“Yes, you are insured for those kinds of disasters,” Frank’s sister said very convincingly into the cell phone. Whether she was talking to a customer or her fellow passenger was unclear. “Our bank will absorb the contract by default.”
“My father hates insurance,” her little next-door neighbor, Alex, said. “It’s expensive and that is why sometimes he is late with his alimony payments.” He pointed to the horizon.
“He lives over there with his girlfriend in Helmond.”
Three elderly men took their place. One of their faces was missing as well. But she could hear from his voice that it was Geert Ondereem, the police officer who worked for the North Sea missing persons office, a department within the National Water Police corps. During her online search she had stumbled onto this department. With the hope of gaining a bit more specific information she had called him. Ondereem was a friendly, relaxed man who had really taken his time to assist her.
“The chance of survival in the North Sea is zero. On average you will survive for about five hours; if you’re strong and lucky, maybe a little longer. After that you will become hypothermic, and you will sink. In the Mediterranean Sea it is about seven to eight hours longer. Someone could stay afloat there for a maximum of fourteen hours. So it’s a hopeless situation.”
“I can confirm the latter,” his neighbor said. He was an officer with the Spanish Navy Marines and had been in charge of Frank’s search-and-rescue mission. He was a heavyset man with bushy eyebrows. She couldn’t seem to remember his name for some reason.
“The chance of recovering a swimmer without a flotation device on the high seas is minimal,” the captain of the Columbus growled. “All of us feel for you, ma’am.”
After that the three men rapidly disappeared from her sight. Out of nowhere a huge wall suddenly appeared. The bow of a colossal ship swooped past her. Instead of disappearing and increasing in speed, the giant ship slowed down. Once the ship had come to a complete stop she saw that it was the Columbus. A rescue boat was thrown overboard from the deck. The boat tumbled through the air. It looked fragile and rickety against the imposing backdrop of the unforgiving steel boat. The Columbus took off into the horizon with full steam ahead and an unimaginable speed.
Unlike all the other rafts, this one stayed exactly in the place where it had landed. Would all her hope be for nothing?
“Frank,” she heard herself whisper.
At first sight the little boat seemed deserted. But she didn’t let that discourage her. There was a big chance that he was in it, dead tired, lying on the bottom of the raft. She could see his exhausted face before her. His desperation would change in an instant when he realized that his own wife had come to his rescue, just when he needed it the most. …
She grabbed the edge and pulled herself up. The raft was empty. The bottom was a big black hole. It startled her and she lost her balance. The big empty space swallowed her whole. She made an endless and dizzying fall into the black hole.
“No!” With her eyes wide open, Heleen sat up straight. It took a while before it dawned on her that she was in her own bed. With the back of her hand she wiped the sweat from her forehead.
A nightmare. The umpteenth one. She got out of bed. Her eyes deliberately avoided the time on the clock radio. It didn’t matter what time it was. Later, after a cup of tea, she would have to make the same decision she had to make so often over the last few months: stay up late or go back to bed?
She walked down the stairs and felt like the loneliest woman in the world.
12
Heleen opened the front door and let in Peter Redderswaal. She closed the door immediately to keep the inclement December weather outside. He nodded to her in a short and friendly way.
“Good morning, Heleen.”
“Hello, Peter.”
He hung his coat on the coatrack and walked into the living room. This was only their second meeting, and Heleen noticed that the young lawyer seemed tense. He clearly did not feel at ease. He was unsure and nervous, like a messenger who is dreading to be the bearer of bad news.
“How’s it going?”
“I’m doing all right,” she replied. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
She walked into the kitchen and wondered what he was struggling with. A financial issue maybe? Could it be that certain promises that he made to her were not granted by the higher-ups? Had he been too optimistic with her and was there now to try and fix it all somehow? Maybe he feared a confrontation with a woman who had been through so much, was already so fragile, and might fall to pieces when she heard what he had to say.
She smiled faintly. Money meant very little to her. If Redderswaal had been sent here to offer her a less favorable arrangement, she would hear him out without interruption. Of course she wouldn’t be happy about it, but to become all upset over it wasn’t her style. No … it really wasn’t. We have more than enough money in the bank. She suddenly caught herself talking and thinking in the we form. She was on disability, but she could always go back to work at the office and Frank was insured very well through his company. In comparison to her other worries, any financial blow would pass by almost unnoticed. …
“Delicious, thanks,” Redderswaal said, overly enthusiastic as he took his cup of coffee from her. He was having trouble making direct eye contact. The lawyer’s behavior seemed quite uncharacteristic compared to six months ago when he had sat in the same spot across from her. Then he had seemed calm and full of compassion. They had discussed Frank and the consequences of his disappearance for well over two hours.
As a lawyer for the company Frank worked for, Redderswaal had the task of keeping her informed of any and all financial consequences. Not that the consequences were all bad, but it was always difficult to discuss these things with someone who had lost the most precious thing in their life.
“Heleen … I do not know where I … uh … should start.” He pulled his briefcase on his lap and fiddled around with the lock until, after several attempts, it finally unlocked.
