The Double

by Ann Gosslin

  ‘I’m sure you can guess the rest.’ She raised her hands in a gesture of weariness. ‘He siphoned off most of my money. Fancy cars, yachts, women.

  ‘After our children went off to private boarding schools in Switzerland, I tried to rein in his spending, but he counter-attacked by convincing some quack doctor I was crazy, and that he woke one night to find me standing over him with a butcher’s knife. Not terribly original, but a time-honoured ploy men have used for ages to get rid of their wives. I spent some time in a psychiatric hospital, not this one, but a private clinic in the South of France. My children believed his poisonous lies and stopped visiting. We were completely estranged for several years, but I do see them now on occasion. That picture I showed you from a magazine. It wasn’t the delusions of a madwoman. Those really are two of my children, though that photo is nearly fifteen years old. I scissored off the caption with their names and the bit about how they were the offspring of Count…’ She made a sign in the air.

  ‘Oh yes, I can see what you’re thinking. European royalty, no matter how silly and outmoded, is catnip to a young American girl. I began life as Helen Roberts, but later transformed myself into Hélène at that finishing school in Switzerland, so I would sound more exotic. Anything was better than being plain old Helen Roberts from Cleveland, Ohio.’ A shadow dimmed her eyes. ‘What’s that old saying? Be careful what you wish for.’

  Vidor stirred from his befuddlement, as if passing through murky water, reaching for light and air.

  ‘You’re American?’

  Her laugh rang out. ‘Is that all you got from my story? I’d better wrap things up then. Here we go: fast forward several years, and Count – let’s call him “Dracula” – and I divorced. By then most of the money was gone, so there was little to divide up, but I agreed to the divorce on one condition: that I was given sole ownership of this house and the property that came with it. It suited my needs perfectly. By that point I was so demoralised and beaten down, all I wanted was to hide away in this tiny village in the mountains and live out the rest of my days in peace.’

  ‘When a psychiatrist named Anton Gessen showed up with fire in his eyes and began buying up the surrounding chalets to create his clinic, I resisted. No matter how much money he offered me, I made it clear I wasn’t leaving my home. So we reached a compromise. I would stay on in this house, which was just inside the border of what would become the clinic grounds. To avoid questions from the other patients, I would pretend to be one myself. Heaven knows I had enough practice during the years my ex insisted I was crazy. For several years I’ve been acting the part, with nobody the wiser.’ She raised her cup in a mock toast. ‘Until now.’

  Vidor’s mind was electrified. If Hélène wasn’t a patient, she was free to come and go at will. She might be his only chance to get away. It was now or never. With Gessen hinting that someone had pushed Ismail into that ravine, Vidor was sure the next step would be to accuse him of murder. He didn’t kill that Egyptian boy. But who would believe him? The police would take the word of a doctor over a patient.

  ‘I need your help.’ He got on his knees in front of Hélène and took her hands. It didn’t matter that she had played him for a fool. Not when she had the power to smuggle him out. His breath came in gasps.

  ‘Do get up,’ Hélène said, pulling her hands away. ‘There’s no need to panic. Anton isn’t a bad man. His only concern is to help you get well.’

  He lurched back. ‘No! You don’t know what he’s been saying to me. He says I’m not who I think I am, that I was born as someone else, and stole another person’s identity. Somebody who disappeared or died. He probably thinks I killed that person too.’ His thoughts were spinning out of control. Hélène’s face began to transform before his eyes. An air of menace filled the room like gas. Was she a spy? One of Gessen’s minions in disguise? It was all a set-up. She had lured him into a trap. Spots swam before his eyes and he grabbed the table for support, but even in his confusion, he could see that she was frightened.

  ‘Call him,’ he gasped. ‘Tell him I’m holding you hostage and won’t let you go until I’m safely back in England.’ He lurched forward and grabbed her arm. ‘Call him, then pack your things. You’re coming with me.’

  ‘You don’t want to do this.’ Her eyes darted to the door. ‘It will only make things worse.’

