by Rachel Green
***
The conversation at dinner was stilted. Margot sensed he felt guilty and was looking for a way to apologise, but when he did try to bring up the subject something compelled her to steer the conversation away. When he cleared away the dishes, she couldn’t help staring at his hands. A farmer’s hands, broad and muscular. An image of him caressing her flitted into her mind where it lingered, in danger of turning into something more.
They drained the bottle of wine and Raul rose from his seat. “Shall I open another?”
Margot shook her head. “I’m quite tired, actually. I might have an early night.”
“Me too. I’ll wash up first.”
Margot paused, not quite sure what had just been communicated, but then rose from her seat and went to her cabin. She halted just inside the door, hand on the handle. Nine months since she’d buried her husband. Sometimes it seemed much longer. Hugo was the last person who would have expected her to abstain, but was this too soon? Grieving could be so exhausting. Was it asking too much for a little fun to come back into her life?
Margot switched on the beside light and perched on the edge of the mattress. This time, she intentionally left the door ajar.
Chapter 32
Marielle was doing a poor job hiding her amusement. When she laid the plate of chops on the table in front of him and took in Enzo’s disgruntled reaction, her whole upper body quivered in a state of supressed laughter. Enzo rubbed his aching jaw. Since Mutt had let slip what had happened in the Old Customs House she’d hardly been able to keep a straight face. She leaned in, pouting like a mother to her child.
“Does pumpkin want me to cut it into iddy-biddy pieces for him?”
She tried to pinch his cheek, but Enzo flapped her away. He slid the plate across the table and grabbed a nectarine from the fruit bowl instead. “Funny how you have a habit of putting me off my food.”
“Same with you and sex.”
He sneered. Maybe one of these days he might not let her have the last laugh. He got out of the seat and retreated to his office.
The doors were still open so he stood on the terrace, looking down at the empty cove while he bit into the nectarine. It was eight p.m. and the sky was darkening. Mule had been out patrolling all day and had sent word to the nearby ports, but there had been no further sightings of the yacht. Enzo wasn’t especially worried. The moment they showed up on land their days would be numbered, and if they chose to go to the police it would be their word against his. He’d already had the basement cleansed. And he had plenty of eyes and ears in the local police stations if they wanted to go down that route. Besides, he had bigger fish to fry. His shipment was due in tomorrow.
He lobbed the nectarine stone over the cliff and then took the elevator to the second level. He strode to Paolo’s door and knocked loudly. He wasn’t expecting an answer, but he waited. Through the woodwork, he said, “We need to talk. Can I come in?”
There was a sound he took as a yes.
Paolo was lying on the bed, dressed in his outdoor clothes. He’d been looking at his phone, but he tossed it to one side and then got up and went to the window. It was like stepping back thirty years; all those times Enzo had gone into the kid’s room to try and pick up the pieces after one bust-up or another.
Enzo kept his distance, hands in his pockets, waiting to be acknowledged. This was his house, for god’s sake. He deserved at least that much respect.
“You hungry? Marielle’s cooked chops.”
Paolo shook his head, eyes on the window. Enzo balled his fists.
“Look. I’ve said I’ve forgiven you. What more do you want?”
“Maybe I haven’t forgiven you.”
“If anyone else had done what you did I’d have thrown them off the cliff by now.”
“Aren’t I the lucky one?”
Enzo bit his tongue. Sometimes he just wanted to punch him so hard. He made himself calm down.
“Look. What I said about the camera, it was no big deal. I was just trying to gee you up. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Paolo nodded his head, though not like he was convinced. Enzo gave him a few more moments.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Are we good?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Enzo breathed out wearily. At least that was something. He joined him at the window but ignored the view.
“We’ll be leaving in a couple of hours. I don’t want any more fooling around. If this all goes to plan there’ll be fifty grand in your pocket by the end of the week. Just think about that.”
