Out of Sight (15 page)

The Duvals exchanged concerned looks over Leonie's slumped shoulders and shook their heads.

‘Sweetie, nothing's ever as one-sided as that. I'm sure he's more than capable of speaking for himself,' said Gaby,
making a huge effort to restrain her indignation. ‘Maybe he does need a bit of time to adjust, like you say. Probably just gone off somewhere neutral to think things over for a day or two, that's all. Doesn't want to face you until he's ready.' Gaby looked up at her husband, but found him unwilling to fall into line.

‘There are other ways to extricate himself from the situation without turning tail,' said Thierry roundly. ‘Strikes me he's taking the easy way out, looking after number one.' Gaby shot him a look. ‘Unless there's some other simple explanation, of course,' he amended. ‘He could have padlocked the gate because of kids breaking in and making a mess, or something.'

Faced with Leonie's beseeching look, Thierry excused himself. ‘I'm going to make some calls,' he said. ‘See what there is to find out. Anyone want more coffee first?'

Leonie shook her head, but Gaby gave instructions. ‘Good idea. And bring Leonie some of that apple cake. She needs to eat.'

‘No, really, I'm not hungry. Thanks.'

‘You'll eat something.' Gaby patted Leonie's cold hands. ‘You've got more than just yourself to take into account now, remember?' She shifted close, holding onto Leonie's hands. ‘Sweetie, do you think it's to do with his having another child?'

‘What other child?' Leonie asked, bewildered.

‘Catherine's convinced she's right, that Agnès Hinde did say she'd had a grandson.'

‘No, no.'

‘Well, whatever the truth, he'll probably be back soon,' Gaby resumed a brighter tone. ‘And with the biggest bunch of flowers you've ever seen!'

‘Poor Patrice,' mourned Leonie. ‘What have I done to him?'

‘You're the one who needs consolation, sweetie. Not him.' Gaby looked up at her husband as he returned with coffee and cake and widened her eyes in warning.

‘He'd never have done this unless he had to, unless it was all too much and he couldn't cope,' Leonie went on.

Thierry shook his head. ‘All that should matter is making sure you don't harm anyone you love.'

‘But surely the way he's behaved shows how deeply damaged he must be?' she appealed to them both.

‘A wounded animal is often the most dangerous,' observed Thierry.

‘My friend Stella, she learnt from the kids she used to work with. The worst behaved were always the ones with the worst histories,' insisted Leonie. ‘They can't help it.'

But Thierry shook his head, having none of it. ‘Why is it that women always have to make allowances for their men?' he asked. ‘Any scoundrel offers a plausible enough excuse and everything's forgiven.'

‘We forgive our children,' said Gaby simply.

‘He's not a child,' snapped Thierry. Gaby failed to shush him, and even nodded in agreement as Thierry declared, ‘He's a coward. And Leonie deserves better!'

*

Embarrassed and exhausted, Leonie refused the Duvals' kindly invitations to stay on for lunch, or even the weekend, and took herself back home. Her apartment seemed smaller and more makeshift than ever. It would be Christmas in a fortnight's time. The cashmere scarf she had so carefully chosen for Patrice lay in its bag in her bedroom cupboard, waiting to be festively wrapped. Thierry's calls had thrown no light as yet on Patrice's unoccupied and shuttered house, but a voice at the back of her mind warned her he had gone for good. She couldn't rationalise it, knew it made no sense for him to give up his life here, but was utterly convinced.

She thought back to last Monday night, when she had taken his birthday presents over to his house. She hadn't noticed any cards or gifts other than her own. Had there really been nothing at all? Patrice had grown up in this town, spent half his childhood here, then returned to work here four years ago. He was a charming man who gained deep satisfaction from helping people, and his patients liked him. How had it been possible not to accumulate friends and acquaintances who knew him well enough at least to acknowledge his fortieth birthday? Why had he never made a social life for himself, however small and tight-knit? Why would anyone willingly tolerate such isolation? But then, maybe he had an existence of which she remained completely ignorant. Maybe he had women all over town, or each kept in separate compartments of his life. Her icy terror at the idea made her laugh: she couldn't imagine him juggling different women, lying to each of
them. He was too sincere, his feelings too transparent. No, he was not that type of man at all!

