Deceit (9 page)

I had never seen the sea before yesterday… or any water with waves as high as this. I stand stock-still, watching with a mixture of fear and delight as over and over again the water curls, tumbles and breaks, leaving a delicate popping, bubbling foam of lace on the beach. I stand awestruck at the power of the waves as they retreat, dragging at the shingle with a hissing rattling noise, like seeds of corn pouring down a mill chute.

A boat, loaded with bales of wool, is pulled up onto the beach and the sailor with the pigtail hurries us across to it. It looks terrifyingly small and has no deck. There are four crewmen on board, busy making her ready to sail.

The captain – a short dark, thickset man – leaps ashore and, saying nothing, holds out his hand to me. I give him Jonah’s owl token. He looks at it, then gives a curt nod, and we scramble aboard in silence and tuck ourselves down
amongst the wool. Then the boat is pushed off the shingle and the crew take up oars and we head out to sea.

I have never before in my life been out of sight of land and so do not know what the sea is capable of. So when the wind catches the sails and the boat starts to pitch and roll on the waves I find the movement soothing. Then, as we move further from the shore and out into open water, a storm blows in. The waves grow higher and crash over the bow of the boat and there is little protection from the wind and wet. The heaving of the boat begins to turn my stomach and in the darkness there is no steady point on which I can fix my eyes.

I feel like a piece of linen tumbled and turned about in the washing copper, and though I try to steady my breathing, I feel the bile rise up in my throat and I wriggle and shuffle across to the side of the boat and lean over the side, not caring that the waves slap hard and cold into my face.

Christophe is there beside me, holding me. I think he is afraid I will be washed overboard. In truth I feel so bad I would happily drown. There is nothing now I can do to stop myself vomiting, which I do over and over, even though, after a short
while, my stomach contains not a trace of food or water. I continue in this state the whole journey and care not one jot that the ferocious wind blows the vomit back into my face.

It is still dark when I hear the spotsman at the prow of the boat shout out that he can see a light and we have safely reached the coast of France! A signal is sent and three flashes of light returned. Then the sails are quickly furled and the men take to their oars again. They battle heroically against the waves and in a very short while we have beached, all the crew have jumped out and are pulling the boat up safely onto the shingle.

Christophe jumps out and turns to help me. I step up onto the prow of the boat, but I am feeling weak from the seasickness and I lose my footing, slip and crash down. A sharp hot cutting pain shoots through my right hip and thigh.

I am lifted up and out of the boat by two of the sailors. They carry me up the beach and lay me out. Christophe holds a lantern close up to my face. He reaches out a hand and places his palm against my belly. I see the look of relief suffuse his face as he feels the baby move, but his hand, when he reaches up to touch my face, is covered in blood.

My bottle of laudanum is smashed to pieces and when my skirt is lifted, Christophe can see there are shards of glass embedded in the flesh of my thigh and hip. Christophe’s only concern must be how, on a beach in the darkness, he can tend the cuts and remove all splinters of glass before we have to travel on by road, to Calais.

The wool is loaded now onto a cart and I hear a man shouting, “
Allons-y. Vite! Vite!
”

I can tell from his voice he is afraid he might be caught with a cart full of smuggled wool. My only fear is I have no laudanum now to ease the pain.

“They have laudanum here in France… do they not? Tell me!” I am plucking at Christophe’s sleeve, desperate to hear him say that they do.

“Sssh,” he says, “you will need to be calm and lie still on the cart or the shards of glass will travel deep into your flesh and then…” I can tell from his voice and the look on his face that he thinks I might die.

I ought to be mortally afraid, for myself and for the baby. But all I yearn for is a spoonful of sweet, dark, life-giving liquid trickling down my throat. I long for it with a feeling so intense it blots out
any other. Except… except… Christophe’s face hovers above me, loving and tender.

I close my eyes and I see only
Nicholas’s
face. Hear only his voice whispering my name. Feel his lips against mine and his fingers caressing the hollow of my throat. I swoon with the pleasure of it. I call out for him, “Nicholas!” and when he does not answer, I struggle and try to sit up.

