‘Sure to,’ Lucy echoed.
‘But how did you know?’ her father asked.
‘Did you hear that, Billy? Oh my goodness, George, don’t you ever listen to the radio or read the local paper? The Brits at our hotel are positively buzzing with the story. Some of them think it’s another shark attack, but Billy and I don’t think it’s possible a shark could have attacked your wife without anyone knowing anything about it.’
‘No,’ Billy agreed, ‘we don’t think that’s possible.’
‘There’s no way George’s wife would have taken herself off out into the deep water all alone, we said, didn’t we, Billy? She’s not a professional diver, or a reckless kid.’
She paused as though waiting for an answer.
‘Now, if there’s anything we can do to help,’ Billy broke the silence, ‘anything at all, you just give us a call. You’ve got my number, haven’t you?’
Lucy had been sitting quietly through the conversation. Finally she spoke up. ‘We’re sorry to hear you’re leaving, but shouldn’t you be packing?’ She glanced at her father, slightly embarrassed. ‘We’d hate you to have to rush on our account. It’s always better to take your time packing. That way you’re less likely to forget anything.’
With further protestations of support, and offers of help, Gloria finally said they would have to go. Lucy’s father thanked them, shook Billy by the hand, allowed Gloria to dispense the comfort of her hug, and walked them to the door.
‘Don’t forget,’ Billy said, hovering at the entrance, ‘any time.’
‘Well, it was nice of them to come over,’ Lucy’s father said as he and Lucy made their way back to the patio.
‘And nice when they left,’ she added. ‘Sorry, I hope I wasn’t rude, but I just wasn’t up for listening to them right now.’
‘We’re neither of us in the mood for socialising,’ her father agreed.
Nevertheless, he responded with alacrity when Adrian hailed them across the pool.
‘Mind if we join you?’
For answer, Adrian pulled a couple of chairs over to his table.
‘How’s your face, George?’
‘I’m fine, just fine. It’s good of you to ask. But I want to thank you.’ Her father leaned forward and gazed earnestly at Adrian. ‘I’ve been hearing more about what happened when you helped Lucy in the sea the other day, as well as what you did for her yesterday. We owe you a great deal. More than I can possibly say.’
Adrian shrugged and looked away, embarrassed.
‘We can’t thank you enough,’ her father’s voice broke and he covered his mouth with a hand that trembled.
Adrian stared at his glass of beer as though it suddenly fascinated him.
‘It was nothing,’ he mumbled. ‘It was no more than anyone else would have done.’
‘Don’t make light of what you did,’ her father insisted. ‘Lucy and I are forever in your debt. Aren’t we, Lucy?’
She nodded automatically but she was no longer listening to her father. Her attention had been caught by the old sweeper. His back bent, he was slowly dragging his broom across the path between the bar and the pool.
‘Lucy,’ her father prompted her.
She was barely aware of Adrian clearing his throat, and her father calling her name. Sitting facing half away from them, she was absorbed in watching the old man sweeping right to the edge of the patio, underneath a flowering white frangipani bush. At one point, he leaned down and fastidiously picked something out of the pile of petals he had swept into a neat pile. Feeling her arm jostled, she turned to her father, startled.
‘What?’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Sorry, Dad, I was miles away.’ She struggled to recall what she had been thinking about. ‘There was something – I just thought of something – no, sorry, it’s gone. I can’t remember what it was.’ Frustrated, she knew only that it had been important.
‘I was thanking Adrian for saving your life,’ her father told her, with an edge of reproach in his voice.
Worried that she had been rude to Adrian again, Lucy turned to him. ‘Oh yes, of course, sorry.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘How do you thank someone for saving your life twice?’ She shrugged, and Adrian smiled uneasily. ‘How about a drink?’
