The Liberation of Alice Love (12 page)

“No, you’re absolutely right.” Nathan pulled the papers closer. “I’m due in Soho at six, and my date…Well, she’s not the most forgiving woman, if you know what I mean.”

Alice smiled along, even as she felt a small twinge of disappointment. Date. Interesting. Not that he would not have one—Alice assumed he was the kind of man who was never unaccompanied—but that he would slip it into the conversation like that, a clear sign that this was to be a professional relationship only.

“There’s not much to report, I’m afraid.” Nathan flipped through the papers to illustrate. “I managed to track the transfer as far as a German bank, but they’re not exactly falling over themselves to help me out. As usual. Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “There are always some sticking points along the trail, but we’ll make it eventually. I just have to pile the pressure on.”

Alice nodded slightly.

“For now, we’ve got this to be dealing with.” Nathan selected a few pages from the bottom of the pile and slid across the desk. “I thought I’d go a little deeper with the loan companies. Just a hunch. They were almost as forthcoming as the Germans,” he added, with a rueful look. “Anyway, I managed to find the account she was using for all the larger transactions. She opened it at another bank, under your name, to keep it off your radar completely. Chances are you’d have noticed if your balance suddenly grew by forty, fifty grand.”

“I would hope.” Alice took the pages, and then looked at the figures, confused. “Wait. It says the account’s been open for months. Why haven’t I known about it?”

He settled back. “There are ways. My best guess: she probably used your birth certificate to open the account in person, then intercepted the mail with all the initial welcome correspondence. Once she had the PIN, she would have just signed you up for paperless statements.”

Simple.

Alice scanned the long list of print. “Let me guess, another overdraft I’m liable for?”

“Actually, no.” Nathan paused, frowning slightly. “There was an overdraft facility set up, but she never used it. I’d say it was her everyday account, for expenses, and moving money around while the bigger loans were processed. She probably didn’t want to draw attention to herself before the time was right. She cleared it out before she ran though.”

“Of course.” Alice nodded. She wouldn’t have expected anything different. Ella was thorough. Then she paused, the fresh pages crisp in her hands. “Is this all the paperwork?”

“Uh, no.” Nathan seemed surprised. “I have a ton of it.”

He was probably expecting sighs or more resignation, but the prospect of new payments filled Alice with excitement. This was her missing link, the clue to Ella’s everyday life. “I’d like copies,” she said, trying to hide her enthusiasm. “Every statement, if I can, and the credit card bills too. For my records,” she added.

“Sure.” Nathan didn’t seem concerned. Crossing to a cabinet, he flipped through, pulling out folders. “Take these, for a start—it’s the bank account transactions and a couple of the cards. I can have copies of the rest delivered on Monday.”

“Perfect.” It was all she could do not to start flicking through the pages right there. A thick wedge of data, just waiting to be untangled? Alice couldn’t wait. She pulled back her chair. “Was there anything else?”

Nathan made a woeful expression. “You’re leaving me already?”

Alice paused. “Well, you did say you had plans…”

“So I did.” Nathan bounced out of his seat. “Sorry I don’t have any better news for you.”

“Oh, this is plenty.” Alice happily clutched the file. “I’ll let you get on with, well, whatever adventure you have planned.” Her eyes drifted to the photos behind him: the energetic, sun-kissed snapshots, no doubt featuring the kings of international finance.

“Skiing in Val d’Isère last year.” Nathan followed her gaze. “And that was a scuba trip in the Caymans, courtesy of a client.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “You do get around.”

He chuckled, following her toward the door. “Let me guess, it makes me look like—what do you Brits call it? A right wanker?”

“I didn’t say that…” Alice demurred.

“You didn’t have to.” He seemed unconcerned. “What can I say? It puts my clients at ease. I’m not exactly the most traditional choice for this line of work. They’re used to good-old boys; you know—pinstripes and Oxbridge. So, I do what I can to make them feel at home around here, until they hire me, that is. After that, it doesn’t really matter, as long as I deliver.”

“And you do that?”

He flashed her a grin, tinted with more than a touch of arrogance. “Always.”

Alice looked around again, pleased that she’d been right about the staid veneer of their surroundings. Her instincts had taken something of a hit these past months; it was good to know that they were still worth something. “Right, I’ll let you get on with your evening.” She edged away, eager to get to work.