Paolo adjusted his position, straightening his back and rubbing his chin. Enzo relaxed a little. Pushing the right buttons, that’s what it was about.
“And there’ll be plenty more to come if you behave yourself. Okay?”
Paolo moved his head. Where his brother was concerned that was as good as a yes.
Chapter 33
Margot could sense Raul on the other side of the half-open door: hear the slight wheeze in his breathing, smell the sandalwood in his cologne. She pictured him frozen like a statue, poised, ready to make his move.
The seconds ticked by and Margot continued to wait.
Without making a sound, she stretched to the switch and turned off the ceiling light, leaving only the bedside lamp. It was 9:15 p.m.. Timbers creaked as Carpe Diem rocked on gentle waves.
And yet he still didn’t make a move. Margot frowned. What was stopping him? She wasn’t just imagining him being out there? She hadn’t misinterpreted the signs, been too cool with him? Her hand moved to the door handle, tempted to open it fully and end the stalemate, but then a beep from her phone made her heart jump into her mouth.
It was the tone she’d assigned to the bugE. She couldn’t ignore it. Margot snatched the phone from the far side of the bed and opened the app. One file was waiting to be downloaded, recorded an hour ago. She tapped the button and held the phone to her ear. Two voices, Enzo and Paolo:
“You ready?”
“I guess so.”
There was the sound of a door closing, followed by the metallic scrape of a drawer being opened. Margot remembered the filing cabinet she’d seen in his office.
“What’s this?”
“Take it.”
“You expecting trouble?”
“Not especially. But I want you ready, just in case.”
Margot pressed the phone closer to her ear. There was a series of clicking noises, metal on metal, like a gun being checked. Then a series of muffled sounds she couldn’t make sense of. Neither of the two men said anything for a few moments and Margot thought that might be the end of the recording, but a glance at the time code showed fifty seconds still to go. She put the phone back to her ear.
Enzo: “Why the sudden interest in my office?”
A pause, then Paolo said, “Just looking.”
Another pause. It was far from clear what was going on but the atmosphere seemed to have changed. Paolo’s voice had a slightly higher pitch when he said,
“What time’s the ship coming in?”
“Four.”
“In the morning?”
“Of course.”
“Marseilles?”
“Naturally.”
“Where, exactly?”
There was a longer period of silence. Margot held her breath. Would Enzo really give him an answer? It seemed too good to be true. She visualised the two of them, face to face in that office, just like when she’d overheard them talking in Paolo’s garage. What unspoken communication was passing between them right now? Part of her no longer cared; all she wanted was to hear the right words come out of Paolo’s mouth. Enzo drew in a breath.
“The Valdez. Dock 14.”
And Margot’s stomach flipped.
The recording ended and she put down the phone, nerves tingling. This was it. She would call Pierre right away; have the police waiting on the dock, ready to catch them in the act. There was plenty
of time. But first her eyes shifted to the door. A feeling of regret swept through her. Whatever moment had been awaiting them was gone.
“Raul,” she said quietly.
He didn’t acknowledge her at first, reluctant perhaps to admit he’d been out there, and Margot had to go to the door and pull it open. There he was, just as she’d imagined, apart from his eyes now heavy with disappointment. She gave him a sorrowful look, and then switched on the lights.
“Come and have a listen to this.”
Chapter 34
Seated in the windowless office on the edge of the port, Enzo rubbed his tired eyes. It was five a.m. and he’d been staring at the row of small screens for over an hour. Out on the dock, the Valdez was safely moored up, slowly giving up its cargo. He switched to another camera, this one a view from the gantry crane. The hook and spreader moved in and out of the ship’s hold, pulling out containers with millimetre precision, adding them one by one to the stack on the yard. It was mesmerising to watch.
Naturally, everything was controlled by computer these days, the process ninety per cent automated. A ship the size of the Valdez could be unloaded and loaded again with the assistance of a mere handful of dock workers. And the computer never erred, of course. If it so happened that two containers were moved to one particular spot on the quay and all trace of them on the manifest got deleted then no one would think anything of it. As far as the data trail was concerned the containers had never even existed.
