‘You young people might have all the energy in the world. But us older folk …’
They laughed but joined him at the table again, where more wine was drunk. Then there was more dancing. And then water to rehydrate.
‘I really have to go home,’ said Imogen. ‘I’m falling asleep.’
‘We are that boring?’ complained René.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m exhausted, that’s all.’
‘You’re working her too hard,’ said Céline. ‘And she’s worried about being in on time in the morning.’
‘Everything will be happening an hour later tomorrow,’ said René.
‘Not for me,’ Céline said. ‘I will be in the café as usual.’
‘You always had that work ethic.’ René stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘It wore me out.’
‘I know,’ said Céline.
There was a sudden taut silence between them. Then René sat up straight again.
‘Do you really wish to go home?’ he asked Imogen.
She nodded.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ he said.
‘That’s not really necessary,’ she told him. ‘It’s less than twenty minutes. I can manage.’
‘I’m sure you can. But I’ll walk with you nonetheless.’
‘Please let him,’ said Céline. ‘This is a nice town, but you’re a woman on your own and you’ve had a few drinks.’
‘Why should that be a problem?’ Imogen asked. ‘Why should I have to worry?’
‘You shouldn’t,’ agreed Angie. ‘But unfortunately in this world we have to worry about too many things.’
‘Come on,’ said René. ‘Let’s go.’
Imogen stood up and René took her by the arm.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said René. ‘I want to keep it that way.’
They walked in silence back to her apartment. The night air was still warm, and heavy with the scent of oleander and hibiscus. René opened the gate that led to the block and walked up the path with her.
‘Thank you very much for taking care of me,’ said Imogen as she took out her key. ‘You’re a lovely man, René.’
‘But not your type?’ He grinned at her.
‘Nobody’s my type right now,’ she said.
‘That’s OK.’ He gave her the lightest of kisses on the cheek. ‘It’s good to have a professional relationship with a woman.’
‘You have lots of them,’ Imogen pointed out. ‘Céline, Angie, me.’
‘Céline will never be entirely professional,’ admitted René. ‘I care about her even though we are no longer together.’
‘Are you still in love with her?’ asked Imogen.
René shook his head. ‘That is past. Our marriage failed. But you have to move on, don’t you?’
‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’
‘You’re doing great,’ he said. ‘Whatever you’re moving on from, you’re doing great.’
Imogen felt the tears well up in her eyes. It was lovely to be told she was doing well. What have I become, she asked herself, if a simple compliment from a stranger has me feeling weepy? She swallowed hard.
‘Goodnight, René.’ She kissed him, just as lightly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Beaux rêves,’ said René. Then he turned and walked away.
She felt good. She felt happy. And although she was tired, she was also suddenly wide awake. For the first time since leaving home, she really believed she might get it right. She was making friends and becoming part of the community, and although she didn’t know if she’d stay, she knew that she’d managed to find a place where she felt comfortable. And it was a place she’d come to on her own, not somewhere she’d been forced to be by somebody else.
But the problem with being on her own was that there was nobody to share her happiness with. And she wanted to share it. She wanted to let people in her life, the people that she’d kept her location a secret from, know that she was all right. They deserved to know that, didn’t they?
She was subliminally aware that texting or emailing after a few drinks wasn’t a good idea, but she was going to do it anyway.
She took a deep breath, opened her new email account and clicked on ‘compose’.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: It’s me
Hi Cheyenne, thanks so much for your email. As you can see, this is a new address. It’s the one to get me on these days. I’m not using the old one any more, because even though I can’t be sure, I have a feeling that Vince is able to access it. Does that make me sound paranoid? It’s probably because I am. He’s made me that way.
You’re right, I’ve left him. There are too many reasons to talk about, but it was the right thing to do. I didn’t get in touch with anyone because it was something I had to decide for myself. Besides, we’ve all got our own stuff going on these days and I’m not sure what you could have added to the mix. I knew I had to leave. And I knew I had to hide away for a while. I’m sure he’s not happy about what I’ve done. Well, who would be!
I’m fine and safe and getting myself back together. Please, please don’t talk to Vince (not that you would) and don’t let Kevin talk to him when he comes back from the cruise (because he might, if only to swear at him).
It would be good to meet up again soon. I’ll be in touch again.
Hope everything is going well for you.
Love, Imogen
It was a bit factual, she thought as she pressed ‘send’. It didn’t say anything about how awful things had been and about how much better she was feeling. But at least she’d been in touch.
She started another email, but as she began to type Shona’s address, she changed her mind. She’d chickened out of phoning her friend before, but she didn’t feel as anxious about it now. Maybe it’s the alcohol, she thought, as her finger hovered over the keypad. Maybe it’s affecting my judgement. But it can’t do any harm to phone her, it really can’t. Not if I don’t tell her anything she doesn’t need to know.
She took a deep breath, then tapped out her friend’s number. It took a while before the phone was answered and she heard Shona’s voice ask sleepily, ‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s me,’ she replied.
