Bright Angel

by Isabelle Merlin

  It was his turn to stare at me, but all he said was, ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, if they did, there must be a trace of some sort – like, they’d have left a number–’

  He shook his head. ‘If they did, then they’d have used a mobile they’d just throw away, afterwards. A prepaid one in a false name. Use once, then dispose of the SIM card or even the whole mobile. Easily done. Criminals do it all the time.’

  ‘Oh. I thought you might have been able to trace it. I thought maybe that if we tried to talk to Daniel and then he might show you his mobile and you could try to work it out from that.’ I trailed off, seeing his expression. ‘Okay, it was a stupid idea. I can see that now.’

  ‘Not that stupid,’ he said. ‘It has possibilities. Let me think about it. You never know.’

  I thought he was just being kind. Not wanting to make me feel ignorant. But I knew I couldn’t expect anything, not really. It was nice of him not to just slap me down for being naive and silly and clutching at straws.

  When we got back to St-Bertrand, Mick wanted to walk me home from the car park on the hill, but I refused in as gentle a manner as I could. I wanted to gather my thoughts before I faced Freddy and Claire, but was afraid he’d think I was giving him the bum’s rush once I didn’t need him any more. Actually, I did need him, and I told him so. He smiled and said he was glad, and said he’d give me a bell tomorrow, that he wasn’t sure exactly when, because he might go and chase something up he’d just thought of. I asked him what and he smiled again and said he wasn’t sure if it would work so he didn’t want to say anything just now and get my hopes up. Well, of course that did get my hopes up but I pretended to be really cool about it, and said goodbye to him with a little lift of the heart.

  I thought he might try to kiss me then, but he didn’t. He just smiled and said I mustn’t worry, I must try to get a good night’s sleep and he’d see me later, and I walked away feeling both relieved and disappointed and disliking myself for both emotions.

  As I walked up to our place, I couldn’t help taking a look at the blank back windows of Daniel’s house as I passed by. Nothing stirred there. What if Mick had been right, and Daniel had been on his way back home when we’d glimpsed him near the square? I could go round the front and knock on the door and see.

  Taking a deep breath, I did just that. At least, I went round to the front. There was still a police car there, though no police to be seen on the door, which was closed. My heart pounding, I went up to the door. I stood on the step. I raised the knocker ... and put it down again, carefully. Wait. What if he was there and he opened the door and told me he hated me and never wanted to see me again? No, I couldn’t bear that. I put my ear to the door and listened. No sound. I hesitated. He was probably not back, anyway, or not going to come back here at all. Only the policeman would be there, and he’d tell me off for hanging around. No. I couldn’t do it. Not now. I had to have a bit of time. I had to think.

  I turned slowly away and walked off, down the hill, cursing myself for being a coward and an idiot and all sorts of other things. I didn’t notice the man hurrying up the hill in the opposite direction and so ran straight into him.

  ‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ I babbled as he glared at me. He was a big, broad sort of guy, but very smart, with shining, well-cut salt-and-pepper hair and snazzy sunglasses. He was dressed in a designer suit and smelled of some nice aftershave. Very French. And I’d spoken to him in English, like a fool. ‘Pardon, monsieur,’ I stammered.

  ‘Hmm,’ was all he said rudely, and he strode off without another look at me.

  ***

  Freddy and Claire were in the kitchen, having a glass of wine. By the calm way in which they greeted me and the lack of questions, I realised pretty quickly that they had no idea what had happened. As I’d thought, Freddy had spent her whole day writing and had in fact only knocked off half an hour ago.

  Claire had been out all day with Marc, not at the shoot, but in the mountains, exploring things, having lunch in some little restaurant, and generally getting away from everything. ‘We just went on an impulse. We even left the phones behind,’ said Claire, ‘and it was just glorious. It was so peaceful up there and there were millions of flowers and some snow still on the tops. You should see the rivers, too, they’re just gorgeous, and we had such a nice meal. It was just the best day.’

