Permissible Limits (59 page)

She was already in the pub when I walked in. She was sitting at a table in the corner, nursing a glass of what looked
like
Pils. Clothed, she was even more striking, her tousled black hair falling in wild ringlets arou
nd her bare shoulders. No wonder Steve Liddell had been in such a state. No wonder he’d missed her so much.

I sat down, not bothering with a drink. When I produced the photo, she picked it up.

‘
That’s me,’ she said at once. ‘Last year.’

‘
Turn it over.’

She read the message. Her smile vanished.

‘
Where did you get this?’

‘
It was in my husband’s office. In a drawer.’

‘
You mean Adam? Adam Bruce?’

‘
Yes.’

I sat back, waiting for an explanation.

‘
That’s not my writing,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t write anything like that.’’I know.’

She began to ask how, then she obviously remembered the address she’d scribbled for me on the beach. I can’t be certain but I thought I detected just the hint of a smile.

‘
All that stuff last time…’ she frowned, looking down at the photo,’… all that was because of this?’

‘
Yes. That and other things.’

‘
Such as?’

‘
The fact that you left Steve. The fact that you started the windsurfing school. The fact that seventy grand of my husband’s money went astray.’

Abruptly, she laughed.

‘
You still think he paid for it?’

I remembered her reaction to that same question last time I’d asked it. Then, she’d been outraged. Now, for some reason, she just found it funny.

‘
I’m here to be convinced,’ I said quietly. ‘Believe it or not, it still matters to me.’

She had the grace not to question my sincerity. When she asked whether I’d like a drink, I shook my head.

‘
You’ve only got ten minutes,’ I pointed out. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather talk.’

She ran a hand through her hair and sat back. The reason she’d left Steve, she said, was none of my business but it certainly hadn’t involved my husband.

‘
How do I know that? How can I be sure it’s true?’

‘
You can’t. Unless you ask Steve.’

‘
Does he know?’

‘
He knows that it wasn’t your husband.’

‘
Was it someone else, then?’

She looked at me for a long time. Then she shook her head.

‘
No, he’d like to think it was but it wasn’t. Men are funny like that, aren’t they? When there’s no one else involved, they wish there had been. When someone does drag you off, they wish it had just died of natural causes.’

Natural causes. I shivered. Had Adam died of natural causes? I was beginning to doubt it.

‘
So you just left,’ I said. ‘And Adam wasn’t involved at all.’

‘
No. If you want the truth, I never even met him.’

I was amazed.

‘
Why didn’t you tell me that before? When we met last time?’

‘
I couldn’t. You wouldn’t give me a chance.’

That wasn’t true and she knew it. I’d accused her point blank of having an affair with my husband and all she’d offered in return were evasions. I studied her now, desperate to stay one step ahead. The clock was ticking and I knew I wouldn’t get a second chance.

‘
Steve obviously thought there was someone else,’ I suggested.

‘
He did but he’s paranoid. It was one of the reasons I left him.’

‘
So who was it? Who did he think you’d gone off with?’

She eyed her glass, refusing to answer. Whatever had silenced her
on that beach the first time,
I
thought, was still silencing her now.

I leaned forward.

‘
Was it Harald? Harald Meyler?’

I sensed she wanted to say yes. Instead, she told me I was being unfair.’Why?’

‘
Because there are some things you shouldn’t ask.’

‘
And that’s one of them? Suggesting that you and Harald…’

I sat back again,’… had some kind of relationship?’

‘
Have.’ At last she looked up. ‘And it’s strictly financial.’

‘
He gave you the money for the school?’

‘
No, he gave me the introduction to the bank.’

‘
And the bank gave you a loan?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Against whose guarantee? Harald’s?’

She didn’t want to confirm it but in the end she had no choice.

‘
Yes,’ she said.

The light was beginning to dawn. I remembered riding the lift up to the waterfront offices of Gulf Services Banking Corporation. Much later, Dennis had told me that Harald was one of their biggest accounts.

‘
Was the manager’s name Sant’Ana? Nice man? Tall? Dark, curly hair?’

There was something new in Michelle’s eyes and it took me a moment to recognise what it was. I’d frightened her. By mentioning Harald, the bank, Sant’Ana, I’d touched a very raw nerve indeed. She was reaching for her glass. After she’d emptied it, she began to stand up. I put my hand out, stopping her. The photo still lay on the table between us.

‘
So how come this ended up in my husband’s desk
drawer?’ I
asked.

Michelle shook her head. She said she didn’t know. She said she was late for her daughter. She said she was working her socks off trying to keep her business afloat and she really didn’t want to know any more about all this Harald crap.

‘
Is he still guaranteeing the loan?’

She wouldn’t tell me. Instead, she picked up the photo.

‘
You should ask Steve about this,’ she said bitterly.

‘
Why?’

‘
He took it.’

