Perfect Strangers (20 page)

‘This is our Panoramic Suite, mademoiselle,’ said the girl. ‘I hope it meets with your desires. Would you like me to show you around?’

‘No, no. I think I’ll be fine,’ said Sophie quickly. She felt strange enough being here without having to trail around after the girl. The receptionist tried to take her bag, but she declined.

‘Would you like me to send some tea up to your room? Champagne? Our spa is excellent, although I am sure you have a busy day in preparation for tonight.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Sophie politely as Josh walked in. When the girl had closed the door, he immediately began laughing.

‘Josh! What the bloody hell is going on?’ asked Sophie, watching him walking about the suite inspecting it.

‘Very nice view,’ he said approvingly, feeling the silk drapes between his fingers. ‘I thought we might get an upgrade, but nothing like this.’

‘
Josh!
’

‘Oh all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist,’ he laughed. ‘That was the call I made at the station. I rang the manager’s office here at Le Bristol and said that Sophie Aniston was in town for the
Aristocrats
premiere tonight.’

‘What’s the
Aristocrats
? And who’s Sophie Aniston?’

‘You.’ He grinned. ‘Thought I’d change your surname to something a bit more recognisable. The
Aristocrats
is that big Tom Cruise movie out on Friday; they are having the European premiere at the Grand Rex tonight. I read it in a paper on the train. Anyway – I said you’d checked out of Le Meurice because you’d been unhappy about the size of your room. There’s a lot of rivalry between the Big Six Paris hotels, so of course they were going to accommodate you.’

‘But . . . there
is
no Sophie Aniston,’ she said.

‘There is now,’ laughed Josh. ‘If they were going to check on it, they’d have done it before we arrived. Obviously they’ve assumed you’re Tom’s love interest. Lucky you, eh?’

‘Josh, this isn’t funny. What if they . . .’

But Josh was bouncing up and down on the bed.

‘Hey, come and try this. Makes a change from sleeping on cardboard boxes last night.’

She frowned, noticing for the first time that there was only one bed. Her mind flashed back to that kiss at St Pancras and she pushed the uncomfortable thought away. She walked over to the window and looked out at the view of the exquisite hotel gardens.

‘So how long do you think we’ll be staying here?’ she asked, thinking that she never wanted to leave.

‘That depends on how long it takes us to find out what Nick was up to,’ said Josh.

‘And how are we going to do that?’

‘Well,’ said Josh, picking up her bag, ‘that depends what’s in here.’

Before she could stop him, he had unzipped it and tipped the contents on to the bed.

‘What are you doing?’ gasped Sophie.

‘Looking for clues,’ he said, emptying her make-up bag on to the crisp white duvet.

There wasn’t much to see. A book, her purse, passport, internet key fob, small bag of jewellery and an Oyster card. Josh emptied the jewellery bag into his hand. There were two small gold chains, a charm bracelet and a sapphire ring that had once belonged to her grandmother.

‘Not exactly the crown jewels, are they?’ he said as Sophie snatched them back from him.

‘They have sentimental value.’

‘I’m sure, but we can rule out Nick trying to steal your priceless stash of diamonds. That’s what I’m trying to work out: what was he hiding?’

‘Hiding? I thought he was after my money.’

‘Lana’s money, you mean,’ he said absently as he picked up her copy of
I Capture the Castle
and flicked through the pages.

‘Did Nick give you this?’

She shook her head.

‘It was a birthday present from my dad.’

‘It’s a bit dog-eared, isn’t it?’

‘It’s my favourite book, actually,’ she said, taking it away from him.

‘So did Nick give you anything?’ asked Josh, rifling through the receipts in Sophie’s purse. ‘A note, a love letter, something like that?’

‘Josh, please!’ she said, grabbing the purse. ‘I’ve told you, he didn’t give me anything. Now if you’ve finished raking through my life, I’m going to have a shower. I want to get the Thames out of my hair.’

Kicking off her shoes, she padded through to the bathroom, which was bigger than most hotel rooms she’d ever stayed in, even on her luxurious trips with Will.

‘Don’t go getting any ideas about having a three-hour bath,’ called Josh. ‘This isn’t a minibreak. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.’

‘The premiere, of course.’ She smiled sarcastically and turned on the taps.

