The Aura (14 page)

Janice stood up and moved slowly to the other side of the room, where she picked up a photo in a silver frame. “Rebecca sent us this just a month or so ago.”

It was a shot of Rebecca holding Caspian, his grey fur contrasting with her mass of red hair. “He’s a good-looking animal,” commented Terry. “But Janice is allergic to cats. I don’t think we can take him.”

“That’s all right. I’ll let Nick know. I’m sure he’ll be happy to keep him.”

For as long as Nick is alive
, I thought.

We sat quietly in the gathering gloom. Through the window, I saw dark clouds move across the sky, deleting all the blue, erasing the sun as though it had never existed.

On Monday morning, Alan called out to me when I walked past his office. With a surge of relief, I saw that the moving air over his head had disappeared. Whatever danger he had faced was gone, and he, completely oblivious, was his usual cantankerous self, demanding to see my drawings without even saying good morning. I was glad that his plans had changed through no intervention of my own; it meant that events could alter a person’s fate without him even knowing.

That made me wonder if I’d ever had an aura. Had there been a time when I’d avoided a fatal encounter and not even realized it?

“Good,” Alan said, once he’d skimmed the papers I gave him. That was high praise from him, and I hurried out of his office before he could say anything else. Downstairs, Josh was already at his desk. He waved me over when he saw me. For a brief instant, I imagined a discreet hug or a kiss, but his words quickly burst that bubble.

“You had a busy weekend,” he said. I wondered what he meant.

“Oh, the glass panels?” I asked finally.

“You didn’t mention those to me or Ben,” he said, unrolling some blueprints and spreading them on his desk. “Alan just told me about them this morning. He said he couldn’t wait to see what you’d come up with.”

“The idea just popped into my head,” I said.

“So you called Alan to share it?” he asked, eyebrows raised. We were supposed to be collaborating on the project and this looked as though I was going over Josh’s head to the boss.

“I called him because of the aura and I thought he was in danger,” I whispered, although there was no one else around. “Then when I got through to him, I had to come up with a reason, so I invented one.”

I flopped down in the visitor chair, angry at having to justify myself, but understanding why Josh was upset. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk between us.

“The aura thing,” he said. “It doesn’t seem to be working, because Alan is fine as far as I can see.”

“His aura has gone. He didn’t race; that must have been where the danger lay. He had to go home because his son was hurt. So the risk passed, and the aura went away.”

“If it was ever there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, feeling the heat rising into my cheeks. “Of course it was there. I saw it.”

“You saw it. No one else can see it. You must admit it’s a bit hard to believe. It comes, it goes, and only you know about it.”

I stood up, feeling my knees tremble. I hated conflict with anyone, and most especially with Josh, but he was being unreasonable.

“You can’t see gravity, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” I said, and stalked out of the room.

I went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, irritated to see that my hand was shaking. I leaned against the counter to drink my coffee, feeling my heart rate gradually slow down. Jack came into the kitchen, wearing a red bow tie.

“How are you, my dear?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, getting an extra mug from the cabinet. “How was Silverstone? Did you enjoy it?”

“Fantastic. I’ve never gone that fast on two wheels before. What an experience! Alan really didn’t know what he was missing.”

“I bet he didn’t,” I said, thinking that neither of them had any idea what the day at the racetrack might have been like.

“I thought you were supposed to be going to Edinburgh,” I said, handing him a cup of tea. He rarely drank coffee.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I just have a few things to clear up here today. How are things with you?”

“We’re busy with the Montgomery project,” I said. “We have another meeting today even though….” I trailed off. I’d been surprised that it was all business as usual with the Montgomery Group in spite of Rebecca’s death.

“Ah yes,” said Jack. “Sad, very sad. Miss Williams was an intelligent young woman.”

“I didn’t realize you’d met her?”

Jack pursed his lips. “I meet all our clients, Kate. I handle the contracts and the money. Boring stuff, compared to the real work that goes on here, I know. But someone has to do it. And this project is a big one, even by our standards. Lots of paperwork.”

