The Last Witness

appeared. She dropped the tape off at home, gave Gordon a quick peck on the cheek and ‘Call you later’ — they’d said their main goodbye earlier — and hit the road again.

She didn’t want to take the Sandbanks ferry and risk getting stuck in a queue where she could be easily apprehended — so she’d decided to head through Wareham, which would add an extra fifteen miles. She glanced at her watch: three hours to Eurotunnel or the ferries, and by then Nicola Ryall would know that Lorena was missing. Then she’d probably lose half-an-hour or even an hour waiting for the next departure and boarding. How long before Mrs Ryall raised the alert with the police: fifteen, twenty minutes? It was going to be tight.

Perhaps picking up on the worry and strain in her face, Lorena clutched lightly at her left arm and nestled close. ‘Thank you, Elena. Thank you.’

Elena gave her a little hug and ruffled her hair. She felt like adding, ‘Don’t thank me yet,’ but she didn’t want to dull the light in Lorena’s eyes: the first light of hope that had probably been there for a while.

And she was equally concerned now about her own state of mind. The last half hour of tension had totally drained her: her nerves were still as tight as piano wire, leaping wildly with each car that came close. She could feel her body’s gentle trembling as she hugged Lorena. With forty-eight hours or more of the same ahead, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to cope.

‘Do you want coffee, or something stronger? Or maybe something soft?’ Viana posed the question just how Roman had suggested: try not to leave the option of Donatiens not having a drink.

‘Just a coke, thanks,’ Georges’ voice sailed through from the lounge.

‘Okay.’ Viana felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders, though still she found the shaking of her hands impossible to control as she reached for a glass and took the coke from the fridge. She pondered for a second what to have for herself, before deciding on coffee: more time pottering around in the kitchen, more movement to provide cover for her slipping the two pills into Georges’ drink.

While the coffee machine was getting close to boiling, she went to her handbag and took out the tablets wrapped in tissue. Then with a quick look back, listening out that he wasn’t moving and about to walk in on her any second, she put them into his drink. They fizzed a bit while she was pouring her coffee. She stirred cream into her coffee and gave the coke a quick stir too, just to make sure they’d dissolved, and walked back in the lounge with both drinks with a smile.

‘There you are.’ She handed Georges the coke and set her cup down on a coffee table between them. ‘I really appreciate you helping me out like this. Thanks.’

‘That’s okay. It’s nothing.’ Georges took a quick sip of coke. ‘What’s this guy’s name, the one giving you all the trouble?’

‘Oh…uh….’ She stumbled for a second. That was one thing they’d never thought about. She grabbed quickly for a client’s name she recalled. ‘Barry. Barry Picard.’

Georges just nodded and took another sip.

Viana became concerned that he was drinking too slowly. Five minutes, Roman had said; but that was probably from when he’d finished it all. What if he sipped his way slowly through, then knocked back the rest only seconds before leaving? She looked away slightly as Georges met her eye, worried that her pre-occupation might have shown.

‘You’re obviously still anxious,’ Georges said. ‘But stop worrying. ‘Even if he was waiting outside, he’d have probably left by now — or certainly within a few minutes, max. I don’t see him waiting beyond that. It’s cold out there.’

‘You’re probably right.’ She fired back a hesitant smile. Her guilt weighed heavier with the reassurance: how many had ever taken the time out to give any thought to her welfare? ‘But you’ll stay the extra ten or fifteen minutes, just to make sure. Right?’

‘Yeah, sure. No problem.’ He took a heavier gulp this time. He could tell that she was deeply agitated, it was going to take more than just an off-pat reassurance to calm her. Seeing the fear in her face made him think for a moment of his own problems: Jean-Paul was on a quick loop trip to New York and Boston, Simone wouldn’t be able to see him till the morning. He just hoped that Jean-Paul wasn’t delayed; he was near the end of his tether, his nerves shot with waiting on the outcome.

