Journey to Death

by Leigh Russell

  ‘Lucy? What are you doing here?’

  She smiled anxiously and said she needed to speak to him. The three accounts clerks watched, their fingers motionless on their keyboards. Adrian glanced at his screen and tapped a few keys before turning back to her.

  ‘What’s up?’

  His phone rang and he gestured to her to wait while he answered it.

  ‘Sorry, it’s work,’ he apologised to her, before taking the call. Lucy tried not to eavesdrop on his telephone conversation.

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of the situation but as I explained yesterday, I’m a joint signatory, so there’s nothing I can do right now. I’ll deal with it as soon as I can, hopefully before the end of the day, but until I speak to the manager my hands are tied.’

  Adrian was working on a computer around which his desk was littered with open paper files, brown envelopes, pens, staplers, Sellotape, paper clips and treasury tags. In contrast to the buzz of activity at his work station, an atmosphere of quiet industry pervaded the outer office where the man typed sporadically, while the two women sat chatting in low voices.

  As she gazed round the outer office, Lucy noticed a large blue-and-orange canvas bag lying on a pile of clothing in one of three large storage containers. Her breath caught in her throat. Without waiting for permission, she darted forward. Adrian was promising his caller he would resolve the problem as soon as he could. Looking up at her, he drew his phone call to an abrupt end and swivelled his chair around to face her.

  ‘Lucy, what are you doing?’

  Lucy seized the bag and rummaged inside it. She pulled out a bottle of sunblock and a silk scarf, brandishing them in the air. The delicate fabric quivered in her hand.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ she asked, running into his office and waving the bag in front of his face.

  Seething with emotion, she was surprised her voice sounded steady.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘This bag! Where did you get this bag?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why? Is it yours?’

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  She raised her voice, dimly aware of the three accounts clerks gaping at her. They dropped their gaze when she glared at them and one of them gabbled rapidly in Creole, repeating the word bagaz. Lucy looked away. The whole world could stare at her for all she cared. Nothing mattered except the bag clutched in her hand, with its familiar pattern. She had even detected the scent of her mother’s perfume as she drew the scarf out. Adrian reached forward to take the bag from her. She snatched it away from him.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ she repeated, the bag was shaking in her outstretched hand.

  ‘Lucy, what’s wrong with you?’

  ‘What are you doing with my mother’s bag?’

  Adrian looked surprised. ‘That’s your mother’s?’ he repeated. ‘Oh my God. I had no idea—’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘I don’t know where it was found. I’m sorry, but it was just handed in. It would have been picked up somewhere on the hotel premises, or on the beach outside. That’s as much as I know.’

  ‘What’s it doing here, hidden in your office?’

  ‘It wasn’t hidden. Bags left lying around are brought here in case there are any valuables in them that need to go in the safe. Hats, shirts, sunglasses, shoes, and non-valuable items that guests leave lying around are kept behind the desk at reception. Cash and credit cards, and valuables, watches and jewellery or phones, I keep those locked up. Every few weeks we get rid of stuff that hasn’t been claimed.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Tell you what? That someone had left a beach bag lying around? How was I supposed to know it was your mother’s? You didn’t tell me it was missing.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Do you want – that is, you can take it, if you’re sure it’s hers. I think there may have been a purse in it, with local currency. I’ll have to check the book. Anything valuable is recorded and kept in the safe.’

  Adrian checked and brought Lucy a purse. She nodded in recognition and took it from him without a word. Back in her room, she flung herself on the bed. Clutching the beach bag, she cried for her mother until her head ached. At last, she tipped out the contents of the bag. If her mother’s purse had disappeared, there would have been a chance she had gone away deliberately. But the purse was there, stuffed with Seychelles rupees. She had been missing for five days, with no money.

  As Lucy returned everything to the bag, she found a crumpled piece of paper. Flattening it out to see what it was, she felt as though she had received an electric shock. The letter, written in her father’s neat spidery scrawl, was addressed to Veronique. Lucy read it several times, wondering what it could mean. Undated, the letter had clearly been written after their arrival in the Seychelles. Her father had written that he was ‘back on the island, staying at the Garden of Eden’. He referred to his promise to return, and assured Veronique that he had not forgotten her. It was signed with only the letter G. There was no reason why Adrian would have linked it to Angela if he had seen it in the bag. But Lucy knew who had written that letter, and her mother would have known too.

  She took a deep breath. The whisper she had heard as ‘very unique’ in the van had actually been a name, ‘Veronique’. Her father’s letter proved that the message had been no dream. She was furious that he had lied to her, telling her he did not know anyone living on the island. What was more, the messenger in the van had been right to say her father knew Veronique very well. Taking a deep breath, she tried to work out what must have happened. After reading the letter, her mother must have gone to look for Veronique. Evidently she had found her and had gone to stay with her. Crying with relief, Lucy wiped her eyes. Her mother was alive. She must have insisted Lucy be reassured, in such a way that no one else would believe her. Lucy considered the theory carefully. Everything fitted. Angela and Veronique were keeping the truth hidden from the man who had betrayed them both. They wanted him to suffer. It made Lucy feel sick to know that she could not trust what her father told her. But she was going to uncover the truth for herself. The key to the mystery lay with Veronique.

