by Janet Rogers
‘Did she like the gift?’ Amelia asked.
‘What gift?’ Patrick frowned.
‘You know, the one you were buying the other day when we ran into each other at that new shopping area.’
‘Oh, yes! Where’s my brain?’
Amelia observed him as he drove. Patrick seemed different this morning. She wondered if things were worse than she thought.
‘Cathy did speak to me, as you know,’ Amelia said, broaching the subject gently. She felt faintly disloyal and more than a little awkward to be having the discussion she’d been trying to avoid with him again, but he really looked like he needed to talk to someone.
‘What did she say?’ Patrick asked, looking at her quickly before turning his eyes back to the road again.
Amelia thought for a moment. ‘I don’t really want to get into too many details. I don’t want to betray her confidences. Like I said the other day, I truly think you should talk to her yourself, ask her, but if I had to interpret and maybe summarise the gist of our conversation, I think she feels that there’s increasing distance between you. That perhaps your focus has shifted?’
Patrick frowned as he stopped at a red traffic light. ‘Focus?’
‘Yes, I think she feels that while work has always been important to you, you focus on it even more these days.’
‘At the cost of family life, she means, right?’ he asked. Amelia was surprised to hear resentment, even bitterness in his voice, and waited for him to say more.
‘You know,’ he continued, ‘better than most, how hard life in the diplomatic service is.’
‘I certainly do,’ Amelia said gently, hoping to convey empathy.
He didn’t seem to hear her, however. ‘I’ve had to make that decision, I’ve had to step up and increase my focus,’ he said, his voice rising, ‘Sometimes there are unforeseen obstacles on your path and you simply have to do the things necessary to advance in life. Sometimes there is no choice but to become more focused.’ He sounded angry now.
‘Or the choice is a very hard one to make,’ she said, thinking of the difficult choices that Robert had to face in his last weeks as ambassador.
Apart from a glance in her direction, Patrick didn’t reply and for several minutes she watched in silence as he negotiated the start of the heavy mid-day Sunday traffic. When he spoke again, he seemed not only calmer, but unwilling to pursue the subject.
‘Sorry about that, I’m just frustrated that there are so many balls to juggle at the moment. What about you? You look better. You looked wrecked last night, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘I was,’ Amelia replied, hesitant to revisit the events of the previous day. There would be plenty of time during the course of the afternoon to discuss Ratna’s revelations with him. Undoubtedly there would be repercussions for Ratna, and Patrick was a good person with whom to discuss the situation.
‘If I was short with you last night, I apologise. I would like to tell you what’s been happening. Maybe you can help me find a few final answers.’
He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue. ‘It’s not urgent. Not anymore.’ She could feel his gaze on her, but the energy to talk about what she’d learnt in the last few days was absent.
They continued the rest of the trip to the highway in silence. Amelia watched as he deftly made his way through Moscow’s notorious combination of traffic and one-way streets. She knew he was gradually heading to the ring road that surrounded the city centre. After that they would take the Volokolamskoye highway out to Patrick and Cathy’s home in Pokrovsky Hills, where many foreign families lived in compounds close to one of the city’s international schools.
‘I’ve been finding some answers,’ she offered at last, when he joined the stream of cars leaving the city centre, still aware of an inner hesitation, but not wanting to be rude. She probably owed him some kind of explanation of what she’d been up to and perhaps it was better to do it without Cathy present.
Patrick glanced at her questioningly and she continued. ‘About Robert’s disappearance. That’s the only reason why I came back.’
‘I thought as much,’ he said softly, ‘when you asked about Popov and that last night at the Marriott and the embassy reports. I didn’t think admin and emotional closure were all you were after.’
‘It’s been . . .’ Amelia started, searching for the right words. ‘Let’s just say I’ve discovered that things – and people – aren’t always what they seem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I don’t think one can, or should, always trust those whose loyalty you’ve taken for granted before.’ She sighed, feeling sick again at the knowledge of Ratna’s actions and their terrible consequences. ‘People’s agendas aren’t always easy to understand, it seems.’