‘What would you like?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I mean, I’m offering you a drink. I know it’s not much of a thank you, under the circumstances. I mean, a drink for saving my life isn’t much of a return, is it? And I suppose it should be two drinks, shouldn’t it, seeing as you saved my life twice. It’s not much, but I don’t know what else to say. I owe you big time. I want to thank you. Sorry,’ she added, flustered, ‘I’m rambling, aren’t I?’
Only half listening to Adrian’s response, she turned away to watch the old sweeper.
‘We had a cocktail earlier on,’ her father told Adrian with a forced laugh. ‘I think it’s gone to her head.’
‘No, no, I’m fine, really,’ she protested. ‘I was just—’
She glanced at white flowering frangipani bushes growing at the edge of the patio, trying to remember what they reminded her of. With all the stress of her mother’s disappearance, it was disconcerting that she seemed to be forgetting a lot. When she looked round again, the old sweeper had gone. Instantly her mind felt clearer and she turned back to her companions.
‘Come on, let me get you a drink, Adrian.’
‘It’s time I went to bed,’ her father said. ‘I know Lucy will be in safe hands.’
Adrian smiled. ‘I’m not Superman. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I was able to help Lucy, but I really just happened to be there in the right place at the right time. What I did was nothing special, really. But I’m off too. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow and I’m off home.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll see you both tomorrow.’
Lucy said she would stay for a while, watching the ocean. She sat by herself, listening to the gentle swish of waves hitting the shore. It did not help to dull the ache she felt, missing her mother.
32
‘PLEASE, WHY ARE YOU doing this to me? You have nothing to gain by keeping me here. I’m begging you: let me go. You can end this now. Please.’
Speech was difficult. Her voice sounded thick and slurred. Her lips were so cracked it hurt to move them. She made a desperate attempt to articulate the words.
‘I know you’re going to kill me, so why don’t you do it? Please, just kill me now.’
Worse than the sickness, the filth and degradation, was the mental torment of waiting, not knowing from one minute to the next when her final moment would come. Far better to get it over with quickly. Life had lost any power it once had over her. She only wanted this foulness to stop.
‘Not yet,’ the voice said.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked, sobbing because she was not going to be released.
She resisted eating the rice. Squirming, she turned her head away but the spoon forced more of it between her teeth. Fingers poked it along her tongue until she swallowed just so that she could open her mouth and not inhale the stench with every breath she took.
‘Get – off – me!’
The spoon shoved another dollop between her lips making her splutter and choke. It was always the same repulsive rice. Sometimes the fingers rammed it too far, making her gag. Once she had closed her mouth, clamping her teeth together on the finger, pressing as hard as she could. A fist had clouted her. She had released her grip on the finger as she fell to the ground.
‘Drink,’ the voice ordered, slopping water into her mouth.
‘Why are you doing this? Why don’t you just kill me? Please, end it now, I’m begging you.’
‘Like this?’
A deafening shot rang out. It sounded as though the whole mountain had exploded. There was a very slight whiff of burning sulphur, so faint she might have imagined it. The noise of the gun going off seemed to split her head open, before the barrel of the gun was pressed again
st her temple, taunting her. In her debilitated state, resistance had seemed unthinkable. But the gun changed everything. If she could wrench it from Veronique’s grasp, she would not hesitate to shoot, hoping to put a bullet in her tormentor’s head. With a sudden jolt of exhilaration she resolved to make the attempt. Even though she could not see where Veronique was standing, there was a slim chance she might shoot and hit her. In any case, whether she failed or succeeded, it made no difference. She could shoot Veronique and then herself, or provoke Veronique into killing her. Death would come either way, and would be welcome. Twisting round, she heard her chains rattle as she raised her arms but she could not lift them high enough to reach the gun.
She moaned, her flash of hope confounded. Through the ringing in her ears she heard hoarse laughter at her humiliation. Bracing herself, she threw her shoulders back and closed her eyes behind the blindfold that prevented her from seeing anything at all.
‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘Pull the trigger again. Do it.’
