The Lost Swimmer (7 page)

‘Gold jewellery fascinates you?'

‘It does – as a signifier of power and an enduring status symbol. I'm also looking at the gendered responses to jewellery and extending my analysis to the Minoans and Etruscans.'

Priscilla glanced down at my bracelet, gold with inset rubies. ‘Did you get that on one of your research trips?'

‘Stephen gave it to me.' I felt a surge of warmth as I remembered how he'd bought it off the Internet for my birthday.

O'Shannessy sat forward.

‘I'm guessing it's Hellenic,' said Priscilla, gently lifting my wrist to take a better look.

‘It's a reproduction from the fifth century BC. A classic Cretan design.'

‘Do you collect jewellery? It seems to me from what you wear around the place that you have quite an extensive array. Is it one of those areas where your passion for research spills out into the real world?'

‘Most of it has been given to me.'

‘Really?' Priscilla leaned forward casually but her eyes scrutinised me. ‘That could make an interesting journal article,' she said, sitting back and crossing her legs. ‘The effects of research on scholars and those around them.'

The thought of Priscilla with Stephen hit me with a thud.
Has he given you jewellery?

O'Shannessy scribbled on his large notepad. I tried surreptitiously to see what it said but his writing was illegible, I suspected intentionally.

‘We'll take up from here next time, shall we,' he said. ‘Good work both of you, today.'

I didn't see how, but I rose and shook his hand. ‘Thanks.'

•  •  •

I drove away fast. The session had been definitely odd. Why was Priscilla quizzing me about my research and jewellery? Could it somehow relate to the Athens account, which still no one had raised? When I had asked Alison Wishart if she'd mentioned it she was noncommittal and had walked away. I hadn't found the courage to ask again, and I held on to the hope that it would just blow over. In the scheme of things it was an insignificant matter.

I turned the car into a nearby cove, glad to be away from Coastal, and walked down a path ragged with sharp-edged marram grass to a tiny yellow wedge of beach, where I sat watching the shimmering, glass-calm sea as the sun pounded in from the horizon. In silhouette I could see a new pontoon had been anchored a little way out. Rumour had it that money had changed hands with local counsellors to allow it to be floated there. A figure, lean and sleek, suddenly rose from where it had been lying on the boards. As it turned languorously, I saw that it was a woman in a white bikini. She dived into the sea and swam to shore with strong, confident strokes, emerging to shake salty droplets as she ran up the beach to a towel.

‘Hello.'

Startled, I realised she was talking to me. To my horror she approached.

‘Not swimming?'

I shook my head. As she looked down I tried to guess her age. Early thirties, perhaps. Dark hair was slicked about a glistening face. Her eyes were the colour of honey, generous lips carmine, nose slightly aquiline. Even in the harsh light I could see that she was unnaturally pretty, not typically so but with a symmetry and strength that flowed. She would photograph well. The classical quality to her chiselled jawline would have sat comfortably in a Minoan palace. She would have been beautiful in any century, any millennium.

‘The water's wonderfully cool,' she said. ‘You hot?'

‘Stinking hot.'

‘Then why not go in? Strip off. There's no one else around.'

I laughed loudly, splintering the air.

‘I take that as a no?'

She bent and held out a tanned arm towards me. ‘Sally Chesser.' We shook hands, hers cool from the water. ‘I know who you are,' she said. ‘I've read your books. Archaeology is a passion of mine.' With a touch as light as gossamer she brushed against my arm, an informal, warm gesture. ‘You come often but you never swim.' She casually registered my surprise. ‘I've seen you several times,' she said. ‘I like to sunbake in the sand hills.' She cast a glance to the dunes behind us. ‘With the snakes.' She chuckled, full and hearty as her eyes danced. ‘You on lunch break?'

I nodded.

‘I've been to a couple of your lectures. On the jewellery of the Minoans.' She paused. ‘They were quite good.'

I rose. ‘Time's getting on.' They'd been excellent lectures; I didn't appreciate her faint praise.

‘You still at Coastal?'

‘Yes,' I replied blandly.

