Vince May - Presumed Dead

First they had to make their way from the hut, down the steep, torturous slopes at the bottom end of the Charpoua glacier, then the trail was a little easier as they crossed diagonally the much flatter surface of the Mer de Glace.

Now they were nearly off the ice and could see the Montenvers terminus, with its observation terrace, far above them at the top of a steep winding path. So far, it had been all downhill, and although the going had been slippery, Alice had managed without too many problems. They stopped as soon as they left the ice to take their crampons off. Alice sat on a rock whilst Philippe knelt in front of her and unhooked the metal spikes from her boots. She was tired and cold and her spirits had been gradually falling as each step took her closer to the real world and to facing her problems.

Philippe took his own crampons off then asked, ‘Are you ready to go on?’

‘I guess so,’ Alice sighed, getting to her feet.

The rocky path to the Montenvers terminus zigzagged back and forth up the side of the valley. Philippe insisted that Alice walk ahead of him so that she could set the pace. They started off well, but Alice was soon flagging and had to stop for a rest. Philippe urged her on, and before long they passed the spot where Alex had done his quick change, then finally arrived at the terminus. Alice was exhausted and just stood shivering with her hood up whilst Philippe bought tickets for their descent to Chamonix.

They went through the turnstile onto the platform and got straight onto the waiting train although it wasn’t due to leave for another ten minutes. All of the human traffic at this time of the day was coming up to the Montenvers with the trains arriving full and leaving empty, so they had the carriage to themselves. Philippe got Alice installed in a corner, stowed their rucksacks, then snuggled up next to her trying to make her warm. Her nose and ears were blue with the cold so she kept her hood up.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Very cold and very tired,’ she said with a shiver. ‘That last part was steeper than it looked, I didn’t think I was going to make it.’

‘You did fine,’ he said, ‘I’m proud of you.’ He squeezed her hand through her glove then said, ‘Wait here a minute, I’ve just thought of something.’ With that, he jumped off the train and disappeared into the terminus.

Alice gazed after him wondering where he’d gone. After a couple of minutes he reappeared carrying two polystyrene cups full of thick, sweet, hot chocolate, which he’d got from the terminus café. He handed one to Alice and said, ‘Drink this, it will make you feel much better.’

She smiled for the first time since leaving the hut. Taking the cup between her shaking hands, she sipped the steaming liquid and closed her eyes with pleasure. It was like nectar. ‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully, ‘you’ve saved my life… again.’

The automatic doors hissed shut and the train jerked into motion. Soon they were heading down the steep single track towards Chamonix, leaving the beauty and sanctuary of the high mountains far behind them. Halfway down, the train stopped in a small siding to allow the upward bound train to pass. As the ascending train lumbered past carrying tourists, climbers and the four Gendarmerie Peloton men, no one took any notice of the couple cuddling in the other train. Further down the mountain they entered a layer of dark gray cloud, which was lying across the valley like a thick, dirty blanket. When they emerged out of the other side it was into gloom and rain, which dampened Alice’s spirits even further.

Finally, the train pulled into the station in Chamonix and Philippe held onto Alice’s arm as they got off and hurried across the road to the car park, where his BMW was parked. He helped her into the passenger side, adjusted the electric seat until she was semi-reclined and comfortable, then secured her seat belt. After stashing their rucksacks he started the engine, put the heating on full blast and switched the electric seat heaters on. Within a minute there was warm air flowing over Alice’s chilled body as she nestled back into the warm, cozy leather with her eyes closed.

‘Are you comfortable?’ he asked.

‘Mmm, yes… this is heaven,’ she said, smiling and snuggling deeper into her seat.

They glided smoothly out of the car park, over the level crossing and onto the road leading out of Chamonix. By the time they were on the Autoroute Blanche, the muted hum of the engine and the flip-flap of the windscreen wipers had lulled Alice into a peaceful sleep.

About the same time, over in Weggis, David Wiseman was just leaving the hotel to keep his appointment at the house of the porter and his wife. He’d read in his guide book that it was the done thing to take a gift if invited to the house of a Swiss, so he stopped at a little shop across the road from the hotel and bought a small bunch of flowers.

Seestrasse was easy to find, because as the name suggested, it was the street that ran along the side of the lake. Number five was a green-shuttered, whitewashed house in the middle of a small terrace of identical houses, which looked like they had been newly scrubbed. All the windows were dressed with delicate lace curtains and adorned outside with rustic wooden boxes, bulging with petunias and geraniums. The overall scene, as everywhere else in the town, was one of clean, neat efficiency.

David had also read in his tourist guide that the Swiss were sticklers for punctuality, so he paced himself and knocked on the door at precisely ten a.m.. The old porter came to the door immediately, shook his hand and invited him in. Now that he was out of uniform, he was like a different man, animated, talkative and friendly. He took David through to a small parlor, where an old lady was sitting at a pine table that was set out with cups and saucers.

‘May I present my wife, Frau Schutz?’ he asked David. Then turning to his wife he said, ‘My dear, this is Mr Wiseman from America, the Baroness’s nephew.’

David shook the old lady’s hand and gave her the flowers saying slowly, ‘Very glad to meet you, these are for you.’

‘Thank you Mr Wiseman, they are lovely. I am pleased to meet you too. Would you like tea, or maybe some coffee?’ the old lady asked.

David was amazed yet again at the way everyone in town seemed to speak perfect English. ‘Coffee would be good, thank you.’

She handed the flowers to her husband who took them out into the kitchen then busied himself making a pot of coffee. Turning back to David, she said, ‘I knew someone would come.’

He was taken aback by her intensity. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I knew someone would come here sooner or later asking questions about the Baroness.’

‘Why do you say that?’ David asked.

‘Because there are questions about the Baroness that remain unanswered, even after all this time, and it is the duty of her family to find the truth.’

Ah, David thought. This is what I came for. ‘What truth?’ he asked innocently, ‘what do you mean?’

‘The truth about her death, of course.’

‘But I thought she died from a heart attack,’ David said, leading her on. ‘That’s what we were told.’

The old woman snorted. ‘Heart attack? Nonsense… she was as strong as a horse.’

‘What are you getting at?’ David asked.

Frau Schutz leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I believe that English husband of hers killed her.’

‘Killed her?’ David asked, feigning incredulity. ‘But why? What possible reason would he have to do that?’

‘For her money, of course,’ the old woman said as if speaking to a dense child. ‘He thought the Baroness was a very wealthy woman, but he didn’t get as much as he had bargained for.’