Presumed Dead (24 page)

‘Give me the bottle, then,’ Mason said.
‘I’ll wait for you at my house.’

Ross handed him the bottle then walked
cautiously towards the church. By the time he reached the end of the road, the
vans had been unloaded and a pair of uniformed police officers had sealed the
churchyard gates with blue and white plastic tape and were standing guard.

Staying in the shadows on the opposite side
of the road he quickly made his way down towards the old abbey then crossed
over and entered the abbey grounds. It was pitch dark and he was having
difficulty seeing where he was going when suddenly, he heard the sound of a
generator starting and the entire area was lit up from the direction of the
church by brilliant arc lights. Holding his arm up against the glare, he ducked
behind one of the ruined walls and made his way up the cloister arcade until he
could see clearly into the churchyard.

Several men were milling about. One was
wearing a white overall and was just pulling on a pair of thin rubber gloves
while speaking to another, who Ross thought he recognized as Hubbard. He
watched on in absolute horror as a team of men joined them, unfolded a large
white marquee then erected it over the entrance to his family vault. Next,
there was the sound of power tools and the unmistakable zing of a grinder
against metal. They’re going into my vault, he thought incredulously. That
means they must be investigating Freda’s death too! Oh my God… they’re going to
get me this time for certain.

Unable to stand any more, Ross staggered
back across the abbey grounds and out onto the road. He headed up the High
Street towards his car, then remembered Mason. He had unfinished business
there. He ran to the doctor’s house and pounded on the door. After a few
seconds Mason opened the door. Ross pushed past him into the hall. ‘Where’s
that bloody bottle?’ he demanded.

Mason, trembling with nerves, led him into
the living room and poured him a large measure. Ross swallowed it down in one,
then shouted, ‘What the hell did you say to that American? Do you realize the
police are down there opening my family vault?’

Mason tried to calm him down by pouring him
another drink. ‘Look here Sir Ross, I’m sure there’s nothing at all to worry
about. It’s just a misunderstanding, that’s all. They won’t find anything...’

‘What do you know?’ he snarled, gulping his
drink down. ‘Your bloody big mouth could send me to jail!’

Mason was suddenly alert. ‘What are you
saying?’ he asked.

Ross’s eyes seemed to lose focus as he
started to totter. ‘I’m not saying anything,’ he slurred badly, ‘especially not
to you!’ Then, without warning, he half stepped and half fell backwards and
plonked down heavily on the sofa.

Mason felt a bit safer now that Ross had
vented his anger, but he was very curious to find out as much as he could. He
refilled Ross’s glass then took the seat opposite him and said, ‘Why don’t you
tell me what’s troubling you?’

Ross looked up at him through bleary,
unfocussed eyes and slurred, ‘They’re trying to get me, one way or another they
want to put me in jail.’

‘Who’s trying to get you?’ Mason asked in
his best bedside voice. It had occurred to him that if he could extract a
confession from Webley and report back to the coroner before the autopsy
results were known, he might be able to save a little face at the inquest if it
did turn out to be a poisoning.

‘The bloody police, that’s who,’ Ross
slurred, his eyes rolling about in his head. ‘They’ve been hounding me all
day!’ The effect of all the brandy mixed with half a bottle of whisky on an
empty stomach finally took its toll and he slowly started to slide forwards.

Mason leapt to his feet just in time to
save him from pitching head-first onto the floor, but he couldn’t save the
glass, which dropped out of Ross’s hand spilling whisky on the carpet. With an
effort, Mason pushed him back onto the sofa and loosened his tie. Ross mumbled
something then started snoring loudly.

‘Well you’re not going anywhere tonight,’
Mason said aloud as he heaved his legs up onto the sofa and stuffed a cushion
under his head. He went out of the room and came back a few minutes later with
an old blanket, which he draped over Ross before switching the lights off and
retiring to bed himself.

When Alice woke from a deep sleep, there
was absolute silence in the hut. The storm had blown itself out during the
night and now a watery, early dawn light was seeping in through the small
window. She looked down at Philippe, who was still asleep, cradled in her arms,
and said a silent prayer that they might be allowed to share this love forever,
without end. She was sublimely happy and knew that she loved him with all her
heart and soul. Softly, she kissed his forehead and he stirred, sliding up a
little so that he could kiss her lips.

‘Good morning,’ he whispered, in a voice
that was softer and more gently that the crumbling snow outside. ‘Thank you for
last night.’

‘Thank you,’ she said softly, holding him
close and kissing him.

‘What time is it?’ he asked, looking
towards the window.

Alice slid her arm out from under the
blanket and felt around at the side of the mattress for her watch. Finding it in
among their discarded clothes, she said, ‘Just after six.’

‘I had better get moving,’ he said
reluctantly, trying to sit up.

She clung to him for a few seconds longer,
then finally, unwillingly, let him slip from her grasp. He collected his
clothes from around the mattress then went into the washroom while Alice
snuggled back down, pulling the coarse brown blanket up around her soft white
shoulders.