It was wonderful feeling the hot water on her skin, soaping herself with peach and almond bath crème, the stresses of the past two days running away down the brass plughole. Stepping out, she dried off and wrapped herself in a towelling robe, enjoying the clean smell, and walked back into the living room, rubbing at her hair with a hand towel.

Josh was sitting at a walnut writing desk in front of a silver laptop computer. It was connected to a sleek-looking laser printer.

‘Was that always here?’ she said.

‘They just brought it up – nothing’s too good for a guest like Mademoiselle Aniston.’

She watched him do a Google search for ‘Riverton Hotel murder’: a shocking number of hits scrolled up.

‘Good,’ muttered Josh, clicking on one. ‘They’ve released a picture of Nick.’

There was a loud clunk as the printer sprang to life, but Sophie turned away: she didn’t want to see Nick’s face, not right now. She picked up a peach from the fruit bowl, but she didn’t feel like eating and put it back.

‘No mention of you in any news stories,’ said Josh. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’

He clicked about quickly, and when he had to enter something, Sophie noticed he was touch-typing.

‘You’re very efficient,’ she said.

‘You sound surprised,’ replied Josh, not looking up from the screen.

‘It’s the barge,’ she said, deciding that nothing about Josh McCormack would surprise her any more. ‘No electricity, copper kettle, all that stuff.’

‘So you have me down as some sort of gypsy?’

Sophie blushed.

‘Not quite, just a little less technical.’

She sat down on the side of the bed and picked up the room’s phone.

‘What are you doing?’ said Josh.

‘It’s gone eleven and my mum gets into Heathrow any time now, I’m going to call her, tell her I’m okay.’

Josh walked over and took the receiver from her.

‘Not a good idea,’ he said, putting it back in its cradle. ‘The police could be monitoring her calls and trace it straight to this room.’

Sophie looked up at him.

‘But you said they weren’t looking for me.’

‘I said it wasn’t likely, but we don’t know what’s happened since yesterday, do we? It’s safer if we stay off the grid for a while.’

‘But I want to tell her I’m okay.’

Josh sighed and rubbed his chin.

‘Does she have an email address?’

‘Yes. I don’t know how often she uses it, though. She’s not exactly a fifteen-year-old girl.’

‘We can find an internet café and you can email her. Perhaps contact the police inspector who interviewed you too.’

‘Inspector Fox? I have his business card in my purse.’

‘Given that you disappeared straight after you had your flat turned over, it’s probably a good idea to tell him you’re okay, save him sending out a search party. Not that I think he would.’

‘But can’t the police trace us from the internet café?’

‘Possible, but by the time they find some grotty shop in the back of a newsagent’s, we’ll be long gone.’

Sophie looked around the suite anxiously.

‘We’re leaving?’

Josh laughed.

‘Make the most of it, Miss Aniston. As soon as we find out what we need, we’ll be moving on.’

Sophie nodded, not daring to admit she was disappointed.

20

Ruth rapped impatiently on the oak door. Where the hell was everyone? she thought, stepping back and gazing up at the bedroom windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sophie Ellis’s mother. With no sign of life inside, she took a moment to admire the architecture; Arts and Crafts, she thought idly, remembering a coffee-table book she had once read on the movement. Red brick, with a sloping burnt-orange slate roof, tall narrow windows and towering chimneys, it was the sort of thing they tried to imitate on estates in Chicago and Philly, but somehow they always managed to turn it horribly twee and
Stepford Wives
-y. The real thing, however, was impressive, if a little faded round the edges. The Ellis family obviously had money.

She knocked again, harder, harder than was probably necessary, as she was still pumped with emotion from her earlier argument with David. On the journey to Cobham she had been going over and over her decision to move in with him. Had it been the right one? So far, their relationship had worked when they had kept their distance. Proximity created intimacy – maybe too much, too soon.

‘Goddamn it,’ she said, focusing back on work, and pressing the doorbell once more. She supposed she could have spoken to Julia Ellis on the phone – or at least called first – but she had wanted to leave the office and drive out to Surrey to clear her head, to give her time to think.

It had been the right decision. She had been surprised how green and, to her eyes, rural it was out here, where Greater London melted into the rarefied commuter belt of Surrey. Wooden bus shelters, iron signposts, pubs with names like the Bull and Gate or the King’s Head, and a noticeably slower pace of life, had gone some way to improve her mood.