He stirred two sugars into his tea before dumping the spoon in the sink. “Alan told me that you were the one who found Miss Williams? You were friends?”

“Yes. We were friends in college, lost touch and met up when she came to a Montgomery project meeting. I was enjoying getting to know her again…”

“Yes, Alan mentioned to me this morning that you’d been spending time together. When did you last see her?”

“Sunday lunchtime. We were supposed to be going out to see a movie on Sunday evening, but something came up, so we had lunch instead. I had no idea that I’d never seen her again.”

He tore off some kitchen towel and gave it to me.

“It’s too bad she cancelled on you. Did she say why?”

I shook my head, blotting my eyes and cheeks, trying not to smear my mascara. “I think she was seeing her boyfriend.”

Jack nodded. “Well, love takes precedence, I suppose. I’m sorry, Kate. This must all be very hard on you.” He glanced at his watch. “I shouldn’t keep you from your work. I’ll bring you some Edinburgh rock back. Look after yourself.”

I carried my coffee to my desk, hearing snippets of the usual morning conversations floating in from the hallway. I turned on my computer, pulled my panel designs from my briefcase and spread them out on the desk. But I was too distracted to work.

The significance of what had happened with Alan gradually sank into my brain. It meant that even though auras presaged death, something could happen to avert the danger, whatever it was. With growing panic, I realized that, if it was possible to change the outcome, then the burden on me to warn or assist was huge. I wasn’t just a bystander, seeing auras with no chance of saving anyone. I could intervene. I had to. My headache bloomed, pushing against my temples with sickening intensity. How could I save Nick?

I felt like screaming. I had no idea what might cause his premature death. An accident? Illness? There were so many ways to die; I couldn’t be his bodyguard.

He answered when I called, although the connection was faint and crackly.

“Nick, it’s Kate.”

“Hi Kate. I’m in an elevator. Bad line. Everything okay?”

“Yes, yes,” I said, relieved to hear his voice. “Er, I was just wondering how Caspian’s doing?”

There was a pause and then. “He’s fine.”

“Good. Just wanted to let you know that Rebecca’s parents are hoping you’ll keep him.”

“Of course. I love the little chap.”

“Great. Well, I’ll let you go. Have a good day.”

The line crackled and faded “…bye.”

Feeling like an idiot, I put my phone away, and stared at the printouts on my desk. What was I supposed to do about Nick? I couldn’t let him die, but I hardly knew him and it would be impossible to watch over him. What I could do was warn him, tell him about the aura, explain what it meant. I’d have to see him in person. I sent him a text, asking if we could meet for a drink after work.

I gazed at the screensaver on my computer, a photo of my Dad’s house in Tuscany, a beautiful yellow stucco villa surrounded by colorful gardens and dark green cypress trees. Leo had texted me earlier to say that Francesca’s funeral had been well attended, Dad was doing pretty well, and Paolo was keeping him company. I missed them all. I wished I was there with them.

After finishing what I needed to do for the meeting, I walked to the conference room, hoping I might have a chance to chat with Josh, but he arrived with Alan just seconds before the Montgomery team came in.

Soon, the conference room was crowded, full of stale air and an undercurrent of despondency, at least on the Bradley Cohen side. Montgomery behaved as usual, asking questions, checking that his assistants were taking notes, and occasionally looking at his cell phone and sending texts. I wondered if he felt guilty about his lack of concern when Rebecca first no-showed for work, but no one talked about her, and there was no empty chair at the table. Alan had brought in Laura and Jim for extra input.

As soon as the meeting drew to a close, I gathered up my sketches and pens, and followed Montgomery to the elevator.

“Mr. Montgomery?”

He swung around. “Yes?”

“I was friends with Rebecca. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. There’s no date for the funeral yet, but I could let you know when I hear something.”

“Why would I need to know that?” he asked, jabbing at the elevator button.

“I thought you would want to go,” I said, surprised by his attitude. “Or at least perhaps some of her colleagues would.”

His shoulders seemed to relax. “Of course, of course,” he said. “Please let me know what you find out. I remember now that Rebecca mentioned you two were friends. Very sad. She was a valued asset.”