Patrick looked at her again, but he said nothing at first, simply seemed to consider her statement. Then, at length, he said, ‘Perhaps those agendas exist for specific reasons. Perhaps there are times when people don’t see a choice, when they feel forced in a certain direction.’
Amelia looked at him sharply, wondering if he had knowledge or at least suspicions of Ratna’s involvement, and had chosen not to expose her. Was he being defensive because of his own lack of action? Or was his mind still on the conflict between him and Cathy?
She was about to ask him, but the traffic came to a sudden stop and Patrick had to apply the brakes hard to prevent hitting the car in front of them. She held back and decided to let him focus on driving. There was after all no hurry now. She knew how Robert had been betrayed.
If only she could find where his life had ended, where his final resting place was. The thought had bothered her since the previous evening, but she doubted she would ever find the answer to that particular part of the mystery. And perhaps it was better that she never found out.
Soon they reached the turnoff to Pokrovsky Hills. More slowly now Patrick made his way down the narrower road that ran alongside the Pokrovskoye-Glebovo forest. Once past it, it was only a few hundred metres before they reached the compound’s gates. A security guard peered out and seemed to recognise the car. He waved them through and withdrew into the warmth of his booth.
Few people were about. Despite the fact that the houses seemed to be squeezed together in a very limited space, a quiet tranquillity hung over the place. In the small park in the centre of the complex a handful of people were out, either with pushchairs or dogs on leashes, but otherwise the narrow streets were empty. Most people were inside, hiding from the cold.
‘It’s quiet.’
‘Yes, many families have already left for the Christmas holidays,’ he explained as he parked the car in front of the garage attached to their house. The air seemed different here, cleaner, and Amelia took a few deep breaths before following Patrick into the house.
She was immediately struck by the silence inside. It was evident that Cathy and the girls weren’t home. Amelia was surprised. Normally the house would have been filled with the aromas of Cathy’s wonderful cooking and Cathy herself would have welcomed her with excited chatter.
‘I think the girls had a play date this morning,’ Patrick offered by way of explanation. ‘I’m sure they’ll be home shortly.’
Amelia looked around. ‘The place looks great. I haven’t been here in so long.’
Her eyes fell on a row of photos in a display cabinet. She walked over to look at them more closely. There were photos of Cathy and Patrick’s two small daughters and a few of Cathy and Patrick alone. Amelia picked up one of these. They seemed to be on a beach, their faces shiny with happiness. The contrast between Cathy’s blonde hair and green eyes and Patrick’s darker colouring and clear blue eyes was a striking one.
‘What a lovely picture of the two of you,’ Amelia commented.
‘That was years ago,’ he said. ‘She used to call me “the man with the eyes” then,’ Patrick said, looking wistfully at the picture, ‘“man with the oh-so-blue eyes”.’ His brief smile seemed tinged
with something like sadness. He started moving away. ‘Listen, Amelia, please make yourself at home. There’s something I have to check on quickly, but I’ll be back down shortly.’
She watched him disappear up the stairs and then returned her gaze to the photograph. Something tugged at her memory as she looked at their smiling faces. Where had she heard that before? The man with the eyes? She couldn’t place her finger on it and put the photo back in its place.
Upstairs Patrick was silent. She walked to the picture window overlooking the park. She hoped Cathy and the girls would be home soon. She wasn’t sure she wanted to continue the conversation about the state of their marriage. Of course she wasn’t without sympathy, but it really was something they had to figure out themselves.
Somewhere a phone started to ring. She looked around and realised it was coming from Patrick’s work bag which he’d set down on one of the armchairs. After a few rings Patrick shouted something.
‘I beg your pardon, what?’ she called back.
He shouted something again. She wasn’t sure, but there was urgency in his voice and it sounded like Get that!, so she hurried over to the bag to try and answer the phone before the ringing stopped. It was probably Cathy.
