The Third Antichrist (54 page)

The chances of the border guards querying Frenchman Pierre Blanc driving a German registered vehicle were infinitesimal. Hungary and Romania were both in the EU – they’d probably wave him straight on through. And who would ever suspect a man in a luxury motorhome of wrongdoing anyway?

Just as a precaution, though, Abi concealed the still heavily tranquillized Antanasia in the storage space beneath the single permanent bed. If one of the border guards discovered her there, he’d knock him out and make a run for it – steal himself another car further downstream and disappear into the ether. It was a gamble worth taking. Life was valueless unless you put it on the line.

Once safely across the border, Abi drove west, through Austria, Switzerland and down into France, stopping only briefly to snatch a nap, freshen Antanasia’s dressings, or change her drip. He had been able to buy some amoxicillin over the counter in a Hungarian pharmacy, as well as more suture needles and gut, and he was therefore able to work on Antanasia on a number of occasions during the journey, stitching and cleaning where appropriate. But still he kept her tranquillized. Abi had tried to persuade himself that he was doing this for Antanasia’s own sake, and to spare her terrible pain, but there was more to it than that, and he knew it. He needed time to think.

The motorhome, for its part, proved to be stupendously well-equipped – the German couple driving it had clearly been intent on a lengthy tour throughout Eastern Europe, and had laid in their favourite stores accordingly. There were jars of knackwurst and sauerkraut and pickled gherkins – a homemade potato salad and red-cabbage-and-apple compote in the fridge. Two salamis and a Westphalian ham hanging behind the counter. A case of best Alsatian wine. Shrink-wrapped loaves of vollkornbrot and pumpernickel. The interior of the vehicle looked and smelled like a delicatessen.

Abi even found a wardrobe stuffed full of female clothes for when Antanasia finally recovered and was needed for bank duty. It never occurred to Abi for one moment that Antanasia might object to what he had in mind. He had saved her life, hadn’t he? Neutralized her maniac of a brother. Naturally she would be grateful.

Just in case the Germans were better connected than he thought, Abi unscrewed the French plates from the first suitable car he found and disposed of the German ones down a storm drain. There was no way he would be overstepping the speed limit in the white elephant he was driving in any event. The chances of being stopped by the police and having his papers checked were scarcely worth bothering about. Driving the Geist was like wearing an invisibility cloak in a girls’ dormitory.

He made the outskirts of St Tropez on his third full day of driving thanks to copious quantities of ‘special edition’ Red Bull he had bought in Austria, where the drink was rumoured to contain cocaine.

Just outside Madame, his mother’s, estate – at a layby near La Croix Valmer – Abi settled down for the extended sleep he knew he still needed. He made up the double bed in the Geist, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, transferred Antanasia from her own bed to his.

Then, pulling the dead weight of her onto his free arm, he tucked the eyeshade down across his face and fell into a profound sleep.

88

Abi awoke to his alarm clock at a little after ten o’clock that night. Antanasia, too, stirred in her sleep.

Abi stripped back the bed sheets and inspected her dressings. The amoxicillin had done its job well and her open wounds were no longer, for the most part, putrid. Some of the lighter lacerations were already scabbing over, and the deeper ones were blooming a healthy red where he had stitched them and put in drains. One or two of the principal wounds had proved so extensive, however, that Abi was still only surface dressing and irrigating them – it would be another few days at least before he could risk an effective running suture. But things weren’t as bad as he had once feared. There would be no need for emergency hospitalization and the concomitant loss of control over Antanasia that that would entail. Not to mention the explanations. Any civilized hospital would instantly bring the police down on his head on such clear evidence of abuse.

In the case of the worst wounds – some of which had been almost circular due to the particular formation of the knout – Abi had pared away a percentage of the proud skin, effectively converting the circular wound into an elliptical one. In this way he figured he would be able to stitch the edges of the wound together with some degree of cosmetic verisimilitude once the wound was completely infection-free. Antanasia’s back would never look as it had before, that much was for certain – but it would certainly look better than it would have done had she been forced to endure even a few more hours of her brother’s tender care.

The top part of her shoulders, measuring roughly from her shoulder blades to her neck, and incorporating her upper and lower arms – which had been drawn away from her body by the ropes with which she had been bound – were relatively unscathed, as Lupei appeared to have focused the greater part of his attention on her back, buttocks, and upper legs. This meant that, at the very least, Antanasia would be able to wear a reasonably low-cut dress without anybody noticing the full extent of her scarification. Why this should matter so much to Abi was a profound mystery to him. He even caught himself working on Antanasia’s suturing strategically, as if he were approaching a particularly challenging jigsaw puzzle.

