The Last Witness (30 page)

  Eight or ten children had so far emerged from Elm. Elena moved closer to the door so that she could look out for Lorena, and as she picked her out she caught the teacher’s eye practically at the same time. A slight quizzical frown crossed Lorena’s face. She’d have to move in quick.

  ‘I’ve come to take Lorena to the dentist. Mrs Ryall phoned earlier.’

  The teacher, a thirty-something redhead with a strained smile as she tried to bark some calm into the exiting class, looked between Elena and Lorena. ‘Nobody told me anything.’

  ‘Uh… it would have been only about forty minutes ago.’ Elena had affected a slight foreign lilt, the way some of her Cypriot relatives spoke English, to distinguish from her voice as Mrs Ryall on the phone. Instant domestic: speak with a foreign accent. She forced an apologetic smile, and Lorena finally picked up on the game and came across and took her hand. Elena swallowed hard against her hammering nerves. ‘Mrs Ryall forgot earlier.’

  The teacher gave them one last look. ‘Okay, fine… I’ll–’ Then her attention was gone as she called out to two children jostling each other towards the back.

  ‘She’ll be back in tomorrow,’ Elena said, but the teacher only turned towards them briefly with another ‘That’s fine,’ before continuing her shepherding of the children’s exit.

  Elena led Lorena out by the hand before the teacher had more time to think about it. Her mouth was dry, her legs leaden as they wended their way through the crowded corridor. She gripped Lorena’s hand tighter in re-assurance, but partly it was to quell the trembling in her own hand. The shrill voices echoing from the corridor walls seemed to merge with a solid pounding at her temples… only a few paces more to the main doors.

  The call of ‘One minute!’ from behind barely broke through it all. It had to be repeated, ‘Hold on a minute!’ before she finally faltered her step and turned.

  An older matronly woman approached, with Lorena’s teacher now alongside. Elena’s heart sank. She wasn’t going to get away with it after all. Someone had managed to raise Nicola Ryall on her mobile, or maybe this woman knew the Ryalls, knew full well that she wasn’t their housekeeper.

  The matronly woman’s expression lifted slightly. ‘If Lorena’s not coming back later – she’ll need her satchel from her locker.’

  ‘Oh… of course.’ Elena smiled and patted Lorena’s shoulder. She recognized the voice from her earlier call: Mrs Truett, the school secretary. ‘Yes, go on.’

  They stood as an awkward triangle for a moment as Lorena scurried off, a stream of children milling past them. Then Mrs Truett commented, ‘Nothing too serious, I hope.’

  It took a second for the penny to drop. ‘Uh, uh… no. Hopefully just some fillings.’

  Elena felt exposed standing in the corridor with all the children passing. Katine had a friend who went to this school. What if she came past and spotted her?
Mrs Waldren – what are you doing here?
She pushed a taut smile to hopefully cover her nervousness at Mrs Truett – who looked about to say something before deciding against it with the level of noise around them.

  Elena silently screamed for Lorena to hurry and return. If the noise abated, Mrs Truett might well decide to pipe up again, and Elena wasn’t sure her nerves could take it. Already she could feel her blouse sticking to her spine with sweat, and her legs were close to crumpling.

  Lorena appeared only seconds later, though already the numbers in the corridor were thinning. But at that moment another teacher came to talk to Mrs Truett, and with a quick wave and ‘Thanks!’, Elena made good her escape with Lorena.

  Through the main doors, across the playground, a slight weave to avoid a group playing ball… through the entrance gates, into the car. Elena didn’t speak to Lorena throughout. Nor did she dare look back in case someone else was trying to attract her attention.

  As they got in the car, Lorena asked, ‘Where are we going?’

  But still Elena didn’t speak. She kept her eyes resolutely ahead until they were over five hundred yards down the road, well clear of the school. Only then did she finally let out a long breath and turn to Lorena.

  ‘I got your message, Lorena. So I’m going to help you. That is, if you want me to help you?’

  ‘Yes… of course.’ Lorena looked slightly puzzled. ‘That is why I called.’