She opened the flap of the bag. The lit-up screen of the mobile phone was visible inside the front pocket, so she quickly stuck her hand in to grab it, but the call ended just as she brought it out of the bag. Annoyed she stared at the dead phone in her hand.
And then she noticed something else. With the phone, she’d inadvertently taken out another item.
Something she recognised.
Something she’d hoped she would never again see.
Cold dread filled her as she stared at the small object in her hand: a brightly coloured piece of paper. Folded into one triangle first and then into another. An exact replica of the three notes that had been delivered to her at the hotel. Amelia’s heart started pounding. It couldn’t be . . .
‘I told you not to get the phone,’ Patrick suddenly said from above her, his voice no longer warm and friendly.
She looked up and saw him standing on the small landing halfway down the staircase. He was looking at her coldly, his eyes confirming what couldn’t possibly be true. Then he dropped his gaze to the note in her hand.
‘You should never have come back, Amelia,’ he said as he came down the last few steps. ‘Did I not try to warn you?’
29
Amelia felt her fingers lose their grip on the note. As if from afar, she watched as it fluttered to the ground and came to rest in the space between her and Patrick. She stared at it uncomprehendingly.
For dizzying seconds disjointed memories flooded into her mind. She struggled to grasp their significance, but knew that all along each had meant something, and worse, that she’d failed to see their collective meaning.
So many things should have made her suspicious: Patrick’s failure to inform her of the new information Kiriyenko had found; his claim that Robert had dropped him off at home on the night of Robert’s disappearance; the conflicting version of the old man at the Canadian party who told her about leaving the hotel at the same time as Patrick; Cathy’s concerns about how Patrick had changed; Ratna’s comments about the tension between Patrick and Robert . . .
The pounding in her ears told her she was wide awake, but it felt as if she was acting out a nightmare. It simply couldn’t be. Could it? Had Patrick been involved all along? But what about Sibraz and Prism? How did it all fit together?
She stared down at the piece of brightly coloured notepaper again. Had he been the one who had left the notes? But why . . . and how . . . ?
Then another memory hit her. That man with the eyes. Novodevichy and Mikhail’s angry face. Not Jennings’ eyes with their golden flecks, as she’d thought before she’d discovered that Mikhail worked for Jennings, but Patrick’s bright blue eyes. But how did Mikhail know Patrick?
She looked from Patrick’s dispassionate gaze to the picture of him and Cathy which she’d admired only minutes before. In it his blue eyes sparkled so innocently and happily for the camera. She shook her head, unable to comprehend or control the flood of thoughts.
Had she looked in the wrong places all along? Had she known, somewhere in her subconscious, that all was not as it should be with Patrick? Had she been too afraid to acknowledge to herself that something was amiss? Or was there a simple explanation for the note in her hand and the sudden change in his behaviour?
A wave of light-headedness threatened to overwhelm her. Her mind became disconnected from her body and she could feel herself start to fall. She gripped the sofa’s arm in a desperate effort to stop herself.
When she looked up at Patrick, her last hope that this was all a mistake was crushed. The confirmation stood clear on his face: it was no longer shiny and happy, but cold and filled with a dark melancholy.
‘I don’t understand this.’
He didn’t answer.
‘Why, Patrick?’
Still he didn’t answer.
‘This isn’t at all what I expected,’ Amelia said, half to herself. Her remark seemed to amuse him. She was amazed to see a smile flit across his face.
‘It’s not what I expected either,’ he replied dryly. ‘I never expected to be pushed to these extremes or that I would be forced to do the things I’ve done.’
‘Forced?’ Amelia exclaimed, incredulous at the sound of self-righteousness in his tone. ‘Who forced you? And what have you done exactly?’
He smiled faintly, condescendingly. ‘You won’t understand, Amelia. The pressures, the complexities, the stress . . . You don’t live in my world. You may have had half a foot in it a year ago, but not anymore. I don’t think you can begin to understand what I went through. Besides, there’s no point in talking about this now. Whether you would understand or not doesn’t really matter now. What’s done is done.’