I thrash about… push Christophe away, my elbow sharp in his chest. But he pinions my arms and crushes me to him. I feel his chin pressing down on the top of my head and he begins to sing to me, a soothing lullaby all in French. “
Dodo ma petite, dodo
…”

The sound resonates down through the bones of my skull and down the length of my collarbone, like the gentle buzzing of a bee in the bell of a foxglove. And I feel deathly tired. Christophe’s voice becomes slurred and distant and I tumble down and down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

L
ater that evening Jacalyn rang. Claire crossed her fingers it would be news about the house in Paris. Taking a deep breath she answered. “Hi.”

“
Et bien
, you were right about the house. How did you know about it?”

“Um… well the police…” Claire’s voice trailed off. If she sounded evasive it didn’t matter, because Jacalyn wasn’t really listening. She had stuff she wanted to tell Claire.

“
Écoutes-moi!
A ‘Robert Benoit’ was named on the title deeds to the house in 1664! So he was using that name then… in Paris at least. And Robert Benoit is still the registered owner. Interesting,
hein
? So then I just had to go and have a look at the house. It is all shuttered up, but I asked around a bit. The woman in the
boulangerie
says there used to be a man who visited often.
Long dark hair; wore a black jacket and trousers with a white shirt. Weary looking. Always had a black leather bag with him. That sounds like Robert,
n’est-ce pas
? And a couple of times he came with a young woman. She remembered her because she was very chic. Not beautiful, but smart, with short dark hair and blue eyes. And they both spoke perfect French. Then the visits stopped and now the house is empty. But she said there was a concierge who lived nearby and she gave me her address.”

“Oh,” Claire fought to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “So you didn’t get to look round then.”

“I spoke to the concierge and said I was a student and doing
un projet
on the architecture of seventeenth-century Paris and that the house was something special. You know, I talked it up. The concierge wasn’t impressed one little bit, but then I offered money and she said, ‘
Okay, mais une visite trés vite
.’”

“And? Did you find anything?” Claire knew she was pushing too hard, but she couldn’t help herself.

“What did you think I might find?” Jacalyn’s
voice sounded suddenly sharp. “That Robert is alive and well and living in Paris? He isn’t you know.”

“No! It’s just…”

“But it was as if he
were
there. One room upstairs at the back of the house still had that smell… you know it…
cannelle et fleurs
… cinnamon and flowers. The concierge said that the house has been empty for the last two years, but some property company in London was still paying her salary and all the bills.”

Claire’s heart missed a beat when she heard that.
Surely
Jacalyn would wonder why someone was still paying the bills when the owner, Robert, was supposed to be dead.

“Then
Madame la Concierge
suddenly clammed up like she thought she’d said too much. Maybe she thought I was an undercover tax inspector or something. But it would be interesting to know who it is paying the bills and I’m going to find out.”

Claire held her breath. “Well it can’t be Robert…”

There was a silence for a moment and then Jacalyn said, “Look, I have to go. I’m at the circus and I am on in a minute. I’ll ring you as soon as
I find out anything. And Claire, forget about Robert okay? He’s dead.”

Claire wished now she hadn’t asked Jacalyn to find out about the Paris house. But she had to swap the casket for Matthew tomorrow. There wasn’t time for Jacalyn to find out anything; to put two and two together and realise Robert was alive and behind Matthew’s kidnap. But there was something else that Claire hadn’t considered before. Supposing Robert wasn’t acting alone. He had last time, but then he hadn’t needed anyone to look after a small child. To look after Matthew.
This could change everything
, she thought.
If there is someone else, they could be there on Thursday for the handover. And that would ruin everything
.

While Micky and her dad were out, Claire had been up in the loft and got the casket and taken it into her bedroom. Her mum was lying on the sofa, the TV screen flickering aimlessly. Claire had forgotten how light the casket felt. How it floated in her hands.

She had tried using her ring again to see if it would open; she couldn’t help herself. It didn’t, but she’d got that weird swishing feeling inside
her head, as if something were trying to break out. And her fingers had tingled and lights had swirled like an aurora in front of her eyes. It had made her feel so sick she’d had to lie down flat on the bed. But the casket hadn’t opened.

