The concierge shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Well, thanks for your help.’ Vince extended his hand and the concierge shook it. He walked outside with Vince and hailed him a cab. When it pulled away, he went back inside again.
‘I’m not happy that we gave him that information,’ said the manager. ‘There’s something about that man I don’t like. I’m not sure Madame will be pleased to see her husband.’
‘The information was accurate,’ said the concierge. ‘But I doubt very much that he’ll find her in Montpellier.’
‘Why?’
‘Because although she asked me about it, I saw her heading in the opposite direction. And I’m pretty sure she had no intention of taking that bus at all.’
Vince was keeping a record of how much money he was spending in trying to find Imogen. He planned to present it to her when he eventually caught up with her. His initial plan had been to tell her that her housekeeping budget was being reduced in order to pay it all back, but of course that would affect him as much as her. Nevertheless, she would have to atone for her actions somehow. He gritted his teeth as he boarded the train. How many other husbands would put in so much time and effort trying to find their missing wife? he wondered. How many others would go through what he was going through to bring the woman they loved home again?
It was while the train was speeding through the French countryside that he considered his destination. He wished he’d listened more attentively on the occasions Imogen had spoken about France. The more he racked his brains, the more certain he was that she’d never mentioned Montpellier in all the time she’d lived with him. It had always been Provence. And … he frowned with the effort of remembering … a throwaway comment or two about the ‘time after Provence’. But nothing specific. So Montpellier might have been ‘after Provence’. Yet more and more he was beginning to feel that he’d been sent on a wild goose chase. And he didn’t know if that was because of Imogen, or the concierge at the Paris hotel.
It was early evening when he finally arrived. He booked himself into a relatively inexpensive hotel near the station and his heart sank as he looked at the view from his fifth-floor window. He’d imagined that Montpellier would be small and charming, somewhere it would be easy enough to find someone. But even if the old town had character (and he hadn’t had time to find that out yet), it was still a far bigger place than he’d expected, and he couldn’t see how on earth he was going to find Imogen. At least in Paris he’d had somewhere to start. Here there was nothing. Looking at the information booklet in the room, he could see that there were lots of smaller towns along the coastline between Montpellier and Marseille. She could have gone to any of them. Or, as he’d originally thought, to Marseille to find her childhood home.
The more he thought about it, the more likely that option seemed. She’d deliberately mentioned Montpellier at the hotel to put him off the scent. He almost admired her for it. But she needn’t think she could fool him. She wasn’t that smart. And he wasn’t that stupid.
Vince was annoyed at having been sidetracked to Montpellier, but he still didn’t leave before checking with the local police. They looked at him in astonishment when he asked about Imogen, but the only thing they were able to tell him was that his wife hadn’t turned up as an unknown person. He gave them a perfunctory nod of thanks before turning his attention to the train timetable. He was pleased to discover that there was a train to Marseille in fifteen minutes, and was suddenly quite convinced that he would find Imogen there. Or some trace of her at least. She’d thought she could simply walk away from everything. But she couldn’t. And he was going to make sure of it.
An hour after arriving in Marseille and checking in at the hotel he’d reserved on the train by phone, Vince was sitting in one of the multitude of cafés at the old port, watching the tourists walk by. He’d never been much for sightseeing himself – the way he looked at it, when you’d seen one old castle you’d seen them all – but the motley crew of tourists all seemed to be on their way somewhere or coming back from somewhere, and a babble of languages floated towards him as he drank his beer.
Even though he was perspiring beneath the canopy of the café he’d chosen, he was enjoying the atmosphere. The sky was clear and the water the deepest blue. Boats were bobbing at their moorings while owners tried to tempt the chattering tourists into trips to the Château d’If. It was noisy and colourful, and he had a sudden image of Imogen strolling along the pedestrian streets wearing the boho-chic clothes she’d always chosen before he’d met her. More appropriate for a Mediterranean location, he thought, than Dublin’s greyer streets. He’d been right to change her. She should be grateful to him.
