‘Ah, so I’ve finally jogged your memory,’ said Vince. ‘Now can I come up?’
‘Hold on,’ said René. ‘I’m coming down to you.’
Whatever this was about, he didn’t want a man he didn’t know, a man who was clearly angry, coming up to his apartment. He glanced at his reflection in the wall mirror, ran his fingers through his hair, slipped on a pair of deck shoes and walked downstairs.
Vince was standing at the entrance to the apartment block.
‘Hello,’ said René.
‘Hello.’ Vince’s tone was curt.
‘So what can I do for you exactly?’ René asked.
‘You can tell me where my wife is,’ said Vince. ‘I don’t care about your relationship with her. I just want her back.’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know you or anything about you,’ said René. ‘And I’m not talking to you about Imogen until I know more.’
Vince put his hand in his pocket and took out his mobile phone. He opened the photo album and handed it to René.
‘This is my wife,’ he said. ‘This is Imogen. Now tell me where she is!’
René flicked through the photos. They were of Imogen alone, Imogen with Vince, Imogen with another girl. She was even more lovely with longer hair cascading around her face, he thought. But although she was smiling in all the photos, her eyes remained serious. Watchful even.
‘Certainly I know the woman,’ he said, handing the phone back to Vince. ‘She has lived in the town.’
‘She’s still living in the town,’ said Vince. ‘I saw her this morning, being driven by someone in a white Range Rover Evoque. I thought it might be you. But since it’s not, there must be another man in Imogen’s life. Given that the car is expensive and possibly even exclusive here in France, I don’t imagine there are many of them around. So perhaps you know who she was with. Perhaps you’d like to meet that man yourself.’
René had no idea who Vince was talking about, for which he was profoundly grateful.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know Imogen very well.’
‘Don’t you?’ Vince frowned. ‘Mr Biendon said that she was at a boules match with you.’
Damn Bernard, thought René. Couldn’t he tell this guy was trouble?
‘Not with me,’ he said. ‘With my company. She’s done a little work for us.’
‘What sort of work?’
‘Cleaning.’
‘Cleaning! My wife is working as a bloody cleaner!’ Vince was outraged. ‘And you let her?’
‘It’s not up to me to tell people what they can and can’t do,’ said René. ‘She asked for work, I gave it to her. And now, Monsieur, I have things that will occupy me today, and as I cannot help you any further—’
‘Of course you can help me further,’ said Vince. ‘If you employed her, you must have an address for her.’
‘No,’ lied René. ‘I don’t. She has done casual work for me. That’s all.’
‘Is she still working for you?’
‘Like I said,’ René spoke nonchalantly, ‘she came looking for something. But she’s not a permanent employee.’ He didn’t want to tell too many direct lies. He didn’t want to get Imogen into trouble.
‘Where is she now?’ asked Vince.
‘I have no idea.’
Vince’s eyes narrowed.
‘You’re lying to me,’ he said.
‘I most certainly am not,’ said René. ‘I don’t know where Imogen is and I don’t know if I’ll even see her again.’
‘What cleaning work did she do for you?’ asked Vince.
René gave him an exaggerated shrug. ‘The occasional holiday rental. Nothing more.’
‘I want addresses.’
‘I can’t give you addresses,’ said René. ‘Reasons of client confidentiality, you understand.’
‘I’ll find her with or without you,’ said Vince. ‘It would be a lot easier for her if you made it easier for me.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ asked René. ‘Or her?’
‘Not at all,’ said Vince. ‘What you don’t understand, Mr Bastarache, is that Imogen has been unwell. She lost a baby. She’s a little unstable mentally. She needs help.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ René kept his voice steady with difficulty.
‘You must be able to contact her,’ Vince said. ‘If she works for you, you must have a number.’
René said nothing.
‘Call her,’ said Vince. ‘Tell her to come here.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake.’ Vince looked at him angrily. ‘Imogen is my wife and she’s unwell and I need to see her.’
‘Imogen said nothing about being married.’
‘I told you, she’s upset and confused right now.’
‘She seemed fine to me.’
‘That’s the problem with people like her,’ said Vince. ‘They seem fine but they’re not. And she’s not. So I need to talk to her.’
René looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll call her. And then we’ll see her together.’
He took his phone out of his pocket. The missed call from Bernard Biendon was the last one he’d received. Obviously his ex-father-in-law had made it after Vince had found him. Dammit, thought René, I should have answered. He dialled Imogen’s number, but the call went directly to her voicemail, which still had an automated message from the carrier rather than a personal one from Imogen herself.
‘There’s no reply.’ He ended the call without saying anything.
‘Give me her number,’ said Vince.
‘No,’ said René. ‘I’ll try her again later, and if she wants to see you, I’ll meet her with you.’
‘I thought you said you didn’t know where she lived.’
‘I said I’d meet her with you. Not that I’d bring you to her apartment.’
‘You know she lives in an apartment?’
‘Apartment, house! It’s all the same,’ said René.
Vince looked at him thoughtfully.
‘In that case, give me your number,’ he said.