Valued asset? It sounded cold. I wondered what Alan would say about me.

“Do you have a card?” Montgomery asked. “I’m sure we all exchanged cards at our first meeting, but here’s mine. Feel free to call me if you need anything.”

I fumbled in my purse for my wallet, where I always kept a few business cards, but couldn’t find one.

“Here,” he said, handing me a second card of his own. “Write your cell number on this.” He took it back, looked at my number scrawled on it. “That way we can coordinate for the funeral.”

When the elevator arrived, he got in. “You coming?”

I shook my head. I was shocked by his indifference to Rebecca’s death and didn’t want to talk to him more than necessary. I took the stairs.

My cell phone rang just as I reached the bottom stair; I moved to a quieter corner of the lobby to take the call. It was Inspector Clarke. He began with an apology.

“Sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” he said. “Do you have time to grab a coffee?”

After agreeing to meet at a small cafe just a few blocks away, I hurried back upstairs to get my coat and scarf. I had a sinking feeling that I was pushing Alan to the limit by leaving the office yet again. Clarke was already at a table when I got there.

“Thanks for seeing me,” I said.

“Not a problem. I got you a coffee. I hope it’s what you wanted. How are you doing?”

How was I doing? I couldn’t begin to answer that question. Every night, I dreamed about Rebecca, strange disjointed dreams that left me sweating and breathless. We’d been together in a car, driving in circles around the Campanile in Florence. Swimming in a deep blue pool with eerie black shapes lurking at the bottom. Climbing an infinite number of stairs to the top of a massive building that looked out over a city that wasn’t London. In all of them, Rebecca was smiling, laughing, talking. Every time I woke up, I lay still for a minute, waiting for the images to fade, bracing myself for reality to seep back in.

But Rebecca’s death was just one layer in my own personal Russian nesting doll of misery. The auras, Francesca, Sophie, the conflict at the office. There was no respite.

Clarke said, “So, you left me a message and said you had some questions?”

“Yes, I was drawing some pictures of the scene at her flat, the way I remembered it. There were a couple of things I noticed that I wanted to check with you. The main anomaly was the wineglass.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed, green lasers pointing at me. “Go on.”

“There was a broken glass in Rebecca’s hand,” I said. “If you’re falling, you wouldn’t keep hold of something in your hand would you? You’d let go of it. Or if not during the fall, then afterwards. If she was trying to get up, she wouldn’t hold on to the glass.”

The detective leaned back in his chair. “What makes you think she was trying to get up?”

“The bloody handprint on the front of the sofa,” I said. “As though she’d tried to grab at the sofa to pull herself up. That means she didn’t die instantly when she hit the table.”

“Anything else?”

“Only that I truly believe someone else was there with Rebecca. I don’t believe it was an accident.”

Clarke was quiet for a long time. “I’m going to bring you up to date with the details we know,” he said. “First of all, you may be right. It’s possible that the wineglass and the bottle were placed there after she fell.”

His words fell like stones into the surging torrent of my thoughts, adding to the tumult of emotions eddying around in my head. Edward, if he was the killer, was a cold-blooded bastard.

“So you do believe it was murder,” I said. I was relieved that the police were starting to investigate. At the same time, I was horrified. Accidents happen, and it would have been impossible for me to protect Rebecca twenty-four hours a day. But murder should have been preventable. I’d known enough to fear that the boyfriend was a danger, but not enough to stop him from killing Rebecca. I really hadn’t taken the aura prediction seriously enough. My hand shook when I picked up my coffee, so I put the cup back down on the red formica table.

“What else did you find out?” I asked.

“The autopsy…” he stopped when he saw me flinch. “The examination showed that Rebecca had bruises on both wrists as though someone had held them tightly – very tightly, in fact.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “Her boyfriend? They must have had a fight.”

“We don’t know who was there,” said Clarke. “And we can’t jump to conclusions that it was this boyfriend.”

“But who else could it have been? There was no sign of forced entry at the door. Rebecca must have known the person and let him in.”

“Or her.”