The Relic (21 page)

She crossed the room in a few quick strides, grasped the handle of the door set in the wall and pulled. It was locked. She couldn't help it. She gave a stifled cry of disappointment. Then she swung round to the empty desk. Word processor, internal and external phones, a tiny switchboard with dead lights, linking the office to who-knew-what departments.

The key was in the top drawer, neatly labelled. I. Volkov. She couldn't turn it at first; she fumbled and wrenched and then made herself try again, without forcing. At last she was inside the consulting room and the door was closed behind her. The blinds were half-drawn against the sunlight. She ran to the desk, bumping against a large armchair, not feeling the impact. She had the key out of her pocket and in her hand. She was trembling as she bent down and inserted it carefully into the left-hand drawer of the desk. She didn't hear the door open.

Irina slammed down the telephone. She had arranged to lunch with friends at the Lion d'Or at Cologny and call in to the clinic afterwards to see one or two patients. The Italian lady was being particularly troublesome, demanding that the baby be left alone with her. Irina refused to allow it; the mother was a danger to her child as well as to herself.

She gave the clinic the restaurant number. She always let them know where she could be reached in an emergency. They telephoned in the middle of the dessert. She came back to the table and excused herself. Both her friends were women. They were partners in an art gallery that specialized in avant-garde paintings by young artists. Irina accepted their lesbian relationship without feeling threatened herself. They were intelligent and amusing companions and soon she would be leaving them forever. Without even saying goodbye. She had invited them to lunch as a silent farewell.

‘I'm so sorry,' she said. ‘It's an emergency. One of my patients has gone missing. Damned woman!'

She drove fast towards the clinic, her mood angry. She had no sympathy for the rich, spoiled girl who'd walked out of her room and disappeared. Her frantic husband had gone to visit her and found the empty bed and her nightgown on the floor. Mercifully the new baby was in a special room with a maternity nurse. They were searching the clinic in case the mother was hiding somewhere. She hadn't been seen leaving the building.

Irina jerked her car to a stop in her reserved bay and hurried up the steps into the main hall. The receptionist called out to her as she went to the lift.

‘Excuse me, Doctor. There's a package for you. Vera's not back from lunch, so I kept it at the desk.'

‘Damn Vera,' Irina said under her breath. Taking extra time off because I wasn't in till late this afternoon. I'll have a word to say to her when she gets back. She took the envelope and stepped into the lift.

It was special delivery. She tore it open. Dimitri's passport was inside. She pressed the third-floor button to go to her office, and put the passport away before she went down to her patient's room and the distraught Italian husband. No Vera, she noted furiously, striding across the empty office, ignoring the fact that it wasn't even two o'clock. She felt like punishing someone because her lunch was interrupted. She saw the key in her door and lost her temper. Now that was inexcusable. To forget to lock her private office
and
leave the key in the lock.

‘I'll sack her for that,' she said out loud. ‘As soon as she comes back, I'll tell her she's sacked!'

She opened the door and froze. A woman was going through her desk. Not her errant secretary; she was plump and dark. The intruder was blonde; her hair shone in a shaft of subdued sunlight from the slatted blind. She was bending down, absorbed in what she was doing.

Irina was startled, but she wasn't afraid. People didn't frighten her. She was used to controlling them. She stepped in to the room on the soft carpet and said loudly in French, ‘What the hell do you think you're doing?'

Lucy jerked upright. She stood rooted staring at the woman. She didn't answer. The drawer held various Russian documents and certificates, Lucy had discovered Irinia's passport, but there was no sign of Volkov's.

‘Who are you,' Irina demanded. ‘What are you doing in my office?'

It must be a patient, she thought, wandering about and creeping in to steal something. The emergency button to summon help was by the desk, under the ledge. She moved closer to Lucy. Then she saw the drawer that was open and knew this was no ordinary thief. She made a quick lunge across the desk for the call button. Instinctively, Lucy grabbed at her wrist.

‘You rotten little spy,' Irina hissed at her in Russian. ‘You'll pay for this, whatever you're up to.'

She wrenched herself free, and aimed a blow at Lucy with all her weight behind it. It sent Lucy reeling backward. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Irina reached the button and pressed hard.

