Lost (11 page)

Alice stood in the narrow corridor that led to the kitchen, her back against the wall and her hands resting on Dan’s head. His face was pressed against her stomach and she stroked his hair, trailing her fingers through it and letting it fall. She was thinking of an English prayer she had tried to teach Sam. He had got the words wrong and she had never corrected him. She was careful not to smile when he said it:

Dan now spoke into her stomach. She held him away from her and he looked up, his eyes bleary.

‘I want milk.’

She stared at him, as if anything outside Sam had suddenly become indecipherable to her.

The back door opened, letting in a gust of wind that sent an eddy of dry leaves scattering across the flagstones. Alice and Dan turned and looked at Stuart. He nodded at her and closed the door carefully behind him. She realised she had been waiting for him and turned away in disappointment.

‘You’re going to bed,’ she told Dan.

‘Milk,’ he moaned.

‘All right. Then bed.’

She steered him before her to the kitchen.

The policeman in tight jeans was sitting at the table,
studying
a crossword magazine. He flicked his lock of hair from his face and stood to attention as she and Stuart walked in.

She sat Dan on a chair and went to the fridge. She poured milk into a glass and set it on the table in front of him.

The policeman zipped up his jacket and patted himself, delaying his departure.

‘I’ll call you later,’ Stuart said.

A metal chain hung from the policeman’s belt and disappeared into the back pocket of his trousers. Alice wondered what was on the end of the chain; there was not room enough for keys.

Dan gulped down his milk.

‘Any message for Mesguish?’

‘No,’ Stuart said. ‘Just give him the list of call boxes. Gérard’s got it. Thanks, Paul.’

The policeman patted his pockets again, nodded sheepishly at Alice and bounced out of the door on his elaborate tennis shoes.

Stuart was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet.

‘They called,’ she said.

‘I know.’

She turned to Dan.

‘You’re going back to bed.’

She picked him up, went into the corridor and called Babette. She became impatient waiting for her to appear. Babette wiped her hands on her apron and held them out for Dan.

‘Come on, little man. You’re coming with me.’

Alice turned away from his cries, which faded as she closed the kitchen door behind her.

‘What did Santini want?’ Stuart asked. Something in his voice made her turn and look at him. His face had changed; his eyes were threatening and he seemed charged.

‘He offered his help,’ she said. She stared him out, challenging his anger.

‘Two things,’ he said without meeting her eye. ‘One, they’re amateurs.’

‘That’s what Santini said.’

He did not react.

‘They only asked for nine million. You can afford more. That’s a good thing.’

‘I can’t get it fast enough. It’s in shares that are impossible to sell. It’s not an industrial empire any more. They’re functioning at a loss. It’s basically finished but my brother-in-law won’t let go.’

‘What about him, your brother-in-law?’

‘He hasn’t got it. He put everything into the company.’ She sat down at the head of the table.

‘They haven’t given a deadline,’ Stuart said. ‘That’s good too.’

She slammed her hand down on the table, making Dan’s empty glass jump.

‘They hurt him!’

‘No,’ he said. ‘They threatened to hurt him. They scared him.’

‘They said they’d cut his finger off.’

He did not answer. She nursed her hand, sore from the blow.

‘They could do that, couldn’t they? Oh God.’

‘They’re in town,’ he told her. ‘They used a call box in town. Tomorrow morning we’ll be watching fifty call boxes in the area.’

‘What if they go somewhere else?’

‘They won’t move. It’s an additional risk. You shouldn’t –’ He stopped himself.

‘What?’

‘You shouldn’t trust Coco Santini.’

‘I’m not trusting him. He came and offered his help. I said nothing. Then he left.’

‘Those people don’t let you near them without getting you to pay.’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘How on earth would you know?’

‘I just do.’ She held his stare. ‘Listen. I don’t care who he is and I don’t care about your petty rivalry. I care about getting Sam back. If this man is in touch with the terrorists …’

Stuart shook his head.

‘They’re not terrorists.’

‘Who are they, then?’ she shouted. ‘Who is it, for God’s sake?’

But he was looking past her at the door. She turned on her chair and saw the little girl from the Hôtel Napoléon. Standing behind her was a beautiful woman, who spoke directly to Stuart, her voice hardly audible: ‘I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon. Ophélie saw something.’