He pictured her sitting in the garden of one of the pretty whitewashed houses overlooking the sea, feeling secure in the knowledge that it was too difficult for him to track her down. But she hadn’t counted on his determination, thought Vince as he began to study the brochures and leaflets he’d taken from the hotel. She hadn’t counted on the fact that he was prepared to do whatever it took to find her. And that he was going to scour France until he did.
Chapter 27
It was the hottest day of the year, and even though it was early in the evening, the beach at Hendaye was thronged with people. Imogen didn’t know how on earth she was going to find René or anyone else she knew among the crowds, but as she walked along the shore, she was spotted by Nellie and Becky, the Australian sisters from the apartment next door. She hadn’t seen much of them over the last couple of weeks, and she’d half thought that they might have moved on.
‘We’re heading off soon,’ said Becky. ‘We would have been gone already except Nellie pulled a muscle in her back and couldn’t get on her bike without screaming.’
‘Are you OK now?’ asked Imogen.
‘Nearly,’ said Nellie. ‘Of course I’ve been helped by the hunky Dr Max from number one. He gave me some stonkingly good painkillers. Have you met him?’
Imogen nodded.
‘I could almost stay here just for him,’ said Nellie.
Imogen laughed and then gave an exclamation of surprise as, against the odds, she spotted René walking along the beach. She waved at him.
‘Do you want to come to the kiosk to pick up your free soft drink?’ he asked when he reached them. ‘And did you buy your ticket for the barbecue?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d be coming.’
‘I’ll get a ticket for you,’ said René.
‘There’s no need …’
But he dismissed her objections and strode towards a beach hut with a little blue flag on it, after telling the girls to get their drinks and stake out a spot on the beach.
‘I didn’t realise you knew the rental agent so well,’ said Becky.
‘I’ve ended up working for him,’ Imogen told her.
‘Really? He’s kinda cute,’ Nellie said.
‘Not my type,’ Imogen assured her. ‘Plus I work for his ex-wife too.’
‘You haven’t been here very long but you seem to know everyone already,’ said Becky in admiration.
‘Only them,’ said Imogen. ‘Do you want me to go and get those drinks?’
‘Let me,’ said Nellie. ‘I need to keep moving so that my back doesn’t seize up. You and Becky make yourselves comfortable. Our towels are over there.’ She indicated a spot where two brightly coloured towels were laid beneath a wide beach umbrella. ‘Flop down, save our space and I’ll be back shortly.’
Becky and Imogen did as she said and were opening their bottles of juice when René joined them twenty minutes later.
‘I was beginning to think you’d got lost,’ said Imogen.
‘There was a queue for tickets,’ René said.
‘I’m so sorry I didn’t get one sooner,’ said Imogen. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing,’ said René.
‘Please let me pay for my own ticket.’ She took her purse from her bag.
‘Five euros, i
f you must,’ he said.
‘Is that all?’
He nodded and she handed him the money. As he put the note in his pocket, she saw Oliver Delissandes walking along the beach. He was wearing navy swimming shorts and a pair of Ray-Bans and had a pair of expensive-looking headphones over his ears.
‘Wow,’ said Becky, who had followed her glance. ‘He’s hot.’
‘Who? Oh, him.’ René caught sight of Oliver. ‘He’s a client. Nice guy.’
As if he’d heard them talking about him, Oliver glanced in their direction. René waved to attract his attention and Oliver trudged through the sand towards them, sliding the earphones from his head as he arrived.
René did the introductions in English, although when he got to Imogen, Oliver said that they’d already met at the house.
‘Of course,’ said René. ‘I forgot.’
‘I never thought I’d meet Imogen again,’ Oliver said. ‘It was a bit of a shock.’
‘I don’t think it’s a shock to meet anyone on the beach today.’ René gave him a puzzled look.
‘No, I meant at the house.’
‘You’re talking at cross-purposes,’ said Imogen.
‘Cross-purposes?’ This time it was Oliver who looked puzzled.
