Dark Mirrors (31 page)

She waited for him to speak and when he didn’t she took a hold of the stem of her glass and raised it to her mouth. Lifting her head she caught his gaze and took a grown-up taste of her wine.

For a dead man he looked remarkably good: tanned and lean.

“Hello, Esmée.”

She forced herself to swallow without gagging on the tannic liquid then placed the glass deliberately on the table, hoping the shake in her hand wouldn’t give her away. She didn’t reply to his greeting but held his gaze dispassionately, she hoped. Controlled. In control.

He glistened from the raindrops that settled on his slicked-back hair. There was no denying he looked good in his longer-style haircut and open-collar shirt. It suited him, she thought as she observed him; it matched the look of his bronzed face and nonchalant stance. But he didn’t look like a man who was hurting. He didn’t appear to be uneasy at all. She had expected to see him somewhat agitated, edgy even. There were plenty of things he needed to be concerned about and Esmée wondered which should worry him most: the lies, manipulation, bigamy, fraud, theft? Or was it the truth that he should be most intimidated by? Funny how his spurious disappearance had fast become the least offensive of his misdemeanours.

But the man smiling seductively down at her was quite relaxed, showing no apparent signs of the stress or fatigue that guilt should bring. No! He was just fine, and actually seemed pleased to see her.

She prickled as he moved towards her, around the table and to her side. He knelt down beside her and took her face in his hands, exploring her like he was seeing her for the first time. His fingers trailed a path from her nose out across her cheeks to gently sweep across her mouth before he bent in and replaced his fingers with his lips. She didn’t pull away, but sat impassively as he kissed her, his tongue viper-like invading her while his thumbs pressed gently on her cheeks.

“You look fantastic,” he whispered in her ear, taking in deep breaths of her. Still she didn’t speak, astounded by his audacity and sickened by his touch. She felt relief in his kiss: relief that she felt nothing for him. His kiss always had the ability to disarm her. He used it so often when it suited him to say sorry. But this evening, as the rain fell and the thunder rumbled, she felt no hunger to respond. Sensing her despondency he stood up and stepped back, adopting a childish look of rejection. A triumphant ray of sun broke through the clouds to momentarily fill the square in an opalescent glow of glorious golden light. His outline, darkened by the dazzling backdrop, became the silhouette of a man she had dreamt about, a man she had assumed to be dead, swallowed by the sea. Yet here he stood, very much alive, the silhouette of a stranger looking to be welcomed back into her life. This was the occasion she had been waiting for: her moment of interrogation. She had wished for this opportunity, dreamt about it, role-played and practised the conversation, but with it now in her grasp she was an empty vessel, but without the noise.

“Come on, Es,” he nursed, his tone soft and encouraging, so different to their last conversation. “Speak to me. Say something!”

Sitting down opposite, he reached to take her hand across the divide of the table. But she pulled away abruptly, almost knocking the glass with her sharp recoil. She thrilled to see that he appeared visibly unnerved by her reaction, sitting back to shake his head. Was this real, she asked herself? Was he real? His reactions seeming almost delusional. Inside her head she counted to ten, hoping the steady rhythm would placate her jumbled thoughts.

“Come on, Es,” he implored. “Please talk to me.”

Baby steps, she cautioned inside, filtering the many wrongs and asking herself which should she address first? There were so many: her own, their children’s, his job and work colleagues, not to mention Jim Brady’s.

“How are you?” she asked, finishing off with his true name: “Robert.”

“Ahhh,” Philip smiled. “So you figured it out.”

“Julie says hello. Harry too,” she replied, choosing to ignore his patronising intention.

He nodded, smiling faintly, and looked away from her across the square.

“And your daughter is beautiful. Beth. She looks just like Julie.”

Philip turned to her, his face a picture of his thoughts, but there was no regret there.

Infuriated, Esmée went on. “And as for Harry, my God, what a stunner! He’s a young man now. Doing his finals, I hear.”