René called it out to him and Vince added it to his phone. Then he rang it. René’s mobile shrilled loudly.
‘Just checking,’ said Vince. ‘I’ll keep calling. So you’d better tell me when you contact her.’
‘I will,’ said René.
He turned away and went back inside his apartment. He phoned Bernard Biendon immediately.
‘Why on earth did you give that man my address?’ he demanded after he’d told him about Vince.
‘I wanted him out of my restaurant,’ admitted Bernard.
‘Well he’s lurking outside waiting for me to either phone or call around to Imogen.’
‘And that’s a problem because?’
‘There’s obviously something wrong between the pair of them,’ said René. ‘That’s why she’s here. She ran away from him.’
‘Je n’y suis pour rien. It’s none of my business. Not yours either.’
‘You did it on purpose, didn’t you?’ demanded René. ‘Because you thought there was something between the two of us. Because you are still angry about me and your daughter. I saw the way you looked at me at the boules tournament. You’re a fool, Bernard Biendon, has anyone ever told you that?’
‘I’m not listening to this.’
‘You’ve messed up that poor girl’s life by telling her shit of a husband that she’s in the town,’ said René. ‘I honestly think—’
But he was speaking to thin air. His ex-father-in-law had already hung up.
René had a shower and then changed into a clean T-shirt and shorts. He tried Imogen’s phone again, but there was still no answer. Then he called Céline.
‘Look, last night was—’ she began, but he interrupted her and told her about Vince’s arrival.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Céline. ‘So that’s it. I knew there was something. Pauvre Imogen.’
; ‘This guy is a dick,’ said René. ‘I’m not surprised she left him. He says she’s mentally unstable. And that she lost a baby. I’m not sure the two are related.’
‘Imogen unstable! That’s rubbish. And if she is, it’s because of him. But she isn’t. I’m not even going to think that. As for the baby …’ Her voice softened. ‘If that’s true, I’m very sorry for her. But, chéri, I don’t think losing a baby would make her come here. Not at all.’
‘I agree.’ René noted that she’d used a term of endearment towards him. Another time he might have made something of it. But not now.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Céline.
‘I don’t know. She’s not answering her phone. Did she say anything to you this morning about her plans for the day?’
‘Not a word,’ said Céline. ‘Actually this morning she was brighter than usual. Cheerful and smiling and in very good form.’
‘He said he saw her with a man in a car. Do you have any idea who that might be?’
Céline shook her head. ‘None at all.’
‘Could you go to her apartment?’ he asked. ‘See if she’s there now and warn her? This Vince salaud is still outside, and I’m afraid he’ll follow me if I leave.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘I wish I were.’
‘Then of course I will go to her place.’
‘You’re a good woman, Céline Biendon.’
‘I know,’ she said, and took off her apron.
She told Arlene, the waitress, to take care of things for a while, then drove immediately to Imogen’s, but there was no answer when she rang the bell. As she turned away, Max Gasquet walked up the path and she asked him if he’d seen Imogen that day.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
Céline shook her head. ‘I need to talk to her, that’s all. But it’s urgent.’
‘I was with her last night,’ said Max, and when Céline raised an enquiring eyebrow, he laughed. ‘Not in that way, of course. She had some laundry to do and we had a glass of wine together while she waited for it to be finished. Actually …’ he frowned, ‘I think she said something about going to San Sebastian.’
‘San Sebastian! Why on earth would she go there? And with whom?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Max. ‘It came up casually in conversation.’
‘I really need to contact her before she gets home.’
‘Why?’
Céline took a deep breath. She knew and trusted Max, who often came into the café for an espresso after a shift at the hospital. She knew his parents, too. Monsieur Gasquet was a lawyer and his wife a teacher in the local school.
‘There’s someone looking for her and I don’t think she wants to see him,’ replied Céline.
‘A lover?’ Max looked interested.
‘An ex-husband,’ said Céline.
‘Oh.’
‘He seems to be a bit of a … type,’ said Céline. ‘And we – René and I – don’t think she should be surprised by him.’
‘I understand,’ said Max. ‘Unfortunately I don’t know who she might have gone to San Sebastian with, or even if that’s where she is.’
‘She always said that she doesn’t know anyone here and doesn’t do anything very much,’ said Céline. ‘She told me she likes it that way, which is understandable if she’s getting over a bad relationship. But it must be someone she knows.’
‘What sort of car was she in?’ asked Max.
‘René didn’t say. I’ll ask him.’ She dialled René’s number.
‘You’ve found her?’ he said when he answered.
‘No. I’m at the apartment with Max Gasquet. You know, the doctor who works—’
‘Yes, yes, I know Max,’ said René. ‘There isn’t anything between them, is there? Would she have confided in him?’
‘No, but she spoke to him last night and said something about going to San Sebastian this morning. Do you know what sort of car she was in?’
‘A Range Rover Evoque,’ said René. ‘White. But San Sebastian? Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Céline. ‘And neither does Max. Hold on.’ She put the phone on speaker.
‘I’ve seen a white Range Rover recently,’ Max said. ‘Near the seafront. An expensive model.’
