‘Stop!’ yelled Baroni, pulling her partner off. She spoke calmly. ‘If Abby calls, I am asking you not to tell her that her mother is alive. If Abby is dangerous, as Susanna suggests, it could make her act irrationally.’ She pointed at the card in Susanna’s hand. ‘If either of them ring, call me. Do not wait.’
They turned to go and Matteo watched as Susanna let them out of his house. He didn’t wait for her to come back into the room; instead, he returned to the terrace. He stood with the sun burning down on him, unable to understand how his life had been turned upside down in such a short space of time. His wife was missing. On the run with his sister-in-law. And Abby had his gun. He breathed deeply a moment, searched his soul. Would Abby use it? Was Ellie in danger? He’d have unequivocally said no only twenty-four hours ago, would have laughed the suggestion off, incredulous. But now he didn’t know what to think.
He heard Susanna come to the patio doors behind him and he turned around. She stood in the safety of the room and he was aware she was trapped there – she wouldn’t come out to him in the heat, not with her sunburn. This gave him a sense of relief.
‘I’m just going for a lie-down,’ said Susanna, ‘but I have my phone with me.’
He nodded and watched as Susanna turned away. Why hadn’t she woken him after Ellie had called? He could have laid his hands on Baroni’s number immediately; Susanna would have known that.
Matteo waited a while, long enough for Susanna to get upstairs and settle, close her eyes. Then he quietly re-entered the house. He looked around the living room, paid attention to things he’d not really noticed before, such as Abby’s books on the shelf. He ran his finger across the spines, tried to see if he could see any personal papers tucked in between. He moved to the bureau at the side of the room, opened the doors. He rummaged through folders, carefully indexed, papers meticulously filed, and then underneath them all, he found a small grey book: an address book. He flicked through, the names meaning nothing. People from Abby’s life before he met her.
Then at ‘G’, his finger stopped. Abby had made an entry: Grandma. Next to it was an address – and a phone number.
THIRTY-SIX
Ellie went over and over it again in her head. She stared out the window as they drove through the French countryside, trying to make sense of her mother’s stark warning. She scoured her memory for recollections of childhood that might throw some light on what Abby was supposed to have done. Had her sister had access to her food? Had she insisted Ellie eat something? But Ellie couldn’t remember. It seemed one of them had hurt her, though, and she wasn’t sure which of the two was easier to stomach: her mother, who was currently several hundred miles away, or Abby, next to her in the car.
Ellie didn’t know if she should be afraid or not. And then suddenly, exhausted by the uncertainty, she let out a hysterical bark of laughter. Surely Abby wasn’t about to do away with her in broad daylight? Careful, risk-averse Abby? It didn’t seem possible. Whatever her mother claimed.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Abby.
Ellie tried to get a grip on her mania. ‘Nothing.’ She saw Abby look over at her oddly. Ellie was certain Abby was about to question her further, and she was desperately trying to think of ways to change the subject when the French landscape did just that for her.
‘It’s more beautiful than I even imagined it would be,’ she gasped. The fields had morphed into wet plains that were criss-crossed with reeds of the palest green. On either side of the road were vast swathes of rippling shallow water that held on to the reflections of the clouds.
‘What is this place?’ asked Abby, looking around in awe.
‘It’s the Camargue,’ said Ellie and then both girls saw a flamboyance of pink flamingos, some wading, some resting on a wide sandbank.
‘Oh my God, look!’ said Abby, eyes wide as she stared across the lagoon at the birds. She was so enraptured, Ellie couldn’t help but smile.
‘Anyone would think you hadn’t been away before,’ she said.
‘Well, I haven’t. Not really.’
‘You live in Elba.’
‘I know. And I went to Florence. But that’s about it.’
Ellie frowned. ‘That can’t be right. What about all those work trips? Mum used to say you went to the Middle East a lot – Doha, Dubai. And Hong Kong...I’m sure she mentioned Hong Kong.’
‘Yeah, I did. But as you say, that was work.’
‘But surely you explored?’
‘Not really. A plane, an airport, a conference room and a hotel. Then straight home again.’
Ellie still didn’t understand. ‘But what about holidays? You had holidays, right?’
‘I got twenty-five days’ leave a year.’
‘And?’
‘I sold them.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Back to the company. They had a scheme where you could sell most of your leave if you wanted. So I did and then I invested the money.’