‘We have people here,' Irina said, in French this time, ‘who know how to deal with people like you.'

Blind terror washed over Lucy like a wave. And from that terror she drew unexpected strength. She propelled herself forward and grappled with Irina. For a moment or two she was the stronger, but not for long. The other woman had one hand on her throat and she was squeezing brutally. Any second now, the door would open and she'd be seized.

‘You bitch,' Irina spat at her. ‘I'll have you in a strait-jacket.'

There was a box on the desk, just within reach. Lucy grabbed for it; she was choking with the grip on her throat. She slammed it down as hard as she could on her opponent's head.

Cigarettes scattered everywhere. The fingers gripping her wind-pipe slackened and Irina slumped backwards against the desk and slid to the ground. Her mouth was open and her eyes had rolled back.

Lucy was sobbing, getting her breath. She stumbled across the floor to the door and kicked something. She saw it lying at her feet, half out of the opened envelope. Dark background with a red hammer and sickle in the centre. She stooped and picked it up. Volkov's wife had dropped it in their struggle.

It was Dimitri's passport. Her heart was pounding and her head felt light; she thrust the passport into her blouse and closed the door behind her. The key was still in it. She locked it.
She is dead
, Lucy said to herself.
I hit her so hard I killed her
. She put the key in her pocket and walked into the corridor. She saw the bright-red arrow of the lift ascending. No time to use the stairs. She ran to the emergency exit door and pushed the bar to open it.

Outside she found herself at the top of a fire escape. The ground dipped and swayed beneath her; she felt dizzy and clung to the rails, forcing herself to go down, to keep looking up, away from the void below.

At last her feet touched the ground. She was at the rear of the clinic. Thank God she'd locked the door. They couldn't get in and find the dead woman until they got another key or broke the door down. She had time to get to her car, to make her escape.

The engine coughed and wouldn't start. She tried again; it sulked, spluttering. A third time. When she was about to abandon it, and get out and run, it fired. She put it in to gear and eased out of the space, willing herself not to rush, not to panic.

On the Quay Gustav Ador, she overshot two traffic lights; cars hooted furiously at her. Her throat was still painful where the other woman's fingers had dug in to her. She banished the horrible image from her mind; the contorted face, the eyes rolling back as Irina fell after the blow to her head. The cigarettes scattered all around the floor.

Nausea welled up in her; she fought it down, forcing herself to concentrate on the road, to hang on until she saw the street sign Chemin de la Tourelle. There was the apartment block. She was home. She was safe.

Dimitri opened the door and she fell into his arms. ‘I've got your passport. Oh Dimitri, your wife found me in her office. We fought and I hit her …' Lucy burst into tears.

‘You're crazy. How could you have taken such a risk? My darling, please stop shaking.'

Volkov held her close; marvelling at her selfless courage even as he reproached her.

‘I killed her,' Lucy wept. ‘I hit her so hard because she was choking me. Oh, darling, what have I done?'

‘It doesn't matter,' he insisted. ‘What terrifies me is what she would have done to you. You'd have been drugged, and locked up. God knows what lie she'd have made up to the staff, and they'd have believed her. I am so angry with you, Lucy, and I love you so much for doing it.'

Tears filled his eyes.

‘What are we going to do?' she cried.

‘The first thing is to find out what's happened,' he said gently.

‘We've got to get away,' Lucy insisted. ‘Pack a few things and get on a plane.' She held on to him. ‘Where are you going?'

‘To phone the clinic,' he said.

Lucy watched him.
He's wrong
, she thought.
He didn't see her face. The way she fell
. She heard him say, ‘Doctor Volkova, please. It's her husband.' There was a pause, a long pause while he waited. ‘What? But that's terrible! I'll come right over. How did it happen?' Lucy's heart gave a wild jump and started racing as she listened. ‘Yes, of course. Thank God it wasn't worse. Thank you, thank you, doctor.' He hung up and turned to Lucy.