  Elena looked across sharply. ‘No, it’s more than that I need, Lorena. I could get into a lot of trouble for what I’m doing now. You’re going to be away from home two or maybe three days. The police will start looking for us, trying to track us down. This isn’t a game any more.’ But from the light in Lorena’s eyes at the mention of police and tracking, that was exactly what Lorena thought this suddenly was: an exciting game. ‘So I need to know for sure – cross your heart sure – that this is what you want.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Sure, sure.’ Her clipped accent added vehemence.

  ‘Okay… okay.’ Elena’s eyes flickered to her rear-view mirror. No cars visible behind – but they were still too close to the school. Elena took the second turning on the left and went a half a mile down before stopping at the first pull-in by a farm gate. ‘But I can’t be seen to be abducting you, Lorena. So it has to be clear also to others that this is all totally of your own free will. Something that
you
want rather than me.’ Elena took the half-page she’d typed earlier from her inside pocket. ‘If you’d like to read that. And if you’re happy with it, we’ll put it on tape.’

  Elena felt guilty watching Lorena’s consternation as she read. Only seconds with her out of Ryall’s clutches, and here she was acting like a big city lawyer with first thought to covering her back. But it was necessary if she hoped for any chance of avoiding a jail cell for this, and it might also help take some of the steam from the police pursuit of them.

  ‘Yes, it’s okay,’ Lorena said finally.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Elena pressed. Lorena was probably so relieved at being helped, that she’d have said yes to anything; but Elena didn’t want anything possibly guided by force or lack of choice: Lorena had had enough of that with Ryall.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Lorena smiled hesitantly. ‘Sure, sure.’

  Elena took the cassette recorder from the back seat. There was a falter at one point and they had to re-do the last two sentences, but they were all wrapped within a couple of minutes.

  Elena’s nerves had bristled with the two cars that had passed them in that time, and now she was keened sharply to traffic as she re-joined the main road, her eyes jumping to the rear-view mirror with every car that appeared. She dropped the tape off at home, gave Gordon a quick peck on the cheek and ‘Call you later’ – they’d said their main goodbye earlier – and hit the road again.

  She didn’t want to take the Sandbanks ferry and risk getting stuck in a queue where she could be easily apprehended – so she’d decided to head through Wareham, which would add an extra fifteen miles. She glanced at her watch: three hours to Eurotunnel or the ferries, and by then Nicola Ryall would know that Lorena was missing. Then she’d probably lose half-an-hour or even an hour waiting for the next departure and boarding. How long before Mrs Ryall raised the alert with the police: fifteen, twenty minutes? It was going to be tight.

  Perhaps picking up on the worry and strain in her face, Lorena clutched lightly at her left arm and nestled close. ‘Thank you, Elena. Thank you.’

  Elena gave her a little hug and ruffled her hair. She felt like adding, ‘Don’t thank me yet,’ but she didn’t want to dull the light in Lorena’s eyes: the first light of hope that had probably been there for a while.

  And she was equally concerned now about her own state of mind. The last half hour of tension had totally drained her: her nerves were still as tight as piano wire, leaping wildly with each car that came close. She could feel her body’s gentle trembling as she hugged Lorena. With forty-eight hours or more of the same ahead, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to cope.

‘Do you want coffee, or something stronger? Or maybe something soft?’ Viana posed the question just how Roman had suggested: try not to leave the option of Donatiens
not
having a drink.

  ‘Just a coke, thanks,’ Georges’ voice sailed through from the lounge.

  ‘Okay.’ Viana felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders, though still she found the shaking of her hands impossible to control as she reached for a glass and took the coke from the fridge. She pondered for a second what to have for herself, before deciding on coffee: more time pottering around in the kitchen, more movement to provide cover for her slipping the two pills into Georges’ drink.

  While the coffee machine was getting close to boiling, she went to her handbag and took out the tablets wrapped in tissue. Then with a quick look back, listening out that he wasn’t moving and about to walk in on her any second, she put them into his drink. They fizzed a bit while she was pouring her coffee. She stirred cream into her coffee and gave the coke a quick stir too, just to make sure they’d dissolved, and walked back in the lounge with both drinks with a smile.

