Nell
PRESENT
I sit at the table in Béatrice and Victor’s elegant apartment, wishing I could go home and call Alex to ask him why he didn’t tell me that his girlfriend previous to Ariane had also died.
But there are four courses to get through and once I accept that I won’t be going anywhere for a while, I try to relax.
It isn’t easy with questions clouding my mind, the uppermost of which is—what are the chances of two of Alex’s girlfriends meeting death before their time?
What about his partners or girlfriends previous to Caitlin and Ariane?
Had any of them met with a fatal accident, had any of them been murdered?
I know I’m being overdramatic but I can’t help myself.
The others seem to understand that my thoughts are elsewhere.
They chat easily together about what they’ve been up to since they last met up and about their plans for the weekend—Béatrice and Victor are flying to Bordeaux to visit his family, Inès is going to Paris to see Maxime, her boyfriend—and I’m grateful to Inès on more than one occasion for drawing me into the conversation when I’ve been silent too long.
It’s a relief when Inès checks the time on her watch and exclaims that she needs to leave, as she has an early start the next day.
“I can’t believe it’s midnight!” she exclaims. “That’s what happens when you have delicious food and great company. Nell, shall we take the underground together? I think we take the same line for part of it? I’m going to Notting Hill.”
“Thank you, but I’m going to take a taxi home. It’s been a long day,” I add and Béatrice nods sympathetically.
“I’ll get you an Uber,” Victor offers, reaching for his phone.
“No thank you, it’s fine.” He seems surprised by my refusal so I hasten to find an excuse. “I’m going to walk for a while and then find a cab. I feel like some fresh air.”
“Which way are you walking? Toward the tube station?” Inès asks, and not for the first time I wonder why it has to be so complicated.
“No, the other way.”
Amused, Inès laughs. “Okay. Well, shall we at least go downstairs together?”
I smile. “As long as you don’t mind taking the stairs. I don’t like elevators.”
It’s another ten minutes before we’ve said our goodbyes to Béatrice and Victor and are standing in the street.
“I know you must be upset that Alex didn’t tell you about Caitlin,” Inès says, buttoning her black trench coat to the collar as she prepares to walk to the tube station. “But don’t be too hard on him.”
“He didn’t tell me about Ariane either,” I say. “He told me she’d died but he didn’t tell me she’d been murdered, not until a couple of months later when I dared to ask what happened.”
“I suppose it’s not an easy thing to tell.”
“No, I know.” I wait as a group of people walk past, jostling one another on the pavement. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound angry.”
“You don’t sound angry, just upset. And you have a right to be.” Inès puts a hand on my arm. “Béatrice will have already messaged Alex to tell him that you know about Caitlin, so you’ll be able to talk it through when you next speak to him. Take care, Nell. Let’s have lunch together soon.”
“I’d like that,” I say, surprising myself.
“Good.”
We exchange phone numbers and I watch as she walks toward the tube station, waiting for her to be out of sight before I follow behind.
When she turns and gives me a wave, I feel obliged to start walking in the opposite direction to give weight to the lie I told about wanting some fresh air.
I feel stupid for pretending I wasn’t going in the same direction as Inès but I was worried she would try to persuade me to take the tube and I’m too tired to think of a valid excuse as to why I can’t.
I walk quickly toward the main road, hoping I won’t have to wait too long for a taxi to come along.
I couldn’t tell Victor that I never take Ubers because I can’t be a hundred percent certain that the car I’m getting into is legitimate, a throwback to Bryony Sanders climbing into a possible stranger’s car.
I’m in luck; within a few minutes, I’m sitting in the back of a black cab, glad that the evening is over.
I rarely chat to taxi drivers. But sometimes, if they’ve noticed me scrutinizing their reflection in the rearview mirror and think that I’m trying to catch their attention, it’s necessary.
“Have you had a good evening, love?” my driver asks and I smile and tell him I’ve been at dinner with friends. He’s in his sixties, I estimate, which reassures me.
We chat for a while and I use the story I reserve for taxi drivers, that I live with my husband and that we have two dogs instead of children.
“My husband is out with his friends tonight and I’m not sure he’ll be back before me, so would you mind waiting until you see the lights in the house go on?” I ask, as he obligingly backs his cab down the narrow street. “Once, we got back to find a burglary in progress, so I’m a bit wary now.”
The taxi driver looks aghast. “Quite right, love. Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound inside before I leave.”
“Thank you.”
I let myself into the house and flip the light switch in the hall.
The taxi stays where it is so I move to the living room, turn on the light there and wave through the window.
The driver answers with a wave and once he’s driven off, I hurriedly close the curtains, remembering what Marcus said about having seen Alex through the window.
It’s been bugging me ever since, not so much his comment about seeing Alex but the fact that he’d made a detour down my road in case my work function had been canceled.
Why would he do that? Why would he even think that it might have been canceled?
I walk through the other rooms, turning on the lights, checking that the windows are secure, my feet heavy on the floor and then on the stairs, as if alerting anyone hiding that I’m unafraid.
But the noise I’m making is for my benefit; the house is less silent, less scary with the sound of my stomping.
While I wait for Alex to phone, I wonder how he felt when Béatrice called to tell him that I knew about Caitlin. Relieved, upset, angry? I try to relax, but all I can think is that to lose one girlfriend in tragic circumstances is heartbreaking, but to lose two is suspicious.