Adrenaline rushed to her head. Her legs would barely hold her. Her body was in a state of shock, her ears ringing from the noise, but she was prepared. With a final effort she held her head upright, standing as tall as she could, her eyes pressed shut. She would not crumble.
‘Go on,’ she repeated. ‘Do it.’
‘I am doing nothing.’
‘But – the gun . . .’ she stammered. ‘You’ve got a gun. Shoot me.’
‘No. There is a better way. That is why we preserved your daughter.’
Fear ran through Angela like a bolt of adrenaline, making her tremble. ‘Not Lucy,’ she cried out in a voice that tore at her dry throat. ‘Please, just finish this now. Shoot me. You don’t want my daughter involved in this. It’s between you and me. We’re the ones who should be fighting over George. It has nothing to do with Lucy.’
‘I will not fight for George,’ the voice rasped. ‘I hate him.’
‘Why?’
‘You will hate him too, when he abandons you to die, as he abandoned me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You will find out. But not yet.’
‘You’re not going to shoot me?’
‘No. But you will wish I had. You will wish you had died, right here, right now.’ She felt the gun tap against the side of her head, mocking her. ‘This is for your husband. He is the one who will kill you. And it will be done soon. You are not strong. You must not die before he comes to you.’
The words were completely insane.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she mumbled. ‘My husband isn’t going to kill me.’
An angel appeared in front of her, glowing in the darkness. She shivered. The angel had that effect on people. It drove them mad. She had felt its power. In the darkness it shone with an impossible brilliance. Addressing her in seductive tones, it had called to her in the darkness. She had heard its voice, witnessed its power in her waking dreams. Strange thoughts whirled around inside her skull. Her mind was spinning out of control. If she was not mad yet, she soon would be, locked up in this stinking pit. She sank to her knees, unable to stand upright any longer. In spite of her desperation she felt a flutter of relief. She was still alive. She had faced a maniac waving a gun at her head and she was still alive. It was a sign. She was not going to die. A thrill of joy shook her as she lay on the soiled ground. The hut vibrated as the door slammed shut. As she sank into unconsciousness, her last thought was that she was still alive.
The angel was shining at her, its eyes gaping pools of black light.
‘Come,’ it whispered. ‘I have been waiting for you.’
‘Not yet,’ she replied in her dream that was not a dream. ‘It is not yet time.’
The angel’s lips twisted in a grin. Its laughter echoed around her prison walls and she felt herself falling. She woke with a jolt, shivering and sweating. But she was alive.
33
WHILE LUCY’S FATHER WAS comforted by the Vice Consul’s daily visits to the hotel, Lucy was feeling increasingly impatient with the authorities.
‘You can’t accuse them of forgetting about us,’ her father said. ‘Maggie’s been to see us every day. She’ll be here again this afternoon.’
All the same, he was happy to pay another visit to the town. If nothing else, it gave them something to do. They had driven round the coastal road several times every day, and scoured the streets of the capital, in case Angela was wandering about the island suffering from amnesia. It was unlikely, but at least they felt they were doing something. Spending the whole day in idleness was impossible.
They had been calling in at the Central Police Station every day, and Inspector Henri greeted them like old friends. But although he continually assured them the authorities were doing everything in their power to find the missing woman, he had to report that they had made no progress with their enquiries.
‘As you know, we have alerted every police station on the islands,’ he said, drumming his fingers on the table and sighing. ‘Your wife’s picture has been circulated to all the coastguards, hospitals, doctors, hotels and guest houses, and published in all the papers. And the local radio has been most helpful. We have contacted every ship that has been in the area, in case she was picked up out at sea.’
He sighed and shrugged to indicate that they had so far drawn a blank, and repeated that the police were doing what they could. Although he seemed attentive, Lucy could not help feeling he regarded her mother’s disappearance as a bit of a nuisance.
‘So what you’re telling us is that you’ve done everything you can,’ Lucy said.
He inclined his head.
‘Then maybe it’s time to call in Scotland Yard,’ she went on.
