Vince May - Presumed Dead

‘The reward?’ Ross asked blankly.

‘Yes Monsieur, the reward you offered for finding Madame.’

‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten all about that,’ Ross said. ‘I’ve lodged the money with the Credit Agricole des Savoie bank in Chamonix. If you give me the name of the chap who found her, I’ll phone an authorization through, then he can go along and pick it up.’

‘Thank you Monsieur, I will write his name down for you. When can I tell him to go to the bank?’

‘I’ll phone them straight away,’ Ross promised. ‘He can go any time.’

Batard wrote Christian Lochet’s name on a piece of paper torn from his notebook, then saluted again and was gone.

As soon as the door was closed, Ross stood up and locked it, then he got his cell phone out. First he called the bank and gave them Lochet’s name and the authority to release the money. He thought it better to get that settled before he forgot it, because he didn’t want any trouble from Batard. The next call he made was to Alex, who was by now back in London. He answered it on the first ring.

‘We’re in business,’ Ross said simply.

‘Yes, I know, I’ve just been watching it on BBC News twenty-four, they were showing it live. Where did they find her?’

‘Exactly where I thought she would be,’ Ross said triumphantly, ‘half way up the glacier.’

‘Weren’t they suspicious as to how she got that high up?’ Alex asked with concern.

‘Not a bit. They reckon she walked up there, then slipped and fell. What else could they think… that she flew?’ Ross laughed at his own joke.

‘Very funny,’ Alex said. ‘What’s the next step?’

‘I’ve got to identify the body and sign a few forms, then they’ll release her. You know what to do your end, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I’ve already got a medevac plane on standby at Biggin, ready to fly out to Geneva.’

‘Good, get back to them and tell them to be down here first thing in the morning. After you’ve done that, find an undertaker and get them to meet the plane at Biggin tomorrow around noon.’

‘Check.’

‘Then book me a seat with British Airways to New York on Saturday morning and tell Scott Carver, the C.E.O. of Sanderson’s, to call an emergency meeting of the board of directors at their head office at midday on Saturday.’

‘Okay, will do. What about the funeral?’ Alex asked.

‘I’ll organize that when I get back from the States. I’ll have to go up and see the vicar at Minster at Stone personally to arrange for the family vault to be opened so she can be buried there. There’s no rush, we’ve got all the time in the world to give her a good sentimental send-off once we’ve got her home. The important thing is getting that death certificate and getting her away from here before they look too closely at her injuries and start asking questions.’

‘You think they might get suspicious then?’

‘I doubt it, but I don’t want to take any chances. Tripping over and banging your head is a bit different from being dropped three thousand feet onto solid ice. I’m hoping they’re not going to look at her too closely.’

‘Let me know how you get on,’ Alex said. ‘When are you planning on coming back?’

‘As soon as I’ve got her loaded on the medevac plane in the morning, I’ll fly straight back to the farm and then drive up to town. I should be with you shortly after lunch.’

‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then… don’t forget to call me again later on, will you?’

‘I won’t. Speak to you later, bye.’

Once Ross had hung up, he quickly packed the few things he’d brought with him into his small overnight bag then made his way downstairs. He reached the ground floor and was about to walk into the lobby when he realized that it was packed with reporters, no doubt waiting to ambush him for his reaction to the discovery of his wife’s body. Having had to duck out the back way from many a casino in the past, Ross put his experience to good use and scooted down the hall and out through the kitchens. When he got to the railway terminus, there was a train about to leave with the last few rescue workers on board. He found a seat on his own and rode down the mountain to Chamonix, lost in the thought of half a billion dollars.

David Wiseman had been having a tough day driving on the English roads. The trip from Dover to Central London, where he had a room booked at the County Hall Premier Inn, next to the London Eye, was only seventy-six miles and should have taken him around two hours, but he’d got hopelessly lost. He’d started out all right and had found his way onto the M20 motorway without any problem, but then he took a wrong turn and ended up on the M25 London orbital motorway, or, as the locals called it, the biggest parking lot in Britain.

He’d crawled clockwise around the M25 for over three hours and had done one and a half circuits of London before the awful truth that he was going in circles had dawned on him. He’d then decided to abandon the motorway and had taken the next exit, which happened to be for Watford, in north London, and had started asking for directions. He’d been directed virtually street by street through Harrow, Wembley, Ealing, Chiswick, Kensington, Brompton, Westminster and eventually to his hotel in Southwark, where he’d just arrived, after nearly six hours on the road, completely exhausted.

During the drive up from Dover, he’d managed to totally confuse and bewilder the two men who were tailing him. They had been tearing their hair out with frustration as David had taken wrong turning after wrong turning, doubled back on himself, gone the wrong way up one way streets and even, at one stage, driven the wrong side of a keep-left sign. By the time they reached the hotel and saw him check in, they were both considering a change of career.

David had intended to drive out to Minster at Stone, which was near Hereford, that afternoon, but since he’d only just arrived at his hotel and it was starting to get dark, he decided to postpone the visit to his aunt’s final resting place until the following day. Instead, he grabbed an early dinner in the hotel’s restaurant, then fell asleep in front of the television set in his room.

Philippe’s journey had been going a lot better. He’d dropped Alice off at his house at around three-thirty and was now well on his way to Chamonix, where he expected to arrive by eight p.m. at the latest. Ever since he’d set off, he’d been thinking about Louisa. The shock of seeing her body being stretchered off the mountain had soon been replaced by a deep sorrow. He’d told himself over and over again during the past three months that she was dead, and he thought he’d come to terms with it, but now, actually knowing for sure, was like losing her all over again. The only balm he had was Alice. The way she had come into his life just three days ago, and everything that had happened since, seemed to him to be nothing short of a miracle.

Thinking forward now, he wasn’t sure how he was going to tackle the authorities when he got to Chamonix. It was going to be tricky insisting that the body they had recovered from the mountain was not Alice’s without being able to give any plausible explanation or proof. One thing he did know for certain though, was that he would keep his promise to Alice, no matter what.

Each time he thought of Alice he felt a warm glow, which calmed and strengthened him. He kept thinking of her back in Nîmes, waiting for him to come home, fantasizing about how she would rush to the door to welcome him, how she would hug and kiss him and say she’d missed him. He wanted her desperately and wished now that he’d let her come with him, just for company. He decided to give her a call, and punched the car-phone controls on his steering wheel. It rang five or six times until Alice finally answered it.