Viana took the first sips of her coffee. She could sense the awkwardness, the tension between them growing more with each beat of silence. Georges still had only drunk a third of his coke, and would probably be more likely to leave prematurely if he felt awkward. She tried to lighten the mood, smiling wryly as she launched into petty politics at the club between Azy, Roman and Yves. Of how because Yves, as floating manager, was there only one or two nights a week, Azy seemed to assume responsibility the rest of the time.

‘Often he’ll talk straight to Roman about anything serious without bothering to consult Yves, and a few times it’s caused problems. Yves feels he’s losing his authority.’ Viana shook her head, watching keenly Georges take another few sips. ‘And there’s no rhyme or reason to what Azy might pick up on to complain about. One time, Amy, you know — well, she took too many hits of dope before going on, then she slipped a Quaalude and topped up by sneaking some heavy whisky shots into her orange juice from a flask in her handbag. An hour into dancing and she’s on cloud nine. She starts laughing uncontrollably when her ass brushes too close and knocks a client’s toupee out of place. The client complains bitterly, and Azy’s all apologies and offers the client a free drink on the house — but Azy don’t say nothing to Roman or Yves about it.’ Viana’s smile broadened. ‘Fact is, as soon as the client left, Azy too is wetting himself over it.’

Georges grinned. He could just imagine Azy’s fawning, wide-eyed ‘Yes, Bossman, sorry Bossman’ act until the client was gone. He felt himself relax a bit, but maybe that was because Viana was relaxing and smiling for the first time — her fear and tension were easing a notch. But he could definitely feel his body mellowing; no, more than that, his senses were floating slightly, which struck him as strange: he could only remember having one glass of wine with dinner and a beer earlier while checking the tills. And it was also hot in here, his throat dry. He eased his collar a little and took a couple of gulps of coke.

Viana followed the glass keenly: two thirds down. ‘…But then other times, Azy will be as strict as hell, won’t budge an inch. Particularly when it comes to dating clients. Perhaps it’s because we had a lot of trouble with that Michelle last year dating a client, some real nasty scenes and shouting matches in the club before Yves and Roman got rid of her. And then Azy too had that problem with dating Janine last year. He got a real roasting over that — so perhaps that’s why he’s so strict on it with others.’

‘Yeah, I can see that.’ God, it was hot. He took another slug, felt it cut through the chalk in his throat. And he felt dizzy… with a dull ringing in his ears. Perhaps the beer he had earlier was off, or maybe something he ate.

‘…That’s why I didn’t want anything said to Azy about this guy bugging me. For sure he’d have said something to Yves or Roman.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Georges held out one hand. ‘I understand. No problem. Look, I… I… I’m afraid I’m not feeling that well. I think I’d better go.’ The ringing had turned to a solid ache at his temples, and everything was slightly hazy, more distant. He got uncertainly to his feet.

‘Oh… right. Can’t you stay just a few minutes more? He could still be waiting outside.’ Her concern she hoped came over as real: inside she was panicking. At this rate, Georges was going to flake out halfway along the building corridor or in the elevator for all her neighbours to see; or, worse still, while he was driving home.

‘Stay longer? Uh… I…I don’t know.’ His legs seemed to hardly hold him. He took a step, but they felt like numb jelly and buckled quickly. He grabbed onto the coffee table for support. The room shifted and swayed, with Viana’s voice little more than a dull echo. And suddenly all the other signals gelled in that instant: her insisting on him staying longer, her pause recalling the boyfriend’s name… her watching his glass keenly as he drunk. ‘Viana…what have you done to me?…What have you-’

‘Nothing, Georges… nothing! Are you okay? You’re frightening me.’

Georges tried to look at her directly, to see from her eyes whether she was lying — but at that moment his legs gave way completely, the side of his right shoulder and arm crashing into the table before his face hit the carpet. Perhaps he’d got it wrong, it was just some bad food or beer: her plea that she was frightened had sounded heartfelt, real. And he could feel her now shaking his shoulder, her voice frantic.

‘Georges… Georges!’

But there was a moment before everything faded in which Viana obviously thought he was already unconscious and couldn’t hear anything. She started gently sobbing and then he felt the soft press of her lips