Silent Truths (49 page)

What her mind wasn’t managing to escape quite so easily was the possibility that Gatling’s people might try abducting her again. She hadn’t heard from them, nor had Stan spotted anyone keeping tabs on her, but for some reason she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding. She hadn’t told anyone about it, especially not Elliot, though she occasionally wondered if he sensed it. But that was probably just her being fanciful, wanting him to care when no doubt he’d all but forgotten the entire incident.

Taking her mobile out of her bag she clicked on to answer.

‘Laurie? It’s Bruce Cottle. I hope I’m not too early.’

‘Oh hi, Bruce,’ she said, glancing at Elliot. ‘Not at all. What gets you up at this hour?’

‘I went down to the country last night,’ he said, ‘so I’m trying to beat the traffic into London. Giles and I are seeing Colin later. We’re hoping we might have more luck persuading him to meet you again.’

‘Good. If you can’t then at least try to find out why he’s being so reticent. And ask him if he knows where Heather Dance is. Apart from an email telling us she’s all right, she and her mother might have vanished off the face of the earth.’

‘OK,’ Bruce said. ‘We’ve been through it with him before, but I’m prepared to do it again. Where are you now?’

‘Actually, we’re heading towards the Channel
Tunnel, and if we go much faster we might gain enough momentum to fly off the edge of England and land in France without the aid of a train.’

Elliot slanted her a look, as Bruce said ‘Oh, that’s a shame, I was hoping to see you later, but if you’re not around –’

‘We’ll be back by late afternoon. What is it?’

‘Georgie’s spoken to Beth on the phone. She only told me about it last night. It happened a few days ago.’

‘You sound worried,’ Laurie commented, starting to feel the same way. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, Georgie wasn’t at all happy with the conversation. She’s got herself quite worked up about it. Beth’s …’ He seemed at a loss for a moment, then more firmly, he said, ‘Well, to begin with she claims there was some kind of encounter with Marcus Gatling and his wife on the plane going out there.’

Immediately Laurie said, ‘Bruce, I need to put you on the speaker for this, so I’ll have to call you back with Elliot’s phone. You’re in your car, yes?’

Bruce confirmed it, and a couple of minutes later his voice was coming from the tiny overhead speaker.

‘I don’t know the details,’ he was saying, ‘only what Georgie told me, but I think it would be a good idea for you to talk to her.’

Laurie gave a laugh of surprise. ‘I’ve been trying, Bruce,’ she reminded him.

‘I know, and she still won’t agree without Beth’s permission, but I think, if you go down there, if you just turn up unannounced, she might change her mind.’

Laurie looked at Elliot as he said, ‘Tell us more about this encounter with Gatling.’

‘All I know is that she told him there was new evidence to say Colin didn’t do it, which apparently he didn’t take too well. And she also said something about his secrets not being safe with her.’

Elliot’s expression was dark. ‘What does that mean?’ he said. ‘What secrets?’

‘Georgie didn’t know, but when she asked Beth she more or less said she was winding him up.’

Laurie and Elliot exchanged glances.

‘Has there been any contact since?’ Elliot asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did she give any indication of being afraid of Gatling?’

‘Not that Georgie mentioned. She’s never liked the man, though, or his wife, but winding him up like that … She’d never have done it before. She was always too unsure of herself. She seems to have lost some of that now, though.’

‘How did she take the news of the book being pulled?’ Laurie asked. ‘Did she already know? Did Georgie mention it?’

‘She was upset, angry, all the things you’d expect.’

‘Surprised?’

‘I don’t know. But apparently she’s convinced it was Gatling who had her book stolen from the publishers. She didn’t say why, but she did say something that both Georgie and I find very strange indeed. She referred to Sophie Long as being a sacrificial lamb, and when Georgie asked her what she meant she said Georgie should either
ask Colin, or read the book, then ask Marcus Gatling.’

‘Confirmation,’ Laurie said in an undertone to Elliot, ‘that even her best friend hasn’t read the book.’

‘What was that?’ Bruce said.

‘Nothing,’ Laurie replied, braking with Elliot as he slowed for the tunnel approach. ‘When’s a good time for me to go down there?’

‘Probably during the late afternoons,’ he answered. ‘She won’t be there for the next few days. She’s going to a health farm with my sister …’

‘OK, I’ll wait to hear from you.’

