Anais feel uneasy until she remembered that Jago was James’ professional name and the one he painted under.

  A short man with a balding head came over to them and spoke in rapid Italian.

  “I’m sorry, we don’t understand,” said Anais. “Can you speak English?”

  “Ah, American?” He’d obviously picked up on her accent. “Yes, I thought maybe you would be British because of your obvious love of this painting. It is a village in the English countryside. Not one of my normal choices of painting, but this artist is very popular. I have sold four of his works just this morning. This one is the only one of his left and the buyer asked me to hold it for him. I said I cannot possibly hold it. What if I have two beautiful American girls come into my shop wanting it? I would not want them to walk away empty-handed.”

  Anais saw through the lies and sales pitch straight away. He obviously thought they were naïve tourists.

  “Actually, Aethelu is British,” she said, pointing at her.

  “Ah, now it makes sense how you were drawn to this particular painting. As you are both such beautiful girls, I make you an offer. I knock off ten percent of the price and wrap it up nice for you, ok?”

  Anais hated being sold to and especially in such a cheesy way. She wondered if this approach sold to many customers, but she didn’t think so. She decided to tell him the truth.

  “Actually, we know the artist.”

  His whole demeanour changed and he seemed to slouch where he stood.

  “Ah.” Was all he could manage.

  “And we know that you haven’t sold any of his pictures today, because this is the only one of his that you have.”

  “Yes, well. You must forgive me for trying to make a sale. I’m afraid your friend is not the best artist. I don’t even know why I still have his painting up. Nobody is coming to Florence to buy paintings of England. You must tell him that he should come and collect his painting. It does not sell and I have better artists to make use of the wall space.”

  “You have sold some of his paintings in the past though?” said Anais, now trying to stick up for James, even though he wasn’t there.

  “I sold two of his, but that was a long time ago. Nobody else even looks at this one. Why would they, when I have so many other wonderful paintings by real Florentine artists. The buyer never even came to collect his purchase. I still have them in the back taking up precious space.”

  “Did the buyer give you a contact number or say when he would collect them?”

  “He said he would collect them weeks ago, but he never did. Still, he did pay for them, which is the main thing. I do not have a contact for him. I have paid Mr Cutter his commission, if that is what you are here for. As for his painting,” he indicated the remaining painting on the wall. �
�I’m afraid you must tell him that he must come and collect it. I cannot sell it.”

  “Fine!” Aethelu spoke for the first time, annoyed at the gallery owner’s rudeness. “We will do that!” She grabbed Anais hand to pull her out of the shop.

  “Make sure you do!” he shouted at them as they left. “I told his daughter the same thing a few weeks ago and he still hasn’t come.”

  Anais and Aethelu looked at each other in shock.

  His daughter? Sabine had been here, recently.

  The girls ran back into the shop, sending the bell into another round of pealing.

  The gallery owner came back out with a broad smile on his face until he saw it was Anais and Aethelu again, at which point it dropped.

  “You, again.”

  “Did you say his daughter had been here? Are you sure it was his daughter?”

  “That is how she introduced herself. I told her the same as I’m telling you now. Jago needs to collect his painting.”

  “When exactly did she come in? Can you remember what date it was?”

  The gallery owner suddenly began to look suspicious. “Why?”

  “Please just tell us,” implored Anais, but the owner shook his head.

  “We’ll buy the painting,” Aethelu scrabbled in her purse and brought out some cash.

  Anais gave her a funny look, as the owner excitedly took it down from the wall, but Aethelu just shrugged.

  “So, can you tell us when she came in now?” asked Aethelu, as he began to wrap it for her.”

  “It was a Tuesday, I remember because the market was on and the market is always on a Tuesday. It wasn’t last week or the week before. That much I know, because my poor Mama was ill and I had to shut the shop up to go and care for her. It was perhaps the week before or the week before that. I cannot remember exactly.”

  Anais had an idea. She called Alex and asked him to scan a photo of Sabine and send it to her phone. She hung up before he had chance to ask why.

  A minute later a photo of Sabine appeared on Anais phone via a text message. She showed the photo to the owner.

  “Is this her?”

  “Yes. That is her, a very beautiful young lady.”

  “What exactly did she come in for?”

  “She wanted to know if her father had been in the shop. I told her that I hadn’t seen him in a while and that he should collect his painting. Of course it is a wonderful piece of work.” He’d certainly changed his tune, now they had bought it.

  “Is that it? Did she say where she was staying?”

  “Why would she tell me that? To be honest, I wanted her out of the shop. She was beautiful, but I had a paying customer who needed assistance. That will be two hundred Euro.” He held out his hand and opened the till.

  Aethelu passed him twenty Euros. “I think you said ten percent discount which brings us down to a hundred and eighty. The rest we’ll take back to Jago as his commission.”

  Anais stared at her audacity. The gallery owner coughed.

  “No, it is two hundred. I will give it to you for one hundred and fifty and give the commission to Mr Cutter myself.”

  “No deal. She turned to walk away, leaving the wrapped painting on the counter.”

  “All right, twenty euros. Here take it. I wanted to get rid of it anyway.” He looked murderous as they walked back out the door.

  “I can’t believe you just did that.” Anais laughed as they walked down the road with the painting.

  “He got a great deal. According to him, he’d been expecting James to take the painting away. Twenty Euros is twenty euros. It’s more than the money grabbing slimy toad deserved. Don’t worry, I’ll pay James the full two hundred for the painting.”

  “I don’t think he’ll care about the money when we tell him our news. She’s been here the whole time. I wonder why she hasn’t gone home?”