“Before you judge me, Esmée, you need to understand what was happening at the time. I was in trouble. Real trouble. I had no option.”

“Ahh, yes!” Esmée laughed, gaining confidence. “I know all about your trouble,” she sneered. “He says to say hi too.” The sarcastic smile dropped from her face. “Have you any idea what you’ve done?”

“I was sick. Out of control.” He shrugged.

“And how do you know I haven’t told him where you are. How do you know he’s not here waiting for you to show up?”

“I know you, Es. It’s not your style. You’re not that cruel. I knew you’d want to see me alone. I’ll bet you didn’t even go to the police, did you?”

What a shit!

He smiled, knowing his assumption to be true.

“And Julie, what about her? You used her, just like you’ve used me. Why, Philip? Why?”

“I had to. There was no other way.”

“There is always another way. Always.”

The waiter’s approach muted their conversation, but his swift departure after filling Philip’s glass was a telling sign that while the words may have stopped, the cactus-like atmosphere remained.

Philip lifted the bulbous goblet to his nose, pompously swirling the liquid round to coat its inside. Like he knew what he was doing.

“You were different,” he answered, savouring the flavours while drawing in their scent.

He’d known when he left she was bound to find out about his past. It was inevitable. She might not put it together herself, but others would, and she would be told. He wasn’t quite sure if she knew the full story, but she knew enough. He was prepared for this encounter, he wouldn’t have brought her here otherwise, and he assumed, if it sounded like the truth she’d be fine. This was Esmée after all: all she needed was a few tragically romantic scenarios and he’d win her over. He’d done it before; he could do it again.

He let the silent suspense build before repeating, “You were different,” then looked up at her coyly. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were part of my future. We were meant to be together.”

“Are you serious?” she choked. “How on earth could that be possible? You gave up your little boy and your unborn child, not to mention your wife. You gave up your entire family and you expect me to believe that I could replace that? You were there when my father died – you were there! How could that be right?”

“Fate,” he justified simply. “Fate had in some bizarre way brought us together. I never meant it to happen that way. I thought I had lost everything and then there was you . . .” He let his sentence trail off.

“You are off your head!” she spat. “You ambushed me. You tracked me down and pursued me like some defenceless animal. You tricked me into loving you.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Philip, you were living in South Africa. You had a new life. But you came back. You found me and then you married me knowing you were still married to Julie. Why? What the hell were you thinking? What part of our story seems right to you? It’s wrong, Philip. All wrong!”

Philip studied his wife as she ranted, the way her eyes flared passionately, her wild gesticulations and heaving breast. She was so good, he thought, and wondered just how he could bring her round. He hadn’t expected her to welcome him back with open arms – hadn’t thought it would be easy to get her to forgive him – but she was here, wasn’t she? And that was a start. How could he swing this, he calculated, detached from her emotions. And anyway, if he couldn’t convince her to come of her own accord, he’d come and get her regardless. He was used to getting his own way, and this was no different. He wanted her back, whether she liked it or not.

“I can’t explain it, Es. I just couldn’t get you out of my mind. But none of that matters. I’m here. Now. And I want you.” He leant in towards her, pleading.

She shook her head in abhorrence. He wasn’t getting it. Not only that, he couldn’t see that she was immune to his charm. He had passed his ‘best before’ date. Leaning back in her chair she observed him, calmly realising she wasn’t going to get any credible answers off him here. He was incapable of the truth. He was delusional. He seemed to have convinced himself that he had done nothing terminally wrong.

“So this is where you’ve been living?” she asked awkwardly, changing the direction in order to buy herself some time and gather her thoughts.

“Yes, beautiful, isn’t it?” he responded proudly, oblivious to the bite in her tone, and threw his arms open to the air as if to embrace his kingdom. “This sun!” he exclaimed, closing his eyes reverently, absorbing it as if for the first time. “The atmosphere! The people! Why,” he asked whimsically, “did we never come here years ago, Es?”

