The Moment She Left (15 page)

‘Closing the gap as if he never was. I’m all for that. So, I believe we were talking about Charles.’

‘We were. So what am I to conclude about the friend?’

Helen was thoughtful as she sat back in her chair. ‘Well, given who Charles is, the head of a financial institution, ex-MP with friends in very high places, there’s a good chance the friend could be real.’

Andee nodded. ‘I won’t argue with that.’

‘However, if Charles is actually talking about himself, now he’s broached the subject with you he might be more forthcoming the next time you meet. How did you leave it with him?’

‘I told him he should persuade his friend to talk to me.’

‘And he said?’

‘That’s he’d mention it to him and get back to me.’

Since they could go no further with that for the moment, Helen changed the subject to Jessica Leonard. ‘The last time we spoke,’ she said, ‘you were waiting for Leo Johnson to come back with some information from the Met. Have you had it yet?’

‘Only in part,’ Andee admitted. ‘I wanted to know, because it wasn’t in the files I received, how thorough a search had been carried out on the transient population of Notting Hill and Holland Park from around that time. On the face of it, everything that should have happened seems to have, but digging deeper I’m not so sure.’

Helen frowned.

‘I’m trying to find out whether someone called Yoder was renting a house or flat in either of those areas, and right now I’m not getting a satisfactory answer.’

Helen looked intrigued. ‘That would be a hell of an oversight if no one checked at the time,’ she commented. ‘Or maybe a cover-up?’ she suggested, clearly intrigued by the notion.

Andee shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘If need be I’ll call all the estate agents myself,’ Andee replied, ‘but if this Yoder character borrowed the place from someone, or is hiding behind a company let, chances are I won’t get very far. I need there to have been a proper police investigation at the time to be able to rule it out.’

Understanding, Helen said, ‘And meanwhile?’

‘Meanwhile, I’m thinking of taking a drive down to Devon to talk to Jessica’s mother.’

‘Do you think she might know more than she’s telling?’

Andee shook her head. ‘I doubt it, but it would feel remiss not to see her in person.’

After waiting for their seafood salads to be set down and pepper to be ground, Helen asked, ‘And what about Blake Leonard? How’s he holding up?’

Andee sighed sadly. ‘About as well as you’d imagine. Some days good, other days not so good.’

‘Was I wrong to ask you to do this?’ Helen said worriedly.

‘No,’ Andee replied. ‘I want to help him, and the situations aren’t that similar. In my sister’s case we know it’s very likely she committed suicide, but a body has never been found, so we can’t be entirely sure. With Jessica there’s no suggestion at all that she might have taken her own life. As far as anyone can make out she had everything to live for, and was looking forward to getting on with it. She had all sorts of plans for the summer, and for when she returned to uni for her second year. Nothing I’ve heard has contradicted that. She was obviously hiding something though, because no one’s ever been able to find out why she was visiting Holland Park on quite a regular basis.’

It was the middle of the afternoon and Rowzee was at her desk trying hard not to get upset as she read through the brochure from Dignitas. She hated self-pity, she really did, but it seemed she was awash with it today.

It was all very well to be certain about a decision, she was discovering – and she
was
certain, she really,
really was – but that didn’t make it any easier to carry through. She kept telling herself that she wasn’t afraid of dying; it was a natural part of life and was going to happen to everyone sooner or later, but then she’d imagine herself going to Switzerland on her own, knowing she’d never come back, and she didn’t feel quite so committed any more.

From what she’d read so far in the brochure, the staff at the clinic all sounded very helpful and supportive, and if she wanted someone to hold her hand at the end apparently she had only to ask.

She expected she probably would want that, but then she thought of Pamela and tears welled in her eyes all over again. It should be Pamela’s hand she was holding, and Graeme’s.

The trouble was, she couldn’t ask them because she was sure they’d never agree to her going in the first place. They’d want her to stay where she was so they could look after her to the end, but much as she loved knowing they cared so much, it wasn’t what she wanted. She needed to take charge of her life – and death – in a way that felt right for her, and that was by bringing it to a quick, gentle and dignified conclusion.

