Simone drove blindly for the first twenty minutes, the passing buildings and oncoming traffic blurred with her streaming teams. She was headed downtown, but with no idea where she wanted to go. Certainly not to the office: she’d already begged the morning off with an excuse, and the way she felt she’d probably take the afternoon off as well.
She didn’t want to see or speak to anyone, or even be near people for a while, so decided in the end to head for Mount Royal Park. She wound her way to the far side of the hillside park and pulled into the parking for the look-outs over East Montreal and towards the North. In the summer, there would always be two or three coaches and several cars. But now, mid-week and barely out of winter, it was deserted all but for two cars and an elderly couple at the last telescope in line. Simone purposely parked furthest away from them.
She took deep breaths, trying to claw back some composure, but her anger still burned red-raw and her eyes kept filling; she could barely pick out any detail from the blurry landscape ahead. The photos and the deception had been bad enough, but what hurt all the more, what she could never forgive Georges for, was how he’d played her for such a patsy with her father. She felt foolish, used; it made the betrayal far more bitter.
The elderly couple were ambling back to their car, so she decided to get out. She wiped back her tears and walked across to the rail edge, looking out. There was faint spring warmth in the air from the mid-morning sun, but at the rail a biting wind hit her, making her eyes water again. Snow had all but gone from the city and surrounds, only patches of white could be seen in the distance, towards the totally white Laurentide mountain range on the horizon. She took a deep breath. The isolation was what she wanted to clear her head, but the Laurentides suddenly reminded her of skiing with Georges, and the images on the photos were quickly back, searing through. She needed a drink or three.
She didn’t want to bump into anyone she knew, so picked out a bar at random on her way through Outremont. She started with a couple of Brandy Collins, but with the effects slow in washing through she went on to tequilas. Two quick shots later and she felt the first glow, her senses mellowing, swimming pleasantly. But she started to feel self-conscious drinking alone among strangers, a few eyes drifting her way and wondering why she was knocking them back so quickly.
She headed for
She went back onto Brandy Collins, was halfway through the first as she looked up thoughtfully and asked him, ‘Could you go for someone like me, Miguel?’
‘Yes, I… I suppose so.’ He was cautious, given the possible connotations: come on to a mob girl one week, end up in the river the next.
‘I mean…’ She toyed with her swizzle stick. ‘Do you find me attractive?’
‘Yes, of course… you’re a real pretty girl. But you’ve already got someone — Georges. I’ve got strict rules about things like that.’ Not necessarily true, he’d fooled around with a couple of married women; but he thought it was the right thing to say, would keep him clear of the river.
‘Yeah, sure.’ She pulled a face and looked down into her drink. ‘Shame he’s not got the same rule book.’
They were silent for a second. Miguel could see that she’d been drinking heavily, but her maudlin mood was the main signal that she wanted him to ask, ‘Something wrong?’
‘Yeah.’ She slowly nodded and pushed a rueful smile. ‘I just found out that Georges has been fooling around, cheating on me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He reached out and lightly touched her arm; the closest with consolation he dared get. ‘He’s a fool, that’s all I can say. ‘If you were my girl, well, for sure I wouldn’t treat you like that.’ He said this with conviction. Another step away from the river.
‘Thanks.’ Simone patted Miguel’s hand for a second before it was pulled away. ‘That’s-’ Her mobile started ringing ‘-that’s nice of you to say so.’
Miguel broke away with a pained smile and went to serve some customers at the far end of the bar. She looked at the display: Georges’ office number. She’d promised to phone him midday to let him know how it went. 1.12pm now: obviously he was curious and wondering why she hadn’t called. Let him stew. She let it ring out, then as soon as it had stopped she switched it off.
Miguel started to get busy with the lunchtime crowd, so she decided to leave. She didn’t feel like continuing about her problems with others close and, besides, what else was there to say? She knocked back her Brandy Collins and lifted one hand to Miguel, who volleyed ‘Take care now, Simone’ over the fresh people he was serving. The same pained smile. He was concerned about her.
She ambled down Rue St Catherine, blindly window shopping — her thoughts were still elsewhere — then dived into Eaton’s shopping centre. But some of the shops reminded her of days out with Georges: the boutique where on impulse he’d bought her a dress she liked, the jewellers for her engagement ring… the tears were quickly back again, and she started to feel uncomfortable with so many people milling close, some of them looking at her curiously. She headed out to the street again. She was far too drunk to drive, so hailed a cab to the Latin Quarter. It should be quieter there.
She dived into an Italian restaurant at the start of Rue St Denis — maybe she’d feel better if she ate something — but could manage only three mouthfuls of lasagne before pushing it away. Though she made good work of the half carafe of red she’d ordered with it, finishing it all. Two calls had come through to her mobile message board since she’d left
The first was her father:
The second was Georges:
His wheedling tone pushed her over the edge: she smashed her mobile against a lamppost to one side before the message had finished — then gave it three sharp stomps with her right heel. Fragments of plastic and circuit board splayed across the pavement. A waiter from a Vietnamese restaurant to one side was staring at her, and a group of three further down who weren’t quite in focus. She stepped back as if to detach herself from the mess, but her legs felt suddenly weak, unsteady, and she buckled slightly before righting herself. She fixed her gaze finally on a Labbatt’s sign twenty yards away and headed for it; she had enough of her senses left to know that she probably wouldn’t make it much further than that.
Her hands were still shaking with rage as they wrapped around her glass, another Brandy Collins. She closed her eyes as she took the first few slugs. Bastard. Bastard.
It put the first smile of the day on her face — but a sudden worry, one thing she hadn’t thought of before, gripped her then: her father’s uncharacteristic anger as he’d bit back about Georges, his comment about Roman providing proof, no doubt the photos, and their concern about Georges giving information to the RCMP. As much as she despised what Georges had done and probably never wanted to see him again, that was a far stretch from wanting to see him in any way harmed. She reached to her pocket, then remembered she no longer had her mobile. She paid and made her way uncertainly out of the bar, looking for the first phone booth.
‘They’ve got her!’ Sally beckoned Crowley excitedly and covered the phone mouthpiece with her other hand.
‘Where?’
‘Paris Orly airport. They stopped her at customs just ten minutes ago.’ She lifted her hand free and turned her attention back to the phone.
