by J C Ryan
Chapter 10
Lamap, Malekula Island, Vanuatu
MARGOT LAY ON a comfortable bed, with window coverings drawn enough to keep the room semi-dark. The bed was in a room in a guesthouse in Lamap. For the past twenty-four hours or more she didn’t get any sleep, her mind had been flooded with thoughts about what she should do. The day before, she couldn’t think—her new friends were too present, and too curious, too much of a distraction to think clearly.
She’d finally seen the doctor, and now there was no escaping the knowledge. She was pregnant, with the baby of the French President, Giles Raphael Aguillard, about two and a half months, as she’d calculated. The hectic campaign activities had distracted from the first indication, and she hadn’t even noticed. But when she’d noticed the calendar and thought back, she’d bought the test kit. She had to admit to herself now, in her subconscious mind she’d known for a while that she was pregnant, but in the same subconscious mind she was living in denial as if it would undo it.
A bit like trying to ‘unring’ a bell, she thought and grinned glumly.
She wasn’t showing yet, but she soon would, and unless she did something about it, all hell would break loose.
Although it was true that in the modern society it was no longer unusual or even a reason for shame when a woman her age became pregnant out of wedlock. Many who hadn’t found a suitable mate but still wanted children turned to other means—artificial insemination or in vitro. Some of them adopted. But in her case, it would be unusual, it would immediately be the main topic of media gossip and speculation. And although the media could be given the silent treatment, if the name of the father became known, a scandal of epic proportions would erupt.
The fact that she had no one to talk to only added to her overwrought condition as her mind was attacked by wave after wave of ideas—none of which presented a solution.
Go into hiding and give the baby up for adoption after birth?
It was only a fleeting thought, and it made her nauseous just to think about it—not an option.
Abortion?
She’d spent even less time on that one—would never have considered it at all if it hadn’t come unbidden into her thoughts in her panic.
By now she was absolutely sure she was going to keep the baby—that was the easiest part of it all. She’d simply have to take a leave of absence, maternity leave, for a few months, but her place would be waiting for her when she returned. She was confident of that. Unless Giles decided it would be too dangerous for his career to keep her around.
That brought her to the next thought. Giles was totally unaware of the situation. The question was, should he be made aware of it or not? Did he even have a right to know? He’d never indicated he’d leave his wife for her. He’d never given her any illusions that he loved her.
How could I be so foolish? Star-struck, or just plain stupidity? Probably both.
Star-struck felt less self-judgmental. Yes, she could go with star-struck. He was handsome, sophisticated, and so lavish with his praise of her work. Too much wine one night over a thorny campaign issue, and it had just happened.
Isn’t that what everyone says when they’re caught red-handed? It just happened? Yes, it just happened, because stupidity just happens. It’s never planned.
But then, it had happened again and again, for more than three months.
Serial stupidity?
They couldn’t get enough of each other. Thinking back on it, Margot was surprised they hadn’t been outed before by some other staff member. Surely there were other people who knew of the affair.
Keeping the baby would seal his fate as well as hers—if the truth became known. His career would be ruined, France would be embarrassed, his party would be ruined, and probably his marriage, too. Margot had no love for his wife, but his children were innocent bystanders. Whatever the troubles between him and his wife that led to his infidelity, the children weren’t to blame.
No, you’d have to keep this to yourself, one way or another. There is too much at stake, it’s not just you and Giles.
Slowly but surely, she came to the conclusion that the only way to do that was to disappear until after the baby was born. Time enough to think about the future while she waited.
After two days of self-reflection and self-recrimination, and making no more progress, Margot reached the point where she knew she had no choice but to take the step she had been dreading—call her brother. She’d been telling herself that she’d been putting the call off because no phone calls were private anymore, someone could be listening. But she knew the real reason was the disgrace it would bring to the Lemaire family name.
“Bertrand, I’m in trouble. I need your help.” She blurted without greeting when he answered his phone.
“Margot! What’s wrong? Are you in danger? What...”
“I am safe. You don’t have to worry about that. But I have a major crisis, and I am at wits’ end. I have no one else to turn to…”
“What’s it Margot? Tell me. Do you want me to come to you?”
“No, no, that’s not necessary… Bert, I can’t tell you much more over the phone, it’s not safe to discuss the details over the phone.”
“Damn, Margot. What am I to do if I don’t know what’s going on?”
“Bert, I’m… I… I’m pregnant… I…”
“Congrat… no, wait. It’s a crisis that you’re pregnant? Why? Hang on… who is…”
“We can’t talk about it over the phone, Bert.”
“Okay, let me see if I understand what I’ve heard so far. You’re pregnant, it’s a major crisis for you, and you can’t talk about it over the phone. Right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And you can’t tell me who … oh, wait a minute… now I get it.” Bert said as he felt the bile rising in his throat when he remembered how furious he was about the gossip in the pony press about his sister and Aguillard a few months ago. Margot told him it was just that, gossip, without doubt seeded by the opposition. But now it seems there was truth to it. “That’s the crisis. Is it not?”
“Yes, Bert, that’s the crisis.”
