Bright Angel (15 page)

I shivered, remembering what Mick had said about Ben Udo. If Daniel's uncle did behave in such a way, what would it mean for Gabriel? Not a comfortable exile far away, that's for sure.

‘And what about you, Syl?' said Claire. ‘Did you have a good day?'

I looked at her. I was tempted at first to lie, to avoid the fuss that was sure to happen. But then I thought of the even bigger fuss that would result if the police rang to check things with Freddy and she didn't know what they were talking about. Or they found out about the kidnap from Marc – he'd be bound to find out, wouldn't he? – or from neighbours. Or the paper. Then I'd really be up the creek without a paddle. So I took a deep breath and launched into an edited explanation of what had happened. I laid stress on the fact that I was nowhere near the kidnap site and thus totally out of danger and that the police were cool about it all and had been pleased I'd made a statement. I told a little fib and said that Daniel had been taken into witness protection and that I didn't know where he was. Well, I didn't, but I also didn't know if he'd been taken into witness protection. Thinking about it, I thought it unlikely to be any more than a wild theory by Mick. I just thought that then they'd think Daniel was safely out of the picture and I wouldn't try to find him. Cos of course you see I remembered I'd blabbed on to Claire about what I felt about Daniel and I thought she might think I might want to do something silly. Like try to find him or Gabriel or poke around getting myself into trouble. Which is what I planned to do of course (not get into trouble, but the rest) but I certainly was not going to let them know that.

Claire did look a bit suspicious about my apparently ready acceptance of Daniel's disappearance but maybe she thought I would really have to be barking mad to interfere in police business, so she didn't give me the third degree, and neither did Freddy. In fact, Freddy was so nice about it – so shocked by what had happened and a little anxious at what it meant for me (and determined Mum and Dad should be told) but she didn't get angry with me at all. She was so pleased I'd been so honest and brave, as she put it, to go to the police and say what I'd seen – that I began to feel a little ashamed. To cover it I said that I didn't feel like any dinner and I just wanted to go to bed, I felt so exhausted by everything. Actually though I was beginning to feel sick, sort of shaky and nauseous and feverish, I suppose it was the shock kicking in after all the adrenaline of the last few hours. Now the fuss did start, but only to get me a couple of paracetamol tablets and a very sweet, very hot cup of tea – Freddy said it was the very best thing for shock – and then they took me up to my room and put me to bed, with the covers piled up high. They drew the curtains and turned off the light. Claire asked me if I'd like her to stay for a minute but I shook my head and said I just needed to sleep. To prove it, I turned my head on my pillow and closed my eyes. But either the tablets or the after-effects of shock had kicked in because though for a few instants I could vaguely feel them in the room, looking at me, whispering worriedly together, my pretence soon turned into reality, and I fell fast asleep.

I jolted awake. The phone – my phone – had been ringing. Then I'd heard a voice, muffled, pleading. Daniel's voice, I knew at once.

Breathing heavily, I clicked on the bedside light. The room sprang into focus. There was no-one else there. Palms prickling, I picked up my mobile from the bedside table. I usually switch it off at night but last night I'd left it on. Just in case.

The clock said 1.30am. Too late for a phone call, usually. These weren't usual times though. But there was no missed call message on the screen. No message of any sort at all. No-one had rung. No-one had texted. Nothing. It had just been a dream.

Bitterly disappointed, my heart still thudding from the shock of waking up so suddenly, I stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Sometimes it happened that way. You thought of someone, and suddenly they'd call you, as if your thoughts had reached out to them. But the phone stayed silent.

My heart raced. Without giving myself time to think, I hit Contacts and then Daniel's number. It rang. Once, twice, three times. On the third ring, he picked it up. I heard him breathing. I could feel him there, at the end of the line. I said, quickly, ‘Daniel – please – we've got to talk. I want to help with Gabriel. Please will you see me and–'

I never finished what I was going to say, for I was cut off. Abruptly. I tried again. The phone rang on and on till it went into voicemail. I wanted to leave a message, but my voice went all croaky. I thought I was going to cry on the phone. So I clicked out. I went to Messages. I texted,
Please give me a chance 2 explain.
I hesitated, then added,
i luv u.
I pressed Send.
Message sent,
said the screen.

I waited. No beep of an incoming message. I thought about trying again, about explaining it all by text and even started composing a message. Then I deleted it. It was no good. He wouldn't respond, I knew that already.

