The Road Ahead
Page 3
“My leg is just fine, it’s a fracture… nothing serious,” Arabella defended.
“Right, if that’s what you want to tell yourself.” Rebecca reached into the back seat. She felt in the front pocket of her bag and pulled out her sunglasses.
Slipping them on her face she put her hands on the wheel. “Right, first stop, Spain.”
Arabella leaned her head on the headrest and looked out at the countryside. It wasn’t whizzing by. It was barely moving. Rebecca seemed to be one of those people who abided by every speed limit, even when the situation was dire. She checked the map again, wondering how much time she’d save if she could convince the girl to pick up the pace. She really didn’t want to cancel her hair appointment at Carlucci’s, but it looked horribly likely.
“You know, they’re not as pedantic with speeding here as they are back home,” Arabella offered.
“I’m not worried about being caught speeding.”
“Oh, good. Well, you don’t have to drive slowly for my benefit.”
“I’m not. I’m driving the speed limit so we won’t die in the event of a high-speed collision.”
Arabella rubbed her temples. “If you drive properly then we won’t have a high-speed collision.”
Rebecca shook her head, not taking her eyes off the road. “I’m one factor. There’s other drivers, weather conditions, road conditions. There’s a reason why speed limits are set. It’s to maximise our chances of survival if something goes wrong. I want to get home as much as you do, but I want to make sure I get there in one piece.”
“I knew all of those advertisements regarding road safety were damaging our youth,” Arabella said. “Fine, do continue to drive like a sloth.”
“Thank you for your permission, I’ll drive like a sloth. Who happens to be going seventy miles an hour.”
Arabella rolled her eyes and continued to look out of the window. Her hair appointment was seriously in jeopardy. In fact, if Rebecca insisted on driving like a ninety-year-old, the whole Christmas Eve party could be in jeopardy. She wondered if she should call Alastair to let him know, or if that would just make him worry more.
At the moment, he was probably blissfully unaware of her predicament, assuming that his fiancée was about to board a flight home. She had a few more hours before she needed to tell him what had happened. She could be in France by then. Which sounded a lot better than being in Portugal.
Anything that delayed the conversation would be a bonus at this point. She knew Alastair would relish the opportunity to tell her again that she was wrong to go to Portugal. They’d argued about the point solidly for four days before she’d finally gone anyway.
“Spain!” Rebecca cried. “One country down.”
Arabella looked at her watch. They had only been driving for forty-five minutes. It was a good sign, but it was just the tip of the iceberg.
“Just all of Spain, France, and the English Channel to go,” Arabella muttered. “An hour and a half and then we’ll be in Seville.”
“Great, thanks so much for the encouragement,” Rebecca replied sarcastically.
Arabella glanced at her, noticing her hands were tightening over the steering wheel. The girl confused her. She was in her late twenties, casually dressed, and with little regard for her appearance if her unkempt long, brown hair and her lack of makeup were anything to go by.
At first, Arabella had thought of her as a free spirit type of person, someone who drifts around with no real job and probably believes in the healing powers of crystals. And yet she fastidiously kept to the speed limit.
Now she looked frustrated, but she didn’t elaborate on what was vexing her.
“What did I say?” Arabella asked.
Rebecca laughed. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Arabella demanded.
Rebecca shook her head and focused on the road ahead, closing the topic of conversation with her silence.
Arabella leaned on the headrest again and looked out of the window. It was going to be a very long journey.
Chapter Five
Rebecca didn’t think she could take much more of Arabella’s constant driving tips, directions, and updates as to how long the journey would take. They’d been in the car for under an hour, and already she wanted to put Arabella in the boot with her expensive luggage.
If Rebecca celebrated another milestone in their journey, Arabella was quick to point out how many more they had to overcome. The woman was impossible to please and it was making Rebecca stressed.
She looked at her hands, her knuckles white from clutching the steering wheel. She released her death grip a little and took a cleansing breath. She rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension. She wasn’t going to allow Arabella to get to her. She didn’t deserve that power over her.
I need to get to know her, humanise her a bit, Rebecca thought. This is a weird situation. She’s on edge. Once we break the ice, she’ll be better. Hopefully.
“So, what were you doing in Portugal, if you don’t mind me asking?” Rebecca asked politely.
“Completing the paperwork for the sale of a client’s villa,” Arabella said.
“Oh, cool.”
“Not particularly. These countries always insist on paperwork being signed in person and cash in brown envelopes.”
“Henley!” Rebecca suddenly clicked the pieces into place. “As in Henley’s Estate Agents?”
“That’s the one.” Arabella sounded bored.
Henley’s Estate Agents were well known in London. They had an office in every town, sometimes more than one. The offices were more than the average estate agent, they were beacons of modern design. Smooth angles, bright colours, faddish lights. Each branch was different, a piece of artwork in its own right. All were known for their luxurious comfort. Clients would be offered drinks from a range of fifty teas while they sat on leather sofas buying expensive properties.
