Isabelle decided to check on Duncan, although she didn’t really want to. Her son was an embarrassment. Evans would have to intervene, very soon. She had looked into some rehab clinics near London. Somewhere quiet would be nice, away from the trains and the bus lines. Calm and quiet, where Duncan could dry out and get his life back on track.
She knocked on the door of the green room where Pauline and Duncan had been staying despite its annoying lack of closet space. Duncan had been cross with her for not putting him in the much bigger bedroom where Conor and Elise slept. Was it her fault that he had decided to spend his holiday indisposed by alcohol? It was not.
No one came to the door. She knocked again, harder, then turned the knob. “Pauline? Es-tu là?”
A drawer closed with a bang, then Pauline came to the door, opening it wider. She had a sad smile on her face. “Bonjour, Isabelle.” She motioned for her to enter the room.
They spoke quietly in French. “How are you?” Isabelle asked. “Okay?”
Pauline nodded silently.
“Are you sure? You look upset.”
Pauline wiped her eyes. “No, no. Just— Sabine. So shocking.”
Isabelle gave the girl a hug of condolence. She was so thin, her shoulders and scapulas felt sharp even with the thick sweater. At least she dressed for winter finally, with woolly black leggings and socks.
“You should come downstairs and talk with us. Have some tea and cheese. Staying alone up here isn’t good for the mood.”
“No, no. I am fine. Really.” Pauline looked beseechingly at Isabelle. “I am afraid of saying the wrong thing. With the police here.”
Isabelle smiled. “But you have nothing to fear. You didn’t see Sabine after she disappeared, did you?”
Pauline shook her head. “I helped to search with Elise but— no.”
Isabelle nodded. “So, where is Duncan? In the bath?”
Pauline led the way out into the hall to the shared bathroom. She knocked, put her ear to the door, then tried the knob. It turned but opened only a few inches before hitting something. She peered through the crack.
“It is him. On the floor.” Pauline rolled her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.” She turned and ran back to the bedroom.
Isabelle sighed, watching Pauline dash into their bedroom, slamming the door. So many personalities, it was hard to keep up with all of them. At least she knew what she was dealing with here, with Duncan. Her older son had always been a bit of a trial. He had some anxiety issues, she was sure. But she loved him so much, and wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. And healthy.
She pushed the door. It gave a little more. “Duncan. It’s Mum. Come on, get up off the floor.” There was no answer. “At least move your legs so I can come in. I need to see that you’re still breathing.”
There were murmurs of reply, incomprehensible. She implored him some more, speaking loudly, forcefully, getting annoyed. “Duncan!”
At last he turned over, moving his legs to one side. The door opened a foot or so, enough for her to slip inside, shutting it behind her.
Duncan sat sprawled on the tile floor next to the toilet, his head lolled back against the wall, his Adam’s apple prominent on his slender neck. He was pale, as white as the bathtub porcelain. His lips had a tinge of blue, unsurprising as the bath was chilly.
“Are you unwell?”
A groan. One eye opened. “What do you think?”
“Why are you doing this? You’ll kill yourself with drink.” She turned on the faucet and filled a glass with water. “Drink this. It’s just water.”
He drank some water and promptly gagged, vomiting it into the toilet. Isabelle flushed it down. “That’s fine. Drink a little more.”
He set the cup on the floor where it tipped over and spilled over the tile. Isabelle picked it up, filled it again, and set it on the floor next to him. She threw a hand towel over the spill.
“Your girlfriend is very upset with you. As am I. We came here to have a nice quiet holiday en famille and this drinking is making everything so much more difficult. That and Sabine, of course.”
“That bloody bitch,” he hissed.
“Stop that. Right now. She was my cousin, as much as I disliked her. You will not make disparaging comments about her. No one deserves that after they are gone. All is forgiven. She is dead and we will deal with that.” No reply. “Try to drink some. Little sips, chéri. I’ll bring up some cream crackers and check on you later.”
He moaned and hung both arms over the side of the tub, hooking his chin on the edge, as she left the bathroom.
At the door to the green bedroom she knocked again and called for Pauline. “Please come down with me, will you?” No answer. “I will have the chef make you something special to eat, okay? And a little tea or a glass of wine will do you good. You can sit by the fire.”
Isabelle put her ear to the door. “Pauline? Ça va?” Silence within. “Duncan is okay. He will probably sleep in the bathroom tonight. I will bring him a blanket and pillow. He won’t be a bother. Pauline?”
The door was now locked. Isabelle jiggled the knob. She called for Pauline a few more times. Poor girl, she was traumatized by Sabine’s death. Isabelle didn’t really blame her. It would be awful to die outdoors in winter, in the icy rain and snow. Or indoors, for that matter. Or anywhere before your time. Isabelle felt a pang of hurt for Sabine, a small regret for the way they had spoken, a hurt that was new, one that
