The Lost Swimmer (34 page)

I lunged at her, desperate to force the truth out, but she caught me and held me back.

‘You must go now and calm down, Rebecca. Contact me when you're ready to talk.' Her face crumpled as she propelled me to the passage in a grip so tight I could do nothing other than obey. Pain seared my arms. She threw me out and locked the door.

I stood breathlessly, arms hanging limp at my sides. A happy-looking couple approached, staring curiously as they entered the room next door. I heard their door click shut and, in a daze, I found the lift.

In the foyer I pushed through the milling tourists who were still checking in. Once in the street I tried to process Priscilla's reaction. I was certain she was lying. It was typical and cruel of her to pretend that Stephen had drowned like my father. How could I get to him?

I walked fast and soon passed through the clipped gardens of the Palais Royal with their startling green lawn and headed through the traffic on Rue de Rivoli, going towards the Louvre. I turned right as I reached IM Pei's glass pyramid, where tourists posed ludicrously as statues on little coloured blocks. I crossed the road into the Tuileries Gardens.

My feet propelled me to the table. Stephen had been here recently. I found comfort in that, despite knowing that he had been here with Priscilla.

‘Back again?' said the waiter as I sat and ordered a café crème. I obsessively watched every passer-by, tapping my fingers on the table to try to calm down, thrumming out a tattoo until people nearby threw looks of annoyance. With difficulty I tried to sit still. I reminded myself I needed to remain invisible but my leg started bouncing up and down. My body refused to obey commands. I threw down a handful of euros, not waiting for my coffee, and fled.

Walking up the wide tree-lined path I tried desperately to form a plan but my mind was blank. All I could hear was the crunching of gravel echoing loudly underfoot.

I passed through the gardens and out into the chaos of Place de la Concorde. Cars roared by as I crossed the River Seine over to the Left Bank. A crowd had gathered outside the Musée D'Orsay, queuing in the wide forecourt beside the old railway building with its giant clock. It was open late tonight. Had fate led me here? Another place to which Stephen and I had always come. Perhaps today would be no different? I joined the queue, forcing away my doubts. It was in Priscilla's nature to mislead; she did it with relish, along with her theatrics.

I glided through a special Impressionist exhibition including our favourite painters – Monet, Manet, Renoir, Sisley, Pissarro – more of their work than I had ever seen hung along the vast walls. They appeared different today, my sleep-deprived mind taking in every brushstroke. I saw the detail rather than the picture, the fine beads of paint. It was unnerving and yet exciting. I looked everywhere, expecting to see Stephen poring over a masterpiece as he waited for Priscilla's all-clear. I wasn't fooled for a minute that she wasn't with him. They must have carefully packed away his belongings. She would have expected me to follow her.

When I couldn't find Stephen I hurried upstairs. Still no sighting. I rushed into the restaurant, forcing myself to slow to an amble beneath the grand chandeliers. I stared at the tables of diners eating in the sumptuously decorated rooms. Outside, Paris was beginning to twinkle, the parks and rooftops floating.

I took in everything and everyone. My mind was a computer.

‘Can I help you, madame?' An officious man in black and white stood close. Not a policeman, only a waiter.

‘I'm looking for someone. He's tall, fit, dark-haired with a beard.' I paused. ‘Actually, he may be clean-shaven. He's a little older than me but you wouldn't know it.' As if from a distance I heard myself give a silvery laugh. The waiter eyed me with concern.

‘Perhaps you'd like a glass of water?'

I shook my head and walked away, knocking into a group of diners, hearing the quiet tones of people's reactions.

A guard approached. ‘Can I help, madame?'

‘I'm leaving,' I called.

‘Then let me show you the way, madame.' He took me gently by the elbow and propelled me down to the exit. I blinked into the soft night air, confused, disoriented; where should I go now? In the long queue to enter the museum, I felt someone staring and glanced up.

‘Melinda?'

I was certain it was Melinda but she looked so different. Years younger, happy. Stunningly beautiful. Parisian. And she'd died her hair blonde.

‘Melinda, you're in Paris!'

But she was already out of the queue and moving rapidly away.