‘She's not dead, my darling. But you did give her quite a blow. That was a doctor at the clinic. She's concussed and they're keeping her in overnight. She doesn't remember anything about what happened. Her secretary said some crank had tried to get an appointment and a woman came to the clinic pretending she knew the secretary. They think they're one and the same, and that she was responsible for the attack. Apparently, they've issued a description and it's in the hands of the police.'

Lucy said slowly, ‘Thank God. I'm so relieved I only knocked her out.'

He put his arms around her. ‘So am I,' he said. ‘For your sake rather than hers. But you're right, we have to leave at once. By the morning she'll remember. She'll be able to describe you properly. The receptionist was vague. We have to leave today, Lucy. Before Irina realizes that I've gone and my passport is missing.'

‘We can fly to London,' she said. ‘And then get a plane to Jersey.'

Volkov picked up the passport and flipped through it. He looked at her with a frown. ‘No, we can't. Unfortunately. I didn't think. I told you, I've been moved around like a parcel. I have no visa. I can't get into England without one. I'd be stopped and deported. My wife's friends in the KGB would be happy to escort me home to Russia.'

‘Oh, Volkov! It was all for nothing! Why didn't I think of it?' She sank back in despair. ‘I thought all I had to do was get you a valid passport and we'd be safe.'

He said gently, ‘I didn't think of it either. We're like children playing grown-up games. We don't even know the rules. Me with all that fine talk about liberating the Ukraine, and I can't even remember about a visa. It's my fault, not yours, sweetheart.'

He reached out for her hand. ‘But we're not going to be beaten. We can't fly, but we can go by car. We can travel from Switzerland to France. It's all very casual these days at the frontier. Then we'll think of a way to get to Jersey. Come on, it's time to pack.'

Lucy got up. ‘I love you,' she said. ‘And you're wrong about us. We're not children and I'd say we're learning the rules pretty quickly. You may have noticed I'm not shaking any more!'

They packed her clothes and his few belongings, pyjamas, shaving kit, a change of shirt. His experience was useful. If you expect to be arrested, you clear out everything that might give a clue or be used to incriminate you. Volkov scoured the flat clean of their presence, down to the last crumb in the kitchen cupboard and a twist of make-up-stained tissue in the waste basket. No rent was owing. Lucy had paid in advance. She left cash for the telephone, erring in favour of overpayment, and put it in an envelope by the phone.

At last they had her suitcases strapped up and were ready to drive away from the little haven they had shared.

At the door, Lucy paused and looked back. ‘We were so happy here,' she said. ‘I'll never forget this place.'

‘Maybe one day we'll come back,' Volkov said, taking her by the arm. ‘No more time, darling. We must hurry.'

He threw the luggage into the boot of her hired car and helped her into the front seat. He bent and kissed her quickly.

‘We'll be in France in about twenty minutes,' he said.

She looked up at him. ‘You're sure we won't be stopped?'

‘My wife used to go across regularly. She said they only look at the car's registration number. If it's Swiss or French they don't usually bother.'

The car started first time for Volkov. He put it in gear and they were on their way.

The Renault in front was halted at the French border. Lucy felt her heart leap, but they were waved through. Volkov smiled at her, squeezing her hand. It felt cold.

‘Our luck is holding, my darling,' he said. ‘I told you we'd be all right.'

He'd mapped out a route for them, and given it to her to follow. It would take two hours or more to reach the Auto-Route du Soleil on the long way to Paris. He hadn't thought further than that and he didn't want to worry Lucy more than he had to.

As they passed through the town of Issèrre, spots of rain spat on to the windscreen. The sky had darkened and thunder rolled in the west. They were on a main road, wide, well signposted. The rain came lashing down.

‘Try and sleep,' he said. ‘We've a very long way to go.'

She looked pale and tense. ‘I'll try, but I don't think it'll work,' she said.

The conditions were horrible, the visibility poor, but the traffic was light. Which was why he noticed the Peugeot.

It didn't come close or overtake. It was a faster car than their small Renault. Volkov changed gear and increased his speed. He watched in the driving mirror. The Peugeot accelerated, its wipers flashing at double rate against the driving rain. He was being deliberately foolhardy. There was no reason for the driver of the Peugeot to copy him.