Leonie recollected how Stella had wanted to Google him – she must call Stella, but not yet. She wished now she had not gone to Gaby's house. What if Thierry were right, and there was some simple explanation and Patrice was about to call any moment? It was stupid of her to have over-reacted. Patrice would quite rightly not be pleased that she had told her boss about the pregnancy without consulting him first. She would delay calling Stella about this latest development. No need to go overboard until the worst was confirmed, until she knew for certain that Patrice had walked out on her.

But of course, argued the voice in Leonie's head, abandonment was what Patrice knew best. It was what he had grown up with: all those lonely childhood summers with Josette, cut off from his parents, punished with days of silence and rejection. Escape into himself was for him the natural way to react under pressure, she knew that. She had experienced the impact of his brief withdrawal that night in the restaurant in Nice, but the next day he had been fine again.

Gaby was right; he needed time to adjust. She must keep believing in him, not lose faith. Once he had thought things through, he would return. She would set herself a limit. Let him disappear for Christmas – always a holiday fraught with too much expectation – and then start fresh in the New Year.

She dug out her next year's diary and pencilled in a mark at the first weekend. If she had heard nothing from him by then she would accept that Thierry's harsher view was justified, but until then Patrice would remain the man she knew and loved. She was carrying his child. She was going to bear and raise his son or daughter. She must not set out on that adventure with bitterness in her heart. Saturday, the eighth of January: she repeated the date to herself. However difficult, she would somehow keep the faith until then.

Stella arrived at dawn on Christmas morning. She had queued at Folkestone for a last-minute cancellation on the Shuttle then driven through the night. She didn't like how Leonie had sounded on the phone and wasn't going to be fobbed off with silly evasions, so came to see for herself what on earth was going on. She found her friend looking gaunt and strained, with nothing in her fridge but houmous and eggs.

‘Lucky I brought provisions, then,' she said, unpacking the supermarket bags she'd carried up from her car. ‘Not exactly turkey with all the trimmings, but at least we can cobble together a square meal. Looks like you haven't eaten properly in days.'

‘Bless you. Really. The thought of Christmas Day on my own, I couldn't have faced it.'

‘What friends are for. So where's Patrice?'

‘Still don't know. Not a word.'

‘He's coming back?'

‘No idea. He's locked up his house, cancelled all his patients and gone.'

‘For chrissakes, why didn't you tell me it was as bad as this?' demanded Stella.

‘Hoped he'd be back by now.' Leonie sat down wearily at the kitchen counter. ‘Or at least have been in touch. I convinced myself he would, tried to believe it. Don't think I can keep it together much longer, though.'

‘Oh, Lennie.' Stella hugged her, but Leonie pushed her feebly away.

‘Don't be too sympathetic, or I'll fall apart.'

‘Okay. But, Jesus, I'd like to throttle him!' Stella tried to shake off her incredulity. ‘I know I only met him briefly, but I liked the guy! I certainly never imagined …' She trailed off, sighing at the diminished spectacle of her friend. ‘You'd better bring me up to speed. Properly, this time,' she warned.

‘After I told him about the baby, I half expected him not to call. But then, when he never answered my calls, I went round to his house. It's all shuttered and padlocked.' Leonie tried to block out Stella's reaction, striving to relate events as levelly as she could. ‘Sylviane told Gaby he'd cancelled her granddaughter's appointment saying he wasn't able to re-schedule it, but giving no explanation. Apparently the pharmacist has had lots of people asking when he's coming back. Nobody knows.'

‘Have you been to the police?'

‘Why? He left everything in order. Thierry found out he's given notice on the office he rented. Left instructions for any post to go to the bank. I suppose some patients still owe him money.'

‘You don't reckon he's … You know …'

‘Topped himself?' Leonie shrugged. ‘I don't think so. But frankly your guess is as good as mine.'

‘I was actually thinking there might be someone else.'

‘Another woman?'

‘Or back to his wife?'

‘Who knows? My one solid fact is that I've no way to be certain of anything.'