  Freddy had had a good day too, writing what she called a good meaty chapter, about Salome, using all that was known about her to build up a picture of a ‘living, breathing girl’, as she put it. ‘That’s what I really aim for,’ she said, ‘to make readers feel these people aren’t just like these Biblical myths, but real as you or me. I started off with her at their house in Lugdunum, looking in the mirror – a bronze mirror of course it would’ve been in those days – and thinking back to the past. Revenge and betrayal and the defence of family honour filled her world, but those things still exist. Even in Western countries. We might not be allowed to take justice into our own hands, we’re supposed to wait for the law, and most people abide by that. But some don’t. They deal with betrayal and exact their revenge and defend their family honour in their own way, outside the law, just as in Salome’s time.’

  I shivered, remembering what Mick had said about Ben Udo. If Daniel’s uncle did behave in such a way, what would it mean for Gabriel? Not a comfortable exile far away, that’s for sure.

  ‘And what about you, Syl?’ said Claire. ‘Did you have a good day?’

  I looked at her. I was tempted at first to lie, to avoid the fuss that was sure to happen. But then I thought of the even bigger fuss that would result if the police rang to check things with Freddy and she didn’t know what they were talking about. Or they found out about the kidnap from Marc – he’d be bound to find out, wouldn’t he? – or from neighbours. Or the paper. Then I’d really be up the creek without a paddle. So I took a deep breath and launched into an edited explanation of what had happened. I laid stress on the fact that I was nowhere near the kidnap site and thus totally out of danger and that the police were cool about it all and had been pleased I’d made a statement. I told a little fib and said that Daniel had been taken into witness protection and that I didn’t know where he was. Well, I didn’t, but I also didn’t know if he’d been taken into witness protection. Thinking about it, I thought it unlikely to be any more than a wild theory by Mick. I just thought that then they’d think Daniel was safely out of the picture and I wouldn’t try to find him. Cos of course you see I remembered I’d blabbed on to Claire about what I felt about Daniel and I thought she might think I might want to do something silly. Like try to find him or Gabriel or poke around getting myself into trouble. Which is what I planned to do of course (not get into trouble, but the rest) but I certainly was not going to let them know that.

  Claire did look a bit suspicious about my apparently ready acceptance of Daniel’s disappearance but maybe she thought I would really have to be barking mad to interfere in police business, so she didn’t give me the third degree, and neither did Freddy. In fact, Freddy was so nice about it – so shocked by what had happened and a little anxious at what it meant for me (and determined Mum and Dad should be told) but she didn’t get angry with me at all. She was so pleased I’d been so honest and brave, as she put it, to go to the police and say what I’d seen – that I began to feel a little ashamed. To cover it I said that I didn’t feel like any dinner and I just wanted to go to bed, I felt so exhausted by everything. Actually though I was beginning to feel sick, sort of shaky and nauseous and feverish, I suppose it was the shock kicking in after all the adrenaline of the last few hours. Now the fuss did start, but only to get me a couple of paracetamol tablets and a very sweet, very hot cup of tea – Freddy said it was the very best thing for shock – and then they took me up to my room and put me to bed, with the covers piled up high. They drew the curtains and turned off the light. Claire asked me if I’d like her to stay for a minute but I shook my head and said I just needed to sleep. To prov
e it, I turned my head on my pillow and closed my eyes. But either the tablets or the after-effects of shock had kicked in because though for a few instants I could vaguely feel them in the room, looking at me, whispering worriedly together, my pretence soon turned into reality, and I fell fast asleep.

  Bright angel

  I jolted awake. The phone – my phone – had been ringing. Then I’d heard a voice, muffled, pleading. Daniel’s voice, I knew at once.

  Breathing heavily, I clicked on the bedside light. The room sprang into focus. There was no-one else there. Palms prickling, I picked up my mobile from the bedside table. I usually switch it off at night but last night I’d left it on. Just in case.

  The clock said 1.30am. Too late for a phone call, usually. These weren’t usual times though. But there was no missed call message on the screen. No message of any sort at all. No-one had rung. No-one had texted. Nothing. It had just been a dream.

  Bitterly disappointed, my heart still thudding from the shock of waking up so suddenly, I stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Sometimes it happened that way. You thought of someone, and suddenly they’d call you, as if your thoughts had reached out to them. But the phone stayed silent.