‘There’s just one other thing,’ he said, before she broke the connection. ‘Apparently she’s had some plastic surgery. Beth, I mean, not Georgie.’

Laurie looked at Elliot. ‘What kind of plastic surgery?’ she asked.

‘Breast enlargement and something to do with her lips.’

At that Laurie’s eyes started to dance, for she knew that Elliot, like her, had imagined something much more sinister than bulging breasts and rubbery lips.

‘It’s out of character for her to do something like that,’ Bruce said. ‘Or it always was in the past. Lately we haven’t been quite sure what to expect.’

‘OK,’ Laurie said as a blast of static interrupted the line, ‘we’re about to board the train now, so we’ll speak to you later.’

As she rang off, and they pulled alongside a toll booth to buy a ticket, Elliot said, ‘Tom Maykin told me last night that the Gatlings were back in California, so I’d say, given the way things seem to
happen in places where they’re not, that for the moment at least Beth Ashby’s got no more to worry about than the writing of a screenplay that doesn’t appear to have been cancelled, and what she’s going to do with her old bras.’

Though Laurie smiled at the joke, she was deep in thought, trying to imagine what Beth Ashby looked like now, where she lived, what her life was really like over there in LA.

‘That was interesting, what she said about Sophie Long being a sacrificial lamb, don’t you think?’ she said as they inched on to the train behind a new Vauxhall Zafira.

‘Very. But since all trace of every copy of the manuscript seems to have vanished since the book was cancelled, we’re left with a scant synopsis from the
Hollywood Reporter
that tells us … What did it say again?’

‘Something about a journey of love through time, and an existential righting of old wrongs.’

‘Sounds more like a clue from
The Times
crossword than the plot for a feature film,’ he commented, ‘but as we’ve already been through it a hundred times, we won’t go there again.’ And bringing the car to a stop, he turned off the engine, unfastened his seat belt and turned on the CD.

‘Opera?’ she said, as the opening strains of
La Traviata
began drifting into the car. ‘You like opera?’

He briefly opened one eye. ‘Yes. Do you?’

‘Yes,’ she answered.

‘Then relax and listen.’

She nodded and looked out of the window as the train doors started to close. Her heartbeat was
increasing, as the music filled up the car and swamped her with a longing to groan and laugh, for she knew very well he loved opera, she even knew which were his favourites, and though they might not be her favourites too, the passion, the drama, the sheer power and visceral energy were, for her, just about the greatest aphrodisiac imaginable. So exactly how she was going to relax when every chord and cadenza, aria and bravura was inciting such eroticism in her mind that her body might just lose control, was a feat she was going to find it impossible to perform, unless, by some God-saving miracle, she could manage to fall asleep.

It was around ten when Laurie was woken by the sound of the Porsche engine dying. Stiff and bleary-eyed she struggled to sit up, remembering just in time not to rub her eyes. To her surprise, they seemed to be there, for they were on the outskirts of what might be called a village, though it appeared to consist of no more than a few dreary rain-soaked houses either side of the road, a closed
boulangerie
next door to a single-pump garage, also closed, and an almost derelict-looking café called Emile’s.

Elliot was already getting out of the car so, following suit, she picked up her bag and thanked him as he came to hold the door open. The promise of sun later was glinting through breaks in the thick wedges of cloud, but by the time they’d crossed to the café, a few fat blobs of rain were starting to fall.

An old-fashioned bell jangled overhead as they entered, and immediately, through the smoky
darkness, they were assailed by the smell of cheap red wine, tobacco and strong coffee. Relics of past Christmases hung dejectedly from a couple of the overhead beams, and a small TV on the bar was showing an episode of
Murder She Wrote
, dubbed into French. Two elderly men, dressed in blue serge, with unfiltered cigarettes dangling from their lips, were so engrossed in the programme that they didn’t even look up when the door opened. Another, younger man, whose elbows were resting on the bar as he too absorbed Jessica Fletcher’s story, glanced their way and greeted them with a gruff, ‘
Bonjour
.’

‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’ Laurie whispered, looking round at the vinyl-topped table where ashtrays had been left overflowing, and a few smeary glasses awaited collection. The windows had brass poles across their centres, supporting dingy nets, and the cheap plastic chairs were scattered haphazardly, as though a crowd had taken off in a hurry.