‘About different things. Look, it’s not important.’ She spoke quickly, not wanting him and René to get into a discussion about her. ‘Have the rest of the family returned to the Villa Martine yet?’
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Although Giles is due back next Sunday. We don’t have the same sort of family breaks as we did in the past.’
‘But it’s nice to have the house all the same.’ Imogen didn’t want him talking about the past either. ‘Are you staying for the barbecue?’
‘I hadn’t really thought …’
‘You need a ticket for the food,’ said René. ‘There’s a twenty-minute queue.’
‘That’s not so bad,’ said Oliver. ‘Especially if … Will you queue with me, Imogen?’
‘I—’
Nellie broke into a guffaw. ‘That’s a good one,’ she chortled. ‘René queues for Imogen but Imogen queues with the hot man.’
‘Pardon?’ Oliver looked at her enquiringly.
‘Never mind,’ said René. ‘Go with him if you want, Imogen. I’ll disport myself with the girls.’
Imogen looked at him for a moment.
‘Go,’ said René. ‘You’re cramping my style.’ He winked at Becky, who laughed.
‘You’re incorrigible.’ Imogen grinned, and followed Oliver towards the large tent where the tickets were being sold.
‘I like Bastarache. He’s a good man,’ he remarked as they joined the end of the queue.
‘He’s been great to me. I love him to bits.’
Oliver raised an eyebrow.
‘Not literally,’ Imogen said. ‘It’s just an expression.’
His face cleared.
‘How’s the editing coming along?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Very well,’ said Oliver. ‘It’s a pleasure to work on the book. I will give you a proof copy when it’s ready.’
‘But that won’t be for ages, will it?’
‘A couple of months,’ said Oliver.
‘I don’t think I’ll be here in a couple of months.’
‘Why? Where do you plan to go?’
The two of them shuffled forward in the queue.
‘I haven’t made plans yet,’ said Imogen. ‘But I’m sure there won’t be as much work for me in the winter.’
‘Probably not,’ agreed Oliver. ‘Nevertheless, we have our home maintained all year round. I’m sure other people do too.’
‘Well, yes. All the same, I don’t know that I’ll stay.’
‘Will you stay in France or go back to Ireland?’
‘I don’t know that either,’ she said.
‘I hope you stay long enough to meet my mother again.’
‘Oh no.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
‘Why?’
‘Well … I don’t think she would want to see me. Not after my mum betraying her with your dad.’
‘Don’t be absurd.’ Oliver’s tone was dismissive. ‘She has a man in her life, remember?’
‘Even so.’ Imogen looked him straight in the eye. ‘It was a horrible time for her. To find out that her husband and someone she trusted were shagging each other senseless in her house …’
‘Shagging each other senseless?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘You can guess what that means,’ she said. ‘Anyhow, it would be horrible for her to meet me.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Oliver. ‘She’d love to see you. She did speak a little of you after you left. She hoped that you – and your maman – were all right. Perhaps she regretted asking you to leave.’
‘It was perfectly understandable that she threw us out,’ said Imogen. ‘If I discovered that my husband was bonking the hired help in my own house, he’d be out on his ear without a moment’s thought.’
Oliver took a moment to process the sentence. ‘I understand what you’re saying – I think,’ he said. ‘But it was different for Maman and Papa. And you have to remember that there had been lots of affaires.’
‘I don’t care.’ Imogen sounded mutinous. ‘You don’t shit on your own doorstep.’
‘Ah, I know that one.’
‘It wasn’t me who taught it to you,’ said Imogen.
‘You’re still angry with your maman, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Imogen. ‘If she hadn’t been so stupid, we might have stayed here and she wouldn’t have met Kevin and I wouldn’t have been hauled off to Birmingham and I wouldn’t have come home and everything would have been OK.’
‘Are you trying to say that everything is not OK at the moment?’
They were almost at the head of the queue now.
‘Only sometimes,’ she told him with a sudden smile. ‘Only if I forget to look on the bright side.’
When they returned with Oliver’s ticket, they found that Max had joined Becky, Nellie and René and had brought a large cool bag of beer and soft drinks with him.