Stuart pulled out a chair and looked kindly at the woman, as though he were coaxing her forward. Alice did not recognise him.

‘This is Madame Aron,’ he said. ‘My sister, Beatrice Molina. And Ophélie, her daughter.’

The woman nodded shyly at Alice and went and sat down on the chair Stuart had offered. She sat very straight, her hands folded in her lap, her shining face turned on Stuart. The child stood beside its mother and watched Alice with her weary eyes.

Stuart squatted down before the child but did not touch her. The child looked down on him.

‘What did you see?’ he asked her.

Ophélie turned and looked at Alice as if she were an intruder. Then she returned her gaze to Stuart.

‘I saw a big black car and a man pick the little boy up and put him in the car and slam the door.’

Alice covered her mouth with her hand. The child looked at her.

‘You saw the man put the boy in the car,’ Stuart said. ‘What was the boy like?’

Ophélie turned back to him.

‘He had blond hair. I saw him at the hotel. He had green glasses on.’

‘What about the man?’ Stuart asked. ‘Did you see the man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you know him?’ he asked cautiously.

She shook her head. Stuart paused.

‘What did he look like?’

‘He was fat and he had sunglasses on.’

‘Fat like who? Like Daddy?’

‘No.’

‘Tall? Was he a big man?’

Ophélie nodded slowly. She was beginning to lose interest.

‘He was tall,’ Stuart repeated. ‘What about his hair?’

‘Don’t know.’ She looked at her mother, whose grace seemed to set her apart from everything that was occurring around her, as though she was not concerned by any of this, only waiting for the child to finish her business.

‘You saw the blond boy get in the car. What was the car like?’ Stuart asked.

‘It was all black.’

‘And big?’ Stuart said.

Alice could not bear to watch. She stood up, walked round the table and squatted beside Stuart. She took hold of one of Ophélie’s hands. The child looked at her sleepily.

‘Tell us about the car,’ Alice said. She smiled at the child while her eyes filled with tears. ‘Tell us about the car that took the little boy away. Did the boy want to get in the car?’ Ophélie shook her head. ‘Did he make a noise?’

‘He wriggled.’

Alice let out a little cry.

‘Was the car like Daddy’s?’ Stuart asked suddenly.

Ophélie shook her head without bothering to look at him.

‘It made a screeching noise.’

‘What did?’ Alice asked.

‘The car. It had a round thing sticking up on the front.’

‘Did the man hurt him?’ Alice asked, squeezing her hand.
The child grew uncomfortable; she was starting to close down. She pulled her hand free.

Stuart was drawing in a notebook. His hand shook as he held the drawing out for the child. Ophélie stared at Stuart’s shaking hand.

‘Like that? The thing on the front,’ he said. ‘Like that?’

It was the Mercedes symbol. She nodded.

‘Did the man put the boy in the back or the front?’

‘The back.’

‘Did he get in the back or the front?’

‘The back.’

‘Was there anyone else in the car?’

‘I couldn’t see. The windows were black. It was all black.’ The child looked up at its mother. ‘Can we go now?’

Stuart’s sister looked at her child, then at Stuart.

‘Nothing when the gendarmes were here,’ she said. ‘Then out of the blue, she starts talking about the boy with the green glasses.’

Alice was still kneeling, looking into the child’s unyielding face.

‘Can we go now?’ Ophélie asked again.

Stuart’s sister glanced at her daughter.

‘I tried to call,’ she told Stuart. Her voice was just above a whisper. ‘I kept getting the secretaries. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tell you. Then I heard you drive past, so I woke the child up, got her dressed and came straight over.’

‘Thank you. It’s helpful,’ Stuart said, standing up. She nodded and rose to her feet. She looked down at Alice and seemed to be attempting a smile. Alice could see something of Stuart in her, the same curves in the mouth and the same straight line of the nose, but this woman’s face was perfectly smooth, as though life had attacked his and left hers alone. Alice thought of a nun.

Suddenly she did not want to let the child go. It seemed to her that Stuart was letting something slip away.

‘Wait,’ she said, holding the child’s arm. ‘What else did you see?’

The child looked at its mother for help. Stuart touched Alice on the shoulder and she felt overcome, as though she and the child had had a long fight and the child had won. She sat down in the chair at the head of the table. She did not notice the mother and child leave the room.