Now it lay on the bed beside her, within reach, waiting. She watched it while she made the call to Joe. “Hi. It’s me. Please don’t hang up! Yes I know I am… and I know you’re cross, Joe. But can we meet up? Please. I’ve been a complete idiot and I’ve decided I’m going back to school. You were right, I can’t mess up my exams. Can we talk? Tomorrow? Twelve o’clock. In the park, at the café? I’ve missed you.”

She felt really bad about using him like this. She really had missed him though, so that bit at least was true. And after tomorrow, if things went wrong, maybe she wouldn’t ever see him again. She started to cry.

She heard Joe make a cross ‘don’t blackmail me with tears’ huffing noise. But then he said, “Okay,” and mumbled, “I’ve missed you too,” and hung up.

That night Claire couldn’t sleep. It was ironic that she had three sleeping tablets in her backpack and couldn’t take one. She would have to be alert
and awake up until the very last minute. After that, well she could only put her trust in fate.

She spent some of the time writing a letter to her mum and dad. Telling them everything and saying that she loved them. She printed it off and she folded it and wrote their names on the outside and left it on her desk… not so prominent that they’d find it before everything kicked off, not so well hidden that they’d never find it. Then she sent an email to Jacalyn from her computer, putting a delay on it. Jacalyn wouldn’t get it until after midday tomorrow. In it Claire explained what she’d done and why. If the plan worked, then she’d tell all later. And if it didn’t, then… well she didn’t want to think about that.

Just before four o’clock in the morning she fell asleep. She was still asleep three hours later when her dad came in to wake her, saying she’d be late for school. He’d made her a coffee, but it was clear he thought her tight hug and fervent, “Love you, Dad,” a bit excessive.

“It’s only coffee,” he said, muzzing her hair and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. She pretended she was rubbing away the sleep so
he wouldn’t see how watery her eyes were. And she yawned loudly and stretched and made sleepy wake-up noises.

Only after he’d left did she let herself cry. And even then, only when she was in the shower, so the water rushing over her head would wash the tears away.

Then she got dressed as if she were going to school and put on lots of eye make-up to cover up her red eyes. Micky would notice otherwise. And she’d say something… and keep going on about it like a dog with a bone. She was like that.

Now Claire was ready. She took her school backpack and ran down the stairs and she poked her head round the kitchen door. “Bye. I’m off.” Trying to sound normal.

“Claire. Wait.”

“Sorry, Dad. Can’t. Going to be late.” God, she thought, just listen to me. I’m making it sound like everything’s all right. That my little brother
isn’t
missing. That I’m not about to do something really risky.

“Need you to drop Micky at school.” Her Dad sounded desperate and Micky was looking at her hopefully. Her eyes big and dark.

She sidled across the kitchen and pushed her hand, which felt small and hot and vulnerable, into Claire’s.

“Just had a call from the police…” Claire’s face must have dropped, because her dad said hurriedly, “No. It’s nothing. They just need to talk. Look, just take Micky to school for me will you? That’s all I’m asking.”

“But, Dad, I can’t.” She looked at his face and gave in. “Oh, all right then.” She had hours to kill, so why not take Micky to school?

Micky held her hand tight all the way, even though she’d be starting secondary school after the summer holidays. Even though
before all this had happened
she’d have rather died than hold her big sister’s hand in public. But when they got in sight of the gates, Micky suddenly pulled free.

“That’s okay, you can leave me now. Dad leaves me here and I walk the last bit on my own.”

“Fine. Your call.”

Micky nodded and had already turned away when Claire caught hold of her sleeve and said, “Love you.”

Micky looked surprised. A bit pink. Pleased. Claire gave a little half wave and turned and
walked away, blinking back more tears.

She headed for the common and went and sat at the far side of it, where the close-cropped grass gave way to a tangle of rhododendrons… the last flowers fading and turning brown. Thank God it wasn’t raining. She took a book out of her backpack and opened it, but the words just danced and blurred on the page and were meaningless. She couldn’t even text or call anyone. What on earth would she say to them?

There was a text from Joe.

One from Jacalyn, but she didn’t open it. Better not to think about Jacalyn and how she’d deliberately kept her in the dark about everything. But she had to put Matthew’s safety first, didn’t she? His safety was the only thing she cared about.