Rebecca had never been in a Henley’s. She’d never had the pay packet to be able to afford to step foot in one. She was sure an invisible scanner at the door would detect her financial status and a trap door would dispose of her before any of the staff members could be disturbed by her presence.
“I thought you only operated in London?” she asked.
“We have an international office, mainly Europe but some American properties, too. Mainly holiday homes. You know what it’s like, after a few weeks exhausting yourself in London, you need a break in the sun.”
“Absolutely,” Rebecca replied. Of course, she thought the very idea was pretentious and unnecessary, but she was trying to make friends with the woman. She wasn’t about to say that those kinds of riches were obscene. It wouldn’t be right for her to say that she believed that vast wealth should be equally distributed and not held by the few. In their luxury holiday villas.
“You say you sold your client’s villa?” Rebecca asked. “How will they take a break now?”
She didn’t really care how Mr and Mrs Yah-Yah were going to rest themselves from the exhaustion of champagne galas and theatre opening nights. But it was the only topic of conversation she had open to her and she needed to bond with this woman somehow.
“They bought a yacht. They didn’t want to be tied down to bricks and mortar.”
“Of course.” Rebecca shook her head slightly. This was going to be a tremendously long journey.
“I presume you were there working, too?” Arabella sniffed. “Some kind of bar work? Waitressing?”
Rebecca couldn’t see Arabella, but she could feel the judgement radiating off her. The moment she met Arabella, she felt she knew everything she needed to know about her. But she’d given the snobbish woman the benefit of the doubt and tried to speak to her, to get to know her. Arabella apparently didn’t do the same. She’s taken one look at Rebecca and made up her mind.
It had been a short effort, but Rebecca had already had enough of being nice. It was clear that Arabella was judgemental, rude, and condescending. Everythi
ng Rebecca hated in a person.
“Yeah, bar work. And dancing, you know? Gotta make a living, right?” Rebecca lied.
“W-well, yes, I suppose so, yes,” Arabella stuttered.
“And the tips are amazing, well, they are where I work, if you know what I mean.” Rebecca elbowed Arabella meaningfully.
“Eyes on the road,” Arabella whispered, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.
Serves you right, Rebecca thought.
She’d never tended bar in her life; she was one of those people who could only carry two drinks at a time, one in each hand. People who could carry three or more were like sorcerers. And as for dancing, two left feet.
But the comment had shut Arabella up for the meantime. Rebecca let out a breath and started to relax her grip on the steering wheel.
Arabella shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The Mercedes leather seats were sinfully comfortable but not when you had a cast, and not when you were embarking on a journey through four countries. Certainly not when you were trapped in the car with a prostitute.
She should have known. The long, brown hair, the thin, muscled body, and the ripped clothes. She knew rips were supposedly the fashion, but it just looked so messy to her.
She chanced a quick glance at Rebecca. They hadn’t spoken for an hour. Not since Rebecca had told her about her employment and Arabella had been stunned into silence.
She’d briefly considered if she would survive opening the door and rolling to safety but decided to stick with her luggage. She was fairly sure her insurance wouldn’t cover her for a duck and roll out of a moving vehicle.
She should have listened to Alastair and stayed home. She should have sent someone else to complete the sale. It was just her pride and her feeling of losing control that made her see the job through to completion personally.
The wedding was three months away and already her workload was being distributed to others. Of course, she’d agreed to give up work once they were married, but she was surprised at the speed with which the date was arriving. Not that she could complain. Who wouldn’t say no to a life of leisure?
Not that she currently felt she’d ever get to see that life. It was looking less and less likely that she would even make it home. Rebecca was probably going to kill her and leave her body somewhere in the Spanish countryside.
The girl was probably backpacking her way around Europe without a penny to her name. And now she was in a luxurious car with a named partner of one of London’s most exclusive estate agencies.
Rebecca obviously knew that Arabella had money. She’d paid the exorbitant fee for the car hire, she had designer luggage, Rebecca had seen the credit cards in her wallet. She swallowed nervously. The girl knew a lot about her, and Arabella couldn’t even remember her surname. She was certain the girl had said it at some point, but she’d instantly disregarded it as useless information.
She needed to get some information on the girl, something that would help the police to track her down in the event they ever managed to find Arabella’s body in the scrubland.
“We should stop at the next station and get something to eat and drink,” Arabella suggested.
“You sure you want to stop? That might add some precious minutes to our schedule,” Rebecca replied.
“There’s no point in arriving dehydrated.”
“Fine. I’ll stop at the next garage I see.”
Arabella shifted nervously in her seat again. Rebecca didn’t want to stop, presumably afraid that her face would be picked up on any CCTV present at the garage.
She wondered if she should contact Alastair. She didn’t want her sister getting her hands on the Royal Doulton collection of ceramic coasters. Alastair wouldn’t be aware of their value and would probably hand them over without thinking.
“You’re in luck, there’s a station,” Rebecca said. She pointed towards the roadside sign promising that a petrol pump would be appearing in two kilometres.