“Don’t give up just yet,” Nathan said, obviously misinterpreting her mood. “I’m not so easily beaten. My coffee maker will agree to that. I’ll find you that money.”

Alice nodded, sending him a quick smile as she stepped out into the hallway. “I’m sure you will.”

***

Since she had a few hours to spare before dinner with Flora, Alice wasted no time delving into that thick new file of data. She would work through it more methodically later, complete with calendar and charts for cross-referencing dates and times, but for now, Alice simply took the first vague transaction listing from Ella’s debit card. Ten pounds at BodyFirst Fitness? Perfect.

The gym turned out to be a bright, glass-fronted space filled with shiny machines and even shinier exercise devotees in a range of lurid colored workout gear. The eighties, apparently, were back. Approaching the front desk, Alice glanced around at the stream of people clutching towels and water bottles. She and Ella had always joked about their slothful approach to health and how their bodies would probably go into cardiac shock should they ever get a dose of endorphins, but perhaps she’d been a secret step-aerobics addict all along.

“Hi, I was wondering if you could help me.” Alice smiled brightly at the woman on duty. Her hair was scraped back in a bouncy blond ponytail, and she was wearing a pink Lycra tank top and shorts over an impossibly sculpted body. “I was recently a victim of identity fraud, and I need to confirm a payment made here.”

The woman looked blank.

“Do you have records of your debit payments?” Alice tried. “So I can see what she bought?” For all Alice knew, Ella might have popped in to buy a towel or some branded shower flip-flops. It was a small detail, but all she had were small details—painstakingly built into the bigger picture.

“I’m sorry,” the woman told her, looking anything but. “Mandy” her name tag read. “Our client information is confidential.”

“Yes, but she stole my details,” Alice explained. “So technically, I’m her.”

Mandy blinked. “But you’re not.”

“Not exactly.” Alice tried another smile. “Look, can’t you just check for me? It was one payment, on the third of—”

“It’s against policy.” Pursing her lips, Mandy looked around. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with? A membership application or class schedule?”

“No.” Alice shook her head. “Are you sure you couldn’t help, just this once? It’s a payment for ten pounds—”

“I’m sorry.” Mandy gave another bland, unapologetic smile. “Company rules.”

Alice sighed. “Thank you for your time.” She walked away, disappointed. Policy, regulations—somehow, they didn’t seem to matter so much when it was Ella wreaking her havoc, but when it came to a legitimate request…

She reached the doors but turned back to look at the desk one more time. Mandy was gathering up her things, lecturing a young, friendly-looking man. His white T-shirt was slashed almost to his navel, and his blond hair was sculpted into a magnificent quiff. Alice waited, loitering by a notice board. She could try again, with this new boy, but would his answer be any different?

Mandy disappeared into one of the exercise studios, and Alice felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. Before she could change her mind, she walked swiftly back to the desk.

“Hi!” Alice greeted the man brightly. “I was wondering if you could help me out?”

“Sure.” He smiled back. “What do you need?”

“Well, I have this payment on my card here,” she began, her pulse beginning to race despite the fact that, technically, it was all true. “I’m trying to remember what it was for, but I’m just getting a blank.” Alice smiled again, casual. “My accountant is such a stickler for details. Can you track it down at all?”

“Absolutely!” The man took her card and began tapping at his keyboard. “Alice Love…”

“That’s me!” Alice agreed quickly. She took a breath, trying to calm down. She wasn’t lying—much—but pretending to be Ella (pretending to be Alice) filled her with a strange sort of nerves, as if she could be discovered at any moment. And if Mandy returned, she would be.

“Here you go…” The man peered at the screen. “It was for the Ballet Workout class.”

“Of course it was!” Alice exclaimed. She made suitably silly-me expressions. “Can you print that out? For my accountant, I mean.”

He nodded, and Alice waited nervously as the printer clicked on and the paper began to feed. To her, it felt agonizingly slow, and she forced herself not to look around. “Did you want the rest of them, too?”

“What?” Alice jolted at his voice.

“The rest of your membership details.” He looked at her curiously. “It’s on another card, but they’re all in the same record…”

“Yes!” Alice said quickly. “All of it. That would be great.”