She watched with disbelieving wonder as he then invited the hovering waiter to refill his glass and requested the menu in proficient Spanish. He smiled at her, raising his eyebrows as any good show-off would, but she wasn’t an impressionable conquest any longer and didn’t know whether to be fascinated or sickened by the arrogance of his display.

“So!” he said cheerfully, like the conversation of moments ago was a mere formality that was now done with, settling forward in his chair to rest his arms on the table, convinced he was making some headway. “How have you been? Really. How are things at home?”

“We thought you were dead!” she blurted out, amazed by his frivolous chatter and alarming disconnection from reality.

“Not you, Es!” he remarked shrewdly, folding his arms across his broad chest, “Not you. You knew I couldn’t do that. Didn’t you?”

The smug, self-righteous tone of his response irked her. How dare he! How dare he belittle the feelings of so many people about whom he was supposed to care.

“You’re right, Philip,” the words burst clear of her mouth. “I always knew it wasn’t your style, but I never had you down for a coward, a thief, a liar or a bigamist!” She delivered her attack suddenly and forcibly, supported by a hard, intense and accusing glare, infuriated by his supercilious smile.

“I’m sorry, Esmée. I’m sorry I hurt you, sorry I hit you, but . . . but . . . you couldn’t possibly understand . . .” He dropped his voice to a patronising whisper. “There were things . . .” He paused and looked down at the table as if searching for the right, simple, word that would adequately explain himself to this, his estranged wife. “Things that I don’t expect you to identify with . . .”

“You’ve already said that and frankly I’m tired of your lame excuses. You need to credit me with some intelligence and just fucking tell me what the bloody hell went on! How about you start by telling me why you left your shoes and socks like that in the car? I’m baffled.”

He smiled slowly, obviously reliving the moment. “No particular reason really. I just thought it was a nice touch, a small display of obsessive compulsiveness before I died – you know, get everything straight.”

“Oh Philip, how very
you
!” she spat. “And the rest?” she prompted.

He observed her for a moment, taking stock of the spirited woman bristling in front of him, wondering what she would do, how she would react, if she knew the truth, the whole truth . . .

* * *

The security guard lay unconscious on the carpet with a bloody gash on his head. Robert didn’t need to act shocked. He was. Things hadn’t quite gone to plan. It was supposed to be easy. On paper and in theory it appeared effortless, foolproof even. He and Brady’s team were to arrive at the bank just before 9 a.m. He would open up and wait for the time lock to release on the safe. Brady and his cohorts would lie in wait behind the screen. Amanda and Mike would arrive as they always did just after 9:15, Amanda armed as always with a coffee and muffin for Robert as well as herself. It was a running joke in the back office that she was besotted with him. On arrival, she and Mike were to be intercepted by Brady from behind the screens. They, thinking that Robert was being coerced, would co-operate and allow themselves be bound, gagged and locked in the office while Robert was ‘forced’ to empty the safe. Between them they assumed that the threat of danger upon Julie and the kids would be enough to guarantee compliance: there was no one brave or smart enough to play ‘have-a-go hero’ amongst Robert’s workmates. Or so they thought. But it all went wrong when that gobshite Mike tried to cut loose. He always was an eejit. The son of a prolific developer who also happened to be their best local customer, how could Robert say no when asked for a reference? The reference that ultimately got him the job. In this bloody branch. He shouldn’t have bothered. That fucking idiot cost him everything. Bill the security guard had no option but to intervene – it was his job – but got the butt of the gun at the back of his head from Tommo for his efforts. That’s when Amanda made an attempt to trigger the alarm. Tommo and Brady lunged forward to stop her. In the ensuing confusion Robert had left the room. And saw the detective outside. Frank. Then the alarm went off. Blind panic reaped reflexive reactions. And then it was over. An apparently straightforward robbery had turned into murder.