‘Nice to meet you, Rebecca Wilding!' she called as I strode away. I waved without looking back. This beach had been my secret place, the escape that replenished my soul between interminable meetings.

Not as secret as I'd thought.

•  •  •

The next week the summer rain came on suddenly. It was pelting down like cats and dogs, as my mother would have said. The air smelled of ozone, steam radiating from the tarmac in white puffs as I raced across the car park. I hadn't brought an umbrella.

‘God, you look like you've been swimming,' cried Justine, who was filling in for Melinda. She gave a toothy grin as I charged for the refuge of my office. ‘You're dripping! I'll have to get a mop!' She grabbed a small gym towel from her drawer. ‘Here you go.'

I took it gratefully and went to my desk.

Justine followed on my heels. ‘The Dean's been here looking for you.'

I glanced at my watch. It had just gone past eight a.m.

‘I know,' said Justine. ‘I asked if it was urgent but she wouldn't answer.'

‘I'll call her.' I handed back the towel, panic rising. It was highly irregular that Priscilla would come here. Trying to appear casual I shut the door, which Justine opened again immediately.

‘Let me know if there's anything I can do to help?'

Priscilla picked up on the first ring. ‘Oh good, it's you. Come straight over.'

‘There's something I've been meaning to tell you,' I blurted as soon as I entered her office.

Priscilla looked up at me, seeming genuinely upset. ‘Rebecca, Alison Wishart has mentioned the Athens account, if that's what you were about to say.'

My heart sank.

‘Sit down.' Priscilla sighed, her body somehow diminished, shorter, thinner, and achingly tired. This wasn't what I'd expected at all. Where was the triumph, the ah-ha moment that she'd finally got me?

I perched on the edge of a leather chair. Priscilla pulled hers close and lowered her voice, even though there was nobody around.

‘Let me hear everything, please.'

‘I signed off on something I shouldn't have, but it's okay,' I said. ‘No one got hurt. No one did anything wrong.'

Priscilla's eyes sharpened. ‘I said please tell me everything.'

I shrugged. ‘I'm sure Alison's brought you up to speed. It was an accident, it won't happen again. And I'm truly sorry. I guess you were right, I'm not that good with figures.'

‘Don't waste my time. It's better if you come clean now, Rebecca.'

Too late it dawned on me that something was seriously amiss. ‘I'm not sure what you're asking . . .' My voice tapered off. Priscilla's expression was one I'd never seen on her before.

‘Rebecca, we've found huge irregularities. Signed off by you.'

‘I have no idea . . .'

‘There's a forensic accountant coming in.'

‘Okay . . .'

‘I'm telling you this off the record, so please don't mention it to anyone. You're being investigated for alleged serious misconduct.'

I started to shake, unable to control my buzzing hands. ‘But there must be some mistake?'

‘I've gone over the accounts myself in great detail. I couldn't believe it either. I know we often don't see eye to eye but I've never thought of you as an embezzler.'

‘Embezzler! Oh, Priscilla.'

‘I genuinely hope for your sake – and your family's – that you can explain the situation. Professor Margaret DiStasio will run the investigation. Do you know her? She's in Medicine.'

‘I've heard of her, of course. Her research into mental health.'

‘She's a very fair person. I requested her myself.'

Was I imagining it or was Priscilla being sympathetic?

‘But I've done nothing, Priscilla,' I said, trying to make sense of it. ‘Truly. I'll help with the investigation in any way I can.'

Her cornflower-blue eyes pierced me, as though sending a laser through my façade into the core of my essence. I gazed back openly to show my innocence.

‘It's your signature,' snapped Priscilla, as if reading my thoughts. ‘Like a rat crawling uphill; I'd know it anywhere.'

I exhaled. This sounded like the old Priscilla. For a moment her usual sharpness relaxed me.

‘I'd cancel that overseas trip if I were you,' she added.

‘Absolutely no way. I've worked long and hard for this leave, and the Venetian conference is really important. I'm keynote speaker. I'll be fully contactable. Besides, I'm not guilty of whatever—'

‘Alleged fraud,' she interrupted.