The paper fed through with infinite slowness, until Alice was certain she would be discovered. It wasn’t much of a crime, of course, but if they cared enough about client confidentiality to stonewall her polite request, then who knew what trouble she’d get into for lying and impersonation—even if the person she was impersonating was technically herself?

At last, the final page printed, and Alice practically snatched them from his outstretched hand. “Sorry,” she added quickly. “I’m running late.”

“So you won’t be making it this evening—for Street Jazz? Damon has a great routine planned.”

“Tonight?” Alice paused. “No, but I’ll…catch up later.” She flashed another smile, already backing away. “Thanks so much for your help!”

Tripping down the front steps, Alice clutched the membership listing triumphantly. Cooking classes, modern jazz—it felt like the more she discovered, the more of a mystery Ella revealed herself to be.

Chapter Twelve

Although Alice didn’t venture into a class that evening, she returned two days later, packing her exercise outfit in her bag along with contracts and detouring to the gym after work. The membership record showed that Ella had paid up front for six months, so the perky, ponytailed girl on the front desk was more than happy to replace Alice’s “lost” membership card and provide their latest schedule.

“It’s down the hall, Studio B.”

“Great, I’ll just…” Alice gestured awkwardly to the changing rooms, still half expecting the fearsome Mandy to come storming out of aerobics class and catch her in the lie. But the gym was busy with after-work crowds, and despite her fluttering nerves, nobody gave Alice a second glance. She swiped in with her shiny new card, laced up her slim trainers, and took her place, unnoticed, at the back of the dance class that Ella had been attending for months.

“And one, and two, and kick, hands, lunge!”

She was terrible, of course. The rest of the class seemed to have arrived straight from their day jobs as professional West End dancers and picked up the routine in an instant, effortlessly moving from step-swivel-bounce to glide-glide-leap while Alice stumbled over simple steps and flailed her arms around in confusion, sweating at the pace. But for some reason, she persevered, and by the end of the hour, she could perform those last eight beats of the routine in perfect time with the others—an achievement that filled her with an unexpected elation that more than made up for the ache in her thighs.

Alice hadn’t danced since she was a child, leaping and twirling around the village hall, under the expert tutelage of Miss Dee, the ample-bosomed ballet instructor. As Alice leaned over the mirror in the changing room after class, unpinning her damp hair, she was struck with a sudden memory of her mother, brushing out the stiff residue of hairspray after one of Alice’s end-of-term shows. Natasha had loved dressing Alice up in those outfits. Not that regulation leotard and pale pink wrap-around cardigan—no, these were elaborate costumes the mothers of the group would slave for weeks over. Or, in Natasha’s case, commission from Betty O’Neill, the seamstress up the road: King Midas’s urchin helper in glittering gold sequins, the Sugar Plum Fairy’s assistant, with lilac tulle. She would pin Alice’s hair up in elaborate plaits, carefully painting her pale face with a slash of liquid liner and a cherub’s-bow smile while Alice sat patiently, running over her steps in her head for fear she would trip and disappoint everyone.

“Could I just use that plug?”

Alice slipped back into the warm changing room, filled with chatter and the whir of styling appliances. “Oh, sorry.” She moved aside, making room for a dark-haired woman wielding a blow-dryer.

“You were in the jazz class just now, right?” The woman expertly divided her fringe into sections and began winding one around her circular brush. “Damon’s brutal, but you pick it up.”

Brutal, that was about right. Alice’s limbs ached, but there was a lightness there too, unfamiliar after so many years of sitting up at her attic desk. Alice smiled, pulling her bag from the small locker. “I don’t know…I was just trying it out.”

“Stick with it,” the woman insisted, over the roar of her blow-dryer. She had thin, wire-rimmed glasses and a smattering of freckles over her nose. “I swear, a month ago, I couldn’t even touch my toes. I’m Nadia, by the way.”

Alice paused. “Ella.” Her reply was a beat too late, but Nadia didn’t seem to notice the hesitation. “Ella Nicholls,” she said again, with more confidence.

Nadia smiled back, starting on another section of hair. “See you next time, Ella!”

“Maybe.”

