After the Ferry

by C. A. Larmer

  She collected herself quickly, the consummate professional, and turned back to the group. “I’ll meet you in the conference room later.”

  One or two hesitated and she shot them a frown. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

  They scuttled off, several glancing back, worried, while she wedged a smile to her face and took a step towards Tom.

  “Thomas,” she said, her tone flat.

  “Monty,” he replied.

  “It’s Montana now.”

  “Of course it is.”

  She frowned, recognising an insult when she heard one, then said, “Shall we get a coffee?”

  Montana was pointing to the automatic glass doors that spilled out to the bustling street beyond, but he shook his head firmly.

  “This isn’t a courtesy call. I want to know where my wife is. And I want to know now.”

  “I don’t—” She stopped and glanced around, noticing all the eyes upon her, the security guards, bored visitors, several colleagues who were passing. “Can we at least move this to my office, please?”

  He shrugged and let her lead him back to the elevator and up. They did not speak as they ascended even though they had the elevator to themselves, and he wondered whether she was gathering her nerves or fabricating her lies.

  The doors swept open at the tenth floor to reveal a glossy marble interior with a large gold sign that read House & Feather. He heard the general buzzing of phones and idle conversation but kept his eyes fixed to Montana’s back as she waved the ogling receptionist off, then swept past her and into the main office. There were more ogling glances in there, the staffers now silent as she swept past and towards a separate, glassed office in the farthest corner. Montana stopped outside at a desk where a young man was seated. He was dressed in black from top to toe and had a Sanskrit tattoo up his neck.

  “Hold all my calls, Pascal. Oh and fetch us some coffees would you?”

  “Of course, Montana,” he said, barely glancing at the interloper.

  She held the door to her office open and waved Tom through, then shut the door behind her, staring out for just a moment longer as though plotting her escape. Eventually, slowly, she turned around to face him.

  “What’s going on?” she said, shoulders back, still standing by the exit.

  He smiled widely, surprising her. “It’s good to see you too, Montana.” Then he added, “We were fond of each other once.”

  “We were also young and stupid.” She swept past him to take her seat behind the large wooden desk and waved him into the chair in front. “What do you want? I haven’t got much time.”

  He glanced around as he sat down. “You’ve done all right for yourself. Pretty fancy office. And what a title! Creative director, that’s very impressive.”

  Her eyebrows crinkled together.

  “I had some time to kill in the foyer, waiting for you to appear.”

  She smiled grimly. “Do I need to ask a third time?”

  “Amy’s missing.”

  “Amy?”

  “Millie. Amelia. Whatever you want to call her. She’s gone.” He spread his fingers wide like he was releasing a dove.

  Montana frowned and leaned forward. “When?”

  “Like you don’t know.”

  “When, Thomas?”

  “A week now. How do you not know that? Aren’t you in the media? It’s all over the news! Oh, that’s right.” He glanced around again. “This isn’t news, it’s fluff.”

  She ignored that comment, her expression now stony. Montana had heard something about a missing woman, somewhere in the country, but it hadn’t clicked until now. Amy Wilson was her old friend Millie Malone. “When you say missing, do you mean—”

  “I mean she’s vanished. Left me and our boy. Just pissed off.”

  She leaned back. “Did she say where…?”

  “Just slunk off at the crack of dawn. No goodbye, not even a note. Just took off like we meant nothing.”

  “But it’s only been a week, Thomas, how do you know she won’t be back?”

  “She’s gone, Monty, and you know that as well as I do, so you can cut the crap and tell me where the hell my wife is.”

  “But…” She held her palms out. “Why do you think I would know?”

  “Because you two were best buds once.”

  “Yes, once. A long time ago. The prehistoric age.”

  “And yet she had your phone number. I saw it in her address book the other day.”

  “So? We were school friends, remember? Of course she had my number.”

  “It was a mobile phone number.” He smiled. “No mobiles in the prehistoric age.”

  Montana blanched as he knew she would. He had her! He had her exactly where he wanted her, and as the door clicked open behind him, he said, “I want to know exactly where my wife is and I want to know now!”

  The well-dressed assistant approached with two eco-mugs in hand and didn’t say a word as he placed one in front of Tom and then handed one to Montana. She gave him a very subtle shake of her head, but Tom saw it. He knew what that meant.

  “Shall I ask young Pascal here then? Shall I? Perhaps he knows something?”

  Tom stared at Pascal, who met his eyes with a vacant stare. He looked like a model strutting down a catwalk, bored, disinterested.

  “Did you see my wife in here, Pascal?” Tom persisted. “Maybe you’re the one who booked the ticket for her, hey? Maybe you helped her escape.”

  Pascal’s expression did not change as he glanced across to Montana again, then left the office, and Tom rolled his eyes as he turned back.

  “Wow you’ve got them well trained, I’ll give you that. But I’m sure a copper could beat it out of him in no time. That tattoo’s fooling nobody.”

  Montana had watched the scene with growing annoyance. “What the hell do you want, Thomas?” she said at last. “Why do you think I have any answers for you? Or Pascal for that matter. Why are you even here now? Not at home searching for Millie?”