When Philippe was dressed, he put a pan of
water on the gas ring so that Alice would have warm water to wash in, then he
made coffee while she took her turn in the washroom. By the time she came out,
wearing just her shorts, polo top, fleece and socks, the coffee was ready and
they sat at the table opposite each other to drink it.

‘Where are your trousers?’ he asked. ‘You
should put them on, you’ll be cold.’

‘You’ve got to take them with you,
remember? They came from the Charpoua Hut.’

‘Oh yes,’ he said gloomily, ‘I had
forgotten.’

The prospect of being parted was starting
to weigh heavy on them both again, so Alice decided to lighten the atmosphere
by saying, ‘I hope I can get a nice quick divorce. I don’t want this baby to be
born before we’re married.’

That did the trick. Philippe threw his head
back and laughed aloud. ‘You think you’re pregnant then?’ he asked.

‘I’d be very surprised if I wasn’t,’ she
smiled dreamily, ‘after the job you did last night. In fact, I wouldn’t be
surprised if I’m carrying quintuplets!’

They laughed together and held hands over
the table while they finished their coffee, then Philippe got up and started to
pack his rucksack.

‘How long do you think it will be before
I’m rescued?’ Alice asked.

‘Now that the weather has cleared, they
should start routine missions again,’ he told her. ‘There should be a
helicopter flying past here about nine o’clock.’

‘What should I do when I see it?’ she
asked.

‘The best thing to do is climb up the path
onto the slab over the hut, then wave something to attract their attention.
When they see you, stretch your arms out and wave them up and down, that means
you want assistance.’

‘I hope it works,’ she said. ‘I don’t want
to be stuck up here on my own for too long.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her, ‘you’ll be
back in Chamonix in time for lunch.’

‘What are you going to do after I’ve been
picked up?’ she asked.

‘Go back home and wait for you.’

He had a last look around the hut, picking
up the empty wine bottle, the extra clothes Alice had worn and the spare
crampons, then finished packing his rucksack. After that, he put his boots and
jacket on, strapped the crampons in place, slipped his gloves on and was ready
to go.

Alice put her boots on and went to the door
with him. After a long, final embrace, she said, ‘Look after yourself.’

‘You too,’ he smiled. ‘See you soon, you
and the babies.’ He patted her tummy gently, then turned and trudged down the
path, pausing just once to wave as he turned the corner out of sight.

Alice watched him go with tears in her
eyes, then went back into the hut and closed the door. ‘Come on,’ she told
herself aloud, ‘get your butt into gear. It’s time to get this place cleaned
up. You’re gonna be out of here in a couple of hours.’ Wiping her eyes with the
back of her hand, she dragged the mattress back up onto the bunk then folded
the blanket neatly on top of it. After that, she washed the coffee cups and
tided the kitchen, collected her bits and pieces, stuffed them into her little
backpack then sat down to wait, smiling as she reveled in her memories of the
previous evening.

Philippe made good time to the Charpoua
Glacier and was back in the hut by eight-thirty. He’d been worried about
leaving a trail of footprints from the Couvercle Hut, but found that the snow
on the path was frozen solid and that his crampons hardly made any marks at
all.

All the way back he’d been thinking of Alice
and the night they had just spent together. He was deeply glad that he’d had
the courage to ask her to marry him, and even more glad that she’d accepted. He
knew that he loved her beyond reason and that they were going to be very happy
together. The worst thing now was going to be not seeing her for a while, going
back to his house all alone to wait for her, wait until she’d done battle with
that husband of hers and was free to be with him forever. God, how I wish her
husband had been shot instead of the other man, he thought vehemently. Given
half a chance, I’d do it myself!

After getting his breath back from the
steep climb up the glacier, he carefully packed the borrowed clothes and
crampons away under some supplies to make it look like they hadn’t been touched
for ages, then set off again, to climb higher still up the huge river of ice.

Back at the Couvercle, Alice noticed the
sun was starting to shine through the window, so she decided to climb up onto
the great granite slab that covered the hut and wait up there for the
helicopter to make its rounds. She turned the stove off, picked her rucksack
up, then stepped outside, bolting the door behind her.

The path up to the slab was steep and
slippery, but she managed to make it to the top without hurting herself. Once
at the top, she found that despite the air temperature being below freezing,
the early morning sun had already warmed the rock considerably, so she sat down
and stretched her legs out to soak up the sunshine. She decided that the best
way to make sure the helicopter saw her was to wave something big, so she
delved into her backpack and took her plastic poncho and her telescopic walking
pole out. By extending the pole and tying the bright purple poncho to its end,
she made a very useful signal flag, which she lay on the rock next to her,
ready for use.

Philippe had been climbing steadily for
about twenty minutes when he first heard the distant beat of the rescue
helicopter reverberating in the valley below. Turning around, he watched the
blue and white machine come into view, following the centerline of the Mer de
Glace as it snaked up the valley towards its source. He could just make out the
observer sitting in the rear cabin with the door slid back, scanning the
mountainside through binoculars. As soon as they go past the next ridge, he
thought, they should spot her.

