Sight Unseen (27 page)

'Jesus,' said Alice, staring at him with a mixture of surprise and contempt. 'It didn't take long for you to revert to type, did it? I thought you d finally found some moral fibre. But no. It was just a passing phase. This is the real you, isn't it? The man I urged Sally to have nothing to do with. The spineless shit she should never have --'

'Alice.'
Claire glared round at her friend, commanding her silence. Then she turned back to Umber. 'You're not serious about this, are you, David?'

'Never more so.'

'We've just uncovered the biggest clue going to what Sally was up to. And you want to walk away from it?'

'Self-preservation, Claire. That's what it comes down to. Like Alice said. This is the real me. Someone who believes, at the end of the day, in looking after number one.'

'I don't think that's the real you at all.'

'Well, you'll have to start getting used to the idea. I'm not going on with this. It's as simple as that.'

'
We'll
go on with it.'

'You shouldn't. You really shouldn't.'

'Because of the risks?'

'Obviously.'

'Help us minimize them, then. Come with us.'

'No.'

'David, I --'

'You're wasting your breath, Claire,' said Alice. 'He's got it all worked out. Sometimes the wrong thing to do is the only thing to do. Isn't that so, David?'

Umber shrugged. 'Sticks and stones.'

'Yeah.' Alice nodded grimly. Her low opinion of him made the deception all too easy to carry off, Umber realized. She wanted to believe in his loss of nerve too badly to question its genuineness. 'You're the living proof of words never hurting, David. You know that?'

'Yes.' He gave her a stoical little smile. 'I suppose I am.'

* * *

It took Umber no more than a few minutes to pack his belongings. He hoped to make it out of the house without further debate. Certainly Alice seemed too self-righteously angry to spare him even a parting gibe. But Claire, still worryingly unconvinced by his change of heart, cornered him in the hall.

'How soon are you going back to Prague?' she asked with pragmatic coolness.

'Not sure. Within a couple of days. I... thought I'd go and see my parents before I left.'

'Are you going down to Yeovil now?'

'Yes,' he replied, altogether too quickly.

'I'll give you a lift to Paddington.'

'No need. I'll... take the Tube.' He brushed past her to the door and opened it. "Bye.'

'This isn't goodbye, David.' She followed him out, ostentatiously pulling the door shut behind her. 'We both know that.'

'I'm quitting, Claire. OK? I'm
out
.'

'Mind if I walk with you to the Tube?'

'I'd rather you didn't.'

'Accept my offer of a lift, then.'

'No.'

'You've fooled Alice,' she said, lowering her voice. 'You haven't fooled me.'

'I'm not trying to fool anyone.'

'Fine. Have it your way. But I'll go back indoors and persuade Alice to see it
my
way -- unless you stop arguing and get in the car.'

* * *

Umber stopped arguing. The truth was that Claire left him little choice in the matter. A few minutes later, they were heading towards Swiss Cottage in her TVR. And Claire was doing all the talking.

'Let's cut the crap, shall we, David? Alice believed you because she's prejudiced against you. But I don't share her prejudice, so it won't wash with me. You took an important decision while we were down in Hampshire, but chickening out wasn't it. My guess is you decided to go it alone, probably out of some warped sense of chivalry, which I personally find more offensive than flattering. You think we'll be safer if you leave us out of whatever it is you're planning to do. I suspect you've worked something out you're not telling us about. And I reckon that something involves Michel Tinaud's girlfriend.'

Umber shook his head. 'You've got it all wrong, Claire.'

'You thought we'd get nothing out of the Wilkinsons. That was the basis on which you took your decision. But we came back with a genuine lead. Yet you didn't change your mind. You didn't even hesitate. You ploughed straight on with your cover story. That can only be because you already knew about Tinaud and the girl.'

'How could I?'

'I don't know. Unless --' She braked sharply to a halt, throwing Umber forward in his seat against the lock of the seatbelt. A car behind them blared its horn. Claire held up a hand in apology, then pulled into a parking space at the side of the road and turned to stare at Umber. Her eyes were sparkling with the satisfaction of a sudden insight. 'You've seen her, haven't you? Or at any rate you know where she is.'

'Of course not.'

'Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong.'

He looked her in the eye. But he said nothing. He knew she would see through any lie he told. In fact, she already had.

She turned off the engine, her gaze still fixed on him. Then she said, calmly and quietly, 'There's no guarantee she's still with Tinaud. Given the lifestyle of the average top tennis player, it's quite likely she isn't. But Tinaud can tell us what happened when Sally tracked him down, as I'm sure she did. It makes sense to ask him. He may also be able to tell us where the girl is. And he can certainly tell us who he believes her to be. There's every reason to go and see him. And I will. Unless you're prepared to tell me why I shouldn't.'

Umber sighed. 'Look Claire, I --'

'Just tell me. OK?'

'OK.' He surrendered the point. 'The reason's obvious. The reason is what happened to Sally when she got too close. I don't want that to happen to you. Or Alice.' He ventured a smile. 'But especially you.'

'So you take all the risks?'

'Sally was my wife. And I was at Avebury when they took Tamsin. I have to take the risks. You don't. I can't let you. Give me a few days, Claire. You can stall Alice that long. A few days is all I ask.'

'To accomplish what?'

He shrugged. 'As much as I can.'

* * *

The pretence was over. Claire dropped him at the next Tube station. An hour and a half later, he was at Gatwick, buying a ticket for the first flight next morning to Jersey. He booked into the cheapest of the airport hotels for the night and slept surprisingly well.

