Robert Goddard - Sight Unseen

Umber shrugged. 'Sticks and stones.'

'Yeah.' Alice nodded grimly. Her low opinion of him made the deception all too easy to carry off, Umber realized. She wanted to believe in his loss of nerve too badly to question its genuineness. 'You're the living proof of words never hurting, David. You know that?'

'Yes.' He gave her a stoical little smile. 'I suppose I am.'

It took Umber no more than a few minutes to pack his belongings. He hoped to make it out of the house without further debate. Certainly Alice seemed too self-righteously angry to spare him even a parting gibe. But Claire, still worryingly unconvinced by his change of heart, cornered him in the hall.

'How soon are you going back to Prague?' she asked with pragmatic coolness.

'Not sure. Within a couple of days. I… thought I'd go and see my parents before I left.'

'Are you going down to Yeovil now?'

'Yes,' he replied, altogether too quickly.

'I'll give you a lift to Paddington.'

'No need. I'll… take the Tube.' He brushed past her to the door and opened it. "Bye.'

'This isn't goodbye, David.' She followed him out, ostentatiously pulling the door shut behind her. 'We both know that.'

'I'm quitting, Claire. OK? I'm out .'

'Mind if I walk with you to the Tube?'

'I'd rather you didn't.'

'Accept my offer of a lift, then.'

'No.'

'You've fooled Alice,' she said, lowering her voice. 'You haven't fooled me.'

'I'm not trying to fool anyone.'

'Fine. Have it your way. But I'll go back indoors and persuade Alice to see it my way – unless you stop arguing and get in the car.'

Umber stopped arguing. The truth was that Claire left him little choice in the matter. A few minutes later, they were heading towards Swiss Cottage in her TVR. And Claire was doing all the talking.

'Let's cut the crap, shall we, David? Alice believed you because she's prejudiced against you. But I don't share her prejudice, so it won't wash with me. You took an important decision while we were down in Hampshire, but chickening out wasn't it. My guess is you decided to go it alone, probably out of some warped sense of chivalry, which I personally find more offensive than flattering. You think we'll be safer if you leave us out of whatever it is you're planning to do. I suspect you've worked something out you're not telling us about. And I reckon that something involves Michel Tinaud's girlfriend.'

Umber shook his head. 'You've got it all wrong, Claire.'

'You thought we'd get nothing out of the Wilkinsons. That was the basis on which you took your decision. But we came back with a genuine lead. Yet you didn't change your mind. You didn't even hesitate. You ploughed straight on with your cover story. That can only be because you already knew about Tinaud and the girl.'

'How could I?'

'I don't know. Unless -' She braked sharply to a halt, throwing Umber forward in his seat against the lock of the seatbelt. A car behind them blared its horn. Claire held up a hand in apology, then pulled into a parking space at the side of the road and turned to stare at Umber. Her eyes were sparkling with the satisfaction of a sudden insight. 'You've seen her, haven't you? Or at any rate you know where she is.'

'Of course not.'

'Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong.'

He looked her in the eye. But he said nothing. He knew she would see through any lie he told. In fact, she already had.

She turned off the engine, her gaze still fixed on him. Then she said, calmly and quietly, 'There's no guarantee she's still with Tinaud. Given the lifestyle of the average top tennis player, it's quite likely she isn't. But Tinaud can tell us what happened when Sally tracked him down, as I'm sure she did. It makes sense to ask him. He may also be able to tell us where the girl is. And he can certainly tell us who he believes her to be. There's every reason to go and see him. And I will. Unless you're prepared to tell me why I shouldn't.'

Umber sighed. 'Look Claire, I -'

'Just tell me. OK?'

'OK.' He surrendered the point. 'The reason's obvious. The reason is what happened to Sally when she got too close. I don't want that to happen to you. Or Alice.' He ventured a smile. 'But especially you.'

'So you take all the risks?'

'Sally was my wife. And I was at Avebury when they took Tamsin. I have to take the risks. You don't. I can't let you. Give me a few days, Claire. You can stall Alice that long. A few days is all I ask.'

'To accomplish what?'

He shrugged. 'As much as I can.'

The pretence was over. Claire dropped him at the next Tube station. An hour and a half later, he was at Gatwick, buying a ticket for the first flight next morning to Jersey. He booked into the cheapest of the airport hotels for the night and slept surprisingly well.

British Airways flight 8035 hit the runway at the States Airport just before 9.30 on a cool, breezy Sunday morning. Umber had accepted an inclusive car-hire deal when he booked the flight. After a few minutes of form-filling, he was on his way from the terminal to the waiting Peugeot. And a few minutes after that, he was on the road to St Aubin.

All was quiet at le Quai Bisson. Nothing had outwardly changed at Rollers Sail & Surf. The parking space in front of the office was empty. There was no sign of life, nor yet sound of it. As Umber mounted the steps to the door of the flat, no rock music was pounding through its walls. Chantelle, he felt certain, was not there. He had come more in hope than expectation, knowing that the only other step open to him – going to Eden Holt to confront Jeremy's parents with his suspicions – was a step into the profoundest unknown.

He pressed the bell. There was no response. He pressed it again, with the same result. He lowered himself onto his haunches and pushed up the flap of the letterbox. The bare wall at the end of the hall and part of the bathroom doorpost met his gaze unrevealingly. Leaning forward, however, he could glimpse some letters lying on the mat, where they had presumably lain since Saturday morning. Chantelle must have left as soon as she heard of Jeremy's death.

The purr of a car engine behind and below him seeped almost unnoticed into his consciousness. Only when it stopped did he realize that it was directly below him. He glanced round to see the driver's door of a sleek navy-blue Mercedes SL open – and Marilyn Hall climb out.

She was dressed in jeans, leather jacket and polo-neck sweater, the unisex look of a piece with the cool, unastonished, appraising stare she gave him before slamming the car door and starting up the steps as the locking system beeped behind her.

'Who did you expect to find here, David?' She threw the question at him like a challenge. 'A ghost?'

He nodded, determined to seem unabashed. 'In a sense. I was looking for Chantelle.'

'Who?'

'You must know about her.'

'No.'

'Really? Why don't you seem surprised to see me, then?'

She frowned at him in apparent puzzlement, then plucked a key out of one of the zip-pockets of her jacket. 'We can talk inside.'

She unlocked the door and he followed her in, stepping over the waiting post. Already, the flat had an indefinable air of desertion about it. The living room was tidier and emptier than he remembered. A sense of absence was everywhere.

Marilyn strode halfway down the room towards the Catherine-wheel window, then stopped and turned to face him. 'Oliver wanted me to pick up a couple of things,' she explained. 'He hadn't the heart to come himself.' She was sombre and unsmiling, the flirtatiousness buried deep. Yet there was a guardedness about her too. She seemed unsure of her ground – as Umber was of his. 'Lucky for you it was me he sent.'