‘If I was I'd probably stay, wouldn't I? Protest too much, try to cover my tracks? But as I'm not, I plan on going.'
And there's no way I'm letting you alone in Paris with Stephen.

‘I can't stop you either way,' she said matter-of-factly. ‘The investigation's out of my hands. But when you get the letter from Margaret DiStasio you'll realise just how serious this is.'

I drew in a breath and found myself unable to exhale. Dots swam like tadpoles in my eyes.

‘Breathe.' Priscilla reached out and touched me, and I let go of the air. ‘Now breathe in,' she said. I obeyed.

‘I really don't want to see you found guilty,' she said quietly, and I felt my world tip upside down. Surely none of this was happening. Surely I'd wake up soon and take Big Boy to the beach.

Outside the sky darkened to gunmetal grey. An ear-splitting clap of thunder shook the room followed by a sulfurous flash of lightning. Rain smashed down.

‘You'd better wait here until it stops,' said Priscilla. ‘You're going to need all your strength. These investigations are never pleasant.'

•  •  •

I asked Justine to keep everyone away, to not disturb me under any circumstances. I turned off my email, and brought up the accounts. At first I couldn't see any discrepancies. The Athens account made me cringe but it had been a genuine error and was, other than that, quite legitimate.

Figures scrolled in front of me. I found it difficult to concentrate but forced myself to focus. More accounts, more numbers. Nothing looked wrong.

I went out and made a cup of coffee. As I returned Justine had a pile of documents for me to sign. I took them into my room and read each thoroughly before blessing it with my approval.

The end of the day was racing towards me as I went through the financial statements again. And then I found it. An account: ‘Athens 2'.

‘Who are you?' I said aloud.

It held a series of small transactions – everything under ten thousand dollars. Money in, money out. Presumably it had been set up by Pam for some reason for the January student trip. It was irregular and I couldn't remember signing any authorisation, but it didn't seem enough to have placed me under investigation for serious misconduct.

I kept searching the accounts, but try as I might, I couldn't find anything else that looked out of place.

•  •  •

The unforgiving sea churned, sheets of rain sweeping ashore like an army of ghosts as I sat watching from my car. Somehow I'd managed to leave work without alerting anyone to my distress. I was lucky Melinda was away – she alone would have seen through my act and wrenched the details piece by piece, all the while soothing and ranting how unfair it all was.

It was only six o'clock but darkness was already falling, a deeper grey on grey as thoughts battled in my mind. Could I face Stephen tonight? Could I ride the whole thing out without him knowing? Could he find the irregularities that I seemed to be missing? But then again, I'd always hated how arrogant he was when it came to financials and me; the last thing I could bear was to be patronised. In any case I felt stupid and incompetent to have let the first Athens account be opened, and I was nowhere close to working out what the second account was all about.

I'd been part of investigations, on the other side, the interrogator, the seeker of truth. I knew DiStasio would talk to colleagues in my department, but everyone would have to undertake the strictest confidentiality. It was feasible that I could sort it out and Stephen need never be aware of it.

Out at sea, a light bobbed lonely on the horizon, frail and unreachable. A sharp tapping on my window jolted me, terror gagging my throat as I realised I was not alone in this isolated place.

Drenched hair plastered over her face, Sally Chesser grinned and shouted above the storm. ‘Let me in!'

Automatically I leaned across and opened the passenger door and she ran around.

‘What on earth are you doing out in this?' I said.

‘I was walking and got caught. I thought the weather was clearing. Lucky you were here, I didn't think anyone would be.'

Neither did I. Inwardly I cursed.

‘You okay? You look a bit fragile.' She touched my arm with a lightness that surprised as it soothed.

‘How do you know that's not my normal state?' I countered.

‘Is it? You didn't seem that type at your lectures or the last time we met, but how would I know?'

I shrugged and offered nothing. Into the silence I suggested I give her a ride somewhere. ‘Where is your car, anyway? Or do you live nearby?' This tiny cove was away from houses, so I was surprised when she answered in the affirmative.

‘About ten minutes. Work, not live.'