Oh dear, there she went, crying again, was there no end to it? But it was only to be expected, she kept reminding herself, because no sane person would enjoy doing this. What she had to try to hang on to was the feeling of empowerment it gave her, and once that had returned she was able to continue following the instructions on the website on how to proceed.

First she must take out a membership.

Once that was done – it was surprisingly inexpensive, she discovered, and apparently she didn’t have to pay anything until they’d confirmed she’d been accepted – she moved on to the other prerequisites. She needed to be of sound judgement, tick, and have a minimum level of physical capacity, tick, although apparently this last was so she could give herself the termination drug. She hadn’t reckoned on having to do it herself, so she just had to hope it came in tablet form and not some kind of injection, because she wasn’t sure she could stab herself with a needle at the best of times, never mind to send herself off to the next world.

The next world, where Victor and Edward and her beloved parents were waiting. Or they would be if she believed in the afterlife, which she always had, but to her dismay she seemed to be losing confidence in it now she was aiming to go. Maybe she should get some spiritual counselling to help things along. That seemed a very good idea, so reaching for her notebook she jotted it down to make sure she didn’t forget.

Next on the list was the requirement that she should have a terminal illness. Tick. She must provide copies of her medical reports to prove she was definitely on her way out and there was no turning back. She would need to get those from Jilly, probably Mr Mervin, the neurosurgeon, too. What was she going to do if they put up a fight? Even if they did they still couldn’t tell her family about the tumour, being bound, as they were, by the Hippocratic oath.

If they tried to talk her out of it she’d just have to make them see it her way. After all, it was her life, not theirs, and wasn’t that what this was all about?

Next. Apparently she had to write a letter to Dignitas explaining why she wanted their help. She could do that; in fact it shouldn’t even take very long. Dear Sir or Madam, I don’t want to lose my marbles, become a vegetable, or a locked-in victim, or turn into somebody my family doesn’t know and who can’t even go to the bathroom or eat food without disgracing herself. She wouldn’t put it quite like that, of course, but that was about the measure of it, and while she was with Jilly tomorrow she ought to ask about pain. Just how much physical pain was there going to be, because the headaches were already pretty intolerable in the mornings and she couldn’t imagine them getting any better as time went on.

Oh, she’d just got to the bit where it was saying the end-game drug could be taken with water, provided she was still able to swallow. Now there was something she needed to find out. Was this tumour going to affect her ability to swallow?
Oh God, this was awful, she was going to end up with food dribbling down her chin, snot dripping from her nose, while all sorts of other bodily fluids went in for their own style of free flow
. She’d better find out about this, because it was starting to look as though she might be on a flight to Switzerland even earlier than she thought.

Black squiggles were floating in front of her eyes by now, and there was a tiredness creeping through her that might just manifest in a blackout if she didn’t go
and lie down. Before she went anywhere though, she must turn off her computer and hide her notebook – she just hoped she didn’t forget where she’d put it because it was full of questions for Jilly tomorrow.

Without thinking she picked up the phone as it rang.

‘Rowzee? It’s Jamie Flood. How are you?’

Jamie Flood was the lawyer she and Victor had always used.

Pleased with herself for remembering, she said, ‘Hello Jamie. I’m fine. I hope you are too.’ She needed to get through this before her words dried up or consciousness drained. ‘I’d like to come and see you to talk about my will.’

‘So you said in your email. When is a good time for you?’

‘What about tomorrow at three?’

‘That soon? Let me look at the diary. You know, as it’s you, I think we can squeeze you in. Are you all right? You don’t sound your usual cheery self.’

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him. ‘Just getting old.’

‘Oh Rowzee, you’ll never be old. Even when you’re a hundred you’ll still be young.’

Rowzee was still smiling past the thump in her head as she rang off and went to lie down on the sofa. A few minutes’ rest and she could go back to her task, and she must remember to put in a word for Bill Simmonds with Pamela when they got together later.