  “I don’t know. It does seem strange,” said Aethelu, as she loaded the painting into the boot of the car. “At least, we can narrow our search down now. Alex isn’t going to be happy when we tell him his efforts have been for nothing.”

  Back at the farmhouse they found Alex and James drinking a bottle of wine in the lounge. One of the printouts had been pinned to the wall. The others were stacked neatly in a corner.

  “We’ve found her!” said Aethelu and Alex simultaneously. “She’s in…”

  “Florence.”

  “Amsterdam.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Out of all the people that flew that day, there is only one that Alex couldn’t verify,” said James looking slightly confused, Annalise Duchamp. Her passport is fake. Annalise Duchamp died in infancy in Belgium. The photo used in the passport is just the photo of an author taken from a dust jacket of a book and cropped. Anyone with the book had access to that photo. Just look at her. See how much she resembles my Sabine. It is a very close match.”

  Anais walked over to the printout on the wall. Annalise Duchamp. Born 1976 in Belgium. The picture did look a lot like Sabine. “Are you sure? Who is this Author?”

  “Maggie Hatford,” answered Aethelu before Alex could speak.

  “How do you know?” asked a now very confused Anais.

  “We’ve got a few of her novels in our library. Mama likes to read them. It’s all slushy romance stuff. I can’t stand it, myself. She’s quite famous. She was big amongst sex-starved women in the eighties.” James’ eyes goggled at this and he put down his glass of wine.

  “So let me get this straight,” said Anais. “Someone was flying from Leeds/Bradford airport on the same day as Sabine, to Amsterdam, using a fake passport under the name of a dead Belgian baby and with the photo of a famous steamy romance author.”

  “I thought I’d had too much to drink,” said Alex, “but now I think you have. This Annalise woman was Sabine.”

  “She can’t be,” butted in Aethelu, “We bought James’ painting and she was here in Florence.”

  “What?” asked a very confused-looking James. Anais noticed that the bottle of wine they had been drinking in celebration was not their first, judging by the two empty bottles on the floor.

  “I think I should make everyone some coffee and then we can sort this all out.” Anais went into the kitchen, her head spinning. Perhaps Alex had been right and she had drunk too much. She’d only had half a bottle at lunchtime, but all the information going through her head was making it go round in circles.

  She steadied herself and made the coffees.

  “Ok, everyone drink your coffee and let’s just have ten minutes before we try to unravel all this confusion.” She needed the time herself to sort through everything in her mind. Just when she thought they had finally got a lead, it turns out they were wrong. Were they, though? Annalise Duchamp could be another person using a fake passport. It didn’t necessarily have to be Sabine. The chances were probably astronomical that two people would be using fake passports in the same airport in the same four-hour period, though. She looked back at the printout on the wall. The odds were even slimmer when you factored in the fact that this author looked remarkably similar to Sabine.

  “Could this author have just been travelling incognito? Perhaps it was her own picture, just a different name?” She thought aloud.

  “She’s a lot older now and looks nothing like that anymore. She’s in her sixties now. Mama still buys her new books when they come out.”

  “You seem to know a lot about her seeing as you say you don’t like her work,” Anais said.

  “I may have a quick browse now and again,” replied Aethelu going red, “Besides, the fact remains she looks thirty years older in her current book jacket than she does in that picture.”

  “Can someone please explain what is going on,” asked James. “We were going to book tickets to Amsterdam tomorrow. Did you say that she was in Florence after all?”

  Anais explained how they had been to see the owner of the gallery and all that he had told them.

  “When did he see her?” aske
d Alex, looking much more sober than he had done ten minutes earlier.

  “It was either three weeks ago or four weeks ago, he couldn’t remember which, but he did say it was on a Tuesday.”

  “Sabine flew out of Leeds four weeks ago on Monday. She flew into Amsterdam at 2.15 in the afternoon, if we assume she flew under the Annalise alias. She didn’t get a connecting flight unless she used yet another fake passport and name, and I don’t fancy doing all this work again for flights from Amsterdam.”

  “You wouldn’t need to check all the flights. Just the one to Florence,” said Anais. “I don’t think it’s likely, though. We know, or at least we think we know, that she was in Florence the next day. Could she have got here any other way? Driving? Coach? Train?”

  “It’s a long drive. She’d have to do an all-nighter, probably breaking every speed limit along the way.”

  “It is not possible to drive from Amsterdam to here in twenty-four hours,” argued James. “Besides, what would be the point of rushing back?”

  “To see you?”

  “But I have been here three weeks. She has not come to see me.”

  “Ok, point taken. Driving is out, which rules out getting a coach too. How about train?”

  “I’d love to look at the passenger records for the flights and then all the trains out of Amsterdam, but I think it’s going to have to wait until morning. I’m suddenly feeling rather sick.”

  He had started to look a bit green.

  As he was instrumental to looking for Sabine they all decided to retire for the night and make it an early start the next day.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Anais woke up extremely early the next morning. She’d been having dreams about dead Belgian babies and had woken up in a state of panic before remembering where she was. Her dream reminded her of her own lost triplets and she shed a tear. With everything going on in the last few months she’d not really mourned them properly. She’d never really had triplets as the IVF was a failure from the start, but for a short time she’d thought she had. She wiped the tear from her eyes and got out of bed, being careful not to wake Aethelu who was sleeping soundly next to her. She’d long since given up sneaking back to her room in the morning, but James had not mentioned it. Either he hadn’t noticed or he didn’t care.