Perfect Strangers (34 page)

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

He looked at her in surprise.

‘Thank you? For what?’

She gestured around the terrace.

‘All this, Josh. Not just for the dress and the shoes and the hair, which by the way are all absolutely amazing, but thank you for helping me. I don’t know where I’d be without you; in a jail cell or at the bottom of the Thames most likely. You’ve saved my life, you helped me when you really didn’t have to, and I’ve been such a thoughtless cow to not stop and tell you how grateful I am. There’s no excuse, so I don’t blame you for being in such a bad mood with me.’

‘I know you haven’t got a very high opinion of me, but I just did what any decent bloke would do. I wasn’t going to stand back and let you get killed. Besides, I’m not in a bad mood with you,’ he said, avoiding her eyes.

‘You are. I can tell. You’re all sniffy and huffy and your brows knit together a bit like this,’ she said, doing an impression of a grumpy person.

She wanted to make him laugh, but instead he remained serious. His eyes locked with hers, and she felt a charge run between them so that she could almost see the sparks on the night air.

‘Listen, Sophie, I know this has all been a nightmare for you and that you’d rather be anywhere else – with anyone else.’

She was about to object, but he held up a hand to stop her.

‘No one wants to be on the run from the police and whoever the hell else is after us,’ he continued softly. ‘But look around, look where we are. We’re in one of the most amazing houses in one of the most beautiful parts of the whole world. No matter what happens tomorrow, or the next day, we’re here now. Why not enjoy it? Why not pretend to be a real princess? Why not drink the champagne and dance the polka? For one night, let’s have fun, just me and you, okay?’

They were only inches apart. It wasn’t just the warm, scented gardens she could smell now, but Josh; the soft suggestion of soap and aftershave on his skin, the hint of champagne on his lips.

The tension between them was so electric it almost made her tremble. For the last three days – had it really only been three days? – she and Josh had barely been apart. And yet if they discovered who had killed Nick and returned to their lives in London, would she ever see him again? And would he care if she walked out of his life?

‘Well, if we’re planning to dance the night away, I’m going to put this scarf in the cloakroom,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘We wouldn’t want to lose it.’

She walked away from him towards the house, and when she glanced back, she saw that he was still watching her. She puffed out her cheeks, uncertain of the emotions she was experiencing, aware that there was more at stake from the evening than just discovering the identity of A.

The cloakroom had been roped off and was being manned by two beautiful young women dressed as cigarette girls. In their little hats and tiny scarlet uniforms they were clearly struggling with the volume of furs, capelets and jackets.

‘Could I leave this scarf?’ asked Sophie, gesticulating to make up for her lack of French.

One of the girls flashed her a helpless expression.

‘
Je regrette, mademoiselle
, we have no tickets left.’

‘Oh,’ said Sophie. She really didn’t want to lose it, not when it was a gift from Josh. The girl saw her disappointed expression and held up a finger.

‘
Un moment, s’il vous plaît
,’ she said, taking Sophie’s pashmina. Sophie watched as the girl pulled two white stickers from a roll and wrote the same number on each, handing one to Sophie. ‘We improvise, I think,’ she smiled.

‘Thank you,’ said Sophie, ‘But what number is this?’ She held up the ticket.

‘Seven zero one,’ said the cloakroom girl, pointing to each numeral.

‘
Merci
,’ grinned Sophie. ‘
Merci beaucoup
.’

Josh was not out on the terrace, so Sophie rushed back inside, searching the ballroom for his face. She spotted him on the far side, talking to a pretty girl in a violet gown. Catching his eye, she clumsily signalled to meet her on the terrace. Josh’s expression was concerned as he walked out.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said, glancing around. ‘Trouble?’

‘No, no, the opposite actually. Do you have the number that Sandrine gave you? The number of Nick’s other lover.’

‘Sure, but why?’ he said, pulling out his wallet to retrieve the Post-it note.

‘Look at this,’ said Sophie, pointing at the number the cloakroom girl had written. ‘How did you read the last four digits of Sandrine’s number?’

‘0627,’ said Josh, holding up the Post-it.

‘Me too. That’s what I dialled in the hotel this morning – and that’s why we couldn’t get through.’

She could see he wasn’t getting it.

