She glanced at the ceiling. Marks’ staring eyes unsettled her.
“Go on,” Marks said.
“I was waiting for a friend outside the Provence. I noticed... no... Not notice. It was more like I felt this guy staring at me. It happens a lot to me. Anyway, I looked up and thought I recognised him. Then I said something like, ‘Samir? How are you?’ He stared at me. A funny look.”
“What do you mean funny?”
“Cold. Serious.” Marks was getting on her nerves. “If you had a mirror, you’d get it.”
Marks feigned a smile. Even after it disappeared, its chill hung in the room. “Anything else about his demeanour?”
“Anger.” She sipped on the coffee again. Cooler now. “No. Not just anger. More than that. Fury. Rage. Hatred.”
“Did he look in control?”
“He looked… I don't know... Determined? Why? Was he on drugs?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, Alice. Did he say anything to you?”
“I didn’t get it at first, you know. Then he said it again. In Danish. He said, ‘stop living this life’. I asked him what he meant, but he didn't answer.”
“And then?” Marks asked.
“The traffic moved. Someone beeped him, might have been a taxi. I don’t remember. He stalled the van and people laughed at him. Then he drove off. I didn’t see him again. A few minutes later, people ran past my table. They knocked over my champagne. Broke the bottle. It was almost full.”
“That’s terrible,” Gilmore said. “You should get a refund.”
She cocked her head and looked askance at Gilmore. “You think?”
Marks threw a brief glance to Gilmore, who bowed his head to his notebook. When Marks turned his attention to Alice, she noticed he couldn't hide a sneer as he spoke again. “The social media response to your public comment should give you the answer to that.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “I can hardly breathe for the sarcasm.”
“Then let’s dispense with it, shall we? Please continue. What happened next?” Marks asked.
“I didn’t mean that about the champagne. People took it out of context. I didn't know about the terror attack. How could I?”
Marks nodded, but Alice saw scepticism all over his face. She shook her head and continued. “I didn't know what was happening. How could I? I couldn't see from where I sat. As far as I knew, it was a bunch of idiots. Minutes later, more people came running. This time they were shouting. Telling people to run. They said terrorists were attacking people. I ran then. I got the tube to Notting Hill and came here. That’s it. Nothing more.” She pointed at the blank TV screen. “All that TV stuff is wrong.” She wrapped her hands around the mug, feeling the warmth seep through to her palms.
“Any reason you chose the Provence earlier?” Marks asked.
“I like it. And the festival was on.”
“You go there a lot?”
Alice shrugged. “Two or three times a month. Usually Fridays. Depends.”
Marks flipped through his notebook. “You ever go there with Samir Hassan?”
“The GMP crew had a wrap party around the corner from the Provence last year. He, Samir, was there.”
“You talk to him at the party?”
An itch developed in Alice’s nose and she rubbed at it. Marks shifted in his seat as he watched her. Alice noticed and brought her hand down. “A little.”
“He come on to you?”
“Guys are always coming on to me. It’s happens too often to girls like me.”
Marks nodded and waited a beat. “Did you brush him off? Humiliate him?”
“I told him I wasn't interested. I think he was drunk. So, I said stuff to make him stop. Look, I don't remember, okay?”
Marks cocked his head. “A lot to drink that night too?”
“Yeah. I guess I did. But so did everyone else.”
“I see. Regular is it?” He pointed at her. “You know, a lot to drink?”
“No.”
Marks leaned to Gilmore and whispered so she couldn't hear. Gilmore put a finger to his notes, Marks nodded once, then asked her, “Have you told us the truth about everything that happened?”
She nodded. “Yes. It... It was supposed to be a celebration, you know? I got the biggest job in my life. I meant no harm. Nobody should suffer like those people. Nobody. It’s not fair. It’s not right. I’m sorry. So sorry.” She placed the coffee on the floor and put her head in her hands. “Why did he do that? Why? People died. The TV talked about life changing injuries.”
Alice’s shoulders shook, and she rocked in the chair as sobs wracked her. “I didn't know what happened when I sent the text. How could I? It’s not my fault. Now people hate me. I did nothing. Nothing wrong.”
She rubbed her eyes and looked at the two detectives. Gilmore glanced up from his notes at Marks and raised an eyebrow. Marks nodded. “All right Alice. All right.”
“Do you understand? What could I do? I did nothing wrong, did I?”
“You spoke with the terrorist.”
“It wasn't a conversation.” She picked up her coffee mug. It trembled in her hand as she drank. “More like a chance meeting and I recognised someone I used to work with.”
“Perhaps it was wrong place, wrong time.”
She sniffled and wished she had tissues. “I see,” she said.
Alice watched Marks run his eye around the room. His gaze lingered on the large framed photograph above the mantelpiece. “What’s that all about?” he asked.
“It’s called ‘Woman in Chains’. By an American photographer, Valeria Maria Marquez.” Alice held her head higher and looked at Marks. “It’s from a limited edition of 5. Signed by the artist. That’s the only print in Europe.”
“Expensive, was it?”
She gazed at the photograph. A naked woman struggled to free
