Summer Madness

by Susan Lewis

  At last the phone rang. Jake turned as Fernando picked it up. He listened for a moment then handed it to Jake. ‘It’s him,’ he said, and as Jake took the receiver there was a discernible change in the air as Alvarez cleared the table of cards while Fernando picked up his gun and started to load it.

  ‘Go outside.’ The voice at the other end of the line was heavily accented with Spanish.

  Jake’s eyes moved to the door. Fernando and Alvarez were watching him.

  ‘She is outside waiting for you,’ the voice told him.

  ‘How do I know this isn’t a trap?’ Jake said.

  ‘You don’t,’ and the line went dead.

  Jake replaced the receiver. He turned to Fernando then pulling a gun from his waistband started slowly towards the door. Reading the situation Fernando moved to the window. Jake waited as Fernando peered round the curtain, scanning the dusk shrouded valley. Alvarez moved in behind Jake. Fernando shook his head. No sign of life.

  Keeping his gun raised Jake eased the door open. Alvarez slipped behind it, peering through the crack, while Jake flattened himself against the wall the other side. Again they waited, and still nothing happened. Jake stepped into the doorway. If they were going to shoot him he was making himself a perfect target. But he’d been that any number of times by now. The money had changed hands, there was a chance they were keeping their side of the bargain.

  The temperature was falling fast. A swift breeze was moving through the Apache pines, loose rubble drifted over the barren scrubland of the hillside. He felt a hundred eyes on him and saw no one. Then in the semi-distance someone came out of the shadows into the dwindling light. It was a woman. Her black hair was lifting in the breeze. Her tall, erect figure was being pulled to one side, something was holding her right arm. Then a child, holding her hand, tottered out from behind her and Jake’s pounding heart froze.

  ‘Martina?’ he whispered, realizing that until this moment he had never truly allowed himself to believe he would ever see her again.

  She couldn’t have heard him, but as though she had she turned in his direction. Still he couldn’t see her face, but he knew beyond doubt now that he was looking at his wife. The danger surrounding them suddenly vanished. All he knew was the joy, the incredulity, the unbearable swell of love and relief and urgency coursing through him.

  ‘Martina,’ he said again, his voice choked with emotion.

  Her head tilted curiously to one side as she saw him start towards her. Then fear locked her limbs, and for an instant she looked about to run.

  ‘Martina,’ he called.

  ‘Jake?’ her voice was barely audible.

  He started to run.

  ‘Jake!’ she cried. ‘Oh God, Jake!’ and she was running to him, leaving the child behind her. Her long legs carried her towards him, her hair fanned out behind her, her arms were reaching for him. He could see the beauty of her eyes, the redness of her mouth, the brilliance of her smile. She was alive! So beautifully, so radiantly alive! Her mouth opened in a cry of pure joy. ‘Jake!’ she called again, laughing and crying.

  ‘Jake, no!’ Fernando yelled, but his words were drowned by the blast of gun fire.

  Three bullets hit Martina’s chest. Her arms flew out, her head jerked back, her knees buckled.

  Fernando raced out the door, Alvarez was already firing.

  Martina’s face was frozen in shock.

  Jake caught her, clasping her to him. ‘Martina!’ he cried, going down with her. ‘Martina! No!’

  ‘Jake, is it really you?’ she whispered, touching his face.

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ he choked. He pulled her to him, burying her face in his chest, feeling her warmth, touching her hair.

  ‘Jake. I knew … I knew you’d come …’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Yes, my love. Yes, yes, yes,’ he said, kissing her face, stroking her hair and holding her. ‘Martina,’ he sobbed. ‘My love …’

  Fernando ran forward, spinning and stumbling, waiting for the bullet that would bring him down. But all had gone silent now. Only the distant echo of the final shot could be heard echoing through the bowels of the canyon. Something moved further down the hill. Fernando spun round, throwing himself to his knees ready to fire. A small figure stumbled into the dim light. Fernando’s heart was seized with horror as the child tottered towards Jake and Martina.

  Fernando threw himself towards the child.