  28

  WHEN MAGGIE LEFT, LUCY invited her father to sit on her balcony with her. She was determined to find out what he knew about the woman called Veronique.

  ‘Dad,’ she said, ‘you told me you didn’t know anyone living here.’

  He stared at her but did not answer.

  ‘What about a woman called Veronique?’

  Her father turned away. ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard but I told you, I don’t know anyone living here. It’s over thirty years since I was here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He shook his head and looked away. ‘I told you, I don’t know anyone here any more. It was all such a long time ago.’

  Trembling with fury, Lucy pulled his letter out of her bag. ‘Stop lying!’ she cried, brandishing the crumpled sheet of paper in front of his face. ‘You wrote this!’

  ‘My letter?’ he muttered, baffled. ‘What are you doing with that? Where did you find it?’

  Lucy had to force herself to speak. She felt as though she was choking. ‘Who is this woman you wrote to when we came here? Who is Veronique?’

  She waited, deliberately holding back the message that Veronique was taking care of Angela. First she wanted to hear her father confess that he had betrayed her mother, and lied to her, over the mysterious woman in his letter.

  ‘Yes, I knew Veronique,’ her father said at last, his voice breaking with emotion.

  He did not look at her, so she carried on gazing at the view as she listened, struggling to suppress her anger at his betrayal. Although she had hidden her own youthful secrets from him, perhaps it had been naïve of her to suppose he had kept no secrets of his own. Whenever he spoke, the child in her listened. She had never really regarded him as a man like other men. It touched and disturbed her to learn there was hidden darkness
in his life. He seemed to have aged overnight. Her rage was tinged with pity for the man who had always seemed to her to be so capable. It was almost more than she could bear. She fidgeted uneasily at his side, wishing her mother was there.

  ‘I first came here over thirty years ago. I was a young man, newly qualified and inexperienced in – well, in just about everything. To begin with it was really hard. The accounts were in a mess. My predecessor had lost interest and hadn’t been keeping the records up-to-date. The management were hounding me constantly for information I didn’t have, and people were on at me all the time for payment when I didn’t even know what had been paid and what was still outstanding. One of the suppliers came into my office drunk, banging on my desk and threatening to kill me if he didn’t get his money. It was a lot to cope with. I knew I’d be able get on top of things eventually, but I wondered if it was worth all the aggravation. I was alone, you see. The ex-pats at the hotel were friendly enough, but I felt completely isolated with the responsibility. After a few weeks of it, I was thinking of handing in my notice, doing some travelling and going home.’

  He stopped abruptly, and rubbed his chin with his hand, staring out at the ocean.

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  Lost in memories, he did not answer.

  ‘Why didn’t you leave?’

  ‘Because I met Veronique.’

  ‘Who’s Veronique?’

  Turning to confront him, she was shocked to see tears glistening in the stubbled on his cheeks.

  ‘Who is she, Dad?’ she insisted.

  ‘Veronique was the maid who came to clean my house – did I ever tell you the hotel supplied me with a maid?’ He sighed. ‘Veronique was beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Even now there’s never been anyone who could hold a candle to her. They called her the dark angel, she was so beautiful.’

  Lucy squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. She wondered why her father was telling her this, especially now with her mother missing.

  ‘Are you telling me you had an affair with her?’

  George shook his head as though flicking away an annoying insect.

  ‘Don’t make it sound sordid, Lucy. We – that is, I – fell in love. I thought she felt the same way about me. But then I had to leave suddenly, due to the political unrest. I begged her to come to England with me, only she couldn’t leave the island.’

  In spite of her disquiet, Lucy was caught up in her father’s story. ‘If you were in love, why did you go without her?’

  ‘I had no choice. You don’t understand.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘They put me on a plane. Two hours to pack my bag before they threw me in a car and frogmarched me off.’

  ‘Didn’t you see it coming?’

  ‘Yes, but when I asked her to leave with me, she couldn’t. She didn’t have a passport. Can you believe it? I gave her what cash I could get my hands on and sent her more when I reached England. A lot more. I wrote to her every day, but she never answered my letters. Not one.’

  ‘Perhaps she couldn’t read.’

  ‘She could read and she could write,’ he said sourly. ‘Anyway that was it. I never heard from her again. But she took all the money I sent. Out of sight out of mind, I guess. I’d been a fool to trust her, but, like I said, I was young and naïve. I suppose I should have realised it would be complicated, but at the time it all seemed so simple.’

  ‘Does Mum know about this?’

  ‘No. I met meet your mother years after I left the Seychelles, and somehow it never seemed the right time to mention what had happened. It was all such a long time ago, another lifetime. I never told anyone about the affair. I was too ashamed.’

  ‘Ashamed? There’s nothing shameful about falling in love with the wrong person, Dad. How many times have you told me that lately?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I mean.’

  ‘What then?’

  He hung his head. ‘I was ashamed that I’d given away so much money to a woman like that.’

  ‘How much?’