Enzo flicked to the camera on the lorry park and zoomed in. Both his trucks were ready and waiting. Thirteen minutes from now the first container would come out of the hold and be placed on the edge of the stack; three minutes and two seconds after that the second container would follow. Fourteen minutes would pass before a glitch in the software summoned the yard crane, and one of his men would be waiting with the forklift, ready to move the containers onto the trucks. Two minutes after that the trucks would be on their way: one to an industrial estate on the outskirts of the city, the other to Paris. Sometimes it seemed too easy a way to make a million euros.
Enzo checked his watch for the hundredth time. Just ten minutes to go now before the first container came out. Despite having done a dozen similar shipments over the past few years, this part always made him nervous.
Mutt came in through the door at the end of the office, two paper cups in his hand. He passed one to Enzo and then leaned to the monitor. “How’s he doing?”
Enzo switched to the motorised camera and panned the quayside in search of his brother. The place was pretty much deserted at this time of day, but his keen eye picked out two figures moving stealthily between the arc lights. There in the shadows on the edge of the lorry park was Paolo, keeping watch on the access road.
“He’s good,” Enzo said, and his heart swelled a little bit with pride.
Mutt leaned closer. “What’s that?” His fat finger pointed to a blotch on the screen.
Enzo moved the joystick. A black SUV was parked by the barrier at the entrance to the access road. The interior light had briefly been on and it had looked like someone was inside. He picked up the walkie-talkie.
“Hey, Mule – check out that SUV over by the barrier.”
Enzo did a quick flick through the cameras. Everything appeared to be in order: the crane was still moving, the stack growing bigger. Eight minutes to go before his first container came out. He clicked back to the SUV; zoomed out and panned. Mule was approaching from the bottom righthand corner of the screen, but he was going the wrong way. Enzo jabbed the walkie-talkie button.
“Mule – the other side, you dimwit.”
Mule looked round in confusion before spotting it. Enzo moved the camera back to Paolo who was a little further back, maybe a hundred metres from the SUV. When Enzo asked, he said he hadn’t spotted anything. Back on Mule: he was heading the right way now, but ten metres from the barrier he slowed, seeming to grow wary. On the screen Enzo could see him raise his walkie-talkie.
“Boss?”
“What?”
There was no need for a reply. Before either of them could speak again, the lights came on in the SUV and four men burst out. Enzo watched in stunned disbelief as they charged up to Mule, machine guns aloft. He was face down on the tarmac in no seconds flat. Then the fireworks really kicked off – cars began streaming in from left, right and centre. Enzo got up so sharply his chair toppled back. What the hell?
He punched through the camera channels. Back at the ship, the crane was still working. Just two minutes and thirty seconds to go now. For the briefest moment Enzo dared to think there might still be time, but then an armoured police truck burst through the barrier and he knew it was all over. He panned frantically with the joystick, searching for Paolo, and spotted him wandering towards the unfolding chaos, looking oblivious. Enzo jabbed the walkie-talkie button.
“Paolo! Abort. Get the hell out of there!”
A vein throbbed in Enzo’s temple as two cars raced towards him. Paolo was still walking towards the blue and red circus. They were right there in front of him; couldn’t he see, for Christ’s sake? He jabbed the button once more.
“Paolo! Run, goddammit!”
But Paolo had turned into a zombie. Enzo zoomed in on his face. Had he taken leave of his senses? He was a dead man walking.
Mutt strode to the office door and looked out. “Boss, there’s a car coming. We need to get out.”