She mumbled a reply and turned to look out of the window again.
Alastair would probably just tell her she was being silly. He always accused her of overreacting. Maybe sometimes she did overreact, but sometimes she was spot on. Of course, he only ever remembered the times she was wrong. She hated that he was right, that she shouldn’t have gone to Portugal. Especially so close to the Christmas party. So she couldn’t call him. She’d rather be murdered, knowing that her sister was finally going to get the precious coasters than listen to another round of ‘I told you so’.
Rebecca started to indicate. Arabella looked at the upcoming garage with a sneer. Rundown would be putting it politely. Under normal circumstances, she’d never even consider slowing the car near such an establishment. Thank goodness she wasn’t intending to go inside herself.
“Should I top up with fuel, so we don’t have to stop again for a while?” Rebecca asked.
“Yes,” Arabella answered. Anything to get Rebecca out of the vehicle for a while so she could do what she needed to do.
Rebecca pulled up beside a petrol pump. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a tatty-looking wallet.
“I’ll pay,” Arabella said quickly. She handed over a handful of euro notes. Rebecca took them and placed her wallet on the centre console between them.
“Get me a water, and some kind of juice. No added sugar, though. If they have any fruit, that would be good too. But no pears, I hate Spanish pears.”
“I doubt they’ll do fruit in there,” Rebecca said as she turned off the engine.
“Then get me some crackers, plain. No added salt.”
“I really don’t think they are going to have many healthy options, maybe you should come in and have a look—”
“No,” Arabella said. “No, you go. You’ll be quicker. My leg slows me down…”
“You seem nimble enough when you want to be,” Rebecca pointed out.
Before Arabella could reply, Rebecca opened the car door and exited the vehicle. As the door slammed shut, Arabella let out a sigh. She watched as Rebecca examined the fuel cap and the petrol pump.
“Hurry up,” she muttered.
She leaned back in her seat, listening to the sound of the fuel cap being unscrewed. A few seconds later she heard the rumbling of the old petrol pump and the whooshing of fuel entering the tank.
After what seemed like an age, she heard the click of the petrol flap being put back into place. She looked up and watched as Rebecca walked towards the garage.
As soon as she was out of sight, Arabella picked up the wallet from the centre console and opened it up. She slid the plastic cards out so she could look at them. There was a bank card and a credit card in the first compartment.
“Edwards, that was it, Rebecca Edwards,” she whispered.
Next she saw a gym membership card and a library card. She looked up to check that Rebecca was still in the garage. Luckily the girl still seemed to be shopping.
Arabella turned her attention back to the wallet. There were a couple of photographs, one of Rebecca and an older woman and another of Rebecca and a younger woman. Arabella briefly wondered if they were previous victims but quickly pushed that thought aside as the older woman had a strong family resemblance, presumably her mother.
Then Arabella found what she was looking for, the driver’s licence. She took the plastic card out of the wallet and snapped a couple of pictures of it with her phone. She noted that a Croydon address was printed on the licence. At least that part of the story appeared to be true.
Twenty-seven, she thought. Practically a child.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She quickly put everything back the way she found it and laid the wallet back on the centre console. She concentrated on controlling her breathing, trying to get herself under control before Rebecca returned.
At least now the balance of power felt a little more equal. She knew things about Rebecca. Okay, small things, like the fact that she was a member of a gym and a library. But she also had an address.
Chapter Six
Rebecca walked back to the car slowly. She was enjoying stretching her legs and being out of the car, in the fresh air, away from Arabella.
She knew she had to try to keep the peace. Arabella certainly wasn’t going to make any attempt. If they were going to get home without sitting in awkward silence for twenty-two hours, it was going to be down to her. As much as she didn’t want to, she knew she’d need someone to talk to for the sake of her own sanity.
She opened the car door and got in.
“They had fruit, but you wouldn’t have wanted it,” Rebecca said before Arabella had a chance to open her mouth.
She closed the car door and started to take items out of the plastic carrier bag.
“Water, and a plain orange juice with no added sugar.” She handed the items to Arabella. “In the absence of fruit, I got you some wholefood cold-pressed fruit and nut bars. That was the only thing that wasn’t crisps or chocolate.” She emphasized her point by pulling a packet of crisps and a small box of biscuits out of the bag.
Arabella took the juice and examined the bars.
Rebecca opened the box of biscuits and put the bag with the remaining items in the back footwell. She fished the notes and coins out of her pocket and handed them back to Arabella.
“What’s this?”
“The change,” Rebecca told her through a mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow. She picked up her wallet from the centre console and put it back into her jacket pocket. “I suppose you thought I’d keep the change?”
“No… not at all. I just… forgot.”
“Mm.” Rebecca wasn’t taken in by Arabella’s unconvincing tone.
“What… are you eating?” The posh woman was hiding something. She’d tried to change subjects but was now unable to mask her disgust at Rebecca’s food choices.