Nell （Present）
NELL
PRESENT
I lie in Alex’s arms, as still as possible, not wanting to wake him. For the moment, the world is on hold. If I had to die now, like this, I wouldn’t mind.
Alex stirs and I hold my breath, wanting the feeling of pure, undiluted peace to last. But he turns and kisses the top of my head, then my mouth and I try to wriggle under him, loving the feel of his body on mine, the way it covers me so completely.
But he resists. “We need to talk.”
“We don’t,” I say, reaching for him. “Not yet.”
“Nell.” He smooths my hair, then cups my face between his hands and looks deep into my eyes so that I can’t hide from him. “Why were you so scared yesterday, when I turned up outside your work?”
I want to look away but I can’t. “You surprised me. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“All I did was say your name.”
Which name? I want to ask. Which name did you call me by?
“I know,” I say instead. “I don’t like the dark. It makes me jumpy.”
But he won’t let it drop. “Who were you expecting, Nell?” he persists. “Who were you expecting to see when you turned and looked at me, holding the key like a weapon? You were terrified.”
“I don’t know. A thief, someone who was going to rob me.”
The depth of his gaze is almost painful. “All right,” he says, as if he knows he’s not going to get any more out of me. “Would you like me to tell you about Caitlin? It’s what I came to do.”
“Yes. But why did you come? You could have told me about her over the phone.”
“I wanted to tell you face-to-face. You deserve that much, at least.”
“Then why didn’t you message to tell me you were coming?”
“I was afraid you might tell me not to.”
Is it really that simple, I wonder? I decide to believe that it is.
“Shall we go and sit where we’ll be more comfortable?” Alex continues. “We can have a glass of wine. I’d asked Albert to bring me a bottle, I thought it was him at the door when you rang on the bell.” He gives a rueful smile. “I needed to drown my sorrows.”
I kiss him gently. “Not anymore.”
“No, not anymore.” He throws the covers off and swings his legs from the bed. “He’ll have left it outside the door.”
There’s an en suite, so while he fetches the wine, I shower and put on the crisp white bathrobe I found neatly folded on a shelf.
I cross the hallway to the room I had glimpsed when Alex had led me through to the bedroom, an eternity ago.
An antique clock stands on a marble mantelpiece, its hands pointing to midnight.
As if to confirm it, it begins to chime.
Alex comes into the room carrying a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses. He’s swapped his bathrobe for jeans and a white shirt and his hair is noticeably damp.
“There’s another bathroom,” he says, in answer to the question in my eyes.
“Of course there is,” I tease. “And I presume behind that door there’s another bedroom.”
He gives a little shrug and I roll my eyes. “When you said you stayed in a hotel, I imagined you had one room.” I wave my hand around the apartment. “You must find my house a bit of a comedown after this.”
“I love your house,” he says, placing the glasses on a low table. “It’s perfect. I hope you’re hungry, I’ve ordered food.”
“Ravenous.”
“Good.” He uncorks the bottle and pours deep burgundy wine into our glasses. “Come, let’s sit.”
We move to the sofa and Alex sits down. I’m about to sit next to him but instead I move to an armchair, so that I’m opposite him. I want to be able to see his face.
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together.
“I hadn’t known Caitlin for very long when I invited her to join us on the skiing trip,” he says quietly. “I met her in August and the ski trip was in January, so five months.”
That’s about the same length of time that you’ve known me, I want to say. If anything happened to me, and future girlfriends ask about your previous girlfriends, wouldn’t I make it on to your list of significant others?
“She said she was a good skier, that she’d been skiing every year since she was a child and it wasn’t a lie, she skied well.
Just not as well as the rest of us. It wasn’t a problem; I was happy to hold back and ski with her and sometimes the others did too.
Then, on the last day, for what would be our last chance to ski, she told me to go on with the others.
We’d started out as a group and were near the top of the mountain and the others were itching to go down fast. We were off-piste and I’d already said I’d ski down with Caitlin, as I always did.
But Caitlin insisted I went. I can still see her practically pushing me after them.
‘Go,’ she said. ‘Enjoy yourself. I’ll follow at my own pace.
’ So I went, and boy, was I happy to be able to ski as fast as I wanted.
I remember thinking that it was my reward for having stayed with Caitlin for the whole of the trip.
” He pauses. “I was also thinking that I wouldn’t continue the relationship once we got back home.
She was far more invested in it than I was and I didn’t see her as a long-term partner.
” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “You can’t believe how much I regretted that thought, how much I still regret it. ”
I don’t add to his pain by mouthing useless platitudes. I reach for his hand.
“Why didn’t you mention her when I asked about your significant others?”
“Because I’d already told you about Ariane.”
“You told me she’d died,” I remind him. “Not that she’d been murdered.”
“Even so. ‘My last girlfriend died and my girlfriend before that also died.’ Can you imagine how it would have sounded? I already knew that I wanted to see you again and I thought you wouldn’t want anything more to do with me if I told you about Caitlin in the same breath as Ariane.