‘It’s not a seven, Josh. It’s a
one
; the French write it differently, with a long sweep at the front so it looks like a seven – and they cross their sevens to make the distinction.’

‘Shit. We’ve been phoning the wrong number,’ muttered Josh.

‘Yes, but that’s good, don’t you see?’ she said, her eyes sparkling. ‘Let’s call it now. If Nick’s girlfriend is here, she will pick it up and we can identify her.’

Josh smiled and pulled out his mobile.

‘I’ll take the ballroom; you wait out here and listen for anyone answering their phone. I’ll keep ringing. If I get them, I’ll ask them to meet me by the terrace steps.’

Sophie walked to the edge of the terrace, her pulse quickening. It was a long shot, of course. Maybe Nick’s lover hadn’t brought her phone; maybe she wouldn’t hear it ring. But there was always a chance, wasn’t there? And by Sophie’s reckoning, they were due a little bit of luck. She weaved through the crowd, her ears peeled, willing herself to pick up a noise, but all she could hear was the clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation and laughter. And then she heard it; the faint but persistent chirp of a mobile phone. There were dozens of people out on the terrace, even more milling around the gardens below; it could be anywhere. Sophie looked from left to right, desperately watching for movement, someone lifting a cell phone to their ear.

There
, she thought. It was coming from the area down by the infinity pool, she was sure of it. She moved across to the stone steps and, gathering up her dress to expose her silver shoes, followed the sound as quickly as she could. The pool was surrounded by dark slate, and its clear turquoise water was shimmering in the darkness. As she walked around it, Sophie could see a group of three women, evidently come down here to smoke. The one with her back to Sophie reached for her clutch – the ringing was definitely coming from there. It could be a coincidence, of course, so Sophie hung back in the shadows. She could not see the woman’s face, just her graceful neck, her long dark hair, and the full skirt of what was obviously a very beautiful gown.

Sophie turned and looked back towards the house, where she could make out Josh’s tall silhouette against the double doors.

She beckoned to him and then walked towards the woman, who was pulling the phone away from her ear. Her heart was thumping loudly as the woman turned, her profile illuminated by the silvery moonlight.

‘
Allô
?’ said the woman into her phone. There was a pause, then she turned again – towards the terrace steps.

‘You?’ whispered Sophie, her hand going to her mouth. ‘Lana?’

There was no mistake: the woman’s face was illuminated by the yellow light from the house. Lana Goddard-Price, the woman who had asked her to house-sit, the woman who had told her to help herself to anything in her Knightsbridge home: the woman who had set everything in motion.

‘Sophie,’ said Lana, moving away from her friends. There was no surprise in her voice, only a matter-of-fact statement, as if she had just bumped into a vague acquaintance she didn’t see all that often. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘So I take it you two know each other?’ said Josh, walking up behind them. Sophie kept her gaze on Lana. She couldn’t think of anything to say except the obvious truth.

‘Nick’s dead, Lana,’ she said in the most level voice she could manage.

If Sophie had expected the woman to crumble, to weep, to betray her distress, then she was disappointed. Lana simply closed her eyes and nodded sadly.

‘Collect your coat, then we should leave. I think we had better find somewhere quieter to talk.’

32

Lana’s house was a thirty-minute drive away in Cap Ferrat, an exclusive wooded peninsula beyond Nice, sandwiched between the understated but extremely expensive villages of Villefranche and Beaulieu-sur-Mer. Josh and Sophie sat in silence, unable to talk in front of Lana or her driver, each wrapped in their own unspoken questions as the car drove past the crowded restaurants and pretty terracotta houses of Saint-Jean, then out on to the headland, the pine forest closing in around the impressively discreet properties on the winding sea road, each one protected by high walls and security cameras. The Goddard-Prices’ home was smaller but no less impressive than Villa Polieux, with its pale pink exterior and neat garden bursting with bougainvillea.

Not that Sophie was in any mood to appreciate it. The journey had given her plenty of time to imagine almost every possible scenario to do with Nick and Lana, but one thing seemed obvious: whatever Lana Goddard-Price’s motivations were, it was no coincidence that she had chosen Sophie to house-sit for her. And that meant that Sophie had been duped. Why? She had no idea. But the very idea that she had been sucked into this chaotic and dangerous plot on purpose made her almost sick with anger. Josh clearly felt the fury coming from her, and as the car pulled to a stop, he took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. That was something, she supposed.