Graeme’s home was on Amberton Square, a smart, leafy quadrant of mostly Regency town houses with communal parkland at its heart and the grandly arched entrance to Kesterly’s botanical gardens at the far end. Andee was on her way along the south walk where the Clarendon Hotel blended discreetly with the elegant residences when, to her dismay, she saw Martin coming towards her.

‘Twice in one day,’ he declared chirpily as he reached her. ‘How lucky am I?’

Having remembered that his family owned a property converted into three luxury flats on the north walk, she said, ‘Is this where you’re living now?’

‘No, I was just checking on some updating we’re having done. I’m living, as you put it, at my mother’s for the time being, but I’m looking at a house over on Westleigh Heights tomorrow morning. As a matter of fact, I was hoping you’d come with me. I think you’re going to love it.’

Suspecting he was trying to tempt her back with one of the area’s more desirable houses, or maybe he was
trying to prove something else, she said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t tomorrow.’

He cocked an eyebrow.

Close to ignoring the prompt, she said, ‘I’m doing some work for Helen. You behaved appallingly at the restaurant today. I hope you’re going to apologise to her.’

‘If she was upset, I will. Would you like me to apologise to you too?’

‘There’s no need.’ She glanced at Graeme’s glossy black front door a mere few yards away and realised it was open, possibly for her to go in. ‘I have an appointment,’ she said, ‘so I should . . .’

Snapping her off, he said, ‘Don’t just brush me aside like I’m someone you don’t know or even care about. You’re my wife, for God’s sake. I at least deserve some good manners.’

Tempted to remind him of lunchtime again, she said, ‘I’ve called you several times this past week and you’ve chosen not to call back. When you’re ready we can talk again, but it’s not going to happen here in the street.’

‘Then come with me, back to your place . . .’

‘I’ve just told you, I have an appointment.’

‘So cancel it.’

‘I can’t. Actually, I don’t want to. Martin, what the heck has got into you? I’ve never known you to behave like this before.’

His eyes glinted angrily. ‘Maybe it has something to do with my wife leaving me.’

‘Please keep your voice down.’

‘Why? Am I embarrassing you?’

‘You’re embarrassing yourself.’

He stood glaring at her, clearly not ready to let her pass.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

‘You know what I want. For us to be a family again.’

‘And this is how you’re going about it? Trying to intimidate me, insulting my friends, crying in front of the children . . . Why would you do that to them? What on earth did you hope to gain?’

‘Their understanding that I’m not at fault here. It’s their mother who’s walked out, not me . . .’

‘You shouldn’t be making them choose sides. It’s not fair and they don’t need to be worrying about you, or me, or anyone else while they’re going through uni . . .’

‘That’s rich, coming from you who chose to go when they’re right in the middle of it . . .’

‘I chose now because I didn’t want to go on living a lie. It’s time for me to put myself first, much like you did when they were young teenagers and needed you badly. I could have tried turning them against you then, and I’d have succeeded, but you’re their father, I didn’t want there to be a rift between you any more than I want one between us now. I’m just sorry that you seem so intent on creating one.’

Red with anger, he said, ‘And I’m sorry that you still can’t get over something I did . . .’

‘Believe me, I’m over it. And if you want to know the truth, I’m sorry you came back because I’d never have married you if you hadn’t, and if we weren’t married we wouldn’t be going through this now.’ That had
been a cruel thing to say, and seeing the hurt in his eyes she already regretted it.

‘You’re such a bitch,’ he told her. ‘I don’t know why I ever bothered to waste my time with you.’

Glancing at her watch, she was about to force her way past him when he suddenly grabbed her.

‘Martin, let me go,’ she said quietly.

‘Look at me,’ he urged, shaking her. ‘Look at what you’re doing to someone whose only crime is to love you.’

‘I said, let me go.’

‘Is everything all right?’

Andee tensed at the sound of Graeme’s voice. She desperately didn’t want him involved in this, wished it wasn’t happening at all.

‘Is there something I can do?’ he offered.

‘Yeah, mind your own business,’ Martin spat rudely.

Graeme glanced at Andee.