Presumed Dead (10 page)

Thinking forward now, he wasn’t sure how he
was going to tackle the authorities when he got to Chamonix. It was going to be
tricky insisting that the body they had recovered from the mountain was not
Alice’s without being able to give any plausible explanation or proof. One
thing he did know for certain though, was that he would keep his promise to
Alice, no matter what.

Each time he thought of Alice he felt a
warm glow, which calmed and strengthened him. He kept thinking of her back in
Nîmes, waiting for him to come home, fantasizing about how she would rush to
the door to welcome him, how she would hug and kiss him and say she’d missed
him. He wanted her desperately and wished now that he’d let her come with him,
just for company. He decided to give her a call, and punched the car-phone
controls on his steering wheel. It rang five or six times until Alice finally
answered it.

‘Hello?’ she said timidly.

Philippe’s heart leapt as her voice filled
the car. ‘Hello Alice, it’s Philippe,’ he said into the hands-free microphone
above his head.

‘Philippe, oh I’m so glad you called,’
Alice gushed, ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’

‘Worried about me… but why?’

‘You were so upset when you left here, I
was just worried something might happen to you… you might have an accident or…
I don’t know, I was just worried that’s all. I wanted to call you but I didn’t
have your number.’

Philippe was touched, and said, ‘Don’t
worry, I’m fine. I just called because I wanted to hear your voice.’

‘That’s nice,’ Alice said softly. ‘I wish
you had let me come with you.’

‘I wish that too, now. I’m sorry I acted
the way I did earlier.’

‘That’s okay, I understand.‘

‘What are you doing with yourself?’
Philippe asked.

‘Nothing much, just sitting around.’

‘Why don’t you make yourself something to
eat, you have got to build your strength back up you know. There are lots of
things in the freezer.’

‘I might make something later,’ she said.
‘I don’t feel like it right now.’

‘Just make sure you don’t forget,’ he said.
‘Remember, it is my job to look after you, I don’t want to come home and find
you have wasted away.’

Alice laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s much
chance of that!’

There was a pause between them, then Alice
asked, ‘Will you give me a call when you get there, just to let me know you’re
safe?’

‘Of course I will, and if you look in the
notebook that is in the drawer under the telephone, you will find my cell phone
number in case you want to call me.’

‘Thank you,’ Alice said. ‘Speak to you
later, take care.’

‘You too, au revoir.’ Philippe punched the
disconnect button on his steering wheel.

Alice stood holding the telephone, staring
off into space for a few seconds before placing it back on the cradle. Ever
since he’d dropped her at the house with her shopping and sped away, she’d been
feeling uneasy and worried, worried about Philippe, worried about young Charles
and worried that her husband was about to have her declared dead and ruin her
company. How, she wondered, would the headmaster at Eton tell her son that his
mother had been found dead on a mountain? How would he feel? Her heart went out
to him, but she knew she must play the game, Ross’s game, a little longer if
she was going to save her company and the jobs of all those thousands of people
who relied on her for their livelihood.

After she put the telephone down, she
wandered outside and sat on the veranda for a while, but it wasn’t the same
without Philippe. Getting up, she went back into the house and spotted her
shopping bags on the kitchen table, just where she’d dumped them earlier on.
She decided she’d better take them through to her bedroom and put her new
things away, but before she could do that, she would have to move the clothes
that Philippe had given her when she’d first arrived. She opened the drawers in
her room and put Louisa’s clothes in a neat pile on her bed, then picked them
up and went through into Philippe’s room.

It was the first time she’d been into his
room, and its beauty and simplicity immediately struck her. The floor was
polished wood, just like her floors at home, and there were brightly colored
scatter rugs here and there. A small door led off to an en-suite bathroom,
which was cool and pleasant with marble tiles on the floor and walls. The big
double bed had a rustic antique pine frame, which matched the rest of the
farmhouse style furniture in the room. On one of the bedside cabinets there was
a silver-framed photograph of a tall, slim woman with long brown hair wearing
climbing gear and leaning against a rock with a wonderful mountain view behind
her.