Why was he being so cruel? Why had he shut me out so completely? It wasn't fair. Anger began to rise in me, then, along with the sadness. I got out of bed. I put my dressing-gown on over my PJs, and pulled on some shoes. I opened my door and looked out into the corridor. Silence, except for the faint sound of Freddy snoring behind her closed door. I went softly downstairs, and let myself out of the back door into the garden.

The moon was up. It wasn't a full moon, but I could see reasonably by its light. I went to the low wall at the end of the garden, from where I could see into Daniel's place. There was a light on in one of the upstairs rooms. A bedroom, probably. He was back home. He was still awake, I thought. I could go over there, knock at the door, try to get in. He'd probably not answer my knock, though. Besides, there might very well be a policeman there too, on watch. He might not like someone turning up in the middle of the night. Or I could climb the drainpipe or something up to his room. You saw that in films. But I couldn't see a drainpipe, and there was no useful ivy or overhanging tree either, or balcony or anything like that. It was a sheer wall and I'd never make it. I could throw pebbles up at his window, I thought, wildly, and get him to appear and then I'd speak to him from below, like Romeo did with Juliet.

A weird feeling seized me then. We'd done
Romeo and Juliet
last year at school. I'd quite liked it. Pretty full-on, and some of the language was a bit much to get your head around, like Shakespeare usually is, but a really good story, still. Anyway, we'd had to learn speeches from the play. And one of the things I'd learned was a speech by Romeo when he's under Juliet's balcony, and he says something to her like
‘Oh, speak again, bright angel!'

It was a sign, I thought, confusedly. A tip-off from fate. Okay, yes, I wasn't thinking straight. In the middle of a moonlit night when everything looks different, you really believe in magic and weird stuff and you think and even do things you wouldn't normally dream of. But when on top of it you've also had your life turned upside down by passionate love then you really feel like you're in territory quite outside ordinary life.

So I climbed over the wall into the garden and I was searching around for suitable pebbles to throw at the window when all at once the light in the bedroom clicked off and the window was in darkness. I don't know why, but something clicked and I lost my nerve. It was as if it was only just now that I was waking from the dream. I was an idiot, I thought. What the hell did I think I was doing? Daniel didn't want to see me. He didn't even want to speak to me, or answer a simple message. He'd just cut me off, and it hurt badly. But it would hurt worse if I didn't accept it. Anyway, if he reacted like that, so impulsively and angrily and cruelly to a simple misunderstanding, then our relationship was probably doomed anyway. It would always have to be on his terms. Never on mine. He didn't trust me, that was clear. He'd given me no chance to explain. I was better off forgetting about him. Forgetting everything we'd said, and felt. It was better. Much better. Oh God, I should have trusted my first impression of him. Really good-looking guys are too arrogant. Self-centred. Vain. I should have remembered that. And to make it worse he was from a rich family, his uncle maybe hung around with dodgy types. He was used to doing what he wanted, but also being wary. Suspicious. He was hard. I'd be happier with someone like Mick, the cold, clear, sober, wide-awake voice in me said. He didn't act huffy or hard. He was kind. Helpful. Understanding. I liked him. I liked him a lot. He was a good friend. A real friend, unlike Daniel.

Shut up, Sylvie. Stop maundering. I climbed back over the wall into our garden. As I did so, I heard a car engine start up in the distance. I took no notice, and went back to bed, feeling cold, damp and numb. After a while, I fell into a heavy, unrestful sleep, and woke with a thumping headache into a bright day.

The events of the previous night came rushing into my head, making me feel worse. Especially because now, mixed with the bad feeling of last night, came yet another – I'd been pretty bloody self-centred myself, last night, accusing Daniel in my head of all sorts of things when the poor guy was devastated by the disappearance of his little brother. God, I was hopeless, I told myself, sternly, as I tottered off to the bathroom to look for the paracetemol. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked awful – pale, circles under the eyes, a new pimple at the corner of my lip – and my hair felt gross too, as though I'd sweated all night.

I had a shower and washed my hair and felt a little better. I went downstairs and found Claire and Freddy in the kitchen, quietly talking over cups of coffee, a newspaper spread out on the table in front of them. They gave me fakely bright smiles as I came in.

‘Feeling better?'

I shrugged. They looked at each other.

‘I thought we might all go to Toulouse together,' said Freddy. ‘Go shopping. Have lunch in a nice place. See a movie, maybe. What do you think?'

I shrugged again. ‘If you like.'

‘For God's sake, Syl–' Claire began, but I wasn't listening. I'd glanced at the paper, and seen the familiar names jumping out at me:
Daniel Aubrac. Gabriel Aubrac. Benedict Udo. Captain Gaudry.