The hours passed slowly. Creaking towards twelve o’clock when her phone alarm would go off and she would get up and go to the café and wait.

The sun was getting hotter. She was starting to feel drowsy. Her eyelids kept wanting to shut. She was desperate to keep them open. Torture.
She couldn’t allow herself to sleep. Supposing she didn’t hear the phone alarm? She turned and twisted the ring round on her finger. Why did it feel so loose and cool now? Couldn’t it sense what was going to happen?

At ten minutes to twelve she packed away her book and checked the sleeping pills were still in the right-hand front pocket of her jeans. Then she stood up and brushed the grass off her bum and shouldered her backpack and headed towards the café. She bought a long cold drink… nothing with caffeine in it. Then she sat outside, placed the three tablets in a neat row next to her drink and waited.

At twelve o’clock exactly, her ring started to feel tight and hot and she saw him coming towards her. He was alone. No accomplice and no sign of Matthew. No sign of Joe yet either.

She pulled the backpack up onto her lap and held it tight. She heard her phone go. A message.
Please don’t let it be Joe saying he’s late
. Another message and then another and then another. She slipped her phone out of her pocket, surreptitiously in case Robert thought she was calling for help. Three more messages, all from Jacalyn.

She opened the first. Big mistake.

Claire deleted the message and slipped the phone back in her pocket. Then she took two of the sleeping tablets. There was still one left if she needed more.

Robert sat down opposite her. The smell of him… the cassia, myrrh and aloes… terrified her. She squeezed the backpack tighter.

“Where’s Matthew? No Matthew, no casket. You try and take it and I’ll scream the place down and you’ll never get it then.”

“Show me the casket.”

Claire opened the top of the backpack and tilted it towards him. His face glowed with excitement, was suffused with relief. He lifted an arm as if he was signalling to someone…

Claire looked desperately around. And there, toddling towards her, was Matthew. He was alive. He was actually alive.

He was within touching distance when Robert caught him and swung him up and held him
tucked under one arm. He held the other out to Claire.

“Hand me the casket. Then you can have him.” Matthew was bawling his head off and struggling to get free of Robert and holding his arms out to Claire.

As Claire reached for him, Robert reached for the backpack. As Claire took Matthew in her arms, Robert took hold of the backpack. He looked triumphant, then he reached out a hand and gripped her arm.

“Claire!”

Robert swung round as Joe came walking over… slowly at first and then faster as he registered that Claire was holding Matthew. “What the…”

Claire couldn’t say anything. She was starting to feel really sleepy now. It was a struggle to hold Matthew up. But she managed to rip her arm free from Robert and push Matthew towards Joe, who snatched him up. Her voice was beginning to slur and she was struggling to form the words, “Run! As fast as you can. Call the police…”

Seconds later and Joe and Matthew were gone. The last thing she remembered seeing was
Robert’s face pushed into hers. His spit flecking her cheek.

“I have the casket.”

“Yes, but it’s worthless without the key isn’t it?” Then her legs buckled under her and she lost consciousness.

When she woke, she was in hospital. In a private room. Her throat and stomach felt sore and her head was hurting, but she was glad to be alive. Her dad was sitting in a chair by the bed. He was asleep, his head tipped back and his mouth open, with a trickle of saliva running down his chin.

“Dad!” her voice sounded croaky and faint. “Dad! Wake up. Is Matthew okay? Is everything all right now?” She leaned across and shook his shoulder.

Her dad woke slowly, making curious swallowing, gulping noises. “Wah? What? Oh God, have I been asleep?”

“Dad, is Matthew okay?”

“Matthew’s fine. He’s fine. He’s with your mum.”

“Oh…” Claire slumped back against the pillow. She crumpled in relief. So what if Robert had
the casket? That was okay, wasn’t it? He couldn’t open it without her and she was safe in hospital for now, and with any luck the police would track him down and lock him away for good this time and without his precious spells he would die. “So do you think they’ll let me go home soon?” She wanted to, but only when she knew Robert had been arrested.

Her dad looked funny. Not happy at all. But Claire knew it was like that sometimes, after a big shock – you felt really tired and drained.