Alice put the pile of clothes on the bed
then picked the photograph up and studied it. This must be Louisa, she thought.
As she looked at the other woman’s dark, handsome features, she suddenly felt
an enormous pang of pity for Philippe. How long had he spent out there on the
mountain looking for her? How must he have felt, week after week, trekking
through the snow, searching, hoping to find just some sign of her? And how must
he feel now to have her taken away by someone else, someone like Ross? The
thought of Ross made her feel vicious. I hate that bastard, she thought
vehemently, I hate him for what he did to me, for what he’s doing to poor
Philippe and for how Charles must be feeling right now. I’m going to get even
with him if it’s the last thing I do!

.

The subject of Alice’s intentions was at
that moment enjoying a drink in the bar of the Jardin du Mont Blanc Hotel,
waiting for Jacques Batard to turn up. Ross had been feeling particularly
pleased with himself ever since his earlier conversation with Batard when he’d
realized he was going to get away with it. He’d gone straight to the bar as
soon as he’d arrived back at the hotel and had been drinking steadily ever
since. The hotel staff had looked on with sympathy as he’d downed the best part
of a bottle of brandy. ‘Poor Monsieur,’ they had said to each other, ‘drowning
his sorrows. Such a beautiful woman, such a waste.’

But Ross was far from sorrowful. This was
his own personal, private celebration, a celebration of five hundred million
dollars that were coming his way. He’d drunk to his new Learjet, to his new
yacht, to his new villa in Monaco, to having as much cash as he wanted, to
unlimited credit at any gambling house in the world. By the time six o’clock
came and Batard walked into the bar, Ross was, by his own admission, a bit
squiffy. But surely that was understandable for a chap in his position, wasn’t
it?

Batard seemed to think so, and took it in
his stride when Ross hailed him. ‘Ah, there you are my friend, come and have a
drink.’

‘No thank you Monsieur, I have a lot of
work to do tonight before I get off duty. Are you ready to go to the hospital?’

‘Suppose we better get it over with,’ Ross
said, climbing unsteadily to his feet.

Batard had a car parked outside, and opened
the front passenger door for Ross. Going around to his own side, he jumped in
and they were soon heading across town to the hospital.

The mortuary was located in the hospital
basement and the two men rode the lift down in silence. When the lift opened,
Batard let the way through a pair of swing doors into the morgue, where they
were instantly enveloped by the sickly, penetrating smell of formaldehyde. In the
middle of the room, there were two stainless steel autopsy tables on wheeled
bases, both of them empty. Harsh overhead fluorescent lights reflected back
from the scrubbed floor and white-tiled walls into Ross’s bleary eyes, making
him squint.

A morgue attendant led the way to a wall of
refrigerated body vaults, and, pulling back a heavy metal clamp, swung one of
the doors open and slid a body pan draped with green sheeting half way out. The
brilliant light in the room accentuated the contours of the body under the
sheet and for the first time in this whole affair, Ross felt a twinge of
nervousness run up his spine. The morgue attendant stood back to let Batard and
Ross stand one either side of the tray.

As Batard lifted the sheet and folded it
neatly back, just below the shoulders of the naked corpse, Ross caught his
breath and stared down with horror on the bloated, blue lipped, half-crushed
face, surrounded by light brown hair. Of all the things he’d been expecting to
see, the body of a complete stranger was not one of them. Suddenly, his throat
filled with bile and his legs gave way. He staggered backwards into the arms of
the morgue attendant who guided him over to a steel chair and sat him down,
forcing his head down between his knees. He spat the mouthful of bile out onto
the floor.

Batard flipped the sheet back over Louisa
and rushed around to Ross. ‘Are you all right Monsieur?’ he asked with concern.