  “Because she’s not at home, Monty. You know that as well as I do. And it’s Amy now! Amy!”

  “Okay, sorry, but I don’t know anything!”

  “Yes you do. She called you! I know she called you!”

  Montana reached for her mug and held it to her breast while she considered how best to play this. Eventually she placed the mug back down and said, “Okay, sure, you’re right.” She held a manicured finger up. “But only about one thing. Mil… Amy did call me. A few months ago. Asking about those days, reminiscing I guess.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing! I told her they were best left in the past and we’d all moved on and to let it go.”

  “Let what go?”

  She dipped her head to one side. “You know what I’m talking about, Thomas.”

  “It’s Tom now. I don’t go in for fancy names anymore. And neither did Amy until, oh, a few months ago. Suddenly she’s all restless, suddenly I’m not good enough for her anymore. I knew something was up.” He paused. “She met with you didn’t she? You got her thinking.”

  Again the palms were out, but they were shaking now. She was nervous. “We just… Look, we had a quick coffee, Thomas. Tom. That’s all it was. Just two friends meeting for a catch-up.”

  “You talked about him, didn’t you? You told her to go back.”

  She stared at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He shook his head as he reached into his jacket, then pulled out a folded piece of paper and flung it towards her, missing the desk so she had to reach down and pick it up from the floor where it had landed.

  Montana knew what it was even before she had unfolded it and spread it out in front of her. Of course she knew. Had read every word, overseen the design.

  It was creased but glossy, had been ripped from a magazine—her magazine—and showed a series of shots, of a model on a beach, of a photographer, lens poised, of a thirty-something woman with cherry-red locks and an index finger up, directing the shoot. There wa
s a column of text down one side, but you didn’t need words to know what this was all about.

  “That’s you, Montana. That’s you on Sarisi.”

  She straightened the page out, caressing the glossy paper, her hands trembling ever so slightly. Then she reached for her coffee and took a gulp.

  “So,” she said, exhaling with the word. “I went to Greece for a shoot. So what?”

  “My wife saw that in your stupid magazine. It got her wondering. It got her questioning. It made her restless.” She said nothing. “Did you see him on the island?”

  “What? Who?”

  “That sleazebag! Did you see him and then tell my wife? Did you make her want to desert her beloved boy, her loving husband for some… some wog she met for five seconds on a fucking ferry thirteen years ago?”

  Montana looked shocked by his words and placed the cup back on the table, then scrunched her eyes shut as if trying to think. When she opened them again she seemed calmer, almost relieved and it made him frown.

  She said, “You think Millie flew back to Sarisi. You think she’s in Greece. Looking for that… that guy from the ferry? The one she spoke to while she was getting a coffee?”

  He hesitated, his own eyes squinting. “Of course. Where else would she be?”

  She sat back in her seat. “Okay, now it makes sense.”

  He leaned forward. “What? What makes sense? What are you saying?”

  Montana pushed her chair away from her desk and stood up. She walked past him and across the room, then swung the glass door wide.

  “I’m done here,” she said. “I’ve got a conference to run.”

  Tom stared at her without moving. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  She waved a hand out the door, and for just a moment it looked like he wasn’t going to budge, then he reached for the clipping on her desk, folding it and shoving it back into his pocket as he got to his feet.

  “Sure, keep your secrets, what do I care?” he said, walking towards her now. “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s not my fault anymore, it’s all on you.” He stopped inches from her face. “Amy was happy. We were happy. And then she spoke to you and booked a flight to Greece. You need to speak to the police; this is all your doing.”

  He stepped through the door and towards Pascal, flashing him a scowl as he began to move away, but then he heard the word “Good,” and he swivelled around like he’d just been shot.

  “What did you say?”

  Montana was closing her door, and for a split second she looked panicked, but then she pushed her shoulders back and held his stare.

  “I’m sorry, Tom, but I hope she went back. I honestly do. I hope she got the hell away from you and that bloody awful farm and her boring bloody life, and I hope she found what she was looking for. I hope she found what she needed.”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His face turned a deep shade of red, and Pascal looked up alarmed now, half standing from his chair. But Montana gave him another subtle head shake and stood her ground, turning steely eyes back to Tom.

  “Just go home, Tom,” she said calmly. “Go home to your boy.”

  Then she turned, closed the glass door and left him staring through it.

  Montana inhaled deeply as she walked slowly back to her desk. Kept breathing in as she tapped her screen to life, waiting five more seconds before she dared to glance up and out. Tom had vanished, but Pascal was staring in at her with a look that said “What the hell?”

  Only then did she allow herself a long, loud exhale. Only then did she let her shoulders drop and a hand reach for her mouth.

  “Oh God, Millie,” she said, muffling the sound with her palm. “Oh you sillie, sillie girl, what have you done?”

  SARISI

  Nicholas didn’t get a chance to question Effie until Delfy’s dinner rush was done, but he was a patient man and so he sat at the edge of the pier, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and waiting until the last of the diners stumbled out and eventually Pete and then Pauly. It was only as the lights inside the Delfy began to dim that he made his approach, half-chilled from sitting outside for so long, half-warmed from his sense of outrage and anger.