‘Imogen!’ Shona was fully awake. ‘Oh my God, how are you? Where are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ replied Imogen. ‘Doing well.’
‘Where are you?’ repeated Shona.
‘I can’t tell you that right now.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Shona. ‘Why did you leave like that? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I left because I couldn’t take it any more. I know Vince seemed to be perfect for me, but he wasn’t.’
‘He said you were upset because you weren’t pregnant,’ said Shona. ‘Is that it, Imogen? Do you need counselling?’
‘Why would I want to get pregnant when I was planning to leave him?’ asked Imogen. ‘That’s nonsense.’
‘I guess so,’ said Shona. ‘What I’m struggling with, though, is that you just vanished. You scared us all, Imogen. Vince included.’
‘Nothing scares Vince.’ Imogen was feeling completely sober again now. ‘Except thinking that he’s not in control of things. Me in particular.’
‘He certainly hasn’t been in control of anything over the last few weeks,’ said Shona. ‘He’s devastated.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. And he wants to find you. He’s planning to go to France.’
Imogen’s heart somersaulted and she felt sick.
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s where you disappeared,’ said Shona. ‘Is that where you are?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘It’s me you’re talking to. You can tell me anything. We’re friends. Are you OK?’
‘Of course I’m OK. I wouldn’t be ringing if I wasn’t OK. But I’m not telling you where I am because you might tell him.’
&n
bsp; There was a silence at the other end of the phone.
‘Don’t you trust me?’ Shona sounded hurt.
‘Yes. But I don’t trust him.’
‘You’re scaring me a little, Imogen. Did he hurt you?’
‘Not physically.’
‘I can see …’ Shona picked her words carefully. ‘I can see how he might be a bit overwhelming at times. But you can’t simply disappear for ever. You need to deal with stuff.’
‘Not yet I don’t.’
‘When you’re ready,’ agreed Shona. ‘And I’m here for you. How are you managing?’
‘Not bad.’ Imogen smiled to herself. ‘I have a job.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I’m not telling you that either.’
‘Why did you ring me if you won’t confide in me?’ asked Shona.
‘I rang to apologise for what I did,’ answered Imogen. ‘And to let you know that I’m fine. And happy. That’s it really. I wanted to tell you I’m happy. I wanted to share it.’
‘Have you found someone else?’ asked Shona. ‘Is that it?’
Imogen thought about René and his invitation to dinner. About the boules tournament. And how he’d smiled at her.
‘No,’ she said.
‘Are you ever going to come back?’
‘When I’m ready.’
‘When will that be?’
‘I don’t know.’
Shona sighed. ‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’
‘There’s no need,’ Imogen assured her. ‘I can cope on my own. But I do miss you.’
‘I guess that’s something,’ said Shona. ‘I felt as though you’d cut me out of your life.’
‘I needed a break,’ Imogen said.
‘That’s what I told Vince.’
‘He’s the wrong man for me,’ said Imogen.
‘Fair enough.’
‘Please don’t tell him I called.’
‘It would reassure him.’
‘I don’t want him reassured.’ Imogen’s voice was sharp.
‘He deserves to know you’re not dead,’ Shona told her. ‘That was something we were both afraid of.’
‘But I called the Missing Family line,’ said Imogen. ‘You knew I was all right.’
‘It’s not the same as hearing from you directly. Maybe if you told him that …’
‘No.’
‘OK, OK. I understand. But you need to know that he’s quite determined to find you, Imogen. He was looking at hiring PIs and everything.’
‘And has he?’ Imogen’s heart somersaulted again.
‘No. He’s going to do it himself.’
‘Email me if he leaves Ireland,’ said Imogen.
‘Are you in France?’ asked Shona again.
Imogen didn’t reply.
‘He thinks France. Alternatively England, with your stepsister. Or, at a push, the States, with your aunts.’
‘I’m not with my aunts.’ Imogen didn’t want Vince going to Palm Springs and upsetting Berthe and Agnes. ‘That’s the truth, Shona.’
‘Do you want me to tell him that?’
‘I don’t want you to tell him anything at all,’ said Imogen. ‘But if he starts talking about going to the States … well, let me know.’
‘OK,’ said Shona. ‘I want to help, that’s all.’
‘Thank you,’ said Imogen. ‘You’re a good friend, Shona. I’m sorry I gave you a fright.’
‘It’s OK. The most important thing is you’re all right.’
‘I am,’ said Imogen. ‘I really am.’
‘Well look, keep in touch with me,’ said Shona. ‘Call me any time. Or email.’
‘I have a new email address,’ said Imogen. ‘I think he can access my old one. You’ll keep it secret, won’t you?’
‘If you want.’
‘Please.’
‘Of course,’ said Shona. ‘What is it?’
Imogen gave it to her and once again stressed that she didn’t want Vince to know it.
‘I promise,’ said Shona. ‘Take care of yourself, Imogen.’
‘I will.’
‘You’re sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’
‘Not right now. But if that changes, I’ll let you know.’