  ‘Call him.’ He hauled her from the sofa. She didn’t resist, though he could see her mind was churning. How to get away from this madman? But he wasn’t mad. He’d been perfectly fine until he’d been drugged and brought to this house of horrors against his will.

  Her hand trembled as she picked up the phone. But when she looked at him her eyes were sad. ‘I need to speak to Dr Gessen. No, it can’t wait. It’s an emergency.’

  Vidor wondered if this was a trick. Perhaps she had alerted the police instead. He grabbed the phone. ‘Get Dr Gessen now!’ But there was no one on the other end. Whoever answered had put her on hold. He pressed the phone to his ear. ‘Hello? Get me Dr Gessen.’ Sweat streamed down his face. His heart slammed against his ribs. Perhaps a massive coronary would end this misery, though death was not what he wanted. Life was what he longed for. His old life. Tears sprang to his eyes. How he yearned for his quiet house on Camden Road. Magda bustling about the kitchen, bringing him a cup of tea and slices of freshly baked bread topped with the perfect amount of butter. The buzz and hum of the lab, and the thrill of chasing data. The glorious tapestry of spring flowers in the lanes. Home, home. The plaintive cry reverberated in his soul. Once he got home, all would be well.

  A voice sounded in Vidor’s ear. ‘Hélène? It’s Anton, is everything all right?’

  56

  Vidor spoke into the phone. ‘I’ve taken Madame du Chevalier hostage.’

  ‘Madame who?’

  Hélène shook her head. ‘Not my real name. I made it up.’

  What? He was being made a fool of. Everyone in on the joke, laughing at his gullibility. But once he’d broken the chains of his captivity, they wouldn’t be laughing anymore.

  ‘Hélène. I’ve taken her hostage.’ He could hear Gessen’s breath down the phone line. ‘These are my demands,’ he continued, pushing gamely on. ‘A signed letter from you that I was not of sound mind when I attacked that man in Copenhagen. Certification that I am fit to resume my position at Cambridge, and full passage back to the UK. Today. I will not spend another night here.’

  ‘Put Hélène on the phone, so I know she’s all right.’

  ‘She’s perfectly fine. I won’t hurt her. As long as you give me what I want.’

  The phone went quiet for a moment, though Vidor could hear a faint buzz on the line. ‘I won’t give you anything,’ Gessen said, ‘until I’ve spoken to her myself.’

  Vidor cupped his hand over the phone and turned to Hélène. ‘No funny business.’ He sounded like a gangster. When had he ever in his life been violent? ‘Please, Hélène.’ He sought her eyes. ‘You’re my only hope.’ He put the phone on speaker before passing it to her.

  ‘I’m fine, Anton,’ she said. ‘But I think you’d better do what he says.’ She met Vidor’s gaze as she spoke. If she was trying to transmit a message, he didn’t know what it was. He only felt relief that she seemed to be on his side.

  ‘I’d like to speak with Vidor,’ Gessen said.

  After Hélène handed him the phone, he switched off the speaker and pressed the receiver to his ear. In the silence, Gessen’s breathing made a shushing sound, like snow sliding off a cliff.

  ‘Vidor? There’s no need for you to take such drastic measures. Why not let Hélène get on with her day? We can meet in my office to talk things over.’

  ‘No more talking. I’ve told you what I want. As long as you give me the letter and plane ticket, Hélène will come to no harm. If you don’t…’ Vidor sucked in his breath. ‘Surely, you know I’m a desperate man. And since you believe my true nature is that of a killer, I wouldn’t take any chances. What would it do to your reputation
if an innocent woman died at the hands of a madman? A monster you unleashed.’

  Hélène had lost the colour in her face. Was she afraid of him? Good. That would make his position all the stronger.

  ‘Tell me what you want.’

  Vidor felt a stab of joy, now that the tables were turned. ‘The letters I mentioned. The return of my passport, five hundred francs in cash and two plane tickets to London. I will be taking Hélène with me as insurance. After the plane lands in London, she’ll be released unharmed.’