British Airways flight 8035 hit the runway at the States Airport just before 9.30 on a cool, breezy Sunday morning. Umber had accepted an inclusive car-hire deal when he booked the flight. After a few minutes of form-filling, he was on his way from the terminal to the waiting Peugeot. And a few minutes after that, he was on the road to St Aubin.

* * *

All was quiet at le Quai Bisson. Nothing had outwardly changed at Rollers Sail & Surf. The parking space in front of the office was empty. There was no sign of life, nor yet sound of it. As Umber mounted the steps to the door of the flat, no rock music was pounding through its walls. Chantelle, he felt certain, was not there. He had come more in hope than expectation, knowing that the only other step open to him -- going to Eden Holt to confront Jeremy's parents with his suspicions -- was a step into the profoundest unknown.

He pressed the bell. There was no response. He pressed it again, with the same result. He lowered himself onto his haunches and pushed up the flap of the letterbox. The bare wall at the end of the hall and part of the bathroom doorpost met his gaze unrevealingly. Leaning forward, however, he could glimpse some letters lying on the mat, where they had presumably lain since Saturday morning. Chantelle must have left as soon as she heard of Jeremy's death.

The purr of a car engine behind and below him seeped almost unnoticed into his consciousness. Only when it stopped did he realize that it was
directly
below him. He glanced round to see the driver's door of a sleek navy-blue Mercedes SL open -- and Marilyn Hall climb out.

She was dressed in jeans, leather jacket and polo-neck sweater, the unisex look of a piece with the cool, unastonished, appraising stare she gave him before slamming the car door and starting up the steps as the locking system beeped behind her.

'Who did you expect to find here, David?' She threw the question at him like a challenge. 'A ghost?'

He nodded, determined to seem unabashed. 'In a sense. I was looking for Chantelle.'

'Who?'

'You must know about her.'

'No.'

'Really? Why don't you seem surprised to see me, then?'

She frowned at him in apparent puzzlement, then plucked a key out of one of the zip-pockets of her jacket. 'We can talk inside.'

She unlocked the door and he followed her in, stepping over the waiting post. Already, the flat had an indefinable air of desertion about it. The living room was tidier and emptier than he remembered. A sense of absence was everywhere.

Marilyn strode halfway down the room towards the Catherine-wheel window, then stopped and turned to face him. 'Oliver wanted me to pick up a couple of things,' she explained. 'He hadn't the heart to come himself.' She was sombre and unsmiling, the flirtatiousness buried deep. Yet there was a guardedness about her too. She seemed unsure of her ground -- as Umber was of his. 'Lucky for you it was me he sent.'

'Why lucky?'

'Because I'm the only member of the family who knows you were at Eden Holt when Jeremy died.' She held his gaze. 'You're not going to deny it, are you?'

'How did you find out?' he asked, as calmly as he could.

'That can wait. Tell me about Chantelle.'

'She was here. When I called round last week. Living here, I mean. I thought she was Jeremy's girlfriend. Well, I suppose they let me think that.'

'But you don't think that now?'

'No.'

'What, then?'

'You don't know?'

'I've never heard of such a person. There
was
a girl in Jeremy's life. But they split up more than a year ago. And she wasn't called Chantelle.'

Some instinct held Umber back from telling Marilyn who he believed Chantelle really was. Their exchanges were hedged about with half-truths and evasions. He could not afford to show his hand until he knew what she held in hers.

'If she
was
living here,' Marilyn resumed, 'where is she now?'

'I don't know.'

'I don't see any sign of her, do you?' Marilyn looked around. 'Just Jeremy's bachelor stuff.'

'She was here.'

'Let's try the bathroom.'

Marilyn strode past him. He followed meekly and watched as she first opened the door of the airing cupboard, then peered into the tiny cabinet above the handbasin. But the sight of a single toothbrush propped in the mug on the end of the bath told its own story.

'No knickers or bras, David,' said Marilyn matter-of-factly. 'No girlie toiletries.' She folded her arms and gazed at him. 'No Chantelle.'

'She's gone. She must have left... as soon as she heard about Jeremy.'

'Why would she do that? And how would she hear? The police contacted Oliver and no-one else. They were on the scene promptly.' She arched an eyebrow. 'Thanks to an anonymous phone call.' She walked past him, back into the living room. He followed and there they faced each other once more. 'Are you sure Chantelle isn't just a figment of your imagination?'

It was a faintly odd choice of phrase, odd enough to make Umber read into it a disturbing double meaning. 'Are you suggesting I made her up? Or do you think I'm suffering from delusions?'

'I can't say. But Wisby didn't mention her. And I think he would have.'

The name plunged into Umber's thoughts like a spike into a gearwheel. '
Wisby?'

'That's how I knew you were there when Jeremy threw himself off the roof. Wisby told me what happened.'

'When? When did he tell you?'

'Yesterday. He came up to me as I was parking my car in St Helier. He'd followed me from Eden Holt. He'd been waiting for the chance to speak to me alone, he said, and guessed he'd get it sooner or later. The atmosphere at the house... well, you can imagine. Jane's barely coherent. And Oliver's as close to broken as I've seen him. I had to get away. Shopping for essentials was a decent excuse. Wisby had banked on me doing something like that. There's a lot of the rodent about him, don't you think? Including a sharp little brain.'

'What happened was his fault. Did he tell you that?'

'It hardly matters whose fault it was, David. I can tell you who Oliver and Jane and her washout of a husband will blame if they ever find out you were there at the time. And it isn't Wisby.'

'Why haven't they found out?'

'Because Wisby's put me in a difficult position.' Disarmingly, she smiled. 'He's blackmailing me.'

'With what?' But even as he asked the question, Umber guessed the answer.

'Junius. Your speciality, I believe.'