Sure enough, as he watched, the helicopter
passed beyond the ridge that contained the glacier he was sitting on then
suddenly veered to the left out of sight. With a sigh of deep satisfaction, he
turned and started to climb again.

Alice jumped to her feet and slipped her
backpack on as soon as the thumping reverberation of the helicopter started to
echo up from the valley. It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. As soon as
the machine came around the corner, she waved the makeshift flag above her head
for all she was worth, screaming, ‘Over here… over here!’ at the top of her
lungs.

Suddenly, the helicopter seemed to stop in
mid air, then it turned abruptly and headed straight towards her. Alice felt a
surge of relief flow through her body as she dropped the flag and waved her
arms up and down.

As the blue and white helicopter climbed up
the valley towards her, the noise grew steadily louder until she thought her
eardrums would burst. Hoping the pilot had got the message that she needed
help, she stopped waving her arms, and stuck her fingers in her ears as the
thunderous machine settled into a hover just yards from the edge of the slab
that she was standing on.

The huge downdraft from the rotors blew her
poncho and pole away and half blinded her with a blast of snow and loose
stones, forcing her to stagger backwards and cower against the rock face behind
her with her ears plugged and her eyes tightly shut.

As the flying debris pebble-dashed Alice’s
bare legs making them sting painfully, the helicopter slowly edged in towards
the slab, and with great skill, the pilot gently rested one ski against the
rock as the observer jumped from the craft and headed towards her in a crouched
run. He grabbed her by the arm and shouted something that she couldn’t hear,
then led her back to the hovering helicopter with one arm around her shoulders,
forcing her to bend almost double under the thrashing blades. As soon as they
were both in the rear cabin, the observer made her sit in a small jump-seat
then slid the door shut. Although the battering down-draught was blocked out,
the noise level was still painfully high.

Alice watched, with fingers in ears, as the
observer, who had been wearing a helmet with a curly lead attached, plugged it
into an intercom panel. As the helicopter started to climb and bank to the
right, he reached into a locker and came out with a headset, which he gently
placed on Alice’s head, adjusting the boom microphone so that it was right in
front of her lips. She breathed a sigh of relief as the terrible noise from the
engines and rotors was blocked out, then heard a crackle as the observer
plugged her headset leads into the intercom so that he could speak to her.

‘Are you all right, Madame?’ he asked in
French. ‘Don’t worry, we will be at the hospital in five minutes.’

‘I don’t need to go to hospital,’ Alice
protested. ‘Can’t you just take me back to Chamonix?’

‘I’m afraid not, Madame, it is our policy
to take anyone we pick up in the mountains directly to the hospital for a check
up.’

Alice saw that it was no use arguing.

‘What is your name?’ the observer asked
conversationally.

‘Alice Webley,’ she replied.

The observer’s brows knitted. ‘That name
sounds familiar… wait a minute, we were searching for you earlier in the week,
then it was called off when…’ He stopped abruptly.

‘When what?’ Alice asked innocently.

But the observer wasn’t listening. He’d
flipped a switch on the intercom and was speaking to the pilot who was craning
his neck around, looking at her with amazement.

Down in Chamonix, Batard was sitting in his
office going over some papers when there was a knock at the door and his
sergeant poked his head in. ‘They’re asking for you in the control room sir,’
he said.

Batard heaved a sigh, got up from behind
his desk and walked through into the control room, where the radio equipment
was housed. The operator saw him come in and said, ‘The pilot of Rescue One
wants to speak to you sir.’

Batard took the handheld microphone he was
offered. Depressing the transmit key he said, ‘Batard here, go ahead Rescue
One.’

The wall mounted speaker crackled into
life. ‘Rescue One to base. You’re not going to believe this sir, but we’ve just
picked a woman up from the Couvercle Hut. She says her name is Madame Alice
Webley!’

Batard was dumbstruck. His mind whirled as
he recalled the events of the past week. ‘Is she injured?’ he asked.

‘Doesn’t appear to be,’ the pilot replied,
’but we’re en route to the hospital anyway.’

‘Very good, I’ll drive over and meet you
there immediately,’ Batard said, throwing the microphone down. Dashing back to
his office, he grabbed his cap then ran out to his car and headed across town
to the hospital, lights flashing and siren wailing.

.

Back in Minster at Stone, Ross woke to the
sound of Doctor Mason clattering around in the kitchen making breakfast.
Looking like death and feeling decidedly delicate, he stood up unsteadily and
followed the sound. He could remember shouting at the doctor and felt he’d
probably said far too much. He decided the best thing now was a damage
limitation exercise.

Mason was standing in front of the cooker
wearing an old brown dressing gown, frying bacon and eggs. The smell of the
greasy food made Ross feel even worse as he sat down heavily at the kitchen
table.

‘Like some breakfast?’ Mason asked
cheerfully as he heard him come in.

‘No thank you,’ Ross replied groggily.
‘Just some tea if I may.’

‘Help yourself,’ Mason said, pointing to
the teapot already sitting on the table under a knitted cozy.

He poured himself a cup while Mason slid
the contents of his frying pan onto a plate then joined him at the table. Ross
looked at the pile of greasy food and almost gagged.