“Yes. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
When Jude told her that Gita Millington had returned to London, Carole could not suppress a feeling of unworthy glee. Jude had anticipated and noted this, but did not comment.
She was quickly brought up to date with developments on the case: Michael Brewer’s appearance in Gaby’s flat the previous night, and Carole’s brainwave as to where the girl should go.
“I agree. A great idea. Because, apart from anything else, if anyone is going to know the whole history of the case, then it’s going to be Gaby’s grandmother. She was around when the whole thing happened.”
“Exactly, Jude.”
“So, what are you planning to do? Drive down to the South of France? Or fly?”
“Flying’ll be quicker.”
“Have you booked a flight?”
“Stephen’s PA has sorted it out. They’re holding two seats for a Gatwick flight to Bordeaux at 7.55 tomorrow morning. But I didn’t want to confirm until I knew the names of the passengers.”
“What?” Jude looked perplexed. “Come on, Carole. You know Gaby’s name. And I assume you know your own.”
“No. I wanted to check first that you’d be willing to go with Gaby.”
“Me?”
“It’s logical. I’m in touch with Stephen and Marie and Robert. You’re not, really. So if anything happens here, I’ll be able to keep in touch with developments. Besides…” said Carole, with one of her hard-nosed moments of self-knowledge, “I think Gaby might be more relaxed with you than she is with me.”
“All right.” The bird’s nest of blonde hair quivered with the vigour of Jude’s nod.
“And there’s another thing.”
“What?”
“You speak good French.”
Jude acknowledged this was true.
“Because you told me once that you lived in France for a couple of years.”
“Yes, you’re right. I did. And I’m sure, once I’m actually there, the language will come back.”
Carole had been hoping for more details of her neighbour’s sojourn in France, but as so often happened with Jude, the moment for elaboration was quickly past, and the conversation moved on.
“One small matter, Carole.”
“Yes?”
“Who’s actually paying for this little jaunt?”
“Stephen.”
“Well, it’s logical that he should pay for his fiancee, but – ”
“He’s paying for both of you. Anyway, it’s not just a jaunt for you. You have a job of work to do.”
“As what?”
“Gaby’s minder.”
After their lunch with Robert, Gaby had gone into work for the afternoon, the reasoning being that if Michael Brewer was trying to get at her, he wouldn’t choose to do so in a busy office full of theatrical agents. She found being in her work environment a blessed distraction; arguing with tight-fisted theatre managements brought out her competitive instinct and drove all other thoughts from her mind. At the end of the day she stayed late, her colleagues supporting her with a few glasses of wine, until Stephen came to pick her up. He was her minder overnight in the Fulham house, and he drove her down to check in before seven o’clock at Gatwick’s North Terminal.
Stephen had explained their plans to Inspector Pollard, who approved them. The police effort was concentrated in West Sussex as the noose tightened on Michael Brewer and, so far as he was concerned, the further away Gaby Martin was, the better. He made sure they all had the relevant contact numbers, and gave the expedition his blessing.
Gaby had also phoned the retirement home near Villeneuve-sur-Lot where her grandmother was in residence, and told them she’d be coming to visit. The receptionist she spoke to was delighted at the news because the old lady was not getting any stronger, and she kept talking about her granddaughter and her impending marriage.
Jude was waiting for them at the North Terminal. Carole had driven her up from Fethering in the Renault, but, with characteristic economy, had avoided the cost of parking and just dropped her at Departures.
Stephen kissed his fiancee an anxious goodbye, and returned to his latest work crisis. Neither of the women needed to check bags in. They only had hand luggage: a neat executive rectangle for Gaby, and a squashy patterned fabric bag for Jude. The plan was only to be away two nights. Gaby had booked them in to the small hotel in Villeneuve-sur-Lotthat the Martins always used during their visits to
They sat down for a coffee and waited for their flight to board.
“God,” said Gaby. “I cannot wait to be on that plane. It’ll be the first time I’ve felt really safe for ages.”
The flight time was only an hour and thirty-five minutes, but quite a lot was achieved in that time. Though, apart from their therapy session, Gaby had only met Jude once – the evening in the Crown and Anchor when they had been joined by Phil and Bazza – there was no reticence between them. As ever, Jude’s easy presence elicited confidences. (The knowledge of this was one of the reasons why Carole had decided that her neighbour should take on the role of minder for the trip.) In spite of the age difference, Gaby soon found herself talking as though to a contemporary she had known since childhood.
“The back’s been all right, has it, during all the nightmares of the last few weeks?”
“Yes. It’s amazing, isn’t it, Jude? When I was under minimal stress, my back packed in. Now I’m facing real disasters, real threats, I haven’t got a twinge.”
“I don’t find that at all amazing. Your body, or your mind, or the two of them working as a conspiracy, have decided that you need all your strength. Your being incapacitated at the moment wouldn’t serve any useful purpose. It wouldn’t remove the stress.”
“No, that’s only going to happen when Michael Brewer’s been caught.”
“And when the stress is removed, that’s when you’re going to have to be careful.”
“About my back?”
“About your back or any number of other physical symptoms which may try and get at you. If you think about it, Gaby, for the last few weeks, you’ve been putting so much energy into just keeping going, you’ve shut out all kinds of negative thoughts simply in the cause of survival. When the pressure’s off, you’ll be very vulnerable.”
“I know what you mean. Sometimes in the past, after a sustained period of pressure, I’ve gone down with a fluey cold.”
“And you’ve rather enjoyed that, haven’t you?”
Gaby grinned, acknowledging Jude’s intuition. “Yes, it’s been very welcome. Snuffling round the flat, watching daytime television and endless mushy DVDs.”
“But you only got ill when you’d completed the project in question, didn’t you? Illness has never stopped you from doing some work you had to, has it?”
“No.” Gaby chuckled. “Why are we such idiots? Why do we let our bodies play these tricks on us? We should be able to recognize their little games. Yes, I’ve been stressed. When the stress is off, I will be ill. And yet, every time it happens, it’s like a big surprise. Same as when there’s snow in England. Everyone has always known it’s a possibility, but there’s still total shockwhen it happens, and the whole country grinds to a halt.”
“Illness is often a very good medicine, Gaby.”
“Mm.” The girl was thoughtful. “Maybe Mum needs a nice comfortable little illness, to make her less uptight.”
Jude shook her head. “From what I hear of your mother, she controls things by being uptight, by being publicly uptight.”
“I know what you mean. Everyone knows she’s nervy. You only have to meet her to know that.”
“So instantly you have less expectation of her. I think that’s how your mother has insulated herself from the unpleasantnesses of life.”
“You’re right. She seems very self-effacing and unassertive.”
“But in fact the entire life of her family revolves around her.”
Gaby nodded, as if at the confirmation of something she had always suspected.
