Chapter Twenty-Eight
Weeks had passed since Marco returned to find Emerald had picked up sticks and left, and Marco was no closer to finding her. Emerald Wilhelmina Montrose, where have you gone? He whispered to the air. There was nothing anywhere to indicate where she could be — purposely designed, he knew, so he had to conclude that she didn’t want to be found. Undaunted at first, he’d driven around to her flat convinced they could sort out the misunderstanding, but she wasn’t there and as time passed he became more concerned that she really had disappeared. He’d taken to checking his mobile phone every ten minutes and wracked his brains to think of something, anything, he could pin down to assist him with finding her, but so far he’d come up with nothing.
He flicked through some CVs that had arrived that morning in preparation for his newly restructured airline, but he really didn’t have the enthusiasm to sort through them. It was a job for Emerald, he mused, as he had no solid idea of what qualities were needed for such a position. Again he cursed, knowing that he would need Finbar’s help.
‘Finbar, look through these, will you, and weed out the unsuitable ones.’
Finbar’s head shot up from behind the computer screen. ‘A please would be nice?’ His head disappeared behind the screen again.
Marco felt his temperature rise. The bloody man was infuriating. ‘Please. And will you officially take over Emerald’s role temporarily, until she returns?’
‘Certainly. Lovely, a pay rise.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘I’ll sort it out,’ Marco growled, and threw the pile of CVs onto the desk that Finbar had already acquired in Emerald’s absence.
‘I don’t think she’s planning on coming back, by the way,’ Finbar said idly, as he flicked through the pile of CVs. ‘In case you wanted to turn temporary into permanent.’
He tossed a CV in the bin after scanning it quickly. ‘Too old.’ Another one went in the bin with, ‘Too pretty — she’ll be trouble.’ He shuddered as he held one out for Marco to look at. ‘Oh, that one’s been hit with the ugly stick, for sure.’ It followed the other unfortunates into the trash.
Marco glanced at the bin in which the applicants’ CVs had just ended up. He was sure it wasn’t a politically correct way of sifting through job applications, but he hadn’t the heart or the inclination to comment.
He tried to focus on his work but it was no good. He really couldn’t concentrate on the job in hand. He considered throttling Finbar as a way of reducing his stress levels, enjoying the idea of pinning him up against the wall. As far as fantasies went it was up there with the best of them, but murder might not sit too well with his future plans. Instead he settled for throwing murderous glances at him whenever he could.
He wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. He hardly ever perspired, but these weren’t normal times. He stood up impatiently. ‘I’m going out.’
‘Again? Good luck.’ Finbar’s face was angelic as he waggled his fingers in a silent goodbye.
Marco scowled and slammed out of the door. As he sat in his car, motionless, contemplating his next move, he was shocked at how fiercely Emerald’s disappearance had hit him. He was also surprised at how few options he had to track her down apart from driving to her flat — which he was pretty certain was a futile task. Nevertheless, he found himself pulling up outside her door once again, and knocking in vain, hoping that someone would answer the door and tell him where she was. He just needed to see her. Surely she wouldn’t have thrown everything they had away, over one stupid mistake he’d made?
He drove back to work. ‘Roz, do you know where Emerald’s parents live?’
‘Africa?’ She suggested before resuming her typing.
‘This is stupid. How could we employ a woman and know so little about her background?’ He thought he’d done a thorough job of finding out her history, but it was all consequential and unimportant. He knew she’d had a horse called Star that she loved, had once fought off a hyena and could find her way by the stars. Not enough, exactly, to bring her home to him.
He also knew she’d spent most of her teenage years in a convent school, but every single convent school he phoned in Ireland had given him a vague answer, as if they were all in cahoots. “Sure now, we’ve a lot of young girls called Emerald,” and, “Hmm, Emerald, that’s a pretty name, now.” And “Named after the Emerald Isle, so I’m assuming she’ll be Irish, will she not?” No one actually gave him any information that he could latch on to.
He ran his finger over a tiny passport-sized photo of Emerald that he’d found stuck in the corner of Emerald’s drawer, looking up guiltily when Betty appeared at his elbow. For someone so small, Betty had a powerful presence. Even he was beginning to quake at the thought that he might step out of line.
But for once his mug of coffee wasn’t slammed onto the table with the force of a speeding train.
‘So, you’re looking for Emerald?’
Stating the bloody obvious , he thought, but he’d never dare utter the words. He looked up at her bleakly. ‘I think I’ve run out of options.’
Betty bit her lip and fluffed up her curly permed hair.
Marco narrowed his eyes. ‘. . . you know something?’ His heart skipped a beat.
‘Have I ever shown you the photos of my grandkids?’
He deflated. ‘No,’ he replied, carefully. There was a nuance here that he hadn’t quite grasped and he looked over to Roz for help.
Roz widened her eyes and thrust out her chin, indicating that he should play the game, as Betty cleared a space on his desk.
