David Gilman - Ice Claw

“But the car is fine? It is not damaged?”

“No, no. Just didn’t want to hang around, sitting in traffic.”

Something wasn’t right. Simone stared at her. “You are in trouble?”

Surprised, Sophie laughed. “No! Of course I’m not.”

Simone studied her, fussing with the collar of her flowered shirt. This young girl was lying. Good lie or bad lie?

“A man came here asking for you. Said he was a relative, heard you were visiting. Wanted to surprise you before you left for the airport.”

Fear made Sophie’s neck tingle. She had not been mistaken. It was one of the men from Mont la Croix.

“A man dressed in black, with a couple of days’ stubble. Dark hair. Good-looking.”

“That’s him.”

Sophie dropped her shoulders, sighed, shook her head, playacting despair.

“You know him, mam’selle?”

“A man I met when I was skiing. He’s been pestering me. Following me everywhere. I think he’s one of those obsessive types. You smile at them once and they think you’re offering to marry them.”

“Ha! Older men! They are all the same. You should stick to people your own age. I showed a kindness to old Monsieur Labrecht when his wife died. Some soup, some cleaning. The next thing …! I can’t bring myself to tell you.”

“The man’s out there. I saw him down the street. I don’t know what to do,” Sophie said.

“He’s stalking you!” Simone reached out a comforting hand to the troubled girl. “Don’t worry, ma cherie , you can go through the courtyard.”

She shuffled from behind the counter, took Sophie’s arm and guided her through the door to the archway, pointing to where the hire cars were untidily crammed. “On the other side of the yard, there’s a back door. Monsieur Fouche’s shop, a chocolaterie . Divine. Look at the size of me. I resist him but not his chocolates. Go. Tell him Simone has sent you. He’ll let you through the shop.”

Sophie kissed her cheek in thanks and maneuvered through the cars. Simone watched her go. There was a time when she too was slender and agile, and handsome men pursued her with a passion. Now? Ah, now she was a woman of years.

But life was not all bad. There was always Fouche and his dark chocolate crushed raspberry delights.

Corentin and Thierry were old hands at what they did. They had reconnoitered the streets around the market before Sophie arrived. They knew where she would go if she got spooked.

Corentin wanted her to see him.

When Sophie ran through Simone’s yard she failed to see Thierry waiting across the street. And despite her fast-paced escape, Thierry kept far enough behind her not to be noticed. Corentin cut and thrust the car through the congested side streets and by the time Sophie had hitched a lift in a young man’s car, Thierry had climbed into the Audi, and the two killers followed her with ease.

Max stood behind the two front seats and stared through the windshield as Bobby sped towards the Spanish border. Peaches sat in the passenger seat, knees tucked up as usual, iPod playing, eyes closed. They turned off the A63 motorway on the St. Jean de Luz south slip road onto the D912, a smaller, twisty road that would take them, hopefully, to the chateau. Max was worried. Not only was he dependent on Bobby for shelter and transport, which, as grateful as he was, was irritating because he’d rather look after himself, but the young American had never asked a question about what was going on. Never since Pau, when Max had phoned him asking for help at the hospital, never once on the drive into the mountains and Zabala’s sanctuary, nor when Max and Sophie turned up late at the chateau. And this morning Bobby volunteered to drive them without question. Wouldn’t it be natural to at least ask what you might be getting into?

As they approached the outskirts of Hendaye, Bobby slowed down.

“Any idea where this place is? The caretaker guy didn’t have a clue about directions. Probably hasn’t been any farther than his local town his whole life,” he said to Max.

“The countess said there were no signs but we should look out for a hairpin bend. It’s on the right somewhere.”

Bobby winced. “I’ve got a confession to make, Max.”

Was this going to confirm Max’s doubts? He waited.

Bobby grinned sheepishly. “My gran isn’t a countess. She was the housekeeper until the old countess died twenty years ago. She left the chateau and all its debts to my gran. She’s been selling off furniture and fighting debtors ever since. She’s a bit loopy. She thinks she is the countess now, but she has a heart of gold and I’d hate to do anything that’d cause her problems. So, this thing you’re involved in seems to be getting complicated. If there’s anything you think you should tell me, I’d like to know.”

Max’s mind raced, plucking out events from the past couple of weeks. Was this it? Had Bobby finally broken cover? Could he be involved in any of the trouble? Ez ihure ere fida-eheke hari ere . Trust no one-they will kill you. Max just didn’t believe it. Of all the danger he’d been in, he couldn’t pinpoint any in which Bobby might have been implicated. But the black Audi had arrived at the Pau hospital soon after Bobby. Coincidence? And Zabala’s mountain hut? Bobby had dropped him off in the valley that night and then …?

A gut-wrenching moment. Sophie appeared the next day-was there a chance these two could be working together? It fitted neatly enough. Max’s mind shouted back at him. No! This is stupid. It’s paranoia . Not trusting anyone was like mental quicksand. Doubt and fear smothered and drowned any rational thought. No!

He shook his head involuntarily at his own thoughts.

“That’s OK, then,” Bobby said, misunderstanding.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re right, Bobby, I shouldn’t drag anyone into this. It is serious, and the reason I don’t want to tell you is because it would make you vulnerable. Once we’ve been here to this Antoine d’Abbadie’s place, I’ll leave. Me and Sayid. All I can say is, I need to find something. Although truth is I don’t know what I’m looking for. I would never cause any harm to you or your gran, no matter who she thinks she is. I promise.”

“That’s cool,” Bobby said. He leaned across to the dashboard, took his cell phone and handed it to Max. “You might need this. I’ve got another. I’m on speed-dial one.”

“Thanks,” Max said, momentarily surprised by the generosity of the gift.

The surfer nodded. It was cool. It always was.

“There,” Max said, pointing at the bend in the road. “It’s there.”

The young driver’s dream of asking the beautiful girl for a date lasted all of five minutes when Sophie jumped out of the car, apologized and told him she was late to meet her boyfriend. The lie slipped easily from between her lips. The driver shrugged. It was life. But it could have been a more beautiful one had she stayed.

Sophie found the safest route across the barbed-wire-topped gate: she clawed her fingers around a gate post, balanced, flicked her hips across the wire, then twisted her body midair, landing with both feet together, neither on her toes, which would have pitched her forward, nor on her heels, which would have jarred her spine. It was effortless. She ran almost silently into the chateau. Where was Max?

“I cannot tell you,” Comtesse Villeneuve said as she studied the girl, who now seemed mildly agitated.

“Countess, listen to me. This is not a straightforward matter of a wayward fifteen-year-old kid on the run from going back home. He’s involved in a really dangerous situation.”

“He behaves more like an older boy. He has seen death and known loss. That can mature a boy beyond his years.” She gazed at the girl, whose light olive complexion now seemed a little flushed.