  Terrified, she looked up.

  Fernando reached her before she got to her parents and swept her into his arms. She was sobbing and straining to get to her mother. Fernando held her close, turning her face to his shoulder, unaware of the tears running down his own cheeks as he looked down at Jake and Martina.

  ‘Jake,’ he said, his voice thick with anguish. ‘Jake, my friend.’

  There was no response. Jake’s eyes were staring sightlessly ahead, out to the great, swirling mass of the sky. In his arms Martina lay quietly, her fingers were touching his face, her blood was smeared on his chest. His thumb moved gently over her cheek.

  Behind them the roar of helicopters was swooping over the rim of the canyon. Whether they had come to spirit away the killers or whether it was the police Fernando had no way of knowing. He went to kneel beside Jake, still holding the child. ‘Jake,’ he whispered. ‘Jake, can you hear me?’

  Jake lowered his eyes. The child reached out for her mother and Fernando let her go. Seeing her Jake’s eyes closed tightly. Then pulling her into his embrace he held them both, burying his face in their fine, black hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Oh God, Martina, I’m sorry.’

  *

  Louisa spun round, unsure where the voice had come from, but recognizing it instantly as Marianne’s.

  ‘I’m over here,’ Marianne called in a whisper.

  Louisa glanced back over her shoulder to see if Jean-Claude was in sight. He wasn’t, neither was Didier.

  ‘Why are you hiding?’ Louisa said, coming out into the lane and seeing Marianne crouched behind the bushes.

  ‘Louisa, you have to come with me,’ Marianne said urgently. ‘Sarah hasn’t turned up in London and no one knows where she is.’

  Louisa’s eyes rounded with horror. ‘What do you mean, she’s not in London?’ she cried.

  ‘She didn’t arrive. I don’t know if she’s even left France. Louisa, please, you have to come with me. I swear I’m not taking you to Consuela, but I just don’t think it’s safe for you here either. My car’s at the bottom of the lane, I’ll explain what I can as we go. Come on, please, before Erik gets back,’ and grabbing Louisa’s arm she ran with her down the hill.

  The moment the press caught sight of Louisa they came surging towards her in one horrifying mass. The police leapt to attention, forcing them back as Marianne pushed Louisa into her car and ran around the other side. They were gone so fast that no one had a chance to follow and as they sped out of Valanjou, heading towards the autoroute, Louisa listened as though in some kind of stupor as Marianne told her about Danny and how Consuela had persuaded her to stage her own murder and make it look as though Jake had done it. As it turned out Jake had had the perfect alibi, but Erik hadn’t. So had Erik done it, or had providence just played into Consuela’s hands in making the timing such that Erik could have done it? Marianne had no way of knowing, all she did know was that she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Erik was a murderer.

  ‘And neither,’ she went on, ‘can I make myself believe that Jake means you any harm. He’s never really spoken to me about you, but it was plain enough for all of us to see the way he felt about you. It was mainly that that made me start looking at him differently. I used to hate him, when I was first working for him I despised him for what he was doing to Consuela, but then things started happening, I started to hear things that just didn’t add up any more. Like if Jake gets to Martina he’ll give Erik the order to kill you.’

  Louisa stared at her dumbfounded, feeling her mind ebbing away from reality and still dazed by the speed
at which Marianne had taken her from Jean-Claude’s.

  ‘Consuela spun me some story of how Jake and Erik made some kind of a pact when they were young to abuse and manipulate women as a means of sport, but I’ve never seen anything like that in either of them and believe me I’ve searched for it. And Erik’s known all over the world, if he was doing that sort of thing he’d have been found out a long time ago. But Consuela had Danny convinced of it, I’m pretty sure of that, at least where Jake was concerned.’

  ‘So are you saying you think Consuela might have killed Danny?’ Louisa said, feeling horribly disconnected from what she was saying.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m saying,’ Marianne answered. ‘But obviously someone killed her and that same someone very probably killed Aphrodite too. And what’s frightening me now is that you might be next.’