  ‘There you are.’ She handed Georges the coke and set her cup down on a coffee table between them. ‘I really appreciate you helping me out like this. Thanks.’

  ‘That’s okay. It’s nothing.’ Georges took a quick sip of coke. ‘What’s this guy’s name, the one giving you all the trouble?’

  ‘Oh…uh....’ She stumbled for a second. That was one thing they’d never thought about. She grabbed quickly for a client’s name she recalled. ‘Barry. Barry Picard.’

  Georges just nodded and took another sip.

  Viana became concerned that he was drinking too slowly. Five minutes, Roman had said; but that was probably from when he’d finished it all. What if he sipped his way slowly through, then knocked back the rest only seconds before leaving? She looked away slightly as Georges met her eye, worried that her pre-occupation might have shown.

  ‘You’re obviously still anxious,’ Georges said. ‘But stop worrying. ‘Even if he was waiting outside, he’d have probably left by now – or certainly within a few minutes, max. I don’t see him waiting beyond that. It’s cold out there.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ She fired back a hesitant smile. Her guilt weighed heavier with the reassurance: how many had ever taken the time out to give any thought to her welfare? ‘But you’ll stay the extra ten or fifteen minutes, just to make sure. Right?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. No problem.’ He took a heavier gulp this time. He could tell that she was deeply agitated, it was going to take more than just an off-pat reassurance to calm her. Seeing the fear in her face made him think for a moment of his own problems: Jean-Paul was on a quick loop trip to New York and Boston, Simone wouldn’t be able to see him till the morning. He just hoped that Jean-Paul wasn’t delayed; he was near the end of his tether, his nerves shot with waiting on the outcome.

  Viana took the first sips of her coffee. She could sense the awkwardness, the tension between them growing more with each beat of silence. Georges still had only drunk a third of his coke, and would probably be more likely to leave prematurely if he felt awkward. She tried to lighten the mood, smiling wryly as she launched into petty politics at the club between Azy, Roman and Yves. Of how because Yves, as floating manager, was there only one or two nights a week, Azy seemed to assume responsibility the rest of the time.

  ‘Often he’ll talk straight to Roman about anything serious without bothering to consult Yves, and a few times it’s caused problems. Yves feels he’s losing his authority.’ Viana shook her head, watching keenly Georges take another few sips. ‘And there’s no rhyme or reason to what Azy might pick up on to complain about. One time, Amy, you know – well, she took too many hits of dope before going on, then she slipped a Quaalude and topped up by sneaking some heavy whisky shots into her orange juice from a flask in her handbag. An hour into dancing and she’s on cloud nine. She starts laughing uncontrollably when her ass brushes too close and knocks a client’s toupee out of place. The client complains bitterly, and Azy’s all apologies and offers the client a free drink on the house – but Azy don’t say nothing to Roman or Yves about it.’ Viana’s smile broadened. ‘Fact is, as soon as the client left, Azy too is wetting himself over it.’

  Georges grinned. He could just imagine Azy’s fawning, wide-eyed ‘Yes, Bossman, sorry Bossman’ act until the client was gone. He felt himself relax a bit, but maybe that was because Viana was relaxing and smiling for the first time – her fear and tension were easing a notch. But he could definitely feel his body mellowing; no, more than that, his senses were floating slightly, which struck him as strange: he could only remember having one glass of wine with dinner and a beer earlier while checking the tills. And it was also hot in here, his throat dry. He eased his collar a little and took a couple of gulps of coke.

  Viana followed the glass keenly:
two thirds down.
‘…But then other times, Azy will be as strict as hell, won’t budge an inch. Particularly when it comes to dating clients. Perhaps it’s because we had a lot of trouble with that Michelle last year dating a client, some real nasty scenes and shouting matches in the club before Yves and Roman got rid of her. And then Azy too had that problem with dating Janine last year. He got a real roasting over that – so perhaps that’s why he’s so strict on it with others.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that.’
God,
it was hot. He took another slug, felt it cut through the chalk in his throat. And he felt dizzy… with a dull ringing in his ears. Perhaps the beer he had earlier was off, or maybe something he ate.