‘I’m going to call them about the car,’ Stuart said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

Alice did not answer. She gripped the edge of her chair until her fists ached. ‘It’s good what the child said,’ he went on. ‘We’re looking for a black four-door Mercedes with tinted windows. And we have a description. There were two of them or more. I’ll talk to her again. In the morning.’ He smiled at her. ‘We have something,’ he told her, and left the room.

She could feel the chill settling in her upper body again and gripped her chair to stave it off. She could see Sam wriggling in the fat man’s arms. If only Dan had not stopped on the stairs to stare at Ophélie. If only she had gone to fetch Sam herself a few moments earlier. Where had she been when he was being snatched, when he was calling for her, and why didn’t he scream? He couldn’t: the fat man had his hand over his mouth. She saw Ophélie poking her head round the door in the dining room. Then Dan beside her, telling her he could not find Sam. Ophélie had seen him taken even before that, before they came downstairs. When she had met them on the stairs, those sullen eyes had just seen Sam struggling in the man’s arms.

The telephone was ringing. She jumped up, snatched the phone from the wall.

‘Yes?’

‘You have three days.’

‘No!’ she shouted. Stuart was standing in the door. ‘It’s not enough time,’ she said. ‘Listen. Wait.’

‘You’ve got till seven o’ clock Thursday evening to get the
money. In used notes. Buy one soft sports bag to put it in. You’ll receive instructions on where to make the delivery.’

‘Wait. Listen to me. Please.’

‘If you don’t get the money, we’ll kill the child.’ There was a pause. ‘Without hesitation.’

‘Wait. Sam. Sam.’

She held the phone tight against her ear and listened to the beeps. She held tight because she was hanging over a precipice. The beeps stopped, giving way to a long tone. The tone began to waver. She saw a tunnel, the light fading at the edges. The tunnel grew narrower as she fell.

Liliane sat in the Colonnas’ laundry room watching Babette holding the little boy in her lap. She longed to have a turn but dared not ask. She had always been a little afraid of her friend, who had the unbridled temper of a childless woman.

‘What’s his name?’ Liliane asked, looking at the boy. His eyes were heavy with sleep. ‘How old is he?’

Babette smiled down at the boy.

‘Why don’t you ask him, dear?’

Liliane hesitated.

‘What’s your name, darling?’ But it must have been the wrong tone, for the boy seemed afraid and turned his face towards Babette.

‘He’s called Daniel. Aren’t you? And you’re five.’

Babette began to rock him gently and his eyes closed. The room was warm and smelled pleasantly of ironing. Liliane stared miserably at them.

‘Shall I get him a drink?’ she asked.

‘It’s all right. He’s asleep,’ Babette said.

‘Does he speak French?’

‘He speaks both. French and English,’ Babette said proudly.

The door opened. Stuart stood in the doorway. He looked at Liliane – she was not allowed to be here – but he was addressing Babette.

‘Madame Aron isn’t well. She fainted.’

‘Where is she?’ Babette stood, taking control.

‘She’s lying down in the sitting room. What should I give her?’

‘I’ll be down in a minute. I’ll just put the boy to bed.’

Stuart left them, without looking at Liliane again.

Babette adjusted the child, settling him more comfortably on her hip.

‘Shall I take him?’ Liliane asked. ‘Just while you look in on the mother?’

Babette seemed to take pity on her. She laid the boy in her lap.

Liliane did not notice her friend leave the room. She was looking at the sleeping face of this unknown child, experiencing a rush of warmth, greater than anything she had felt, even towards her own children. The boy’s head rested in the crook of her arm. She watched his mouth, slightly open. Sometimes his lips moved as though he were half-forming words. One of his little hands lay on his chest. She wanted to touch his fingers.

Her heart jumped as Babette opened the door.

‘She’s fine. She wants me to put him to bed. Poor woman.’

Babette’s compassion for the woman downstairs was suddenly too much to bear. Liliane’s eyes filled with tears. As Babette took the child from her, she saw her friend’s distress. For an instant Liliane believed she was angry. Babette held the sleeping child on her hip and studied her.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t help it,’ Liliane said.

But Babette held out her hand. When Liliane took it, the tears fell.