“Mon Dieu,” Bert whispered in shock. But he soon got his composure back and said, “What did you have in mind?”
“I need to disappear for a while. As in without a trace… No one must be able to find me… I… I think that’d be the best option right now…”
Bert was a few years older than Margot. He loved her unconditionally; he had always been very protective of her and very proud of her accomplishments. “Margot, I can only imagine the stress you’re under right now. But I want you to know I’ll do everything in my power to help you. So, the first thing that comes to mind is to find a way to get you out of there unnoticed and bring you to the farm… we can…”
“No! Sorry Bert. No, that won’t work. I can’t go back to France, not until after the baby is born. It’s too much of a risk. We need to think of another place, out of sight, away from prying eyes and snooping media. A private clinic somewhere… a place where I can arrive and stay incognito for the duration.”
“How far along are you?”
“About two and a half months, by my calculations.”
“We will get through this, Margot. Where are you now?”
“I have a hut near Port Vila, but right now I’m in Lamap.”
“Stay right there. I’ll get back to you in an hour or two with a plan. Are you safe there?”
Margot smiled faintly, that was Bert, always concerned about her safety and well-being. “Yes, Bert, don’t worry about that. I’m quite safe here.”
“Good. I’ll call you soon. I love you.”
“Love you, too, and thank you.”
Margot spent the next couple of hours trying to visualize the future. She could always go home, raise her baby with her brother acting as a surrogate father to the child. By now she’d surmised that to keep it all under wraps, whatever she did, it was important to keep distance between
her and the President until after the baby was born. The reality of her pregnancy settled in, and like most newly-pregnant women, she already loved the tiny life growing within her.
Three hours later, her phone rang. She checked the caller ID, it was her brother.
“When can you get back to Port Vila?”
“I can be there tonight, if I’m quick to catch the afternoon flight. What do you have in mind?”
“Get the flight and then call me back. I’ll have the details by the time you’re back.”
“All right, I’m on it. Thank you, Bert.”
“It’s nothing, a little sleight of hand, is all. Just make sure you catch that flight to Port Vila. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
***
BERTRAND HAD THOUGHT of everything and did a magnificent job in only a few hours. His solution was brilliant, though it would present some difficulties later. But there’d be plenty of time to sort those out.
She wouldn’t have gone back to Port Vila at all, if there hadn’t been incriminating evidence among her possessions she had to get rid of.
When she got back to her hut, she packed a small bag with the few mementos she had of her and Giles’ affair. They were too dangerous to leave behind, though she wouldn’t keep them. She’d tear up the pictures of them together in attitudes of affection and give the pieces to the ocean, and she’d sell the few pieces of jewelry in the Philippines or Singapore when they stopped to get the false travel documents her brother would have waiting. She packed a negligee that was one of her favorites and one of his, too. It was the only thing she’d keep as a memento of their time together, other than the baby.
Everything else—her clothing, luggage, books, even her passport, she’d leave behind. That way, it would look like she’d simply vanished. With no evidence of foul play, everyone would assume she’d gone for a swim and been taken by one of the creatures of the sea or drowned. There’d be no need for lengthy goodbyes, offers to stay in touch, or unanswered questions. She’d just be gone.
When everything was in readiness, she sent Rowan a text. “Dinner invitation still open?”
Chapter 11
Fatumara Bay, Port Vila, Vanuatu
REX TEXTED BACK, “Yes. Absolutely. Meet you at eight at our favorite place?” He didn’t know whether to expect Ida to join them, and he didn’t care. He was just happy Jacqui was okay. Ida or no Ida, when he saw Jacqui, he’d be able to judge for himself whether she had resolved her problem or not.
As it turned out, Ida was there for a while, and Rex was frustrated to see that Jacqui was keeping up a façade. Though she was trying to be carefree and breezy like always. Quintessentially French, she always displayed a good measure of joie de vivre, but Rex was not fooled by it. If anything, dark shadows under her eyes, ineffectually covered with makeup, gave away that she was even more strained than the last time he saw her.
She didn’t mention anything, and Ida seemed completely unaware she’d even been gone.
However, despite the stress signals Jacqui gave off, Rex got the feeling that she’d come to some kind of decision about her problem. He kept up his own façade, responding to her as she clearly wished, without mentioning his disquiet. Even if he’d felt he could press more, he didn’t want to do it with Ida there. She didn’t seem to be in the loop at all, or maybe she was but didn’t care.
Digger wasn’t buying any of it. He kept looking at Rex as if to ask why he wasn’t doing something about Jacqui’s distress, though Rex couldn’t fathom what the dog would have him do. In the end, with Rex not taking action, as if to make up for Rex’s lapse, Digger spent more time at Jacqui’s side than at Rex’s, though to be fair, it might have been because she kept sneaking the dog bites of her dinner. So much so that Rex didn’t think she ate much at all. He made no mention of it.
Ida excused herself early, and Jacqui stood to give her an air kiss on each side of her face. “Adieu,” she said.
“Au revoir,” she answered. “See you later.”
Again, Rex didn’t mention that he found it strange she used the word adieu like in a final goodbye, but he was now alert to any signals Jacqui inadvertently gave.