“Take your time,” Heleen answered. “I’ve got more than enough of it. Too much really.”
He forced a smile. As if he was afraid to laugh at the irony of her words. He took a bundle of papers from his briefcase and put it on the table.
“These are copies of a ruling made by the Court of Nice.” The lawyer squeezed his eyelids together, showing that he had stumbled upon a maze of fine print.
“Dated December third. So, four days ago.”
Heleen nodded calmly.
“It’s a case where a certain Vincent Gautier, fifty-four years old and living in Nice, asked the court for a so-called ‘proof of loss’ for Frank. His lawyer argues that the circumstances in which the person in question went missing—open sea, nighttime, no floatation devices—justify the fact that one can no longer speculate on the final status of the missing person.”
Before she could interrupt him, Redderswaal raised his hand to indicate that he wanted to finish his story.
“This lawsuit solely revolves around the legal position of both the missing person as well as the plaintiff. In laymen’s terms: steps can only be taken only after a judge has issued a ‘proof of loss.’ This may sound a little confounding, but such a statement basically changes a living person into a dead person. On paper, of course,” he added quickly.
Heleen basically understood what he was trying to say, but what the hell did that Frenchman have to do with her husband? What kind of ridiculous story was this?
“To provide some more clarity,” Redderswaal continued, “as is the case with any large company, all of our employees are insured. Frank also had a life insurance policy with us. The company we work with received the information from the court in Nice and then passed it on to us.”
He closed his eyes. His fingers slipped from his forehead to his chin. Suddenly Heleen was overcome with a foreboding feeling. The worst was yet to come.
“Legally speaking, a missing person is an extremely diffi
cult subject,” Redderswaal went on. “In addition to the sad fact that a missing person leaves behind a shattered family, there will be a considerable amount paperwork involved. The life insurance policy is one of the most glaring examples of this.”
He made an apologetic gesture. “Sorry if I come across somewhat aloof, but I’m here solely as a corporate lawyer.”
Heleen nodded. “I understand that, Peter. Just tell your story; I can take it.”
She took a deep breath and braced herself.
“Where was I? Oh yes, the time frame in which a missing person’s legal status can be changed from presumable to permanent.” His gaze found a fixed point on the wall. “Since there are no clear laws that apply here and because each case is different after all, the different authorities generally maintain the duration of one year. A period in which the missing person might return. A kind of time buffer. If the situation does not change, then legal proceedings are initiated. If they don’t put some urgency on the case, which is usually what happens, it could be years before any decision is made or action is taken.” His eyes met hers for a moment. “We have talked about this extensively, remember?”
“Yes,” Heleen replied curtly. In their last conversation, he had explained in detail how the company’s strategy worked. He had assured her that Frank’s salary would be paid in full. Only in the unlikely event that all hope was lost of Frank ever returning would they initiate the procedure that would ultimately lead to the payment of his life insurance policy.
“However, this judgment by the French court has put a new procedure in motion. Because France is part of the EU, this procedure can cause Frank’s life insurance policy, of which you are the sole beneficiary, to be paid much sooner than usual.”
He put the papers back into his briefcase and started to get up.
“Hold on, Peter.” She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to get a clear picture of all the information she had just received.
“I do not see the connection between the Frenchman and Frank. What is his involvement in this?”
Redderswaal tried to come remain as casual as possible, but she could see the sweat beads on his forehead. “Because the court sided for the plaintiff, the plaintiff can now make a claim on the life insurance policy, which he closed with ACM, a company in Marseille. If ACM wants to appeal this decision, they have two weeks to do so. Our insurance company, however, has received information from a reliable source that this is not the case. Meaning ACM will pay out without making an appeal.
“The same applies to our company. In cases like this, one case follows suit after the other. Frank has had a life insurance policy with our company for a very long time. Because of the unclear situation regarding his current status—sorry if I’m using some awkward expressions here—we could not pay out the policy to you. However, because of the French court ruling, all of this has changed.”
Heleen feared the answer to her next question, but it still had to be asked.
“The Frenchman, Vincent …”
“Gautier. Vincent Gautier.”
“As I understand it, this man took out a life insurance policy on Frank.” She hesitated for a second. “Right?”
Redderswaal blew out a forceful sigh.
“Listen, Heleen.” He sighed again. “There are some things … some things that you are better off leaving alone. I mean … this is your life. Go on and live your life. Cherish the past as you remember it.”
“Tell me all about this Vincent Gautier right now, Peter,” she said coldly. “And when I say everything, I mean literally everything.”
The lawyer nodded meekly. “I knew it would come down to this. Okay then, Heleen, I’ll tell you everything we know about Vincent Gautier.” He put his briefcase down again and now looked straight at her. This was the inevitable confrontation he had been so afraid of.
“Vincent Gautier took out a life insurance policy on Frank about two years ago. The total payout amount at Frank’s death would amount to three million euros. Every payment on the premium, a high monthly charge, I can assure you, was paid on time. After this judgment, all signs indicate that the money will be transferred to Gautier in the foreseeable future.”