Stepping out into the balmy night air, Sophie could hear the shrill rasp of crickets in the bushes and feel the breeze blowing through the umbrella pines. For one moment she had the urge to run off into the dark forest, leave all her burning questions unanswered, leave the whole sorry mess behind. But she had to know. She had come too far to turn back now.

The house was in darkness as they stepped inside. Josh and Sophie followed Lana down cool stone corridors and into a wood-panelled study. Lana went behind the desk and switched on a lamp, then indicated a pair of sofas.

‘Please, sit.’

She took a cigarette from a case on the desk, lighting it with a slim gold lighter.

‘Terrible habit, I know,’ she said, blowing a long stream of smoke at the ceiling. ‘When my personal trainer isn’t around, I fall back into terrible habits.’

‘If your name is Lana, then who is A?’ asked Josh, settling back in his seat.

‘My full name is Alannah. Most people call me Lana.’

Sophie glared at her. ‘Well, what do you want from me,
Alannah
? We know you were Nick’s lover. I somehow doubt it was an accident your house-sitter was involved with him too.’

‘Nick had many
amours
, but I wasn’t one of them,’ said Lana, pouring herself a brandy from a decanter on the desk, then sitting down opposite Sophie and Josh. ‘Our relationship was of a professional nature. I was paying him to do a job, which was to get involved with you.’

‘But why? Why on earth—’

‘Hang on,’ interrupted Josh. ‘Can someone fill me in, please? So it was your place in Knightsbridge Sophie was house-sitting?’

Lana nodded. ‘And she put me through my paces at the gym.’

‘So it
was
a set-up,’ said Sophie bitterly. ‘You put those invitations on the mantelpiece deliberately.’

Lana smiled. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist going to the parties, although I was surprised you went the very first night. Still, it meant Nick could get to work as quickly as possible.’

‘To work?’ yelled Sophie, all her frustrations spilling over. ‘I’m not some bloody dog to be trained! What the hell do you want from me, Lana?’

‘You really don’t know, do you?’ said Lana, her voice as soft as the evening breeze. ‘Sophie Ellis, you are the key to a fortune.’

Sophie felt goose bumps prickle up her arms.

‘But I don’t have any money,’ she said. ‘You
knew
that. That was why I started the personal training.’

Lana stubbed her cigarette out in an onyx ashtray.

‘How much do you know about your father’s professional life, Sophie?’

‘I’m not here to answer your damn questions,’ shouted Sophie. ‘You should be answering mine!’

Josh touched her arm.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Let her talk.’

‘No, Josh!’ said Sophie, her voice cracking. ‘She lied to me from the very start; why should I listen to her now?’

‘Because it’s the only way we’ll find out what’s going on.’

‘Your friend Josh is right, Sophie,’ said Lana. ‘I know you have no reason to trust me, but believe me, I do want to help.’

Sophie looked at Josh again, then sighed.

‘My dad was a good accountant, is that what you want to know? He made one bad investment, but he was clever, he’d have made it back . . . Look, what’s he got to do with any of this?’

Lana was nodding.

‘You’re right about that, Sophie. Peter Ellis
was
a clever accountant, very clever indeed. So clever in fact that no one, not even those closest to him, suspected that he was involved in one of the biggest financial scams of all time.’

‘
Involved
in a scam? Are you talking about Michael Asner here?’ demanded Sophie.

‘Michael Asner the Ponzi scheme fraudster?’ said Josh, sitting forward. ‘But I thought your dad lost all your money to that guy.’

‘He did. Our family was ruined because of Asner. My dad invested everything with him and lost it when the scheme collapsed.’

Lana gave a small tinkling laugh.

‘That’s what your father wanted people to believe, but in fact Peter was very much involved in the scheme. He was the bag man.’

‘Bag man?’ asked Sophie.

‘Someone who collects dirty money,’ explained Josh softly. ‘I think she’s suggesting that your father buried the cash for Asner so that if the pyramid scheme went down, there was still some squirrelled away.’

‘Very good,’ said Lana, giving Josh a thin smile. ‘Your friend is shrewd as well as good looking.’