There were seven Liddells in the Jersey phone book, none of them with a Christian name starting with S. Steve was the
fifth
I tried. It was barely eight o’clock, but by the sound of his voice, he was ready for bed.

‘
Why are you listed under M. Liddell, as a matter of interest?’

‘
Who’s this?’

‘
Ellie. Ellie Bruce.’

There was a long silence. Then he told me he was back home with his mum and dad. His dad’s name was Maurice.

‘
What do you want?’

‘
I need to talk to you.’

‘
Why?’

I thought about the question. Then I told him that I’d just spent six weeks at Standfast.

‘
Harald’s place?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
With
Harald?’

‘
Yes.’

He sounded astonished. Then I named a hotel on the harbourfront at St Helier.

‘
We’ll meet you there at ten o’clock,’ I said. ‘There’s a bar called the Casquets.’ I gave him the name of the hotel again and then put the phone down, not waiting for a reply.

I was in St Helier by half past nine. I had a shower at the Bon Accueil and slipped into a dress. The hotel was a
quarter
of a mile away. I wanted to be there before Steve arrived. I’d no intention of letting him off the hook.

The Casquets bar is at the front of the hotel and the tables in the window have a perfect view of the street outside. I ordered a glass of red wine and an orange juice and soda and settled down to wait. Steve appeared a couple of minutes before ten. He’d lost even more weight since I’d last seen him and the dark-blue suit hung baggily around his gaunt frame. He spotted me the moment he walked into the bar.

‘
Where’s Harald?’ he asked at once, not bothering to say hallo.

I was signalling to the waiter. When I asked what he wanted to drink, Steve ordered a Guinness.

‘
Have a seat.’ I indicated the orange and soda. ‘Harald will be down in a minute.’

‘
I thought he was in Kiev?’

‘
He was.’ I smiled. ‘But now he’s back.’

‘
And you’re… ?’ Steve was staring at Adam’s wedding ring, ‘… together?’

I nodded. ‘Yes.’

The news appeared to confuse him and I wondered why. Time for a long chat, I thought. Time to welcome young Steve to the family.

‘
So how’s business?’ I asked him. ‘Harald’s really thrilled with the Yaks.’

Bringing up the Yaks was a gamble but I knew enough about Harald’s business methods to suspect that the odds were on my side.

‘
He thinks they’re OK?’

‘
He thinks you’ve done marvellously.’

‘
Really?’

‘
Truly. He’d never tell you himself but you know how he is that way.’

Steve, poor lad, couldn’t have looked more pleased with himself. I was right about Harald. On the ground, as in the air, he rarely believed in anything as sentimental as compliments.

I reached out, putting my hand on Steve’s arm.

‘
And he’s told me about the Spitfire, too.’

For a brief moment, Steve was lost. Then, to my inifinite relief, he caught up again.

‘
Adam’s Spitfire, you mean? The one he was going to give you?’

‘
Yes. Sweet thought.’

‘
I know. I couldn’t believe it.’

‘
Neither could I. It’s just a shame it never happened.’

‘
I know. I’m really sorry, Mrs Bruce, really sorry…’ He ducked his head, staring at his knotted fingers, lost for words. I slipped out the photo of Michelle and laid it beside his glass.

‘
Did you take that?’

Steve’s head came up. He seemed to be having trouble getting the photo in focus. The only word I can think of to describe the expression on his face is shame.

‘
Well? Is it yours?’

‘
It’s Michelle.’

‘
I can see that. I’m asking you whether you took it.’

Steve was looking wildly across to the big main door that led to reception. I think it was beginning to dawn on him that Harald was still in the Ukraine.

‘
Turn it over, Steve.’ He didn’t move. I turned the photo over for him. ‘Is that your writing?’ He shook his head. ‘Whose is it then?’

‘
I haven’t a clue. Listen, I’ve got to go -’ He began to get up, and for the second time that evening I reached out a restraining hand.

‘
I’m sorry, Steve,’ I said softly. ‘You’re right, Harald’s not here. I’m a widow, Steve. Someone took my husband and I need to find out who. I’ve got invoices of yours back home, some of them handwritten. You might as well tell me about the photo. That way we’ll save ourselves a lot of trouble.’

Any moment now, Steve would snatch the photo and run. I could see it in his face. I reached forward, picking it up, and then stowed it safely in my bag. The last time I’d seen Steve in a suit was the night he’d turned up late for Adam’s wake, and watching him now I could picture him slumped in the study, his face in his hands, wanting so badly to tell me something. It was Harald who’d intervened that night. Harald who’d cleared up the vomit and taken him away and spared me Steve’s version of the truth.

The temptation now was to ask him about Harald, to put him on the spot, to try and get to the bottom of what had really happened back in February. Steve, though, had other ideas.

‘
How long are you staying?’ he asked.

I blinked. The question was transparent. He wanted to know how long I’d be here on the island. Within minutes the information would be with Harald.