Amelia was about to give voice to the small flame of anger she could feel igniting in her chest, but Patrick crossed the space between them in two long steps before she could speak. He grabbed her arm roughly and swung her around forcefully. Her back was pinned against his left arm and his left hand twisted her elbow painfully behind her. Immediately she felt a sharp prod in her right side. The sudden pain made her gasp and in the moment of weakness, Patrick was able to tighten his grip on her further. She strained against him, but couldn’t see what he was holding in his right hand.
‘We’re leaving now,’ he announced in an unfamiliar, steely voice. She could feel his lips against her ear and flinched at the forced closeness with him.
‘You will not put up a fight, because I have come too far to allow you to ruin things for me now.’
‘What are you doing?’ Amelia struggled against him, but his grip only tightened. For extra measure he again rammed something three times, in quick succession, into the soft spot just below her ribcage. She recoiled and tried to pull away, but he allowed her no freedom to move.
‘I don’t think you understand how serious I am, Amelia. Stop struggling and cooperate. Or it will become more painful.’
Subdued for the moment, pain throbbing in her side, she could only nod as the reality of the situation dawned on her. This was neither a joke nor a mistake and as she sensed his unwavering intent to do things his way, she realised that her chances of getting out of it were diminishing rapidly.
She needed to take action, needed time to think of a plan or a moment to gain control of the situation. Patrick’s grip was unyielding, however, and she was helpless to do anything as he started to drag her out of the room towards the front door. She dug in her heels and tried to get a grip on the banister as they passed the bottom of the stairs, but he was simply too strong. Frantically she looked around for another way out, but it was in vain. The last thing she saw as he pulled her from the room was the brightly coloured piece of notepaper lying on the plush cream carpet.
‘Walk normally,’ he ordered as he paused for only a brief moment outside the fr
ont door. The narrow residential streets of the complex lay deserted to either side. At the far end of the street, Amelia could see a group of children riding their bicycles, but she was sure they would be too far away to notice that anything was amiss.
Patrick yanked her to the right, away from where the children were playing, and started walking. He hadn’t given her time to put on her coat again and she could immediately feel the sharp cold through her sweater.
‘If we run into someone, don’t even think of trying something,’ Patrick said, pressing against the already tender spot below her ribcage again. ‘You’ll only speed up your fate and put them at risk too.’
Your fate? What was he planning?
‘Where are we going? Where are you taking me?’
‘Away from here,’ he replied cryptically and she thought she could hear something akin to amusement in his voice again, as if it was the most absurd, inconsequential question she could have asked in the circumstances.
‘Patrick, what’s going on? Why did you leave those notes for me, what’s happened to make you do this? You’ve always been a good man—’
‘Shut up, Amelia,’ he said roughly. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Please just tell me, ‘Amelia tried again, but stopped short when she heard hysteria creeping into her voice. The last thing she could afford was to lose what little control she had of herself.
‘That’s better – silence. So much better.’
Stay calm. Stay calm. Think, look around, Amelia urged herself. There had to be an opportunity to get away from him.
Just stay calm and stay alert.
The road curved to the right and soon the vast complex of the Anglo-American international school appeared on their left while the residential complex continued on the right. For a moment Amelia thought he was going to take her into the school’s grounds. She shivered as she thought of the many deserted areas there would be inside the property on a Sunday. He would have no difficulty in staying out of sight.
Yet he continued walking, forcing her forward.
‘Move!’ he ordered when she slowed. No one was about and to her dismay curtains and blinds were drawn against the cold in most windows. As the last of the houses disappeared behind them, a cold panic got hold of Amelia. Had she lost her chance? Should she have tried to make a run for it while there were still people around? She could shout, but he’d warned her against that. What if it was a gun he had in his hand? Based on the lack of emotion in his eyes, her guess was that he would be willing to use it.