  As he listed his demands, the plan seemed clumsy and full of holes. At any time between the clinic’s front gate and Heathrow, the police could swoop in. Though perhaps not. Gessen wouldn’t want to put Hélène at risk. Vidor was harmless as a lamb, but if Gessen wanted to believe he was a murderous thug, let him go on thinking it. It would be an advantage in getting home.

  ‘All right, Vidor.’ Gessen’s heavy sigh was audible. ‘Though it’s against my better judgement, I’ll do as you ask. The important thing here is that Hélène comes to no harm.’

  ‘You have thirty minutes.’ Vidor hung up the phone.

  Hélène turned her face towards him. ‘Vidor.’ Her eyes were the colour of an autumn meadow. An attractive woman even now, she must have been exceptionally beautiful in her youth. No wonder she’d been prey to fortune hunters and blackguards. Anger at the man who’d caused her so much suffering burned in his throat. Yet here he was, making things worse. Surely, she knew that, whatever happened, he wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t a monster. Vidor Kiraly, OBE, Cambridge don and prize-winning scientist, was not responsible for the murders of two people. It was outrageous to even think it.

  Hélène lowered herself onto the sofa. She seemed calm enough, but when she lifted the teapot to fill her cup, her hand shook. ‘What happens now?’

  A spasm of fear squeezed his heart. Hélène’s eyes were veiled. Could she see into his future? The roiling wave of disasters looming before him, one after another until the grave. He had a strange desire to clasp her knees and rest his head in her lap.

  ‘Now, we wait.’

  57

  Hidden in a copse of pines, Gessen trained a pair of high-powered binoculars on Hélène’s home. All was quiet. In defiance of Vidor’s instructions, he had not come alone. Three seasoned members of his security team, dressed as maintenance staff, were staked out at key locations around the chalet.

  He mounted the steps and pressed the bell. When no one answered, he tried again. Had they already left the property? His phone vibrated. Hélène. When she spoke, her voice was strained.

  ‘He says you’re to place the letter, travel documents, and passport on the mat by the door and then back away thirty metres.’

  ‘Hélène, you’re all right? He hasn’t harmed you?’

  ‘I’m all right. A little nervous, though.’

  ‘Try not to worry. I’ll do everything he asks. Just stay calm and…’

  The phone went dead.

  Gessen made eye contact with his head of Security and nodded. His own preference was to storm the house, but since that might endanger Hélène’s life, they’d come up with a different plan. More complicated to execute, and with significant risks, but who knew what Vidor might do if he were cornered? Gessen placed the brown envelope with Vidor’s passport, money, and travel tickets on the welcome mat by the door. The shutters were latched closed, but Vidor was almost certainly watching him from one of the heart-shaped peepholes carved in the wood.

  Gessen walked backwards, holding up his hands to show they were empty. As he moved away from Hélène’s front door, his mind raced to consider the best course of action. Good friends for more than ten years, but how they had fought in those early days, when he’d tried to buy Hélène out of her home. No amount of money could make her budge. She was a survivor, Hélène was. Always elegant and polite, even under pressure. He just hoped Vidor – or Malik – or whoever he was dealing with at the moment, would not do anything rash.

  The door of the house swung open and Hélène stepped out. Clever man, Vidor. He must have suspected a sniper was lying in wait, with his head in the crosshairs.

  Hélène looked straight at him and nodded before retrieving the packet of documents and money and slipping back inside. Now what? He waited in the freezing air for what seemed an eternity until his phone rang.

  ‘Vidor?’

  ‘It’s Hélène. He says that the documents appear to be in order, and he wants to head into the village now. He’s taking me with him, and he has a knife.’ The phone was muffled, followed by the sound of scuffling feet and Vidor’s voice in his ear. ‘I won’t hurt her,’ he said, ‘if you do as agreed. So call off your guards, I know they’re out there. As soon as I’ve arrived back home in Cambridge, I’ll let her go. If I see any sign of the police, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what could happen to Hélène. Do as I say, and all will be well.’