Ross didn’t move for a while. After he’d
recovered from the initial shock, his mind started working at full pelt. Who
the hell was that on the tray? Could he get away with identifying her as Alice?
He thought it was worth a try: after all, if anything happened, he could always
say he’d made a mistake. He slowly lifted his head and looked up at Batard. ‘I’m
all right thank you,’ he said. ‘It was just the shock of seeing her like that…
she was so beautiful when she was alive… and now…’

‘I understand,’ Batard said
sympathetically. ‘It must have been a terrible shock. If you will just sign the
official identification document, we can get out of here and I will take you
back to your hotel.’

Ross took the clipboard Batard offered him
and signed the form confirming that he, as her next of kin, officially
identified this body as Alice Webley. The deed was done. Now he’d have to make
sure no one found out.

As soon as Batard dropped him outside the
hotel, Ross rushed up to his room, locked the door, poured himself a drink from
the mini-bar then sat on the edge of the bed and dialed Alex’s number on his
cell phone.

The moment Alex answered he said, ‘We may
have a problem.’

‘What? What’s gone wrong?’ Alex asked
desperately.

‘It wasn’t her.’

‘What do you mean, it wasn’t her? Who
wasn’t who?’

‘The body in the morgue, the one they
brought down off the mountain, it wasn’t Alice.’

‘Have you been drinking?’ Alex asked.

‘Yes, but not enough to make me see things
that aren’t there. I promise you, that was not Alice they found today.’

Alex paused for a moment to take it in,
then asked, ‘What did you say when they showed her to you?’

‘Nothing. I felt a bit queasy and had to
sit down. They took that as confirmation of her identity, asked me to sign a
form, and that was it.’

‘So you identified her as Alice?’ Alex
asked incredulously.

‘That’s right, and we’ll be fine provided
the rightful owner doesn’t turn up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I mean is that the sooner we get rid
of this body, the safer we’ll be. I don’t want someone turning up claiming I’ve
got his wife or daughter in my family vault. If they exhume the body and can
prove it’s not Alice by DNA testing, that will invalidate her death certificate
and cause all sorts of legal problems with ownership of the corporation.’

‘What are we going to do then?’ Alex asked.

‘Get her cremated as soon as possible. I
don’t want to go off to the States on Saturday to take over control of
Sanderson’s with the wrong woman lying at the undertakers. Until she goes up in
smoke, we’re vulnerable.’

‘But what happens if Alice’s body turns up
later on?’ Alex wailed. ‘What will we do then?’

‘I’ve already thought of that. I simply say
I was distraught and had had a few to drink when I went to the hospital. I made
a mistake and I’m very sorry. We then get a new death certificate for the real
Alice, and that’s that,’ Ross said triumphantly.

‘So you want me to arrange to have her
cremated on Friday?’ Alex asked flatly.

‘That’s right. I know it will be difficult,
but phone around, see who can take her at short notice. There are plenty of
crematoriums around London. Once you’ve got it fixed up, let the Head at Eton
know so he can arrange a pass for young Charles to attend the funeral.’

‘Aren’t people going to think it a bit
strange that you find your wife on Wednesday, fly her home on Thursday and
cremate her on Friday? A man in your position would be expected to send out
invitations, arrange a…’

‘I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks or
expects,’ Ross snapped. ‘There’s too much money involved to take any chances. I
want to get things rolling at Sanderson’s on Saturday, and I want that body out
of the way first.’

‘All right,’ Alex sighed, ‘I’ll do the best
that I can. See you tomorrow.’

Ross switched off his phone, swung his legs
up onto the bed, and laid there with his hands behind his head, contemplating
his own brilliance.

.

Philippe rolled into town about half an
hour later, just before eight o’clock, and went straight to the headquarters of
the Peloton de Gendarmerie de Haute-Montagne. He asked to see the duty officer
and was shown into Jacques Batard’s office. Batard was still hard at work
typing his report on the Webley case into his computer terminal. He knew
Philippe, as most of the Platoon did, because of his frequent visits to the
PGHM headquarters demanding renewed searches for his wife. In fact, Philippe
was regarded as something of a pain in the backside by the Platoon.