  He had no idea what the conversation between the two women had been about, but he was determined to get some straight answers for a change. Millie wasn’t here looking for some nun, she was searching for a man, that much was obvious. But who? An old lover? And if so why didn’t she tell him? Why lead him on?

  Catalina’s words kept circling through his brain—“She will hurt you, she is dangerous”—but they didn’t make any sense and he needed them to make some sense. So he stubbed out his cigarette and strode swiftly across.

  When she saw him, Effie did not look alarmed, just weary to the core. “I’m sorry about Theo,” she said, “but he’ll be back next weekend, so can we just drop it?”

  “I’m not here about Theo.”

  “Oh?”

  “What’s going on? Who is this woman, really? Millie? Why is she here? I know she didn’t come here to chew the fat with an old nun, and she’s certainly not here for the sun. There’s something going on.”

  Effie stopped, frowned. “You know her?”

  “Yes, I know her! I’ve been keeping her company while you’ve been hiding out in Athens. You want to tell me why you’ve been hiding and what’s really going on? What were you two talking about earlier?”

  “You heard us?”

  “Some of it. Who is this guy she wants to find? A past lover? Is that it?”

  “You sound jealous.”

  “It’s not that… It’s… well, we’ve been getting to know each other. I like her. She’s—”

  “She is not for you,” Effie said as if that was the final word on the subject, and it kindled his temper again.

  “Piss off, Effie. It’s none of your business who I—”

  “I’m telling you!” she yelled. “This woman she is not some stupid backpacker you can sleep with and then throw away.”

  “I know that! I’m not an idiot! Bloody hell, Effie, I like Millie. A lot.”

  Effie took a step back looking horrified.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to go and drag it out of her?”

  “Just leave her alone!” Effie’s voice was a roar now and it surprised him. But before he could react, she was shaking her head and softening her voice. “Please,” she said, “I’m begging you, Nico, for everyone’s sake, let it go.”

  “But…”

  “You need to trust me on this, cousin. Please, just forget you ever met this woman; she is no good, she is dangerous!”

  Catalina’s words suddenly circled back to meet him, and he said, “I don’t understand why you’re all saying that.” Millie seemed so sweet, so harmless, so benign. “Maybe if you tell me what’s going on, I can—”

  “Just stop!” Effie had a hand up, her voice more irritable now than angry. “Just go back to Melbourne, Nico. Just get a fucking life!”

  He recoiled. “Fuck you too, Effie!”

  Then he pushed a chair over on his way back out while Effie closed her eyes and hoped to God he’d keep walking.

  It was probably just as well her eyes were closed because she did not see her cousin veer off the main road and head in the direction of Joe-Joe’s corner shop. And she did not see him glance around furtively before he snuck down the laneway and towards Catalina’s door.

  EVE

  When Monty strode into Eve on Monday morning, she realised it was Alex she expected to see seated at the editor’s desk, not Amelia. Like she had given up on her friend completely. As it turns out, neither woman was there. Brianna informed her that Alex had caught an early flight to Melbourne to check the printing of the cover, and Amelia was still AWOL.

  Still missing after more than a week. She remembered what Ron had said, how he’d call the police in if they hadn’t heard by Sunday, and she turned back to Brianna and said, “Any visitors or phone calls f
or me?”

  “No, except Alex. She called from the airport, said she needs to talk to you urgently about her husband or something.”

  “Tony?”

  She shrugged.

  “Okay, thank you. And no call from Amelia’s folks? No word at all?”

  She shrugged again, and Monty wandered across the office to her section, wondering why the parents weren’t panicking yet. Ron said he’d call the police, so where were they? Why wasn’t the office crawling with detectives? Why weren’t they going through her things? Interrogating them all?

  She stopped. She slapped a palm to her head.

  Oh God, she’d been such a fool!

  She swept around and made a beeline for the elevator, yelling, “Brianna hold all my calls. I’ll be back later.”

  Then she stabbed the button angrily.

  ***

  Beryl Malone was far too relaxed.

  Monty couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before. Her relief at being let off the hook this time had clouded her judgement entirely.

  “You know where she is, don’t you?” she said the moment the older woman swung open her front door.

  Beryl blinked rapidly as a blush crept into her cheeks, giving Monty all the answer she required. She pushed past Beryl and into the house where she found Ron on the couch this time, staring glumly at the TV. He could not meet Monty’s eyes, and she realised he knew, too, but only recently by the look of him.

  “Where is she?” Monty demanded, first of Ron, then back to Beryl.

  “Can I get you something to drink, dear? Juice? Tea?”

  “Beryl!” Monty said while Ron sighed and switched the TV on mute.

  “She’s okay, Monty. She’s safe.”

  “You don’t know that!” Ron retorted and Beryl rolled her eyes and revised her statement.

  “I’m sure she’s safe.”

  “So you do know where she is?” Monty was gripping the back of a dining room chair.

  She went to nod and then stopped. “Not exactly. But I have a vague idea.”