Presumed Dead (5 page)

He also told them he was leaving first
thing in the morning to go and help look for her himself.

Alice woke early on Tuesday morning as the
first hints of watery dawn light filtered through the high window into the hut.
At first, she was surprised to see Philippe back in his own bed, but then, as
she lay thinking about him, she smiled and understood. He’s so completely
opposite to Ross, she thought. Ross poses as a gentleman when he’s anything
but, whereas Philippe is quietly strong, gentle and kind, and totally without
pretension.

As if he’d read her mind, Philippe quietly
got out of bed and came over to check on her. Seeing her awake, he crouched
down beside her and smiled, saying, ‘Good morning, how are you feeling today?’

‘Much better thank you, still a little
battered, but ready to start fighting back.’

‘That is good. Would you like a nice cup of
coffee?’

‘I’d love one, but please, let me make it,’
she said, sitting up. ‘You’ve done so much for me, I’d like to do something for
you.’

‘If you want to, but you must let me get
the snow.’

By the time Philippe got back with the
small kettle full of snow, Alice was out of bed and had put instant coffee
granules into two tin mugs. It would take a while for the snow to melt, then
eventually boil over the small Primus stove. While they were waiting they sat
outside the hut in the early morning silence, watching the sunrise.

‘I wish I could stay here forever,’ Alice
said dreamily, ‘far away from the rest of the world.’

‘You know, ever since you arrived the other
night, I have been wishing the same thing,’ Philippe said, without taking his
eyes from the snow-capped peaks, which were being set ablaze by the rising sun.

She looked up at him as he gazed sadly into
the distance and was just about to reply when the shrill whistle of the kettle
suddenly broke the mood. ‘Coffee’s up,’ she said, getting up stiffly and going
back into the hut.

Philippe didn’t move, so Alice brought
their coffee out and they went back to watching the sunrise, warming their hands
on the steaming mugs. Finally, his distant mood seemed to pass and he said, ‘As
soon as we have finished this, I think we should get started, that is if you
are feeling up to it.’

‘I’m feeling fine,’ she said, ‘ready to
leave whenever you are.’

.

The Peloton de Gendarmerie de
Haute-Montagne, or the Platoon of High Mountain Police in Chamonix was buzzing
with activity. Jean-Paul, the manager of the Jardin du Mont Blanc Hotel, had
telephoned the PGHM on their twenty-four hour emergency hotline shortly after
midnight, as instructed by Ross, and reported Alice missing. They had sent an
officer to the hotel within half an hour and Jean-Paul had let him into Alice’s
room.

Everything in the room had looked perfectly
normal to the two men. Alex had done an excellent job of hanging up clothes and
laying out toiletries. They had found Alice’s yellow handbag tucked under some
clothes in a drawer. In it were her cell phone and her passport, which they
took away in order to copy the photograph.

Now, at just after eight a.m., the duty
platoon of eight men was fully kited up and assembled in the drill hall at the
PGHM headquarters for a briefing. The duty officer, Captain Jacques Batard, had
distributed black and white copies of Alice’s passport photograph, which he’d blown
up on the office photocopier, and was now calling for order.

‘Good morning gentlemen. Today we have a
missing American woman, Madame Alice Webley, last seen at seven thirty
yesterday morning leaving the Jardin du Mont Blanc Hotel dressed for walking.
She did not leave word at the hotel of her intended route, but her husband has
informed us that she had spoken of walking to the base of the Charpoua Glacier,
so that is where we will concentrate our search today.

‘She is described as thirty-six years old,
one hundred and sixty-eight centimeters tall, sixty kilos, with, as you can see
from the photograph, distinctive long hair which is described as blond although
it looks much darker in the picture. She was last seen wearing a white shirt,
red fleece jacket, cream colored shorts and brown walking boots. She was also
wearing a small rucksack, so could possibly have been carrying long trousers
and a coat.

‘The helicopter is due to start making a
search as soon as it is serviceable, which should be in about two or three
hours when they have fixed a problem with the radio. Before then, I want every
possible route from Chamonix up to the Charpoua covered on foot. I have also
organized a local radio appeal for anyone who may have seen the lady in the
past twenty-four hours. Any questions? No? Good, let’s get going then.’

The team split into four pairs and agreed
the routes to be covered. Two pairs were assigned to walk the two steep paths,
which zigzagged from the valley up to the Montenvers rack railway terminus at the
Mer de Glace, frequently crossing the mountain-railway track. The other two
teams were detailed to ride up the rack-railway to the Montenvers terminus and
then to cover the paths leading away from there across the glacier. They
checked each other’s kit before setting off at a quick march across Chamonix to
the rack-railway station, where they would split-up and go their separate ways.

.

Down in Monaco, Ross was making a big show
out of bidding his host and the other guests goodbye. He wanted to be absolutely
certain that no one would forget where he’d been for the past thirty-six hours,
and when he’d left. The women were all full of tearful admiration for him and
the men were slapping him on the back, telling him not to worry. All the guests
waved him off as he left in the launch to be transferred to the shore, where
Bonatti’s chauffeur was waiting to drive him to Nice airport.

Ross had telephoned ahead with his flight
plan and a request for his aircraft, a sleek, twin engine, Cessna Golden Eagle,
to be refueled. When he arrived at the airport it was only a matter of minutes
before he was airborne and heading for Geneva.

During the flight, Ross let his mind wander
back to the time when he’d first heard about Alice through the social
grapevine. Someone had mentioned that there was a beautiful, young, American
heiress up at Cambridge, who’d been seen at the weekends around some of the
more fashionable spots in London. He’d done his homework and had managed to
find out that her name was Alice Sanderson, she was twenty-one years old and
already had an annual income of several million dollars from various stocks and
bonds that her multimillionaire father had given her.