Alice slowly made her way back to the lobby. She’d only meant to try the class once, to understand what Ella had been doing, but perhaps she would come back next week or try out the Ballet Workout class Ella had also attended. There was no photo on her gym ID, and if she kept going by a different name, then there would be no awkward conversations about the real Alice Love—or whose card, exactly, the membership had been paid with.

Nobody need know who she really was.

***

“Ginger beer?”

“Yes, thanks.” Alice held out her glass tumbler for Flora to pour. “And here, you take the salad.”

It was the end of the week, and they were sitting out on the back patio, eating dinner in the late slants of evening sun. After all her recent upheaval, Alice was surprised how quickly she’d settled into a domestic kind of routine with her stepfamily: getting a lift into the city with Stefan every morning, then making it home in time for supper with Flora. Stefan worked late almost every night, so after she was finished with work (and her new dance classes, and whichever detour Ella’s bank statement prompted that day), she and her stepsister would take their meal out into the tranquility of the lush garden and sit in the shade of the wide, white awning together to read, sketch, and even—occasionally—to talk.

“How are the kittens coming along?” Alice took a forkful of pasta, settling back in her wrought-iron garden chair.

“I don’t know…” Flora sipped her drink, the ice cubes clinking gently in the tall glass. “I’m getting the anatomy just fine; it’s the movement that’s being evil. No matter what pose I try to draw, they always end up looking static, like they’re frozen in place.”

“You could do a still series,” Alice suggested. “Kittens at rest.” She kicked off her heels, wriggling her bare toes in the sun. July had barely started, but already it was warm until dusk.

Flora gave a smile, but she seemed downcast. “At this rate, I’ll have to. I just wanted to have something wonderful for the exhibition next month. To show everyone how far I’ve come.”

Alice gave her a sympathetic look. “You’ll get it, eventually. Remember how long it took you to master the view from the kitchen window?” Dishes had piled high that Father’s Day weekend, as Flora monopolized the room for her project.

“I suppose…” Flora toyed with her bread for a moment, then fixed an upbeat grin on her face. “What about you—how was work? Any scandal and intrigue?”

“Today?” Alice had to think for a second. She’d sat in that office for eight hours, but her memory was completely blank. “Nothing new. Contracts, more contracts…” She shrugged.

To tell the truth, her work had drifted even further into the background since Nathan had revealed news of Ella’s secret bank account. The fresh documents had been exactly what she’d hoped. While the data from her own statements had been sporadic at best—just occasional online or phone purchases Ella had kept under the radar—she obviously hadn’t been so worried about the second account. Using it as a base to receive the fraudulent loans and make minimal payments on her bogus credit cards, Ella had spent freely and frequently, much to Alice’s delight. The journal of Ella’s real movements soon swelled, until Alice could pinpoint her location and real activities on almost every day over the past few months.

“Rupert got a callback,” Alice finally offered, wanting to add something to the conversation that didn’t involve fraud and deception.

“Oh?”

“A new costume-drama film,” Alice related, through a mouthful of marinated artichoke. She swallowed. “An adaptation of some biography, an inventor in Victorian England. They’re down to just a few now, so I think he’s got a real chance.”

“That’s great.” Flora beamed. “We should invite him to dinner sometime. I met his wife once, what’s her name…?”

“Keisha.”

“That’s it. She was lovely. We could all have drinks, or a barbecue.”

“I don’t know…” Alice paused, reluctant. “I always think about inviting them to things, but it can get rather messy, socializing with clients.” Especially the way Vivienne operated. Alice never knew when a calm, dependable client relationship would explode into tantrums—on either side.

“Oh.” Flora shrugged, unconcerned. “Whatever you think. We should still do the barbecue idea though; Stefan loves firing up that thing.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They drifted into companionable silence for the rest of the evening; Flora tackling the intricacies of kittens at play while Alice slowly worked her way through a new book, until Flora screwed up another page and tossed it to the ground.

“No luck?”

Flora shook her head.

“Maybe you just need a break,” Alice suggested. “Try again tomorrow, when you’ve had some time to refresh.” Ten solid hours of kitten sketching would certainly wear on anyone’s nerves.

“I suppose…” Flora sighed. She looked around, restless. “What are you reading?”

Alice held up the cover.

“Ooh, I know him. Stefan just finished one—he has the sequel, I think.” Flora tilted her head slightly. “I didn’t know you liked crime novels.”