‘Melinda! Mel?'

Suddenly she was running. Hadn't she recognised me with my extra make-up and formal clothes? But surely Mel, of all people, would know me. A horrifying thought occurred – could Stephen be with Melinda? She was blonde now. And she certainly wasn't pleased to see me.

She flew down a narrow street lined with tiny homewares shops and cutting-edge art galleries. I knew I was quicker, but I pretended to be breathless, doubling over feigning a stitch, keeping a firm eye on the street she turned down. As soon as she was out of sight I pursued, trying to absorb the possibility of her with Stephen. How could either of them do that to me?

For several blocks I stalked from a distance, hiding in shop doorways or behind crowds of pedestrians whenever Melinda turned to check she wasn't being followed.

But all the time I felt that someone was behind me, too.

The stalker being stalked.

I turned back abruptly. ‘Stephen?' But I recognised no faces in the mass of tourists and locals chattering happily as they headed out to dinner.

I hurried after Melinda and saw her open a heavy blue door with a lion's-head handle. She was soon swallowed into a shadowy courtyard as the door swung shut. I ran and slipped my foot in the crack just before it closed, then waited a few moments before I poked my head inside. Melinda had climbed a long set of stairs and was unlocking an apartment adorned with red geraniums. As soon as she disappeared, I followed.

I climbed the stairs, making sure my feet made no noise. The apartments looked expensive, far beyond Melinda's budget. Had Stephen used our money? The betrayal was deeper than anything I'd thought possible. My arms reached out to a pot plant and I hurled it through the window. The glass was old and gave way easily. The red geraniums flew into the gloom inside and Melinda, furious, opened the door.

‘Get away, Rebecca, or I'll call the police.' She looked around but no neighbours had appeared.

‘Let me in. I need to see Stephen.' My voice cracked. I wanted desperately to hold him. To have him envelop me and tell me how sorry he was.

‘Stephen?' Melinda was icy, her face pinched with rage. ‘He's not here. I wouldn't have anyone here from your lot.'

I tried to push past but she blocked the door. There was terror in her eyes.

‘How did you find me?' she asked.

‘I must see him. Please!' Everything was unreal.

‘I've told you he's not here. Why on earth would he be, Rebecca?'

Melinda seemed genuinely confused. But why had she run? Her hands were shaking violently.

My mind ticked over, slowing down as I watched her, trying to work out what was going on, grappling to understand. There was something… And then it hit me. I had trusted Melinda with my passport once. I had been frantically busy preparing for an overseas trip and I had asked her to check me in online.

‘You're the fourth person under investigation, aren't you?' I blurted.

Melinda stepped closer.

‘They've figured it out,' I bluffed. ‘You accessed my passport.'

Melinda's fury was palpable. I'd guessed right.

‘I thought we were friends,' I said, shocked, realising I should leave. I glanced around, trying to work out how I could get away. I was between her and the stairs and I didn't want to turn my back.

‘At least I rob honestly,' she replied angrily. ‘Not like you, on your fat salaries while you whine about how bad things are. Do you realise how little I made when I worked harder than any of you? And now you've hunted me down.' She pitched forward suddenly with alarming speed and I lost my footing, tumbling backwards. I tried to grab hold of her but she pushed me away. The gaping stairway flew beneath until I crashed to the courtyard and my head struck the unyielding stone. Blood flowed into my eyes, wet and gelatinous; my nose went numb. The kangaroo attack roared back but this time there was no dog to save me. Flashes of Stephen and Erin and James scarred my mind as Melinda stepped down towards me. She was wearing sparkling red Parisian stilettos and they were coming fast, flickering like the images in a silent film, and that was the last thing I saw.

I
awoke with a start and gazed around a sterile hospital ward. Nearby were two other patients, both asleep, both elderly. The snowy-haired man snored loudly. The breathing of the other, a slender woman, was so shallow she might have been dead.

How had I come to be here? I looked around expectantly for Stephen, then realised with a thud that I was alone.

‘My children?' I said aloud to the indifferent room.