Heleen looked at him with surprise. “But why Frank? I never heard him speak a word about this man.”
Redderswaal sighed deeply.
“Basically, no one has to explain why he or she wants to take out a life insurance policy on a particular person. In reality, however, this is different. To avoid strange situations, reputable companies will only insure someone who meets a series of standard agreements. So the insured must undergo a physical medical examination. Nowadays, you are even asked for a specific reason or existing relationship between the one who takes out the policy and the insured. These are strict guidelines that ACM also follows …”
He could no longer look her straight in the eyes.
“In the case of Frank and Vincent Gautier it was shown that they had previously signed a domestic partnership contract together. Next to the medical part, this contract was sufficient for the company to take on a business agreement with Gautier.”
Heleen felt her jaw drop. She opened her eyes wide.
“A what?”
Redderswaal buried his face in his hands. Slowly he let his fingers slide down.
“Jesus, Heleen. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this … Frank and Gautier signed a domestic partnership contract. They were a gay couple.”
She began to feel light-headed. She stood up and took two steps.
“It was just as much of a surprise to us,” she heard Redderswaal say, somewhere off in the distance. “Apparently he’s been living a double life for years.”
The room was spinning. All color bleached into a single gray blur.
“That’s impossible,” she managed to say. Then she collapsed.
13
Heleen sat on the couch. She divided her attention between the TV screen and the strange mosaic on the window. Colorful figures and a somber combination of raindrops. “Four-zero!” Alex shouted. “Just wait—the end result is going to be even better.”
He turned his head toward her. She saw that his face glowed with enthusiasm.
“We still need to get back at the Chelsea team. Those guys think that money can buy everything and anyone.”
Although she felt lousy, she had to smile. These adult words did not fit an average schoolboy with PSV team shirt around his shoulders. He had probably picked up this wisdom somewhere on the street. Or from someone on the club soccer team where he trained and played. Or as he put it: “Where I’m working on my career.” Hilarious …
Loud cheers rose again.
“Five to nothing!”
Heleen stood up quickly. Because she did not want him to feel that she was neglecting him she said quickly, “Do you want some soda?”
“Yummy!”
In the kitchen the smile faded from her face. She opened the fridge and poured him a soft drink. One of the few activities in which she could still put some feeling into. She knew how Alex was going to gulp it down while giving her a grateful glance. Pure, without ulterior motives, and honest … She closed her eyes and swallowed a lump in her throat. How could someone betray and humiliate a partner in this way after fifteen years of marriage? Not to mention the consequences of such a despicable act.
She had the most horrible Christmas and New Year’s Eve of her life behind her. She had kept the news from her family, a deliberate decision that had not been easy. She had to bite down on her tongue several times during the mandatory family gatherings. When Monique brought up memories of the past, when her brother was always there for her, or her mother boasted about Frank’s cheerful and caring nature, it took everything in her not to get up and confront them all with the ugly truth. She wanted to tell them that the almighty Frank had been having an affair with a Frenchman for years. A sexual relationship, yes! According to the French law they were even officially a gay couple. And if they did not believe her, she
would gladly show them all a copy of the domestic partnership contract. Complete with the signatures from the two lovebirds: Frank Eldering and Vincent Gautier. Apparently their “perfect” Frank was so busy with his boyfriend that he forgot to mention to the authorities that he was married to a Dutch woman! Instead of that outburst, she nodded approvingly as Frank’s abilities and personality were praised in great detail. Besides, she was the grieving widow in the family now. Without saying it, they all knew that Frank was dead. The chance that someone could survive at sea that long was zero.
She went back to the room with the glass of soda and gave it to Alex as she sat down beside him. Boy, she was tired.
Her nights were still ruled by insomnia, and her days continued to drag on. She had failed, had been deceived, and had no children. Her only distraction in life consisted of pouring soft drinks for the neighbor kid. What was the point of living? But somehow, some way, she still managed to motivate herself to go on. She constantly wondered why he had cheated. Was she such a bad wife to him, was she terrible in bed? How could it be that he had become so bored with her, without her ever having seen the signs?
How could a decidedly outspoken heterosexual conservative suddenly turn out to be a homosexual? Everyone who knew him even just a little bit knew that he was “a typical healthy heterosexual guy” who always noticed a beautiful woman crossing his path. Therefore, it seemed so unlikely that Frank had started a relationship with a man, despite what the official papers said. Homosexuality was an orientation. Something you couldn’t hide forever. Right?
She felt empty and didn’t know what to think anymore. Without a dead body as evidence, no one could be declared dead. Unless a judge in France decided otherwise.
Alex cried, “Eight-zero!” and it brought her back.
“Wow, that’s great,” she said, somewhat distracted.
“Great? It’s freaking amazing! I wish I could play all day.”
He looked up at the clock and got up. The disappointment on his face was hard to hide.
Cruise: A Thriller Page 5