” His eyes find mine. “Be honest, Nell. Would you have agreed to see me again if I’d told you that my last two girlfriends had died? ”
“When were you going to tell me about Caitlin?” I ask, avoiding his question.
“I don’t know.” He sighs, rubs his eyes. “It feels as if Ariane is still coming between us, although I’m not quite sure why. I know I didn’t explain the manner of her death when I first told you about her, I should have. But again, I didn’t want to lose you.”
I put myself in his position and imagine what it would be like to have a boyfriend who’d been murdered and another who’d met with a fatal accident. And I accept that, like Alex, I’d be wary about sharing that information, not only with someone I’d begun to care about, but with anyone.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I understand.”
Tension whooshes out of him. “Thank you,” he says.
“But there are some things I’d like to know. About Ariane.”
I feel him tense, a minimal clenching of his facial muscles that I might have missed if I hadn’t been expecting it. He slips his hand from mine and reaches for his glass.
“Ask,” he says.
“I googled her.” I hesitate a moment, then plunge on. “I googled her murder.”
Alex pauses, his glass halfway to his mouth. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I was curious and because when I asked about her, you made me feel as if I shouldn’t be asking.”
“I don’t understand what more you want to know.
Is it how she died, because I can tell you, although I had hoped to spare you.
” His voice develops an edge. “You want the details, I’ll give them to you.
She was stabbed thirty-two times, a frenzied attack, the police called it, and her throat had been slashed.
Or maybe you want to know what the room looked like when I found her, how she was lying on the bed in a sea of blood, how the walls, the floor, everything, was splattered red?
Or what it was like to see the woman I loved being zipped into a body bag?
And before you ask, no, she hadn’t been raped or sexually assaulted and that is at least some comfort.
Is that what you want to know or is there something else? ”
I’ve never heard anger in his voice before, I’ve never seen him shake as his fingers are shaking on the glass. Nausea rises in me, not only because of what he’s just told me but also because I’ve caused him so much distress.
“No,” I say, striving to keep my voice calm in an attempt to diffuse his anger. “That’s not what I want to know. I’d like to know why nothing came up when I googled her murder.”
A silence stretches between us. Then, his breath shudders from him, as if something is being exorcised from deep within him.
“Forgive me.” He places his glass on the table and rubs his chin. “You didn’t deserve that.”
I reach out, take hold of his hand again. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll tell you as much as I can. Ariane had a specialized job.
I only knew that after she died, when I was told that her murder wouldn’t be officially recognized.
As far as I knew, she worked at BNP Paribas but I found out after that she was working for the DGSE. That’s the French equivalent of MI6.”
My heart thuds. “She was a spy?”
“I presume she worked in intelligence so if that’s the definition of a spy, yes, she was a spy.
I told you that the person who murdered her had been caught, but to be honest, I don’t know that and it’s something I’ll never know.
When you asked, I had to make a choice and I preferred to tell you he was behind bars. ”
“What about her family? If her murder wasn’t officially recognized…” My voice trails off.
“She didn’t have any family. At least, that’s what she told me. After, I wondered if it was true. But nobody contacted me after she died, so I presume it was.”
“Thank you,” I say. “For being honest about Ariane.” I pause. “Marcus—my friend—thinks you’re a spy.”
“Why does he think that?”
“Because you’re a consultant. He says it’s a euphemism for a spy.”
A ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “I’m not a spy.”
Even if he was, it’s what he would say. “Why do you never answer your phone when I call?” I ask.
Alex sighs. “The nature of my work doesn’t always allow me to. I work with so many different time zones it’s hard to keep up. Mine isn’t a regular nine-to-five job and, like a lot of people, I have two phones, one personal and one for business. When I’m working, I turn off my personal phone.”
It’s plausible, I think.
A ring on the doorbell interrupts us.
“That’ll be Albert with the food,” Alex says. “Not that I’m hungry anymore.”
He’s exhausted, his face ashen, and although my heart breaks for him, I sense his relief at the interruption.
He leaves to open the door and I hear him talking to Albert, followed by the sound of a trolley being wheeled into the apartment.
Alex pushes it through to where I’m sitting and I leap to my feet and begin lifting lids from the platters.
“Oh!” I breathe, staring at a beautiful mousse in the shape of a fish, with scales of smoked salmon and an olive green caper for an eye.
Under another lid, I find beef carpaccio nestling in a bed of parsley-scented oil.
There are two salads and a bowl of piping hot French fries. “It almost looks too beautiful to eat.”
Alex smiles. “Go ahead,” he says. “Eat.”
“You too,” I say.
But he only picks at his food and when we go to bed, I hold him tight until he falls into a restless sleep.
I’m relieved he’s told me the truth about Ariane and Caitlin but my conscience needles away at me.
If I’m to keep to the pact I made with myself, tomorrow it will be my turn to come clean about the past.