Learning to Swim (26 page)

I opened Outlook Express and found one reply in Madeleine’s account, chat about what so-and-so was doing. It had been a dramatic notion to have sent out emails supposedly from Madeleine, but not, I realized, a particularly useful one. It would have been far smarter—and less nerve-wracking—to have pretended to be a mutual friend. Then I could have asked if anyone knew what had happened to her or who she had been hanging out with her last week or so, or if she had mentioned being followed or seeing someone suspicious.

It would seem too coincidental to suddenly get in touch with all the people the fake Madeleine had just emailed, especially if any of them communicated with each other. But I’d try it with a few. I signed up for an anonymous email address and sent emails to the three women who seemed to be her chattiest friends:
Hi, I’m a friend of Madeleine’s—haven’t heard from her and I’m wondering what’s up—do you have any idea?

Then I headed off to Philippe’s office to do the work I’d promised
to do on his computer. I wondered if Philippe’s receptionist would remember me and my odd story about the misdelivered FedEx envelope, but if she did, she was too well trained to show it. A few other employees walked past as she buzzed Philippe and waved me back to his office.

He set me up at his desk, and went off elsewhere while I got to work. I checked for keyboard capture programs or remote access programs other than the one he’d installed, but didn’t find any. Either what we’d seen had been an obscure blip, or someone had been using his computer.

I updated and ran his internet security program, ran Advanced System Care, defragged the hard drive, and installed a boot protection program. If he left his computer running, the screen would go blank, and couldn’t be accessed until the password was typed in. Then I set up his small backup drive to do automatic document backups near the end of every workday. Most people don’t seem to realize that it’s not a question of
if
your hard drive will fail, but
when
. A better system would back up the entire hard drive regularly, but this would do for now.

I realized I was starving, and glanced at the clock—it was nearly noon. I’d been here more than two hours. Computers can be a huge time sink. As I stood, the door opened.

It was Claude, and the look on his face wasn’t what you would call welcoming. “What are you doing here?”

“Just helping Philippe out.”

“What do you mean?” His vehemence was startling.

“You can ask Philippe.” I thought for a moment he was going to grab my arm. But he let me pass, and followed me out of the room. Philippe was speaking to the receptionist and by the time he turned to us, belligerent Claude was gone and suave businessman Claude was in his place—a Jekyll and Hyde moment so perfect I couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Are you ready?” Philippe asked. I nodded, and we headed for the elevator. At a nearby bistro we had soup-and-sandwich combos—when you’re eating Elise’s dinners, you need a light lunch—and I
briefed him on what I’d done on his computer. I didn’t mention how annoyed Claude had seemed. I assumed he just didn’t like me on his home turf.

I glanced at the time. I needed to get home in time to let Tiger out before going to pick Paul up from school.

Yes, I was starting to think of it as home.

At the school, cars were lined up to pick up children. Security guards checked license plates against a list before letting you through the gates, and if they didn’t know you on sight, you had to show ID. It was laborious, but not so bad when weighed against the risks of having your child kidnapped.

Until this became routine, Paul would be waiting inside the classroom with his teacher. He was quiet when I retrieved him, in stark contrast to the bounciness of the other children. “How was it?” I asked after he had climbed into the booster seat we’d strapped into my backseat.

He sighed. “It is difficult to speak the English all day.”

“Ah, sweetie, it will get easier very fast.
Ça deviendra vite plus facile.
” I knew he would pick up English quickly, and soon the summer term would start and classes would be smaller. If nothing else, this would give him an idea of what to expect of regular classes in the fall, so it wouldn’t be new and scary, and would let him meet most of the children who would be in his fall class.

In the kitchen Elise gave him yogurt and fruit, and he chattered about his day in French. Philippe wanted him to speak English at home until he became fluent, but I thought we’d agree that all day at school was enough for one small boy. Especially his first few days.

