34 Lauterbrunnen
Lauterbrunnen
She had spent the evening alone with Edward at Wickham House, which was unusual. Even in rural Devon, the endless merry-go-round
of their social life rarely stopped. They had a quiet dinner together, then Edward retreated to his office and Alice traipsed
upstairs with a glass of Bordeaux and switched on the television. Around half past ten her glass was empty so she went downstairs
for a refill, enough to get her through the next episode of Shetland. As she was leaving the kitchen she wandered over to Edward’s wing of the house and heard him shouting at someone over the
telephone behind the closed door of his office.
“This too was unusual, Mr. Allon. Edward occasionally puts on a booming boardroom voice when he wants to sound impressive,
but he’s not the sort to lose his temper.”
“I don’t suppose you went back upstairs to watch Shetland.”
“Heavens no. I did what every other wife would have done in that situation.”
“You picked up an extension?”
“The one in the kitchen.”
“And what did you hear?”
“The voice of Dmitri Savin.”
They had slipped out of the chalet and were walking side by side along a footpath on Alice’s side of the valley. With her short dark hair and oversize sunglasses she was all but unrecognizable.
“And you’re absolutely sure it was Dmitri?”
“Edward referred to him by name. Called him a lot of other things as well, none of them flattering.”
“And the topic of conversation?”
“Edward informed Dmitri that he was terminating their relationship. He also said he had no intention of repaying the money
Dmitri had invested in the Knight Group because Dmitri was under sanction and unable to conduct business in the West. That
was when things got really ugly.”
“How so?”
“Dmitri threatened to terminate Edward, or words to that effect. And then he threatened to kill me as well. As you might imagine,
it was the last straw. Somehow I managed to wait until the call had ended before barging into Edward’s office. We went at
it hammer and tongs until two in the morning, when I climbed into my lovely Aston Martin and set off for London. Regrettably
I’d had another glass of wine or two during our lengthy quarrel.”
“And to make matters worse,” said Gabriel, “a tree leapt out of the woods and hurled itself in front of your car.”
“It’s possible I said those exact words to the constables who pulled me out of the wreckage. It was little wonder they took
me straight to the A&E ward in Exeter. Edward and his lawyer showed up soon after.”
“They refused to allow the investigating officer to talk to you.”
“Now you know why.”
They had reached the fringes of the village. They turned onto the high street and strolled past a parade of shops. “And when
you were out of the hospital?” asked Gabriel.
“Edward was sweetness and light. He waited on me hand and foot. It was quite pathetic.”
“Did it work?”
“Edward thought so. But I had no intention of remaining married to a man who was doing business with the bloody Russians in
the middle of the war in Ukraine.”
“You had drinks with Peter Hoffmann at the Connaught not long after the accident.”
“That’s where the conspiracy was hatched,” said Alice. “In the bar of the Connaught Hotel. We agreed that I would disappear
during my annual summer holiday with my Cambridge chums. Darling Pheebs thought we should go to Iceland this year, but I overruled
her. Ibiza was the perfect spot for an abduction.”
“When did you tell Sophie and Ella of your plans?”
“A week or so before our departure.”
“Why not Phoebe?”
“Because she’s the most honest person I’ve ever known. I was certain she would fold under police interrogation.”
“So you intentionally picked a fight with her and drove her away.”
“Poor Pheebs was voted off the island,” replied Alice with a sigh. “After that everything went according to plan—until Edward
asked you to find me, of course. And to think it was all because of that fundraiser.”
“You have something against Botticelli?”
“Not at all. They make wonderful shoes.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m joking, Mr. Allon. I went to Cambridge, after
all. And I adore Botticelli’s paintings.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
“I go weak in the knees while standing before Primavera.”
“Perhaps there’s hope for you, after all.”
“Is there?” She paused outside a hair salon and gazed at the woman reflected in the glass as though she were a stranger. “What are you going to do with her, Mr. Allon? Hand her over to the Swiss authorities? Forget you ever met her?”
“Actually,” replied Gabriel, “I was thinking about committing a major felony myself.”
“What sort?”
“Aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
“That would make you an accessory after the fact.”
“Not for the first time.”
“You’ve committed crimes before?”
“It’s possible I’ve planned one or two in the bar of the Connaught.”
Her smile was reflected in the glass. “Where are you planning to take her?”
“Back to Britain.”
“And then?”
“I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“She’s not terribly fond of them, if you must know. Edward learned that lesson the hard way on the occasion of her thirty-fifth
birthday.” She ran a hand through her short, dark hair. “I don’t suppose I can get a wash and a blow-dry before we leave.
I wouldn’t want to arrive at Heathrow looking like something the cat dragged in.”
“You look fine. Besides, your return to Britain will be entirely secret.”
“No police?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Gabriel took her by the arm. “Do you remember the detective who was at the hospital the night of your accident? Nice-looking
chap. Speaks with a Cornish accent . . .”