“I don’t, usually. But I thought I’d give it a try. It’s quite good,” Alice admitted. She’d noticed the purchase on Ella’s statement and ordered it online, along with a handful of other albums and DVDs from the list. Research.

“Can I borrow it, when you’re done?”

“Of course. But I’m warning you now; it’s rather grisly.”

Flora screwed up her face. “How grisly?”

“Blood, guts, the usual. Oh, and there’s a scene where they find a dismembered body—”

Flora shuddered. “That’s enough!”

Alice laughed. Flora had long ago declared she would only read books with happy endings, and as far as Alice knew, she had kept to the resolution. “I think you’re best sticking with romance novels,” she advised, just as the phone began to ring inside.

“I’ll go—” Flora bounced up. “Leave you to your dismemberment.”

Alice marked her place with a paper napkin and stretched. The sun had set behind the garden walls now, and a cluster of mosquitoes was dancing out of range of the anti-insect lamps stationed around them. It felt odd to be relaxing out of doors on a weeknight, when she was usually working late or watching the TV at home, but she supposed there was no “usual” in her life anymore. Her old routine had been pulled apart, and although it had only been a couple of months since those first, fraudulent transactions had shaken her world, Alice felt as though her life was divided into two unrelated parts: before the discovery and after.

“Oh.”

Alice looked up at the sound of Flora’s sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Stefan’s caught up with a business dinner.” Flora’s voice was plaintive. She hovered in the doorway, suddenly looking forlorn. “He won’t be back for ages.”

“That’s a shame,” Alice answered absently, glancing back at her page. She was in the middle of a particularly suspenseful section. She stopped. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Half nine?”

“Oh crap!” Alice struggled to her feet, reaching for her shoes and cardigan. “I’m supposed to meet Cassie at ten.”

“Something fun?”

“A birthday thing, across town. This actress we both know.” Alice wasn’t entirely enthused, but she hadn’t seen Cassie since fleeing her sexcapades, and Cassie was certainly one to take offense.

“Oh.” This time, Flora’s voice quavered a little. “Well, have fun.”

Alice paused. Flora had wrapped her arms around herself and was drifting absently around the patio. Alone.

“Say hi to Cassie for me,” Flora added.

Alice sighed. “Do you want to come with me?”

Flora brightened. “Really?”

“Sure,” Alice reassured her. “Why not?”

Flora darted over, giving Alice a fierce little hug. “Ooh, this is going to be so much fun! What are you wearing? I could maybe wear my pink dress, the floaty one, but not if you were going to be in something red. We don’t want to clash!”

***

By the time they arrived, Alice was running almost an unheard-of hour late. Flora had fluttered around for a good thirty minutes, selecting and rejecting an array of seemingly identical print skirts before insisting on “jazzing up” Alice’s navy shift dress with armfuls of intricate gold bangles. She seemed to think they were in one of those chick-lit movies she loved so much, drinking white wine and dancing around to songs on the radio, so it was as much as Alice could manage to bundle her into a taxi and direct them across town before she began singing into a hairbrush to the
Pretty Woman
soundtrack.

“Alice, where have you been?” Cassie accosted them in the front lobby, waving her membership card at the sleek, black-clad staff behind the desk and signing them in with a careless scrawl. “Oh, hi, Flora,” she greeted her briefly, before turning back to scold Alice. “I’ve been waiting for you forever!”

Alice doubted that. Cassie was constantly behind, if she ever made an appearance at all; it was Alice who felt flustered if she wasn’t five minutes ahead of schedule and made a point of calling if she would be even a little late. But not tonight. “I’m sure you survived somehow.” Alice kissed her on the cheeks and followed her to the lift. “Isn’t Flavia dancing on the tables yet?”

“Almost.” Cassie squeezed in the tiny space with them and selected the top floor. “Lexi and Noel are here too, in from Berlin, and Petros is in town as well—you remember him, right?” she didn’t wait for a reply. “He said he ran into Dakota the other night at a show. He was with some hipster bitch: perfect hair but no boobs, Petros said.” Cassie glanced down, as if to check her own chest was suitably perky, encased in a sheer black blouse tucked into loose, wide trousers. Alice sent Flora an amused look. Two minutes before a mention of the ex? The sad thing was, that wasn’t even a record.