  My heart raced. Without giving myself time to think, I hit Contacts and then Daniel’s number. It rang. Once, twice, three times. On the third ring, he picked it up. I heard him breathing. I could feel him there, at the end of the line. I said, quickly, ‘Daniel – please – we’ve got to talk. I want to help with Gabriel. Please will you see me and–’

  I never finished what I was going to say, for I was cut off. Abruptly. I tried again. The phone rang on and on till it went into voicemail. I wanted to leave a message, but my voice went all croaky. I thought I was going to cry on the phone. So I clicked out. I went to Messages. I texted, Please give me a chance 2 explain.I hesitated, then added, i luv u.I pressed Send. Message sent,said the screen.

  I waited. No beep of an incoming message. I thought about trying again, about explaining it all by text and even started composing a message. Then I deleted it. It was no good. He wouldn’t respond, I knew that already.

  Why was he being so cruel? Why had he shut me out so completely? It wasn’t fair. Anger began to rise in me, then, along with the sadness. I got out of bed. I put my dressing-gown on over my PJs, and pulled on some shoes. I opened my door and looked out into the corridor. Silence, except for the faint sound of Freddy snoring behind her closed door. I went softly downstairs, and let myself out of the back door into the garden.

  The moon was up. It wasn’t a full moon, but I could see reasonably by its light. I went to the low wall at the end of the garden, from where I could see into Daniel’s place. There was a light on in one of the upstairs rooms. A bedroom, probably. He was back home. He was still awake, I thought. I could go over there, knock at the door, try to get in. He’d probably not answer my knock, though. Besides, there might very well be a policeman there too, on watch. He might not like someone turning up in the middle of the night. Or I could climb the drainpipe or something up to his room. You saw that in films. But I couldn’t see a drainpipe, and there was no useful ivy or overhanging tree either, or balcony or anything like that. It was a sheer wall and I’d never make it. I could throw pebbles up at his window, I thought, wildly, and get him to appear and then I’d speak to him from below, like Romeo did with Juliet.

  A weird feeling seized me then. We’d done Romeo and Julietlast year at school. I’d quite liked it. Pretty full-on, and some of the language was a bit much to get your head around, like Shakespeare usually is, but a really good story, still. Anyway, we’d had to learn speeches from the play. And one of the things I’d learned was a speech by Romeo when he’s under Juliet’s balcony, and he says something to her like ‘Oh, speak again, bright angel!’

  It was a sign, I thought, confusedly. A tip-off from fate. Okay, yes, I wasn’t thinking straight. In the middle of a moonlit night when everything looks different, you really believe in magic and weird stuff and you think and even do things you wouldn’t normally dream of. But when on top of it you’ve also had your life turned upside down by passionate love then you really feel like you’re in territory quite outside ordinary life.

  So I climbed over the wall into the garden and I was searching around for suitable pebbles to throw at the window when all at once the light in the bedroom clicked off and the window was in darkness. I don’t know why, but something clicked and I lost my nerve. It was as if it was only just now that I was waking from the dream. I was an idiot, I thought. What the hell did I think I was doing? Daniel didn’t want to see me. He didn’t even want to speak to me, or answer a simple message. He’d just cut me off, and it hurt badly. But it would hurt worse if I didn’t accept it. Anyway, if he reacted like that, so impulsively and angrily and cruelly to a simple misunderstanding, then our relationship was probably doomed anyway. It would always have to be on his terms. Never on mine. He didn’t trust me, that was clear. He’d given me no chance to explain. I was better off forgetting about him. Forgetting everything we’d said, and felt. It was better. Much better. Oh God, I should have trusted my first impression of him. Really good-looking guys are too arrogant. Self-centred. Vain. I should have remembered that. And to make it worse he was from a rich family, his uncle maybe hung around with dodgy types. He was used to doing what he wanted, but also being wary. Suspicious. He was hard. I’d be happier with someone like Mick, the cold, clear, sober, wide-awake voice in me said. He didn’t act huffy or hard. He was kind. Helpful. Understanding. I liked him. I liked him a lot. He was a good friend. A real friend, unlike Daniel.