‘No, Betty, but I would love to see them—’ He looked at his watch, the words another time on his lips, but Roz’s loud cough had him clamping his mouth shut as Betty dug into her apron pocket and produced a thick wad of photos.
‘Lovely.’ Marco bit back a sigh, saying a silent goodbye to a productive half hour of work. He thought he heard a suppressed snort of laughter from Roz but didn’t dare glance at her. If Betty knew something — anything — that could help him find Emerald then he would suffer even the photos of her dead pets. He didn’t dare to zone out for one second, fearing that she might quiz him later and refuse to offer up her information if he had a memory lapse.
‘So this is Lulu, the springer spaniel. She died three years ago.’
‘Very sad,’ he said, putting as much sincerity into his voice as possible. Yep. She was actually going to go the whole hog. If any of the grandchildren had so much as a stick insect, he’d be seeing photos of it any minute now.
Roz unsuccessfully tried to hide her chuckle with a cough, but Marco maintained a straight face, his hopes soaring as the pile of photos diminished.
‘And that’s all of them,’ Bettie said eventually, gathering the photos up.
Marco gave her a forlorn smile. ‘Bertie, Jasmine, Toby and Harrison, am I right?’ The names would be etched on his brain forever.
‘Aren’t they angels?’ Betty had a satisfied look on her face as she slipped the photos back into her pocket. Marco had a horrible feeling that she wasn’t going to tell him about Emerald and ignore their tacit agreement — or maybe he’d just been duped.
Betty’s shoulder was inches away from him and he was about to give in to the urge to take her in his arms and beg her to tell him what she knew about Emerald, when she walked over to Emerald’s old desk.
‘I’ll assume you had your reasons for behaving the way you did, but I can see you want the best for Emerald.’ Betty pointed to a small drawer underneath Emerald’s desk that Marco hadn’t noticed before. ‘She keeps stuff in there. It’s a hidden compartment. It might be of some help.’
‘Thank you.’ Marco moistened his lips and stared at the desk. Checking out someone’s personal stuff didn’t sit well with him. He peered at the drawer and glanced up at Roz for approval.
Roz tilted her head to one side, an amused smile on her lips. ‘Go on — you want to find her, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Very much.’ He stood up and flexed his fingers as if he was about to unpick a lock and pulled open the drawer. Inside lay a slim folder. It didn’t weigh much and he feared that it was empty, but he pulled it out and studied it. After a moment, he opened the folder and stared in quiet amazement as a small but vivid picture of a vast yellow desert interspersed with scrubby purple trees and menacing lions jumped out at him.
It seemed that the landscape was a cover for the rest of the images tucked underneath it and Marco flicked through the other dozen or so, sitting down as the subject matter floored him. Each picture showed an uncanny likeness of him, mostly in various degrees of brooding anger. His first thought was that he had no idea he was so moody and his next thought was that Emerald was a brilliant artist if she’d drawn these — and he had to assume she had. His memory flitted back to the paintings in her flat and he smiled at the bitter sweet memory. She’d painted them all. Of course she had.
Was he so focused on himself and his business that he had not even noticed that the woman he loved had such a talent? He held out an image of himself lying on a sofa, fast asleep, wearing only a T-shirt and his underwear. His hair was tousled and his legs bare, and the depiction exuded the passion and love that had gone into each stroke. He remembered that he’d fallen asleep on the sofa in Edinburgh and was stunned. She must have cared for him, even back then. But then, he was already there, wasn’t he? He’d already felt that way. Almost the minute he’d met her. Hadn’t he kissed her in her room at his hotel, uncomfortable in his desire for such a vulnerable woman?
He dismissed the thought from his mind as he scoured the pictures for a signature, but all he could make out was “Will M.” He tried to think what it could mean. Surely they could only be the work of Emerald — no one else had seen him in such intimate moments.
‘These are Emerald’s?’ he asked Betty. She leaned over his shoulder and picked up the one of Marco asleep on the sofa, raising it up to the light.
‘These are good,’ Betty said. ‘Bloody good. What’s she doing wasting time in a job like this, with such a talent? Sorry — no offence, Marco.’
‘Wilhelmina,’ Marco said softly, a small smile spreading out across his face. He jumped up, pushing the images back in their folder. He kissed Betty on the cheek. ‘I’ve got it. I know where she’ll be.’
‘Good, that’s good!’ Betty beamed as he strode towards the door. ‘Make sure you look after her this time!’ she called to his retreating back.
He stopped, swivelled on his heel, and directed his words to Roz. ‘Book me a hotel in central London — two nights, please. I don’t care which one — well as long as it’s five star, of course. Just text me when you’ve done it.’
Roz jumped to it. ‘Sure will, don’t you worry.’ She swung the computer monitor around to face her.
Marco breathed out a sigh of relief as he grabbed a taxi to take him to the centre of London, where he would begin his search.