The inspector raised his eyebrows. ‘Scotland Yard?’ he repeated.
‘Well, you’ve done all you can and you haven’t found her, so maybe we should try the British police. They’re probably more geared up to finding missing persons, aren’t they? And my mother’s English.’
The inspector explained that a missing person on the island fell under the jurisdiction of the local police. A foreign force could certainly be invited to intervene, but only if that was considered necessary.
‘Necessary? Of course it’s necessary,’ Lucy’s father took up the argument.
‘Please listen to me,’ the inspector said firmly. ‘We are very flexible about requesting outside help. Any time there’s evidence of a serious crime on the island, we ask for support. We know our limitations. If there’s forensic evidence to be examined, we call in foreign experts straight away. But as far as we are aware, no crime has been committed. The case is being treated with the utmost seriousness, but there’s not a lot more to be done, as things stand. The responsibility for conducting a local search rests with us. We know the terrain and the people. It’s a small island. We know where to look and who to ask. Believe me, we are best placed to do this job. We would have to direct police coming here from the UK to do the job we’re already doing ourselves. I assure you we’re doing everything possible to find your wife.’
Lucy appreciated he was dealing with them sympathetically, but at the same time realised that tourists going missing was bad for the island’s image. The death of the Australian girl was hardly helping. According to Eddy, the local papers were attributing her murder to a jealous boyfriend.
‘Which is piffle,’ he had confided in Lucy. ‘She didn’t come here looking for a boyfriend. Between you and me, she was only interested in money. They’re just trying to make up some reason for it so people don’t start speculating about a killer on the loose on the island, that sort of thing, you know. It’s not good for business. Also, I don’t know if you heard, but a lad drowned yesterday. Between you and me, it’s not unheard of, but they try not to make a big fuss about it in public. It’s the undercurrent that gets them. If you ask me, tourists aren’t given enough advice about the dangers of swimming around here, but none of the hotels want to put warning signs on the beaches. It’s rela
tively safe in Beau Vallon. It’s probably the best place to swim. But some stretches can be dangerous.’
Lucy could imagine her father’s distress if she raised the possibility that her mother might have been swept out to sea by the current. It sounded so final. After ten minutes at the police station, they left. They were both silent on the way to the consulate. The impotence of the authorities only seemed to highlight the futility of their own efforts. Maggie was not available. She sent a message that she was in a meeting all morning and would come over to see them at three that afternoon. There was nothing more to do in town so they returned to the hotel for an early lunch after which Lucy’s father said he was going up to his room for a rest before Maggie arrived. Lucy wanted to take the hire car for a spin while he was asleep. He made her promise she would take her mobile phone with her in case she had any trouble.
‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, ‘I’ll stay on the coastal road and I’ll be careful. I won’t go far, and I won’t get out of the car. I’ll just go for a little drive along the coastal road and back. I won’t be long.’
She looked away, afraid that her face might betray her guilt, because she knew exactly where she was going that afternoon. To begin with it felt strange to be changing gears manually, as she was used to driving an automatic car, but she soon slipped back into it and although the gears were stiff, she managed to drive without wrecking the clutch. Leaving the grounds of the hotel, she set off towards the house where her father had once lived. He had loved the view from his verandah. Since he had taken them there on their first day, it had occurred to Lucy that her mother might have returned there. Perhaps Veronique now lived in the house she had once cleaned for George, the house where they had fallen in love. It was one of the few places Lucy knew her mother had visited, so it was at least worth going there to have a look.
Parking the car off the road, she walked the last few hundred yards past the clearing where they had stopped on their first visit, and on down towards the house. As she passed a gigantic frangipani bush where her father had paused to smell the flowers, his verandah appeared around the corner of the house, with its unrestricted view of the ocean. Opening a small wooden gate, she went through into a garden of flowering bushes. Her heart began to pound with excitement as she imagined knocking on the front door and seeing her mother’s face.
Journey to Death Page 18