She picked at her dessert and soon grew restless. When he’d finally finished his, Jacqui put her hand on his arm and leaned toward him.
“Rowan, thank you for being my friend while I’m here. You and Digger have been a pleasure.”
Rex smiled, because she’d given him an opening. He said, “That sounds almost like goodbye. Are you planning on leaving soon?”
“No, no. I’m just feeling a little emotional. I’ve been going through some personal problems, but everything will work out. I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight, though, and I’m a little tired. I may just vegetate and sulk in my cabin for a couple of days. Why don’t you come by day after tomorrow and I’ll treat you to a nice breakfast?”
It was a clear signal that she wanted to be left alone for a while longer. As he searched her face, he could see no indication she was lying about everything working out. As a highly trained special agent, he was adept at reading the micro expressions and body language of people. It was evident there was still something she was holding back, but he didn’t get the impression she felt stranded or hopeless. He left it at that because he was sure she wouldn’t harm herself.
As they walked together back toward the resort, Jacqui remarked, as she had before, on the number of visible stars. “We don’t have so many in Paris,” she said.
“You have them. You just can’t see them,” he answered, with a straight face.
She turned to him, saw him trying not to laugh, and then lightly punched his arm. “You knew what I meant, silly.”
Then she laughed, and he couldn’t hold his in anymore. Digger, trotting along between them, looked up at each of them and broke into a grin, but Rex didn’t think it was because he got the joke. He was just happy to see his human and the pretty girl laughing for a change.
When they came to the fork in the path that led one way to her hut and the opposite way to his, they paused. Rex wanted to take her hand and tell her he was there for her if she needed anything, but her posture indicated a touch wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead, he said, “Good night, Jacqui. I’ll see you day after tomorrow. Text me when you’re ready for me to come over.”
“I will.” She turned to go, and Rex watched her walk a few yards. Digger was on leash, since they’d been to town, and he almost pulled Rex off his feet trying to follow her.
“No, Digger. I know she’s not okay, but she wants to be left alone.”
Digger whined, sat down, and didn’t take his eyes off Jacqui’s retreating back until Rex said, “Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 12
Fatumara Bay, Port Vila, Vanuatu
IT WAS SHORTLY after midnight when Margot sneaked through town, keeping to the shadows and making sure to avoid being seen by anyone on her way to the marina. There she was met by a lanky, gray-haired, man aged between fifty and seventy—it was too difficult to tell his age in the semidarkness. They had a short, whispered conversation before he led her to a small rowboat and helped her in. She had no luggage. He rowed the little boat in near silence to a yacht that was anchored about three-hundred yards away.
As they approached, Margot could make out the name on the side of the mega-yacht—Java Princess.
Bertrand had arranged passage on it, booking the entire yacht for her privacy. He’d paid the owner handsomely to ask no questions and require no passport. It was a small risk. There’d be little worry of being stopped by any authorities before Margot had the opportunity to retrieve the false passport that would be waiting for her in Singapore. She trusted Bertrand to smooth the way for that errand, because he’d thought of literally everything else.
On board, the yacht owner greeted her personally and showed both discretion and willingness to let her have as much privacy as she wished for the voyage. He asked if she would join him for meals or prefer to have them in h
er cabin. She answered that it would be nice to join him at mealtimes. Then he showed her to her cabin.
She found it already stocked with everything she’d need for the voyage but had to leave behind. Her favorite brands of personal hygiene items, from shampoo to body lotion, plenty of clothing in her size, even lingerie. She wondered who’d done the shopping, because the items were tasteful and closely reflected her usual style.
When she turned to thank the owner, he had already gone.
Discreet indeed. I wonder how Bertrand knows him?
She was not to discover the answer to that question, nor the others that crossed her mind on the voyage. All she learned was that his name was Henri, apparently in his sixties, he spoke passable French with a provincial accent she couldn’t identify, and he was kind and respected her desire for privacy and kept his distance.
After the strain of seeing her friends again and saying goodbye without saying it, she was exhausted. Worst of all was lying to Rowan about their breakfast date. It had been Bertrand’s idea that the discovery of her gone missing should not be too soon, hence the ruse to invite Rowan for breakfast on the second day after their dinner.
Not long after she went to bed, the movement of the boat lulled her to sleep. She didn’t hear the engines start or feel the movement as the yacht left the harbor and set a course that would take them between Australia and Papua New Guinea before threading through the outer islands of Indonesia, through the Java Sea, and finally to Singapore. There she would become someone else before traveling the final leg of the journey to Vietnam where she would spend the next few months. The boat’s movement didn’t make her sick, and she spent the most restful night she’d had in almost a week.
Henri, who was also the captain, turned the wheel over to his first mate, Enrico, an Indonesian man who’d been with him for years, serving as cook and the only other person needed to operate the yacht. They’d plied their trade on these seas together for almost thirty years, usually with some kind of contraband including humans, endangered tropical birds or small animals bound for a very secret private zoo, drugs, or anything else someone wanted transported quietly, quickly, and with no questions asked.