‘Of course you can’t. It’s all right. You can cry.’ She began to make soothing noises like the most tender of mothers and Liliane cried silently, clasping her friend’s hand as tightly as she could. And as Babette soothed her, she let her mind run on and on, gathering all the severed threads of her memory.

She had lost her son. She let her mind say this. I have lost Rémy. She would have liked to tell dear Babette what she remembered but she must not wake the child. She would have liked to tell Babette how happy she had been when Rémy came home that Christmas Eve on leave from National Service. How he had helped her shake the olives from the trees and gather them up in plastic sheets. She had hardly
spoken to him, she was so happy to have him with her, and there would be plenty of time, she thought. They would spend a whole week together. He would catch up on his sleep in the mornings and watch TV in the afternoons. They would have a bite together in front of
Guess
the
Price
before he went out.

Liliane looked up. Babette was looking down on her, her face full of compassion.

‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Tell me what happened.’

Liliane wanted to tell Babette about Coco: how she now understood that her husband was the animal that would kill its offspring rather than be challenged by it. But she was afraid.

Babette rested her hand on Liliane’s head. Liliane spoke to the floor.

‘You remember when Rémy came home that time? Every evening Coco took him into Massaccio. To show him off, his handsome son.’

Liliane looked up. Babette smiled at her.

‘I remember.’

‘Coco was at the top then. In one year he had taken over all the best clubs. Remember?’

Babette nodded.

‘He had Russo on his side,’ Liliane went on. “The north of the island was his. He was so full of himself, he even offered Rémy his new mistress. Evelyne. He wanted his boy to share everything he had. But Rémy wasn’t like that.’

Liliane looked at the sleeping child in Babette’s arms.

‘New Year’s Eve is the anniversary of Titi’s death. Well, that night some drunk told Rémy it was Coco who had had him killed. Rémy admired Titi. Like everyone.’

Liliane paused. She was tired.

‘Go on, Liliane.’

‘It was Titi I couldn’t forgive. For having let himself be killed. It had been a year and people had accepted it. They accept everything in the end, don’t they? Everything here, however
wicked, becomes part of the natural order of things. Doesn’t it?’

‘I’m afraid it does. It’s our strength too, though.’

‘Rémy stayed out all night and all the next day. I’d just got into bed when I heard him come in. I could tell from his voice that he’d been drinking. I heard him shout at his father and then there was a crash and what turned out to be all the
bibelots
smashing to pieces. He’d tried to kick his father and Coco had grabbed his leg and tipped him back into the display cabinet. I just sat there in bed trying not to scream.’

Still clasping the child to her, Babette sat down on the chair opposite her friend. Liliane was aware that nothing would be the same between them after this, that Babette might not thank her for breaking the silence.

Liliane told her friend about how she had listened to the front door slam, how she had run downstairs in her bare feet and seen her son lying on the sitting-room floor. He had hit the coffee table as he fell and there was some of his blood on the tiles beside his head. All night, she sat by him and held his head in her lap, dozing and waking. The alcohol kept Rémy unconscious. When at last he opened his eyes, he smiled at her and then closed them again at the pain because his lip was split.

Later she washed him as she had when he was a boy, and scrubbed his back and helped him dress, easing his shirt over his rib cage, which was badly bruised. Before he left he picked one of her broken figures from the floor. It was a little statue of Our Lady that she had brought back from her trip to Lourdes. The Virgin’s head had come clean off. He looked at the statue.

‘Can I keep this?’

‘I could get you another one if you like it.’

‘No. I want this one.’

She looked at him standing on the other side of the room, broken china around his feet.

‘In case I ever forget,’ he said.

‘Then he left,’ Liliane told her friend. ‘And I never saw him again.’

Babette looked long at her and Liliane felt fear in her stomach as though she had sinned. Then Babette pressed her lips to the boy’s head and Liliane saw her forgiveness.

‘And Coco?’ Babette’s voice was free of spite.

‘He came home the next evening, packed his things and left. For a whole year he lived at the villa. When he came back to Santarosa the summer after, I knew we’d never speak of Rémy.’

Babette stood up. She rested her hand on Liliane’s head and began to stroke her hair. She stood there for a long time smoothing the soft, grey hair.

‘There,’ she said. ‘It’s all out. It wasn’t hard, was it? It’s only when you accept you’ve lost something, Liliane, that you can ever hope to find it again. Now come and help me put this boy to bed.’