‘Do you suppose he was planning to scarper even before you told him you were pregnant?' asked Stella. ‘I mean, what if this has nothing to do with you.' She caught the look of desolation on Leonie's face. ‘I don't mean that you don't matter to him,' she corrected herself. ‘Only that there's something else going on. Money, or some legal thing with a patient or something?'

Leonie shook her head in consternation. ‘Three weeks ago I'd've sworn blind nothing like that was possible, but I have no idea any more who he is or what he's capable of.'

‘I never imagined a person's silence could be so callous,' mourned Stella.

‘Did I tell you his grandmother's way of punishing him was not to speak to him?'

‘For how long?'

‘Days, I think.'

‘That's not good. That counts as quite serious emotional abuse.'

Leonie fell silent.

‘You've no clue as to where he might have gone?' Stella persisted.

‘Believe me, I've worked through every possible permutation. Right now, if someone told me he'd been abducted by aliens, I'd simply be relieved to have the truth at last.'

‘Sorry, I'll shut up.'

‘No, no.' Leonie gave Stella a watery smile. ‘It's better than getting paranoid in the middle of the night, deciphering the runes, clutching at straws.'

Stella looked sorrowfully at her friend, her expression failing to hide her contempt for what Patrice had left behind.

Stella and Leonie ate sausages and roast potatoes for their Christmas dinner, during which Leonie asked dutifully about Stella's work and life in London. Afterwards, exhausted by the effort, she went to lie down and fell fast asleep. Stella took out Leonie's laptop and Googled Patrice's name, but brought up nothing she hadn't found before, nothing that would go any way towards explaining his disappearance or shed light on where he might have gone. There were other methods she could apply, search facilities for tracing people that would be available through her office network, but she was unable to access those accounts
from Leonie's computer. It would have to wait until she went home. Deprived of sleep after her long night-time drive, Stella dozed off herself.

Leonie, sitting down beside her, woke her an hour or so later.

‘I dreamt I was breaking into Patrice's house.'

Stella struggled awake. ‘Really?'

‘My dream-self was magically skilled at picking locks. I could observe everything from about two feet above my normal eye-line. It's all neat and tidy. A coffee cup washed up by the side of the sink. A newspaper from the day I last saw him left on the kitchen table, his mobile next to it. Yet the milk in the fridge is fresh and the ash in the fireplace is still warm, as if he's only just gone. I'm quite calm until I float up the stairs and reach the bedroom door, where I'm so overcome by what I know is inside that I daren't even turn the handle. That's when I woke up.'

‘Oh, Lennie.' Stella grasped Leonie's hand and held it tight.

‘In my dream, I'm convinced I'm going to find the key to all this. That I'd notice some object lying on the table, discarded by his chair. I'd pick it up, have a moment of revelation and everything would magically fit into place, miraculously come right again.'

Stella squeezed her hand.

‘I keep hoping I'm going to wake up and find it all spun into gold, like in a fairy tale. Spun into a coherent story
that I can understand and be done with, instead of it going round and round in my head.'

‘How about some tea?' was all Stella could find to say. Leonie nodded and followed her to the kitchen, where she leant against the counter in a stupor as Stella filled the kettle and rinsed out mugs.

‘I found it endearing that he wouldn't tell me stuff,' Leonie went on, watching vacantly as Stella threw away an empty box and searched for more teabags. ‘But it wasn't. It's scary.'

Stella couldn't help agreeing.

‘Part of what I loved about Patrice was how he was so elusive,' she continued. ‘It drew me in, hooked me. But it meant I let him get away with not actually telling me anything, while I was so impressed by how honest he is, how he never lies. Why didn't I ask?' she wailed. ‘I honestly believed he was telling me about himself. But he didn't.'

Stella handed her a mug of hot tea. ‘Don't keep beating yourself up, Lennie. Don't make it worse than it is.'

‘For all I know, he's been totally cold-hearted and calculating all this time,' Leonie went on. ‘I'm having his child, yet have no idea who the hell he is.' She cradled the comforting warmth between her hands. ‘How could I be so stupid?'