‘You surely can’t be doubting me,’ Elliot responded.

‘
Qu’est-ce que vous voulez
?’ the younger man growled.

‘Do you speak French?’ Elliot said from the corner of his mouth.

‘Yes, so do you,’ she answered from the corner of hers. ‘I’ll have a beer.’

Laughing, Elliot ordered two then pulled a couple of chairs up to the cleanest-looking table.

Laurie sat down, praying she wouldn’t need the loo, and was about to speak when his mobile rang. He was quiet as he listened to the caller. Then, looking at her with comically raised eyebrows, he
said, ‘Great news, my friend. Call me when you get here.’

‘Was that Eaton?’ Laurie said, referring to the man they were supposed to be meeting.

‘No. It was Karl, calling from Frankfurt. He’s arriving in London tonight.’

Laurie nodded. There was so much coming and going now that she’d almost lost track of who was due in when, and where she was supposed to be next. Just thank God for Murray, was all she could say, whose powers of co-ordination were in a science fiction league of their own.

‘By the way, did you know you talk in your sleep?’ Elliot commented, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs.

Laurie’s eyes flew open as colour flooded her cheeks. ‘That’s not true,’ she declared. ‘I never talk in my sleep.’

‘I don’t know about never,’ he responded, ‘but you did on the way here.’

‘What did I say?’

His eyes were shining with mirth. ‘I don’t know that I can repeat it,’ he teased.

‘Elliot! Don’t do this,’ she warned. ‘I want to know what I said.’

‘And I want to know what you were dreaming.’

‘No! I can’t remember. Nothing.’ In fact, it was true, she couldn’t remember dreaming, but she knew very well what she’d been thinking before she’d dropped off to sleep. Then, realizing the more she reacted the more he was going to tease her, she said, ‘Well, actually, now I come to think of it … Whatever I said couldn’t possibly have measured up to what was actually going on.’

He looked surprised. ‘Now I’m really interested,’ he said.

‘Mm, shame I’m not going to tell you,’ she responded, as their drinks arrived.

Picking up his beer he looked at her over the glass as he drank, then the moment passed, as these flirtatious moments always did, leaving her wondering if she’d gone too far, or read more into it than was actually there.

‘There was a Frenchman and an Englishman,’ he said, putting his glass down as he launched into the joke. ‘Jean-Claude and Bert. Jean-Claude says: “You know, Bert, I am very proud to be a Frenchman, it is the best thing to be, but if I weren’t a Frenchman I would want to be an Englishman.” And Bert says: “You know Jean-Claude, I am very proud to be an Englishman, it is the best thing to be, but if I weren’t an Englishman I would want to be …”’

It took her a moment, then laughing she said, ‘That’s terrible.’

‘I know,’ he responded, getting to his feet as the door opened. ‘David, it’s good to see you,’ he said to the extremely elegant, immaculately groomed man who’d just arrived.

‘Elliot, my friend. Glad you found it all right.’ Eaton closed the door, and his eyes moved to Laurie as he came to shake Elliot’s hand.

Elliot immediately introduced her.

Eaton frowned. ‘If I didn’t know you, Elliot, I’d have a problem with this,’ he said frankly.

‘If you didn’t know me you wouldn’t be here,’ Elliot responded lightly. ‘What’ll you have to drink?’

‘
Encore une bière
,’ Eaton replied, speaking to the barman.

Elliot gestured for him to sit, saying, ‘I was wondering if we were ever going to hear from you.’

‘This is the first opportunity I’ve had,’ Eaton replied. ‘Everyone’s being watched every minute now. You just don’t know what it’s like. All hell broke loose after Ashby killed that girl. They’re running so damned scared, the lot of them, they’d be laughable if it weren’t so bloody dangerous. Anyway, they know you’re on to them, I hope you’re aware of that.’

‘Of course. Who’s “they” exactly?’

‘Everyone from the PM down. They just can’t work out how much you know.’

‘So am I supposed to tell you? Is that what this is about?’

‘You know me better than that.’

The barman set down Eaton’s drink, and after taking a sip, he said to Laurie, ‘You must be the one who visited Ashby.’

She nodded.

His shrewd grey eyes clung to hers for a moment; then he turned back to Elliot. ‘So how much do you know?’ he said.