  He grunted. ‘As much as I could afford. Whatever I had.’

  Lucy wondered if her father’s parsimony stemmed from this bitter experience.

  ‘But I don’t understand why you contacted her again, Dad. Why did you write to her?’

  He sighed, struggling to express what he felt. ‘I don’t know. I guess in some way I felt I needed to see her one last time, just to say goodbye. When I left, the island was a dangerous place. I suppose I wanted to know she was all right.’ He paused. ‘I’m not superstitious, but I feel as though the island has taken Angela away from me. Does that make any kind of sense to you?’

  Lucy only hesitated for an instant. She had decided what to do, and her plans did not involve her father. She was not even going to tell him what was in her mind. It was a hard truth to acknowledge that, like Darren, her father was not to be trusted. Knowing he had lied so readily to her she was burning with fury, although outwardly she remained calm.

  ‘Look, you had an affair with a woman more than thirty years ago. It’s history, Dad. With everything that’s been going on, you’re not thinking clearly. But don’t worry. I’m going to find her.’

  She was no longer sure whether she was talking about her mother or Veronique. The fate of the two women had become inextricably linked by their love of one man.

  He shook his head helplessly. ‘Where did you find that letter?’

  Her father had lied. She could too. She was going to find her mother without his help. The less he knew about her plans the less he could meddle and mess things up for her mother again.

  ‘I found it on the beach.’ It sounded unlikely, but she did not care if he believed her or not. She had been lied to so often, she could hardly be blamed for doing the same. ‘When did you tell Mum about Veronique?’ She waved the letter at him.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You kept it all a secret from her?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell her?’ Lucy persisted.

  ‘Because there was nothing to tell. Veronique never replied to any of my letters. There was no point in raking up old history. I haven’t seen the woman for thirty years, haven’t heard a word from her in all that time. She probably doesn’t remember who I am.’

  ‘You had an affair.’

  ‘A long time ago. Women like that,’ he shrugged. ‘She was beautiful. She probably had a lot of affairs. Why would she remember me?’ He sighed. ‘I think I’ll go to my room now.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand why you never said anything to Mum.’

  Her father stood up. ‘Lucy, I’m going to my room. I just want to be alone.’

  In spite of her righteous anger, Lucy felt a stabbing pity for her father. She watched him walk slowly away, his head bowed. Staring out at the sea beyond the gardens, she imagined her mother stumbling on the letter. It was understandable that she wanted to spend some time on her own. George’s conduct could hardly be called infidelity, the affair had ended so long ago, but her mother must have been incandescent with rage. Not only had he said nothing about his affair, but he had written to Veronique in secret. Lucy hoped it was merely curiosity that had driven him to write to her. Relief at discovering what had happened to her mother made her forgiving of her father. But she would not let him off completely.

  At least now Lucy had a way forward. She was going to trace Veronique, and so find her mother. Once they left the island, she would never have another chance to seek out the woman who had hurt her father so badly when he had been about her own age. She wondered if a similar curiosity had inspired her mother to seek out Veronique, and whether the two women had struck up a friendship. She relished the idea of confronting Veronique and telling her to her face how devastated young George had been all those years ago. Plus, she was curious to meet the woman her father still described as the most beautiful woman he had ever met, in spite of the way she had treated him. Lucy could not imagin
e ever having a good word to say about Darren. She wondered how her father was going to react when he discovered that his wife had gone to stay with his former lover. It would serve him right if they both sent him packing. It had taken Lucy a long time to get past wanting to punish Darren. She could understand her mother’s feelings very well.

  Her mind began racing. She pictured a meeting between her mother and a Seychellois woman, wrinkled and skinny, vestiges of former beauty still evident in her high cheekbones and beautiful eyes. Anything seemed possible on this exotic island. She imagined a dramatic conversation between the two women, one fair, the other dark-skinned, her mother’s eyes wide with astonishment.

  ‘I hope George is well. You know, he loved me once,’ the beautiful old woman would sigh. ‘Many men loved me then.’

  No one on the island had spotted Angela leaving the hotel or seen her since she had gone missing, but if Lucy did not yet know where she was, at least she now knew who she was with. Her father was in his room. Adrian was working. It was time to look for Veronique herself. She was convinced that Veronique was the key to finding her mother. At the same time Lucy would relish unmasking her father’s lies. She had been blind to Darren’s betrayal. She would never be taken in like that again. She was going to make sure her father did not get away with his deception, and this time the revelation would be on her terms.

  29

  RESEARCHING MAHÉ ON HER iPhone, Lucy found some out-of-date figures suggesting roughly seven per cent of the population were over sixty. That meant that of around seventy thousand people about five thousand might be in their sixties. With more women than men in that age group she estimated there were maybe three thousand women. How many of them would be called Veronique? Her father’s maid had probably lived in one of the shanty houses around Beau Vallon. All she had to do was ask the older Seychellois people and there was a good chance she would come across someone who knew Veronique. She was intrigued by the prospect of meeting the woman her father had loved with a passion she could not have imagined him capable of feeling. She was sure she would not still be pining for Darren when she was sixty.