Brian Freemantle - The Predators

‘You look beautiful.’ The clothes had been the last things Felicite had bought before leaving Brussels. The red sweater, roll-necked with reindeer in a blue line across the front, fitted perfectly but she’d had to take the jeans up by one turn.

‘Why didn’t you let me come out here before?’ Mary was scurrying by the waterline, turning over debris with a stick. She wondered if mere was a road beyond the rising bank to her right. She couldn’t hear any traffic.

‘There was never time.’ Felicite could only just pick out the closest house, nothing more than a dark shape on the horizon far ahead. There was even less danger from that than from the barges, but they’d still turn back soon. She didn’t want to tire Mary. And she was tired herself: it had been late by the time she’d got to Luxembourg the previous night and she’d had to drive hard to get back to Brussels and do everything necessary there before coming to Antwerp. But it was all going to be worth it.

‘Why is there time now?’

‘I’m going to stay with you: not leave you alone any more. Would you like that?’ How wonderful – magical – to be with her for ever. To travel, just the two of them. A fantasy, Felicite knew. But one she could indulge in, during the next few days. A fantasy that would become her personal Greek tragedy.

Mary frowned up from her beachcoming. ‘How long’s that going to be?’

‘I’m not sure, not yet. A while.’ She couldn’t conceive what it would be like, when it had to end: refused to think about it. All she wanted was for them to be together. Something beautiful. She wouldn’t let there be any pain. She’d have Lascelles do it. Just a pin prick.

Mary suddenly swooped, crying out, coming up triumphantly with her hand above her head. ‘A stone with a hole in it! That’s lucky.’

‘Is it?’

‘Back home.’ Solemnly the child held out her hand. The stone was white, water-bleached. ‘A present, for you. Your own lucky stone.’

Felicite swallowed heavily. ‘Thank you, my darling. I’ll treasure it.’ She would. For ever. Mary was so beautiful: so utterly, adorably beautiful.

‘Can I go to see what’s on the other side of the bank?’

‘There’s nothing. Just marsh.’

‘Can I go and look anyway?’

‘There are mosquitoes.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Stay down here.’

Mary detected the change in the woman’s voice, knowing she had to stop. ‘It is nice, being able to come outside.’

‘I knew you’d like it.’

‘Can we go somewhere else?’ Mary could see a house, a long way off. It looked dark, shuttered. The sun should have been shining off the windows but it wasn’t.

‘What?’

‘As well as here, by the river. Go somewhere else for a walk?’

‘We’ll see.’

‘I’d like to.’

‘We’ll see,’ repeated Felicite. ‘I think we should go back now. We’ve walked a long way.’

‘I’m not tired.’

‘We’ll still go back.’

‘Just a little further?’

‘No!’

There was that sound in her voice again. ‘I don’t want to look for shells or stones any more.’

‘We’re going back,’ insisted Felicite.

Mary reached out for the woman’s hand. ‘When will I go home?’

‘Don’t you like me?’ Mary’s hand was velvet soft, pudgy fingers searching for hers.

‘Yes, now that you don’t hit me.’

‘I won’t ever hit you again. I promise.’

She broke her promises when she felt like it, remembered Mary. ‘Why did you before?’

‘I made a mistake. I’m sorry.’

Mary liked making her feel sorry. There definitely wasn’t any car noise from the other side of the bank so perhaps it was just marsh. ‘So when will I go home?’

Felicite walked for several moments without talking. ‘Would you like to talk to your papa?’ It was a new idea. The bitch who thought she knew so much wouldn’t expect that: wouldn’t expect a lot of what was going to happen. She was a piss-poor psychologist, believing she was frightened of her. Soon prove that was ridiculous.

‘Can I! Can I!’ said Mary urgently.

‘What would you say about me?’

Now Mary remained silent, although not for as long as Felicite. ‘I don’t know. Nothing. Can I speak to him? Please!’

‘Why don’t you want to stay with me?’

Mary flinched at the sudden harshness. ‘I can’t stay with you for ever. You know I can’t.’

‘Would you, if you could?’ said Felicite, allowing the fantasy.

Mary knew the answer was important. ‘Yes, if I didn’t already have a mom and dad.’

The simplistic logic blunted Felicite’s irritation. She wouldn’t be giving in, letting Mary speak to her father: she’d be increasing the pressure. An additional idea began to form. ‘They might try to stop you.’

‘Who?’

‘People who are with your papa. A woman. Her name’s Claudine. That’s why it’s taken so long: sometimes when I call she won’t let me talk to him.’

‘Why not?’

‘She won’t believe it’s about you. A lot of people are playing jokes on your papa: calling and pretending to be you.’

‘We’re not pretending!’

‘I know.’

‘Tell her she must let me!’

‘I’ll try. If I do, will you promise to tell her something for me?’

‘What?’ asked Mary doubtfully.

‘Something that might sound silly but she’ll understand.’

‘All right.’

They were close to the house now. Hopeful gulls swooped and called overhead. A ship so laden with containers it seemed to have a city skyline was making its way slowly from the port towards the open sea. It was still too far away for anyone to be visible but Mary waved.

‘Did you see anyone?’ demanded Felicite sharply.

‘No.’

‘Why did you wave?’

Mary shrugged. ‘Because.’ She stood in the middle of the pattern-floored entrance hall, watching Felicite carefully lock, bolt and test the huge front door. ‘Are any of the others coming?’

‘No.’

‘When will they?’

‘Never.’ Felicite smiled. Of all the decisions she’d made in the last twenty-four hours, the one to abandon Smet and all the others satisfied her the most.

‘I don’t want to go back downstairs,’ announced Mary, risking the defiance.

The telephone conversations would be in French: there was no way the child would be able to understand. Felicite said: ‘If you stay upstairs you’ve got to be a good girl.’

‘I will be.’

‘You know what I mean by being a good girl, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘What?’

‘Not try to get away.’ She was glad she hadn’t run to the top of the bank. She’d intended to, at first.

‘If you do try I’ll bring back the man I stopped hurting you to look after you again. And I’ll leave.’ Felicite felt almost physical pain at the fear that registered at once on Mary’s face. ‘So you will be good, won’t you?’ she added hurriedly.

‘Yes,’ said the child quietly. She tensed when Felicite put her arm round her to take her into the huge room with the panoramic windows. Inside Mary curled up in a large chair, staring out over the river with her back to the room and Felicite.

Hans Doorn said he was glad she’d called to rearrange the postponed booking. It was fortunate the house was still available. He’d arrange for it to be prepared before the arrival of her and her party and understood they’d be bringing their own staff. If there was a change of plan he could fix local cooking and cleaning people. Felicite said there wouldn’t be any change.

The Luxembourg lawyer whom she’d continued to use after Marcel’s death and had briefed that morning said he’d already started the chain in Andorra and Liechtenstein and hoped to complete with the confirmation in Switzerland within three days. He remained unsure whether the expense was justified but accepted it was her money and she could do what she wanted with it. In the meantime, now that she’d confirmed the rental, he’d release the money transfer she’d authorized and hoped she’d have a good vacation. Felicite said she was sure she would.