‘In that case … I’m glad you called.’
‘I am too,’ said Imogen.
After she’d ended the call, she went to bed. She lay on her back and stared into the darkness. It had been nice to talk to her friend again. But she hoped it hadn’t been a different sort of indiscretion.
Chapter 23
She woke up at seven the next morning with the nagging sense of something being wrong. As she poured herself a glass of water, she remembered her conversation with Shona. She’d made the phone call in a haze of alcohol and happiness, and to assuage the guilt she’d felt for leaving without a word. But now, in the light of day, it seemed like a bad idea. Vince might worm it out of Shona that they’d spoken. And although Imogen knew she’d been careful not to give any clues about her whereabouts, she reminded herself that the Plan hadn’t allowed for conversations with people back in Dublin. It had been a mistake. She wasn’t going to do it again. Ever.
She finished the water and decided to go for a swim in the pool to clear her head. The man she’d seen the first day, an athletic-looking guy with a shock of inky-black hair, arrived when she’d finished her paltry length and was sitting with her feet dangling over the edge. He nodded at her, dived in and swam ten lengths before he stopped and introduced himself as Max Gasquet.
‘I live in apartment number one,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you here before.’
‘I’m renting for the summer,’ she explained.
‘I’m the one long-term let in the place. If there’s anything you need, let me know. I do a lot of DIY stuff for the students.’
‘Are you a student too?’ she asked.
‘An intern at the hospital,’ he replied. ‘So I’m good at fixing bodies as well as putting up shelves.’
‘Useful to know.’
‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘If you want anything, just ask.’
‘I will.’ She picked up her towel and wrapped it around her. ‘Thank you.’
‘Hey, I hope I haven’t frightened you off!’
‘It would take more than that,’ she said with a smile. ‘Sadly I’ve got to go to work.’
‘See you around,’ he said as she slipped her flip-flops on to her feet.
‘See you.’
She was still smiling as she let herself into her apartment. Fair enough, she’d slipped up last night, but she hadn’t made a critical error. And it was lovely to be able to speak to people here – especially men – knowing that Vince wasn’t looking over her shoulder, ready to get angry or jealous. Not that there had ever been the slightest reason for him to be jealous. She hadn’t even looked at another man after she’d married him. Certainly not with any kind of sexual interest. She was afraid of men other than Vince. Afraid of what they provoked in him.
She had a shower and dried her hair. After three full weeks, the shorter style was already beginning to grow out. Imogen wasn’t sure if she’d let it grow completely again, or whether she preferred the slightly more severe cut. My choice, she thought as she brushed it. Mine alone.
After a slice of toast and a cup of coffee, she hopped on to the bike and cycled to the estate agency. Even though she was early, the halogen lights were already shining over the pictures of the houses in the window, and when she tried the door, it was open. René was sitting behind his desk and looked up in surprise when she walked in.
‘I thought you weren’t going to be here till later,’ he said.
‘I woke up early.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Great,’ she said.
‘And so you should be.’ He beamed at her. ‘As the person who won us the boules tournament, you are our superstar. I hope you can come along when we make the presentation to the charity.
’
‘I’d like that,’ she said.
‘Good. Now, do you want a coffee before you start?’
‘I had one before I left,’ she told him.
‘I didn’t. And I’d love a croissant.’
Vince used to do this. Ask her if she wanted something, and when she indicated that she didn’t, he’d say that he did. And she’d feel forced into joining him. She felt a sudden surge of panic.
‘But if you’re already high on caffeine, that’s OK.’ René reached into the desk drawer and took out some keys. ‘Here’s today’s list. Oh, and I’ve got the clean laundry for the Villa Martine. Can you pick it up and drop it to the house when you’ve finished for the day?’
‘Of course … René?’
‘Yes?’
‘How many other cleaners do you have working for you?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I was the only one at the boules tournament. I can’t help feeling you’re treating me differently.’
‘We don’t have any other cleaner who’s also a client, so perhaps I do,’ he conceded. ‘Lana and Danielle both have families, so in this case it seemed better to ask you. Besides, you’re also the only one who’s friends with my ex-wife.’
‘And that matters because …?’
‘It doesn’t, I guess.’ He shrugged. ‘I feel that we get on, and I enjoy being in your company. We needed someone for the tournament, and so I asked you.’
‘Who played last year?’
‘Viktoria. But as you’re her replacement in the agency, it’s even more appropriate that I asked you, so you don’t need to turn it into a conspiracy theory.’
‘I may have a habit of looking for conspiracies when there aren’t any,’ she admitted. ‘And as you’re right and I’m here too early to start, I’d be delighted to join you for a coffee and croissant.’
They went to the café, where Céline raised her eyebrows when she saw them.
‘I didn’t think anyone else would be up so early,’ she said. ‘But the two of you …’
‘Not up early together!’ cried Imogen, seeing the expression in the other woman’s eyes.
‘It doesn’t matter to me if—’
The Missing Wife Page 23