‘Some of the people from the hospital will be along later,’ he said. ‘We can keep replenishing the bag.’
‘Excellent idea,’ said René.
Over the next hour, their group expanded with the arrival of a collection of nurses, doctors and administrators as well as Céline and Art. Imogen found herself chatting to people she’d never met before, while the Australian girls happily divided their attention between Max and René. Meanwhile Oliver was talking to one of the nurses, a flaming redhead wearing a cropped top and skimpy shorts, who seemed to be finding everything he said hilariously funny, as she was laughing a lot and squeezing his arm playfully.
‘Reminds me of home,’ Becky said to Imogen as she loaded a plate with chicken wings. ‘Though we don’t see these sunsets on the east coast.’
The sun was sliding slowly beneath the horizon, painting the sky and the sea in shades of pink and gold.
‘It’s spectacular,’ agreed René. ‘I never get tired of it.’
‘Me neither,’ said Céline. ‘We’re lucky to live here.’
‘Absolutely.’ Art’s arm was no longer in a sling, and he slid it around Céline’s waist. Imogen noticed René’s expression harden and she wondered if he still cared for his ex-wife. But then he turned back to chat with Becky and Nellie and ignored Céline altogether.
By the early hours of the morning, Imogen was starting to feel tired. Although the party was still going strong, a number of people had drifted away, and she decided to go home too.
‘We’ll head back with you,’ said Becky.
‘I’ll come too,’ said René. ‘To make sure you get home OK.’
‘No need.’ It was Max who spoke. ‘I’ll be with them, René. They’ll be safe in my hands.’
‘Maybe I was thinking that they needed to be safe from your hands,’ he said.
&n
bsp; ‘Everyone knows that my hands are perfectly safe,’ Max joked as he stretched his arms out in front of him. ‘They’ve held a scalpel without shaking.’
‘Ugh,’ said Becky as René made a face.
Imogen stood up and gave him a goodnight kiss on the cheek. She did the same for Céline and Art, then looked around for Oliver. He was deep in conversation with the red-headed nurse again. She wasn’t sure if she should disturb them, but then he looked up and saw her.
‘Going so soon?’ he asked.
‘Soon?’ she laughed. ‘It’s after midnight.’
‘The night is young.’ He grinned at her.
‘Not for me it isn’t.’
‘But we haven’t had time to talk.’
‘You’ve been otherwise occupied.’ Imogen’s glance slid towards the redhead, who was lying on a beach mat looking up at the starry sky.
‘Virginie and I go back years,’ he said.
‘As far as us?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
‘Nobody goes back that far,’ he said in amusement.
‘I’ve got to go.’ She nodded towards Becky, Nellie and Max, who were waiting for her. ‘I’ll see you when I come to do your house.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘See you.’
She turned away and joined the others. But she wondered how long Oliver would stay at the party. And if Virginie would be with him when it ended.
Chapter 28
Vince was conscious that he was running out of time to find Imogen. He was due back at work at the end of the week and he was still no further forward in locating her. He’d begun to get so frustrated at his lack of success that he frequently asked himself if he wanted her back at all. But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of defeating him.
The concierge at his hotel in Marseille had never heard of of the Maison Lavande, but suggested going to the town hall, where someone might be able to give him information. They know everything about everybody at the town hall, he said, a little sourly.
Vince had walked past the elegant seventeenth-century building that housed the town hall a number of times already, although despite the French tricolour and the EU flag hanging outside, he hadn’t realised what it was. Inside, it reminded him of every government building he’d ever been in, with its quietly bureaucratic air. An employee told him that he would have to make an appointment to see one of her colleagues, and when Vince suggested that he’d come back later that afternoon, she’d looked at him as though he was an alien with ten heads, and told him that the earliest he could see anybody was the following week. Vince snorted and insisted on speaking right now to someone with better English than her. After a wait of about forty minutes, a man of around Vince’s own age appeared and told him in precise and faultless English that he would have to make an appointment.
The Missing Wife Page 27