When I took him off to change his clothes he pointed to his hamper. “Look, I put the clothes in my … my … 
mon panier à linge,
” he said with pride.

“Laundry hamper,” I told him. “That’s good—it will make Elise very happy. Then when she has enough dirty clothes, she can run the washing machine.”

He nodded, happy with this.

Philippe seemed more relaxed that evening, maybe because Paul was in school and handling it well. Over after-dinner coffee—I’d decided to take it easy on desserts until I started biking more—I told him about Jameson bringing me my bag from the ferry, and asked if he had heard of any progress.

He shook his head. “They told me they sent someone to Burlington, but that’s all they told me.”

It was hard to fathom that no one had noticed that two men were keeping a child prisoner, but the news is filled with stories of people kept prisoner in basements, in backyards, in secret rooms that no one finds. And Paul could have been kept anywhere within driving distance of that ferry.

Philippe saw me glance at the piles of paperwork in front of him. “Just going over some things from work,” he said. “Some cost overruns I didn’t expect.”

At my concerned look, he shook his head. “Nothing major. You’re always going to have overruns or estimates that are too low, but it averages out.” I thought about Jameson’s comment about his company’s financial problems, but saw no point in mentioning it.

“Did you find out who was accessing your files?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, but that’s part of the reason I’m going over all these, to look for discrepancies. But I wanted to ask you about this.” He pulled a thick envelope from his briefcase and handed it to me.

“What is it?” I turned it over, curious.

“One of my clients is having a thing Saturday evening to celebrate his company’s twenty-five-year anniversary. Open it.”

It was a heavy cream-colored card, like the ones extravagant people send out for weddings. It was an invitation to a party at the Château
Laurier near the Parliament buildings, a hotel that resembled a castle. “Sounds pretty fancy,” I said.

“Yes, these people never do anything in an ordinary fashion. Do you want to go? I know it’s very late notice, but it slipped my mind until now.”

I blinked. “Go? Me?” I asked, almost in horror.

Philippe laughed. “Yes, you. The invitation’s for two, and most people bring someone. It’s good for business for me to get out and about, and if I go alone I’ll have to fend off too many people. It helps to have someone along.”

Troy, the human buffer. Maybe having me there would keep people from asking him about his home life. I assumed his office staff knew he was a widower, but maybe not everyone did. I picked up the invitation again. “What would you
wear
to a party like this?”

“I’d wear a suit. You’d wear a cocktail dress.” At my blank look, he smiled. “I can assume that you don’t have one with you?”

“I don’t have one with me or anywhere.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Would you like to go? You can find a dress here.”

I almost said an emphatic
no
. But that’s what old Troy would have done. I wavered, then took the plunge. “Okay. But I’m going to need help with shopping—a lot of help.”

He agreed, and at that moment I loved him for not laughing at me. The next morning we took Paul along as we trekked into women’s shops.

Philippe was good; I have to hand it to him. He found the right shops and the right clerks to steer us to the right clothes on the marked-down racks, knowing I was on a budget and knowing better than to offer to pay for it. He looked through them and indicated ones to try on, which Paul thought great fun. At the third dress at the second shop, a place on Sparks Street, he stopped me.

“This is it,” he said.

It wasn’t anything I would ever have considered. It was long-sleeved and off the shoulder, and I thought I’d look ridiculous in it.
But I tried it on, and when I looked in the mirror a different person looked out at me. For a moment I didn’t breathe.

I stepped out, tentatively, and from Philippe’s expression I knew I’d been right. This was a Troy I’d had no idea existed. It was an odd feeling, like having a whole other self you’ve never happened to catch a glimpse of. Paul clapped his hands. I twisted around to look at the price tag, and winced. I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Looking good, even at a discount, doesn’t come cheap.

We postponed shoe shopping until the next morning, and left Paul with Elise. I hoped she didn’t think Philippe was buying me clothes; I hoped she knew this dinner thing was entirely platonic.