Enzo’s eyes flicked from the screen to the door and back again. He was going nowhere. Not without his brother. Paolo was taking the gun out of his pocket and laying it down on the ground. He could have escaped; he’d had the chance, but he was putting his hands up in surrender. Enzo’s brain seized. His mind went back to the two kids playing in the snow, that time school had been shut. They’d thrown snowballs at this old guy’s windows, shattered the glass in his porch. The kids had all ran, but Paolo had slowed down at the end of the street, let the old guy catch up, grab him by the shirt collar and give him an earful. He could have outrun them all yet he’d stayed there and carried the can. Enzo had looked on and done nothing.
“Boss!”
Enzo blinked. Mutt was waiting for him by the door, shooting anxious looks. In the space of just minutes the whole operation had collapsed in front of his eyes and Enzo couldn’t believe it. He picked up the walkie-talkie for one last try, but it was too late. The police had got Paolo surrounded.
“Boss! We need to go.”
Mutt strode forward and tried to grab his arm, but Enzo snatched it away. He would go down there and drag his brother out with his bare hands if he had to, and to hell with anyone who got in his way. He made a move for the door, but Mutt blocked him. The two men faced off.
“He’s made his choice. Don’t go down with him.”
The pressure of Mutt’s hand in his chest brought Enzo back to his senses. He blinked again, and refocussed. What had got into him? The only thing that mattered was saving his own skin, looking after numero uno, just like it had always been.
On the monitor, Paolo was face down on the tarmac, being barked at by cops with machine guns. Leaving another small piece of his heart behind, Enzo tugged his shirt-cuffs and followed Mutt down to the car.
Chapter 35
Three weeks later
Chapelle Saint-Marc stood at the top of a small green hill, its graveyard spread across two distinct plateaus: one overlooking Argents, the other facing the sea. Standing alone in her widow’s weeds, Margot stared down at the two rectangular holes in the ground, one of them half the size of the other. Fitting, perhaps, that the final resting place of Aswan and his father be so close to the sea.
She’d had to twist a few arms to get everything organised at such short notice. Fortunately, she’d found a sympathetic ear in Pere Chevalier who for years had campaigned tirelessly on the issue of rights for migrants and had gone out of his way to help. He’d bent a few ears himself, and by some small miracle had managed to find this small corner in the crowded graveyard.
Pierre and Camille were on their way down. Pierre had finally agreed to have some time off work and they’d left Paris in the early hours. They were bringing the baby, and afterwards had promised to stay for the weekend – they both certainly needed the break. Margot had spent all of yesterday sprucing up the house. All the repairs were now finished and the place looked like new. Gone was that terrible stench of soot and smoke; now the rooms smelled of fresh paint. On either side of her fireplace stood replicas of her bookcases, albeit empty versions for now. Replacing Hugo’s records and her books would be a rather more difficult task.
Margot’s phone buzzed inside her bag: a text from Pierre to say they’d finally arrived. She walked round to the front of the church and looked out from the gate. They’d had to park a long way down the street, and when they did appear were hurrying towards her, Pierre carrying a bundle, Camille with an armful of baby paraphernalia.
“Sorry we’re so late,” Camille said, kissing Margot on both cheeks. “The traffic was horrendous.”
“Not at all. Thank you both for coming.”
Pierre showed off his precious cargo. He peeled back a corner of the lacy white gown to reveal a chubby white face. Noémie was even cuter than she’d looked in the photos. He smiled proudly.
“Would you like to hold her?”
Margot bit her bottom lip. The child was fast asleep, as serene as an angel. It would have been nice, but Margot shook her head. “Maybe later. I think the priest is waiting.”
It was a brief but touching ceremony. As a finale, Pere Chevalier turned to face the town and, raising his voice, quoted from Deuteronomy:
“Cursed is he who withholds justice from the foreigner, the fatherless or the widow.”
“Amen,” said Margot emphatically.
She choked back a tear as the pallbearers lowered Aswan’s miniature coffin into the ground. She’d wanted to bury his backpack with him but it was being treated as evidence and the police wouldn’t release it. She folded up a replica football shirt and lay that in instead. The three of them thanked the priest and they warmly shook hands.