‘And relatively new,’ added René. ‘I don’t think they made that marque before 2011.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Max. ‘I can’t think of who might own one, but if I come up with something, I’ll let you know.’
‘I’ll ring her again,’ said René. ‘I’ll use the office mobile. Hang on.’
But there was still no reply from Imogen.
‘She can’t have gone far,’ said Max. ‘I’m around until later this afternoon. I’ll keep an eye out for her. If I see her, I’ll warn her.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No problem. I’m sure everything will be OK.’
‘I hope so.’
Céline got back into her car and drove to the café. She was worried about Imogen. The fact that the other girl had kept her status as a married woman a secret concerned her. Not that she felt she had to know anything about Imogen’s private life, but she’d always suspected that she was harbouring a hidden sadness. Losing a baby would explain it. But if she’d left her husband because she was stressed over it, and if she really did have mental health issues, perhaps she and René and Max might make things worse by butting in where they weren’t needed.
Yet Céline trusted René and his judgement. Even when they’d been married and he’d been giving her unwanted advice, she’d had to admit that he knew what he was talking about. She didn’t know this husband of Imogen’s, so she was ready to support Imogen in whatever way was needed. After all, the girl was part of the community now. And it was a community where everyone looked after everyone else. Even people from a different country.
After almost an hour of standing outside René’s apartment, Vince decided that he needed to buy a bottle of water as he was dehydrating in the heat of the sun. He wasn’t too concerned about leaving. Now that he knew about René, he’d be able to keep on top of things.
René happened to glance out of the window at the exact moment Vince walked away. He raced down the stairs on to the street where his car was parked, and drove to the office, where he picked up the spare set of keys to Imogen’s apartment. Then he drove to her building and parked outside.
The first thing he saw when he let himself into the apartment was Imogen’s phone lying on the table. Maybe there really was something wrong with her, he thought with irritation. Who went out and left their phone behind these days?
He looked around for a pen and paper, but the best he could find was a brown paper bag and a black marker.
Your husband is in town and looking for you, he wrote in big capitals on the bag. Call me if you need help. Call me anyway.
There was nothing more he could do. Perhaps he was overreacting anyway. Just because he didn’t like Vince Naughton didn’t mean that Imogen wouldn’t want to talk to him. Although, René reminded himself, she’d obviously left him, which had to mean something. He phoned Céline and told her what he’d done, and said the same to Max Gasquet, who’d seen him arrive at the apartment and come to check on what was happening.
‘I told Céline I’d watch out for her,’ said Max. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Fair enough.’ René clapped him on the back. ‘Call me if you need anything.’ He gave Max his number and then got into his car. But he didn’t want to go home, sure that at some point Vince would turn up again. Instead he went to the café, which was full of customers.
‘I don’t have time to talk,’ said Céline when he sat down at the only available table. ‘And if you’re going to occupy that space, you’ll have to order something.’
‘Iced tea,’ said René. ‘Sit down when you get a moment.’
It was nearly fifteen minutes later before Céline sat opposite him.
‘There’s nothing more we can do,’ she
said. ‘And I worry that we’re interfering.’
‘It’s not interfering to tell her he’s looking for her.’
‘What about the baby?’ asked Céline.
‘I don’t believe in this baby,’ said René. ‘Something about the way he said it …’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t trust him.’
‘Me neither,’ said Céline. ‘Though I suppose it could be true. And yet she seems so well and happy now. I hate to think she’s going to come back to this worry when she’s obviously off having a nice time today.’
‘Indeed. I’m intrigued as to who she’s with.’
Céline looked at him. ‘Are you jealous?’
‘Don’t be absurd.’
‘You are.’ Her eyes opened wider. ‘You really are.’
‘I’m not jealous.’ René looked embarrassed. ‘It’s just that she’s pretty and vulnerable and—’
‘You idiot,’ said Céline.
‘OK, OK, so I’m a sucker for an attractive woman,’ said René. ‘It’s why I keep coming back to you, like a moth to the flame.’
‘You don’t keep coming back,’ said Céline. ‘You came back once. Last night. And you left again.’
‘Because you threw me out,’ he reminded her. ‘Yet I’m always at the events you run here. You have a special coffee day next week. I said I’d come to that.’
‘Because you are a business owner like me,’ Céline reminded him. ‘And we all support each other. Did I not bring macarons for your open night in the agency last month?’
‘Yes.’
‘So that’s it. Mutual support.’
‘Don’t you think—’
‘René, you bossed me around when we were married. You can’t boss me around any more.’
‘Did I?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And that’s why you wanted a divorce?’
‘You know it is.’
‘Not because I’m, generally speaking, a con?’
‘That too.’ Her mouth twitched.
‘Céline …’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She stood up. ‘I have a business to run. And that’s what I’m going to do. Would you like another iced tea?’
René shook his head. He got up, left five euros on the table, and walked out.
Chapter 34
The sun was close to setting as Oliver and Imogen arrived back in Hendaye. He stopped the car at the seafront for a moment so that they could watch the ever-changing pink and gold light filter over the bay, then he turned back towards the town.
The Missing Wife Page 34