There was a picture of Gabriel, too, his bright smile and sparkling eyes making a big lump come to my throat.

Freddy had seen the direction of my glance. ‘Would you like me to translate it for you, honey?' she said, gently. I nodded, mutely. I didn't think my French was good enough to read the whole thing myself.

‘There's an editorial comment after that,' said Freddy into the silence that had fallen when she finished her translation. ‘Shall I read that too?'

I swallowed. ‘Yes,' I whispered. I felt so cold. Away with friends, they'd said. That was what I'd took in most. That must mean Mick and me. Some friends we'd been. But it wasn't our fault. It wasn't. How could it be? It was fate. Just fate.

‘They'd want more than luck,' said Claire. ‘They'd want evidence. It didn't say if there was any.'

‘The police wouldn't release that sort of information yet,' said Freddy. She reached over the table and took my hand. ‘My poor Sylvie. And your poor friend Daniel. How he must be suffering.'

‘Yes,' I said, and then I burst into tears. For a few moments, all was confusion, as they both attempted to comfort me. Finally, I managed to pull myself together, and then Freddy told me that she'd spoken to Mum and Dad early that morning – it was night-time in Australia – and that they would be coming over in a couple of days' time, as soon as they could arrange tickets.' She took a deep breath. ‘And your mother also said – I've told Claire this already, Sylvie – to tell you that she'd heard from Helen's mother that Mr Radic – Thomas' father – had done a very fine thing. He'd rung them. In the wake of that hoax death threat, he wanted to tell Helen how sorry he was and assure her that his family did not blame her in any way for Thomas' death. There had been other problems in Thomas' life, and this is what had killed him, he said.'

‘It's so brave of him,' said Claire. ‘Imagine how hard it must have been to pick up that phone.'

‘Yes,' I murmured. Just two days ago, this news would have made me happy. Pleased for Helen, and her family. Relieved they weren't in danger. And touched by Mr Radic's kindness, despite the suffering he must have gone through. But now, even the horror of what had happened that day at Wedding Heaven had faded before the impact of new events. I could only think of Daniel, alone in his suffering, and Gabriel, at the mercy of God-knows-what lunatics, targetting, just as the paper had said, the wrong people in their crusade against Benedict Udo and his company.

Claire said, ‘At least they have some sort of closure now. The Makarios family, I mean. Yes, of course Helen was not to blame at all – he was clearly depressed – but in her heart she must have wondered whether in some way she had contributed. And it would have been with her for ever, that nagging feeling that somehow she could have stopped it.'

Yes, I thought. Like I feel now. That somehow I could have stopped what happened to Gabriel. That somehow it was my fault even though I knew it wasn't, that I wasn't in control and never could have been, any more than I could have controlled what happened to Thomas Radic, just because I'd met his eyes as he came in. Stupid. Stupid. My thoughts were going round in circles and I wasn't doing any good to myself or anyone thinking like this, getting myself entangled in crazy imaginings.

‘I suggest we go off to Toulouse for the day as soon as possible,' said Freddy with a sideways, anxious glance at me. ‘And don't say no, Sylvie,' she went on, misunderstanding my expression. ‘It's no good sitting here brooding. You need to get right away from all this.'

I nodded. She gave me a surprised look, then a faint smile. She squeezed my hand. ‘Good. That's my sensible gal.'

‘I don't want to hang around,' I said. And that was the truth. My mobile was silent. I knew I wouldn't hear from Daniel. And Mick hadn't even contacted me. Dimly, I remembered him saying something about following something up last night. He'd said he'd let me know if he found anything. Well, either he'd not found anything, or–

The breath whistled in my throat. Whoever was responsible for Gabriel's kidnap was clearly dangerous. What if Mick had gone following some trail on his own, and come across something which might be linked to them. Perhaps they'd found out somehow – then he'd be in danger. Maybe that's why he hadn't rung.

‘Hang on, I've just got to call someone,' I said, and fled from the room. They didn't try to follow me.

He answered after the third or fourth ring. He sounded surprised. ‘Sylvie? Are you okay?'

‘Yes. Well, sort of. Have you read the paper?' I asked, so relieved to hear his voice that I had to sit down.

‘The paper? No. Why?'

‘Don't you remember, the police told us there'd be something in it today?'

‘Oh. That. No, I forgot. I've been busy. Been up most of the night, actually, emailing internet buddies all over the world who have an interest in investigating organised cyber-crime, stuff like that.'