  Louisa’s face paled as a blade of fear sank deep into her heart. ‘But why? Why would anyone want to kill me, I haven’t done anything …’

  ‘Neither did Aphrodite or Danny,’ Marianne interrupted. ‘Or not that I know of. But they both knew what was going on at Consuela’s and so do you.’

  ‘So do you,’ Louisa pointed out.

  ‘But I believe Consuela. At least she thinks I believe her and for now that’s what’s important. And I’ve seen the way all this has shaken her up, she looks terrified out of her mind. She’s spent the last two days making frantic calls to Mexico trying to outbid Jake for Martina’s life and quite frankly I just don’t know who to trust any more. What I do know though, is that things are coming to a head. For all I know they already have, which is why you’ll be safer where no one can get to you. I’m taking you to Jake’s place for now, but you won’t be able to stay long because Erik at least will be sure to know about it.’

  Louisa had desperately wanted to protest Erik’s innocence, but the fact that Sarah hadn’t turned up in London dried the words on her lips. She felt sick with fear and with an unbearable mistrust of Erik who might just have purposefully manipulated things to make it look as if it was all just bad luck and the lack of French urgency that had stopped her seeing Sarah before she’d left.

  The rain started as they arrived at Jake’s house. Louisa ran inside, grabbed the phone and dialled Sarah’s number in London. It rang and rang, but there was no reply. As she turned to Marianne she could feel herself starting to shake, but Marianne appeared even more distraught and kept peering from the window to check they hadn’t been followed. In the end, when she was sure they hadn’t she told Louisa she was going to get food.

  ‘Keep the doors locked,’ she warned. ‘And find yourself some candles because if this storm gets any worse we’ll be sure to lose power.’

  The rain was coming down in torrents as Erik’s Jaguar came speeding up the lane to Jean-Claude’s and skidded to a halt.

  Jean-Claude tore open the front door as Erik dashed up over the steps. One look at Jean-Claude’s face was enough to turn Erik’s blood to ice.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded, looking wildly from Jean-Claude to Didier. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he cried reading their expressions. ‘She’s not here is she?

  Jean-Claude shook his head.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Erik yelled. ‘I told you I was coming for her. I told you not to let her out of your sight …’

  ‘She’d already disappeared when you called,’ Jean-Claude answered. ‘I tried to tell you, but you rang off before …’

  ‘Jean-Claude, don’t you realize what’s going on here?’ Erik shouted irrationally, for no, they didn’t know, at least not yet. ‘If Consuela gets anywhere near Louisa there’s no knowing what’ll happen to her,’ he went on, swinging round as the telephone started to ring.

  Jean-Claude picked it up as Erik started to pace, grinding the heel of his hand into his head. He’d just heard what had happened in Mexico and if he’d been in any doubt before, which he hadn’t, he now knew exactly what they were dealing with in Consuela. That any woman could pay for her own daughter to be shot and in such a way was beyond human understanding. And now, if she had Louisa, if she knew the way Jake felt about Louisa then … Jesus Christ, he didn’t even want to think about it.

  ‘It’s Marianne,’ Jean-Claude said holding out the receiver. ‘She says Louisa’s with her. She wants to speak to you.’

  Erik snatched it up. ‘Marianne,’ he barked. ‘What the hell’s going on? Let me speak to Louisa.’

  ‘She’s safe,’ Marianne answered. ‘I’ve taken her somewhere where neither you nor Consuela will find her.’

  Erik’s relief was fleeting. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ he raged. ‘She was safe here, for Christ’s sake …’

  ‘Was she?’ Marianne’s voice was shredded with anguish. ‘I don’t know who to believe any more, Erik. All I know is that Louisa shouldn’t be with either of you, not until …’

  ‘Marianne, listen to me …’

  ‘No, Erik. You listen to me. You tell me why Sarah and Morandi haven’t turned up in London. You tell me what’s happened to them. You and Morandi were the last ones to see Sarah, so where is she now?’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Erik cried. ‘Sarah’s in London.’

  ‘Then why isn’t she answering her phone?’