Ruth walked around to the side of the house and tried the garden gate. It clicked open.
Well
, that
wouldn’t happen in London
, she thought with a smile.

‘Mrs Ellis?’ she called, walking past a rose trellis and into the garden. ‘Anyone there?’

The raised patio at the back of the house was empty – in fact, as Ruth peered in through the windows, it did rather look as though the house itself was abandoned too. Actually, it was a bit of a mess, with drawers left open and stuff all over the floor.
I thought these country types kept their houses neat
, she thought, walking back to the front of the house.

Spotting a love seat underneath the large apple tree in the garden, she went to sit in it.

‘So what now, genius?’ she wondered out loud, desperate for a cigarette. The truth was, it had been so easy to find the address of the Ellis family home, Ruth had rather assumed the rest would come easily too. It had taken all of two minutes to find Wade House on the internet: a quick look at Sophie’s Facebook page had revealed she had studied at Tassleton prep school in Surrey, and the messages of condolence on her wall told her that Sophie’s dad Peter had recently passed away; then a quick search for ‘Peter Ellis – funeral – Tassleton church, Cobham’ had given her the address on Meadow Lane. Thank you, modern technology.

She had set off half hoping that Sophie might even have run straight home to Mommy. If not, she felt sure Julia could help her flesh out her picture of Sophie and possibly give her a lead on where her daughter was now. One thing she was sure of: a girl like Sophie wouldn’t be able to go too long without touching base with her mom.

She glanced at her watch. Eleven a.m. She was just debating whether to try the local pub, or perhaps the post office, both usually excellent sources of local gossip, when a taxi turned into the drive. She leapt out of the love seat and ran back towards the front door.

‘You there!’ trilled a plummy voice as the cab pulled up. ‘What are you doing on my property?’

Julia Ellis stepped out of the cab and Ruth made an instant assessment. Mid-fifties, very attractive, but with a pinched and cold expression that made Ruth remember the phrase that at fifty you got the face you deserved.

‘Mrs Ellis?’ she said, collecting her thoughts. ‘Could I possibly have a word? It’s about your daughter.’

‘What do you want?’ Julia Ellis replied. She looked even more defensive at the mention of Sophie.

‘My name is Ruth Boden. I’m a reporter.’

‘Then I will have to ask you to get off my property,’ said Julia tartly. ‘The police are due at any moment.’

Ruth was not surprised, or even insulted. Knocking on doors that didn’t want to open was her job; like a dentist, she didn’t take the moans personally.

‘I just wanted to ask if you had heard from your daughter since yesterday evening.’

‘My last contact with her was yesterday afternoon. But I have spoken to her lawyer and we have every confidence that this matter will soon be dropped.’

Ruth saw her opening. If Sophie hadn’t spoken to her mother, it was likely that she hadn’t contacted anybody. With the police wanting to question her, and men with guns on her tail, it was no surprise she had gone to ground.

‘So you haven’t spoken to her today?’

‘I left a message for her this morning to say I was on my way home. I’ve been in Copenhagen visiting my dearest friend. My husband passed away recently and I needed a change of scenery.’

‘You haven’t spoken to your daughter, Mrs Ellis, because she is missing,’ Ruth said, letting the statement hang in the air.

‘Missing? What do you mean?’ she said, looking startled.

‘Sophie has disappeared, Mrs Ellis. I think she’s in trouble and I would very much like to help. I was the last person she spoke to before she went underground.’

‘
Underground?
’

Ruth felt a knot of guilt. She didn’t want to worry the mother unduly, but she had to make sure she got an invitation inside the house.

‘A police contact of mine was supposed to meet her last night, but she didn’t show up. We think she’s with a boyfriend who lives in Chelsea.’

‘Boyfriend in Chelsea? Do you mean Will Lewis?’

Ruth had already run a name check on the registered owner of the houseboat. It was one Joshua McCormack, not Will Lewis.

‘We think she’s on the run from the police,’ she said. She declined to mention the armed Russians. Julia Ellis looked pale enough as it was.

‘You’d better come in,’ said Julia quickly, looking around as if a neighbour might have heard about the scandal.