Abi owed his excellent training in advanced first aid to Madame, his mother. The Countess had sent all her children on a series of extended combat injury and casualty drill courses while they were still in their teens. In this way she hoped that the lessons they learned would stay with them for life. And she had been right. Abi had attended a number of FPOS and first aid refresher courses in the interim, but the fundamentals had always been there, with each course acting as a deepening of already existing skills. At each course he attended, Abi found that he was head and shoulders above most of the other attendees from the outset. This had left him with two precious gifts – a cool head in a medical emergency, and an almost complete lack of squeamishness when it came to the functions of the human body.

Once he was satisfied with her wound dressings, Abi sat Antanasia on the lavatory, just as he had done numerous times before during the trip, relying on the fact that she was tranquillized, and thus half unconscious and unlikely to object to the implied intimacy. Then he fed and watered her, checked her bandages again, and gave her a little more of the tranquillizer. He was switching brands on a regular basis now, so that she would not become dependent on one more than another. The longer she stayed out of pain, he reasoned, the swifter her eventual recovery would be.

When she was safely back asleep, Abi drove the Geist to within 400 yards of the front gates to his mother’s house. It was just before midnight. Perfect timing.

Leaving the CZ and his fighting baton back in the vehicle, Abi hurried the remaining distance to the house and hammered on the front door.

Milouins answered, just as Abi had known that he would. Abi had been counting on the near racing certainty that the Countess and Madame Mastigou would already have retired to bed, and that the premises would therefore be clear of servants – apart from the ubiquitous and ever-faithful Hervé Milouins, of course. This was the way things always were in the Countess’s household. Nothing ever changed. Earth abides.

‘Ah. The Prodigal Son returneth. We weren’t expecting you back for another three days. I hope you weren’t counting on being borne in triumph through the adoring throng? It’s well after midnight. Everyone is asleep.’

‘What a splendid welcome, Milouins. It’s so good to be back in the family home again.’ Abi manufactured a grin to take the sting out of his words. He could feel a knot building in his stomach. ‘Things went better than I thought. I dumped my stolen car back in St Tropez and walked in along the beach. No one will ever connect the two.’

Abi noticed Milouins glancing down at his new shoes. He felt a minor surge of triumph. Before entering the property he’d painstakingly scuffed them through the dirt and sand by the side of the road to add verisimilitude to his story, for he knew just how beady Milouins was when it came to protecting the Countess’s privacy. He avoided the man’s eyes when they returned to his face. Pointless confronting him when there was no necessity.

‘It’s far too late to disturb the Countess.’

‘Milouins, I don’t want to disturb the Countess. I just want to sleep. I’ve been travelling non-stop for what seems like weeks. I don’t even want food. Just my bed.’ Abi was counting on the fact that Milouins knew that he was
persona grata
with the Countess at the moment, and that as her manservant he would clearly be exceeding his duties by turning away her favourite – no, let’s face it, only son – in the middle of the night.

‘You’d better come in then. But keep the noise down. We don’t want to wake up the whole household.’

‘The two lovebirds, you mean?’ Abi felt that it wouldn’t do to step too much out of character. He also wanted Milouins to confirm that no one else was in the house.

Milouins made a disgusted face.

‘Am I going to set off anymore alarms if I go upstairs?’

‘Yes. And there are cameras. And a few other things too. So I suggest you sleep down here. In the study. Where no one gives a shit what you get up to.’

Abi shrugged. Secretly, he was delighted at the way things were turning out. Being in the lower part of the house suited his plans to a T. ‘I suppose I’m to be allowed a blanket? And a bottle of water, perhaps?’

‘I’ll bring them to you.’

‘Thanks, Milouins. You’re a brick.’

Milouins left without answering. Abi could hear his
basso
-
profundo
grumbling echoing off the hallway panelling.

When he was certain he was alone, Abi made straight for the study. He threw three of the sofa cushions onto the floor, and plumped up one of the armchair cushions for his head.

Milouins appeared in the doorway and tossed him the blanket and a two-litre bottle of Evian water, rolled together into a sausage shape.

Abi caught the package against his chest. By the time he looked up again, Milouins had left. He could hear the man’s heavy tread going up the stairs.

Abi lay down on his ersatz bed and tucked the blanket around himself. He placed the water within easy reach. A little more sleep wouldn’t do him any harm.

He set the alarm on his watch so that it would vibrate, not ring, in ninety minutes’ time.

89

Abi awoke out of a profound sleep. He had been dreaming of Antanasia. He had been trying to save her from falling into a deep crevasse that opened out below her onto a sheer cliff face, just like the one he had climbed up to get out of the cenote. He was hanging out over the edge of the cliff, with his feet jammed into crannies behind him for support, holding Antanasia’s hands with his. He could clearly see what lay below her. The drop seemed endless. Like a highway of death. Antanasia was looking up at him, perfectly confident in her manner, no panic on her face at all – almost as if she were looking through him and at some place far beyond.

In his dream, Abi was desperate to pull her up, but he could not. He had used up all his strength. When he was no longer able to hold her, she smiled at him, a look of ineffable beauty on her face, while her fingers gradually slipped through his. The memory of that smile stayed with Abi as his watch alarm woke him up.