  ‘Christ knows! Look Marianne, you’ve got to tell me where Louisa is …’

  ‘I told you, she’s safe and once I know who’s telling the truth I’ll bring her back.’

  ‘Marianne! Marianne!,’ he shouted, but the line had gone dead. He slammed the receiver down and rounded on Jean-Claude. ‘Go through Louisa’s things and see if you can find a number for Sarah,’ he said, starting to dial again. ‘I’ll try Morandi.’

  As he waited for the connection he quickly related what Marianne had said, then a few minutes later, having spoken to Morandi, he turned to Jean-Claude with a terrible foreboding in his eyes.

  Jean-Claude’s face visibly paled. ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Sarah’s all right, isn’t she?’

  Erik nodded then snatching up his keys he started for the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Jean-Claude cried, running out into the rain after him.

  ‘I’ve got to get out of here before the police arrive,’ Erik shouted back.

  ‘What? Erik! What’s happening?’ Jean-Claude shouted.

  ‘There’s not time now,’ Erik answered, starting up his car. ‘I’ll call you later, but start saying your prayers Jean-Claude, because if what Morandi just told me is true then all I can say is God help us all.’

  26

  LOUISA WAS PACING the room, wringing her hands and trying desperately to keep herself calm. Almost two hours had passed since Marianne had said she was going for food and there was still no sign of her. The shadows in the room were lengthening, the woods outside were darkening and the storm had already disconnected the power and phone lines.

  Her wide, luminous eyes moved about the candlelit room, to the darkness of the gallery above, inching back down the wooden staircase to the heavy, antique bureaux and chests. They were trembling under the might of the storm. She tried to comfort herself with the assurance that Marianne would be back any minute, but not for the first time her heart jolted with the fear that she had walked into some kind of trap.

  She forced herself to think of Jake and of how certain she had been of his feelings, but the crashing thunder and howling wind cut through her thoughts making him seem so remote, so detached from his home and her life. What had happened between them suddenly felt as distorted and unreal as the shadows looming large and menacing in the candlelight. She stared down at the sofa where he had sat the morning before he’d left, struggling desperately with himself not to tell her how he felt. She turned and gazed into the fireplace, followed the huge funnel of the chimney-breast up to the ceiling then dropped her eyes to the door of his bedroom. She started as a giant bolt of thunder crashed overhead. She was still looking at the door. Could she bear to go in there now and look at the bed where they had shared such passion an
d such love? Did she really want to torment herself by gazing down at the emptiness of it now, the impervious shell that had contained them and remained unmoved, unchanged by it. The memory of the villa and how it had seemed so indifferent to what it had seen was still raw in her mind, but this wasn’t the same. This wasn’t tragedy this was joy, no murder had been committed here, only acts of love.

  As she walked slowly, painfully, towards the door the candle shook in her hand. The tempest was reaching its peak. Daggered flashes of lightning were forking through the trees and the thunder, sharp and angry, rumbled and crashed through the heavens. But still she moved towards the door, going to it as though being pulled by some unknown force. She rested her hand on the door handle. Her breathing was ragged, her heart unsteady, but when she tried to connect with her feelings, they were strangely elusive. She felt oddly lightheaded, caught somewhere between memory and reality, unable to touch either.

  The door creaked as she pushed it open. She took a step into the darkness then lifted the candle. At that instant a flash of lightning lit up the room and as she looked down at the bed her heart turned over. It was just as they’d left it, unmade, still rumpled from their lovemaking. It could have happened just an hour ago and as she felt the need for him rush through her she put a hand to her mouth and whispered his name out loud. She stood there for a long time, then putting the candle on a table she went to lie down. As she buried her face in the sheets and drew her knees up to her chest she could smell him so strongly that he might have been there with her. Her heart closed around the emotion, locking it deep inside her as she felt his breath on her face, his hands on her skin, his body joining with hers. And as the need for him grew so the might of the storm seemed to recede. She knew now that what he had felt for her had been as real and as powerful as all she’d felt for him, she knew too that she shouldn’t be here, that as confused as Marianne had been she should never have allowed her to take her from Jean-Claude’s.