  Gessen held up his hands and backed away. When he could no longer see the house through the trees, he turned and hurried to the main building, where he’d set up a situation room to deal with events as they unfolded. Two men from a private security company were positioned at the train station in the village. They’d been instructed to dog Vidor’s movements, but not move in unless Hélène’s safety could be assured. It was a tricky situation and getting Hélène free would be difficult. The best course, though he hated to do it, might be to allow Vidor to travel all the way to Cambridge, as requested, with one of the security team following behind them. Vidor wouldn’t have seen the man before, which lessened the chance he would suspect he was being followed. Regardless, Vidor’s plan was absurd. He must know that Scotland Yard would swoop in the moment Hélène was safe. If he were thinking rationally, that is, and it was difficult to believe he was. Or even to say who, exactly, was behind such an ill-conceived idea, that it would be possible to return to the UK and continue his life as if nothing had happened. Whether it was Vidor or Malik being driven by such delusions, he was heading towards a cliff.

  * * *

  Vidor pressed his eye against the peephole in the shutters. There was no one in sight, though he didn’t trust Gessen’s word that the place wasn’t surrounded. How could he believe the man who’d kidnapped him from a hospital in Copenhagen? A man who’d manipulated his thoughts and tried to convince him he was a dangerous killer. And that he wasn’t even Vidor Kiraly, but someone else. As soon as he was safely home in Cambridge, he would report Gessen to whatever medical board oversaw his activities. All this time, Gessen had been pulling the strings, but now Vidor had the upper hand.

  Next to him, Hélène began to shake. Tremors ran through her body like electric shocks and her breath was coming fast. He was sorry to have frightened her, but there was no other way.

  ‘Get your coat,’ he said gruffly. A light snow had begun to fall, but the funicular ran in all but the worst weather, so there should be no trouble reaching the village. The thought of boarding the train to Geneva made his heart skip with glee. If he was lucky, they would not pass through any tunnels. It wouldn’t do to have a panic attack while making his escape, but he couldn’t worry about that now. The important thing was to get home and back in the lab. For a brief moment he imagined the sound of his colleagues’ applause when he walked into his first department meeting after so many agonising weeks away. He would feign surprise at the dinner they had arranged for him in belated celebration of the Søgaard Prize, the golden plum that neuroscientists the world over dreamed of holding in their hands. Now, one of their number, Vidor Kiraly, belonged to the blessed few. Next year, it would surely be the Nobel.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  He turned to see an attractive older woman looking at him with alarm. She looked familiar, but he’d momentarily forgotten her name. Ah, yes. Helen. The girl from Cleveland.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve been calling your name, but you were off in a world of your own.’ She hesitated. ‘Don’t you think it would be best to forget wha
tever plan you’ve come up with and let Dr Gessen continue your treatment?’

  The frightened bird in his chest pecked at his heart. ‘No. Put a jacket on. We’re leaving now.’

  While she gathered her things, he yanked out the phone wires. Not that it would help much, but it felt satisfying to destroy the only line of communication from the house. She returned with a handbag, though not the Chanel one with the doll, if it actually ever contained such a thing. It was still difficult to adjust his understanding of who she was. Or claimed to be. Perhaps the heiress story was all a lie, and she was indeed as crazy as the rest of them.

  Hélène pulled on a warm parka and pushed her feet into fur-lined boots.

  ‘Do you have your passport?’ ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me see it.’

  She took it from her bag and showed him. Grande-Duché de Luxembourg. Luxembourg? The tangled layers of her story continued to mutate and grow.

  ‘Good. Let’s go.’ With a length of washing line he’d found in a kitchen drawer, he tied her right hand to his left.

  She winced as he tightened the knots. He was sorry to hurt her, but there was no other way. He slipped a fish knife, sharp as a razor, into his coat pocket.