He’d also found out that she was an only
child and that her old man’s health wasn’t good. When he went, young Alice
would become a millionairess many times over. All in all, Alice Sanderson and
her old man had seemed like a very nice package indeed.

With that firmly in mind, and the fact that
at his age he should really be thinking about producing an heir to the
baronetcy, family duty and all that, he engineered a chance meeting with her at
a country house party, then set about winning her hand in marriage. He really
hadn’t had much of a problem either. By the time her course at Cambridge had
finished and she was due to go back to the United States, she was putty in his
hands. She flew home to talk it over with her father, then returned two weeks
later with his blessing. They were married a short time afterwards.

Who’d have thought the old man was going to
hang on for another fourteen years? Ross thought, shaking his head. If he’d
died while Alice was still young, he’d have had no trouble parting her from her
father’s money. But now she was older, wiser, and harder. He’d known for some
time that the only way he’d ever get his hands on that money would be over her
dead body.

.

Alice and Philippe, in the meantime, had
been on the trail for over an hour. Philippe had found her some spare crampons
and had fixed them to her boots. He’d also found her some spare trousers, a
hooded jacket and some gloves, which she was glad of because although the sun
was bright, a freezing wind had sprung up and as they walked over the ice, she
felt cold.

The total distance from the Charpoua Hut to
the Montenvers terminus on the Mer de Glace glacier was a little under three
miles, but the trail was hard going and Alice was still suffering some pain and
stiffness. Most of the trail was over sheer, hard ice.

First they had to make their way from the
hut, down the steep, torturous slopes at the bottom end of the Charpoua
glacier, then the trail was a little easier as they crossed diagonally the much
flatter surface of the Mer de Glace.

Now they were nearly off the ice and could
see the Montenvers terminus, with its observation terrace, far above them at
the top of a steep winding path. So far, it had been all downhill, and although
the going had been slippery, Alice had managed without too many problems. They
stopped as soon as they left the ice to take their crampons off. Alice sat on a
rock whilst Philippe knelt in front of her and unhooked the metal spikes from
her boots. She was tired and cold and her spirits had been gradually falling as
each step took her closer to the real world and to facing her problems.

Philippe took his own crampons off then
asked, ‘Are you ready to go on?’

‘I guess so,’ Alice sighed, getting to her
feet.

The rocky path to the Montenvers terminus
zigzagged back and forth up the side of the valley. Philippe insisted that
Alice walk ahead of him so that she could set the pace. They started off well,
but Alice was soon flagging and had to stop for a rest. Philippe urged her on,
and before long they passed the spot where Alex had done his quick change, then
finally arrived at the terminus. Alice was exhausted and just stood shivering
with her hood up whilst Philippe bought tickets for their descent to Chamonix.

They went through the turnstile onto the
platform and got straight onto the waiting train although it wasn’t due to
leave for another ten minutes. All of the human traffic at this time of the day
was coming up to the Montenvers with the trains arriving full and leaving
empty, so they had the carriage to themselves. Philippe got Alice installed in
a corner, stowed their rucksacks, then snuggled up next to her trying to make
her warm. Her nose and ears were blue with the cold so she kept her hood up.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Very cold and very tired,’ she said with a
shiver. ‘That last part was steeper than it looked, I didn’t think I was going
to make it.’

‘You did fine,’ he said, ‘I’m proud of
you.’ He squeezed her hand through her glove then said, ‘Wait here a minute,
I’ve just thought of something.’ With that, he jumped off the train and
disappeared into the terminus.

Alice gazed after him wondering where he’d
gone. After a couple of minutes he reappeared carrying two polystyrene cups
full of thick, sweet, hot chocolate, which he’d got from the terminus café. He
handed one to Alice and said, ‘Drink this, it will make you feel much better.’

She smiled for the first time since leaving
the hut. Taking the cup between her shaking hands, she sipped the steaming
liquid and closed her eyes with pleasure. It was like nectar. ‘Thank you,’ she
said gratefully, ‘you’ve saved my life… again.’

The automatic doors hissed shut and the
train jerked into motion. Soon they were heading down the steep single track
towards Chamonix, leaving the beauty and sanctuary of the high mountains far
behind them. Halfway down, the train stopped in a small siding to allow the
upward bound train to pass. As the ascending train lumbered past carrying
tourists, climbers and the four Gendarmerie Peloton men, no one took any notice
of the couple cuddling in the other train. Further down the mountain they
entered a layer of dark gray cloud, which was lying across the valley like a
thick, dirty blanket. When they emerged out of the other side it was into gloom
and rain, which dampened Alice’s spirits even further.

Finally, the train pulled into the station
in Chamonix and Philippe held onto Alice’s arm as they got off and hurried
across the road to the car park, where his BMW was parked. He helped her into
the passenger side, adjusted the electric seat until she was semi-reclined and
comfortable, then secured her seat belt. After stashing their rucksacks he
started the engine, put the heating on full blast and switched the electric
seat heaters on. Within a minute there was warm air flowing over Alice’s
chilled body as she nestled back into the warm, cozy leather with her eyes
closed.

‘Are you comfortable?’ he asked.

‘Mmm, yes… this is heaven,’ she said,
smiling and snuggling deeper into her seat.

They glided smoothly out of the car park,
over the level crossing and onto the road leading out of Chamonix. By the time
they were on the Autoroute Blanche, the muted hum of the engine and the
flip-flap of the windscreen wipers had lulled Alice into a peaceful sleep.

.

About the same time, over in Weggis, David
Wiseman was just leaving the hotel to keep his appointment at the house of the
porter and his wife. He’d read in his guide book that it was the done thing to
take a gift if invited to the house of a Swiss, so he stopped at a little shop
across the road from the hotel and bought a small bunch of flowers.