I rolled onto my side to reach the telephone sitting on a nightstand but the drip attached to my arm made movement foolish. I yelped as my ribs erupted in pain. The man woke, flapping about, and pressed an emergency button. A nurse came running and he pointed to me, speaking rapidly in French.

The nurse shifted me onto my back. ‘Shh, shh, madame, vous êtes malade.' She stroked my brow as she fiddled with the drip. After a few moments I drifted away again.

•  •  •

It was hot and bright when I opened my eyes. The ward was bustling. I had more neighbours in beds and everyone had visitors.

‘How are you going?' Sally Chesser sat in a corner of the room. She came over and squeezed my hand.

‘Sally?' I wasn't yet ready to believe she was real.

‘You must feel pretty sore?'

‘Like I've been run over by a bulldozer. What happened?'

‘You can't remember?'

I shook my head and gritted my teeth in pain.

Disjointed images flashed slowly back.

Melinda running into the distance.

Melinda's angry face, snapped tight and foreign.

‘How did you know she was the one who embezzled the money from Coastal?' Sally asked piercingly.

‘I didn't.'

‘But you accused Melinda. You know it would have been better if you hadn't. You were lucky I was there.'

Why
were
you there
, I thought, my mind a jumble.

‘Sally, what were you doing in Paris?'

Sally paused, went back to the chair, and lifted it across to plant it near the head of my bed. She was wearing the same white linens she'd had on the first time she came to our home and she looked more like she belonged on a yacht than in a hospital. She sat so close I could see the pupils in her hazel eyes and feel her breath hot on my face.

‘I want you to know you're in the clear,' she whispered. ‘Melinda's in custody. She'll be extradited back to Australia. She'd bought apartments all over Paris with the money. We'd found other accounts that you hadn't seen. All up, it amounted to over twelve million dollars. She'd been doing it for years.'

I felt sick. ‘All in my name?'

‘You and others,' said Sally. ‘At first it was just small amounts so no one noticed. Then she grew bolder and more ambitious. She bought some real estate in Australia and then branched out over here. She used her maiden name. It took us a while to work it out. And we had to see if you were involved.'

‘I don't understand.' I scrunched two fists into my eyes, rubbing them as if it might help my head make sense. ‘I trusted Melinda with my life.'

‘She resented all of you. And she was an obsessive real-estate investor. The university will actually make a profit once it's all sold.'

I peered at Sally. ‘What's your role in this? Who are you? Is anyone who they seem?'

Sally smiled crookedly. ‘I'm working for Coastal. I'm sorry I had to be so deceptive.'

‘You're an investigator?'

She nodded. ‘A lawyer and a cop. Well, ex-cop. I run forensic investigations. I was hired to track the money.'

‘How did you know where I'd be?'

‘I didn't. But I knew where Melinda was, so I went to her apartment and followed her around, waiting to see if you'd turn up. After I'd visited the bank in Athens and heard what you'd been asking, and then found out you'd sent your friends to the archived records, I thought you might be trying to destroy evidence, and that you could be in the whole thing with Melinda.'

‘Did she set up those accounts?'

Sally nodded. ‘She's admitted to bribing the bank manager so it looked like you'd been there in person. For the record, Bec, my instincts never felt you were guilty.'

I massaged my aching head. ‘Can I see Stephen?' I sat up hopefully, my eyes bright with expectation, my pain suddenly gone. All I wanted was to touch his soft, fresh skin and inhale his salty, soapy aroma. ‘Is he here?'

Sally stared awkwardly. ‘No, Stephen's not here,' she said gently.

I sighed so deeply my ribs started to hurt. ‘So, he's not been found? I'm sure he's in Paris with Priscilla.'

‘Rebecca.' Sally stopped and drew in her breath. ‘Stephen's been found.' She took my hand and gripped it tightly.

‘Stephen's body washed up further along the Amalfi coast,' she said suddenly. ‘He drowned.'

Sound fell away. I could see she kept talking but I couldn't hear a thing.

Stephen's body washed up.

Stephen's body.

My mouth quivered, the muscles moving uncontrollably. I tried to ask a question but nothing came out. Surely I was hallucinating? Sally wasn't here and Stephen hadn't drowned. Taken by the sea. Never to return.