Vince May - Presumed Dead

‘Hello?’ she said timidly.

Philippe’s heart leapt as her voice filled the car. ‘Hello Alice, it’s Philippe,’ he said into the hands-free microphone above his head.

‘Philippe, oh I’m so glad you called,’ Alice gushed, ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’

‘Worried about me… but why?’

‘You were so upset when you left here, I was just worried something might happen to you… you might have an accident or… I don’t know, I was just worried that’s all. I wanted to call you but I didn’t have your number.’

Philippe was touched, and said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just called because I wanted to hear your voice.’

‘That’s nice,’ Alice said softly. ‘I wish you had let me come with you.’

‘I wish that too, now. I’m sorry I acted the way I did earlier.’

‘That’s okay, I understand.‘

‘What are you doing with yourself?’ Philippe asked.

‘Nothing much, just sitting around.’

‘Why don’t you make yourself something to eat, you have got to build your strength back up you know. There are lots of things in the freezer.’

‘I might make something later,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel like it right now.’

‘Just make sure you don’t forget,’ he said. ‘Remember, it is my job to look after you, I don’t want to come home and find you have wasted away.’

Alice laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that!’

There was a pause between them, then Alice asked, ‘Will you give me a call when you get there, just to let me know you’re safe?’

‘Of course I will, and if you look in the notebook that is in the drawer under the telephone, you will find my cell phone number in case you want to call me.’

‘Thank you,’ Alice said. ‘Speak to you later, take care.’

‘You too, au revoir.’ Philippe punched the disconnect button on his steering wheel.

Alice stood holding the telephone, staring off into space for a few seconds before placing it back on the cradle. Ever since he’d dropped her at the house with her shopping and sped away, she’d been feeling uneasy and worried, worried about Philippe, worried about young Charles and worried that her husband was about to have her declared dead and ruin her company. How, she wondered, would the headmaster at Eton tell her son that his mother had been found dead on a mountain? How would he feel? Her heart went out to him, but she knew she must play the game, Ross’s game, a little longer if she was going to save her company and the jobs of all those thousands of people who relied on her for their livelihood.

After she put the telephone down, she wandered outside and sat on the veranda for a while, but it wasn’t the same without Philippe. Getting up, she went back into the house and spotted her shopping bags on the kitchen table, just where she’d dumped them earlier on. She decided she’d better take them through to her bedroom and put her new things away, but before she could do that, she would have to move the clothes that Philippe had given her when she’d first arrived. She opened the drawers in her room and put Louisa’s clothes in a neat pile on her bed, then picked them up and went through into Philippe’s room.

It was the first time she’d been into his room, and its beauty and simplicity immediately struck her. The floor was polished wood, just like her floors at home, and there were brightly colored scatter rugs here and there. A small door led off to an en-suite bathroom, which was cool and pleasant with marble tiles on the floor and walls. The big double bed had a rustic antique pine frame, which matched the rest of the farmhouse style furniture in the room. On one of the bedside cabinets there was a silver-framed photograph of a tall, slim woman with long brown hair wearing climbing gear and leaning against a rock with a wonderful mountain view behind her.

Alice put the pile of clothes on the bed then picked the photograph up and studied it. This must be Louisa, she thought. As she looked at the other woman’s dark, handsome features, she suddenly felt an enormous pang of pity for Philippe. How long had he spent out there on the mountain looking for her? How must he have felt, week after week, trekking through the snow, searching, hoping to find just some sign of her? And how must he feel now to have her taken away by someone else, someone like Ross? The thought of Ross made her feel vicious. I hate that bastard, she thought vehemently, I hate him for what he did to me, for what he’s doing to poor Philippe and for how Charles must be feeling right now. I’m going to get even with him if it’s the last thing I do!

The subject of Alice’s intentions was at that moment enjoying a drink in the bar of the Jardin du Mont Blanc Hotel, waiting for Jacques Batard to turn up. Ross had been feeling particularly pleased with himself ever since his earlier conversation with Batard when he’d realized he was going to get away with it. He’d gone straight to the bar as soon as he’d arrived back at the hotel and had been drinking steadily ever since. The hotel staff had looked on with sympathy as he’d downed the best part of a bottle of brandy. ‘Poor Monsieur,’ they had said to each other, ‘drowning his sorrows. Such a beautiful woman, such a waste.’

But Ross was far from sorrowful. This was his own personal, private celebration, a celebration of five hundred million dollars that were coming his way. He’d drunk to his new Learjet, to his new yacht, to his new villa in Monaco, to having as much cash as he wanted, to unlimited credit at any gambling house in the world. By the time six o’clock came and Batard walked into the bar, Ross was, by his own admission, a bit squiffy. But surely that was understandable for a chap in his position, wasn’t it?

Batard seemed to think so, and took it in his stride when Ross hailed him. ‘Ah, there you are my friend, come and have a drink.’

‘No thank you Monsieur, I have a lot of work to do tonight before I get off duty. Are you ready to go to the hospital?’

‘Suppose we better get it over with,’ Ross said, climbing unsteadily to his feet.

Batard had a car parked outside, and opened the front passenger door for Ross. Going around to his own side, he jumped in and they were soon heading across town to the hospital.

The mortuary was located in the hospital basement and the two men rode the lift down in silence. When the lift opened, Batard let the way through a pair of swing doors into the morgue, where they were instantly enveloped by the sickly, penetrating smell of formaldehyde. In the middle of the room, there were two stainless steel autopsy tables on wheeled bases, both of them empty. Harsh overhead fluorescent lights reflected back from the scrubbed floor and white-tiled walls into Ross’s bleary eyes, making him squint.

A morgue attendant led the way to a wall of refrigerated body vaults, and, pulling back a heavy metal clamp, swung one of the doors open and slid a body pan draped with green sheeting half way out. The brilliant light in the room accentuated the contours of the body under the sheet and for the first time in this whole affair, Ross felt a twinge of nervousness run up his spine. The morgue attendant stood back to let Batard and Ross stand one either side of the tray.

As Batard lifted the sheet and folded it neatly back, just below the shoulders of the naked corpse, Ross caught his breath and stared down with horror on the bloated, blue lipped, half-crushed face, surrounded by light brown hair. Of all the things he’d been expecting to see, the body of a complete stranger was not one of them. Suddenly, his throat filled with bile and his legs gave way. He staggered backwards into the arms of the morgue attendant who guided him over to a steel chair and sat him down, forcing his head down between his knees. He spat the mouthful of bile out onto the floor.