  Shut up, Sylvie. Stop maundering. I climbed back over the wall into our garden. As I did so, I heard a car engine start up in the distance. I took no notice, and went back to bed, feeling cold, damp and numb. After a while, I fell into a heavy, unrestful sleep, and woke with a thumping headache into a bright day.

  The events of the previous night came rushing into my head, making me feel worse. Especially because now, mixed with the bad feeling of last night, came yet another – I’d been pretty bloody self-centred myself, last night, accusing Daniel in my head of all sorts of things when the poor guy was devastated by the disappearance of his little brother. God, I was hopeless, I told myself, sternly, as I tottered off to the bathroom to look for the paracetemol. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked awful – pale, circles under the eyes, a new pimple at the corner of my lip – and my hair felt gross too, as though I’d sweated all night.

  I had a shower and washed my hair and felt a little better. I went downstairs and found Claire and Freddy in the kitchen, quietly talking over cups of coffee, a newspaper spread out on the table in front of them. They gave me fakely bright smiles as I came in.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  I shrugged. They looked at each other.

  ‘I thought we might all go to Toulouse together,’ said Freddy. ‘Go shopping. Have lunch in a nice place. See a movie, maybe. What do you think?’

  I shrugged again. ‘If you like.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Syl–’ Claire began, but I wasn’t listening. I’d glanced at the paper, and seen the familiar names jumping out at me: Daniel Aubrac. Gabriel Aubrac. Benedict Udo. Captain Gaudry.

  There was a picture of Gabriel, too, his bright smile and sparkling eyes making a big lump come to my throat.

  Freddy had seen the direction of my glance. ‘Would you like me to translate it for you, honey?’ she said, gently. I nodded, mutely. I didn’t think my French was good enough to read the whole thing myself.

  Police have confirmed that the child taken from his holiday home in St-Bertrand de Comminges by abductors yesterday was six – year-old Gabriel Aubrac, youngest nephew of the wealthy London businessman Benedict Udo, director of Fox Financial. During the abduction, Gabriel Aubrac’s nurse, Pilar Santiago, was brutally attacked and is still in a coma in hospital. Police hope to interview her when she recovers consciousness. There was no-one else in the house at the time
, the other two staff being on errands, and Daniel Aubrac, older brother of the abducted child, away with friends. Captain Frederic Gaudry, who heads the unit investigating the crime, confirmed that police have received a communication from the child’s kidnappers, demanding a substantial ransom and an inquiry into the activities of Fox Financial, as well as publication of these demands, which was agreed to after consultation with Mr Udo and his lawyers. Captain Gaudry would not confirm whether the investigation had any leads into the identity of the abductors, but said he would be holding a press conference shortly.

  ‘There’s an editorial comment after that,’ said Freddy into the silence that had fallen when she finished her translation. ‘Shall I read that too?’

  I swallowed. ‘Yes,’ I whispered. I felt so cold. Away with friends, they’d said. That was what I’d took in most. That must mean Mick and me. Some friends we’d been. But it wasn’t our fault. It wasn’t. How could it be? It was fate. Just fate.

  ‘The kidnapping of a child is always a terrible, cowardly crime, for not only do the criminals inflict terror on a child and devastation on his family, it is a crime which does not have the courage of attacking its real target, but instead uses a vulnerable child as a bargaining tool. Whatever these cruel criminals allege Mr Udo’s company to have done, they surely cannot imagine that the sympathies of the public will be with them in any way. The kindest thoughts of all of France will be with Gabriel’s family in this dreadful time, and our strongest wishes for his safe and speedy return. We wish Captain Gaudry and his excellent team the very best of luck in nailing these vicious brutes quickly, and urge anyone who may have information to come forward as speedily as possible.’

  ‘They’d want more than luck,’ said Claire. ‘They’d want evidence. It didn’t say if there was any.’

  ‘The police wouldn’t release that sort of information yet,’ said Freddy. She reached over the table and took my hand. ‘My poor Sylvie. And your poor friend Daniel. How he must be suffering.’