Chapter Twenty-Five
Cristy was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what had happened the night before when she’d spoken to David on the phone.
The tightness of apprehension inside her was enough to confirm that it hadn’t gone well.
She was aware that they’d snapped at one another over something to do with her never listening, being too distracted to consider what might be going on in anyone else’s world.
They’d even raised their voices at one point – well, she had, she couldn’t be certain now if he had, only that he’d ended up telling her he was ringing off at which point he’d done just that right in the middle of whatever she’d been saying.
She’d been so angry at the time that she’d sent a text saying: This long distance thing clearly doesn’t work for either of us, so maybe time to rethink.
Groaning aloud, she turned her face into the pillow trying to decide whether to call him now to apologize, or allow him more time to calm down.
If she knew what she was supposed to be apologizing for she might have an answer for that.
What the hell had she actually said to make him so angry?
This was assuming it was her fault, but maybe he’d triggered it in some way …
Hadn’t he said something about not having the time to keep going over and over Kinsley’s offer with her?
‘Well, excuse me bothering you with my issues,’ she’d snapped furiously. She remembered saying that, and he’d hit back with,
‘If I thought you had time for mine I’d try changing the subject.’ At which point she’d gone off about the privileged life he led over there in Guernsey with his perfect home and perfect family …
Was that when he’d hung up on her? Maybe, but she wasn’t certain about that, and what an absolute shrew she must have sounded anyway.
Why the hell couldn’t she remember all the vital details? It wasn’t as if she’d had that much to drink, a couple of glasses, no more, and she hadn’t been aware of feeling on edge before ringing him.
The trouble was these surges of mostly irrational temper kept sneaking up on her lately, along with the hot flushes and night sweats that had forced her up twice during the early hours to change the sheets and take a shower.
If it didn’t sound like such a lame excuse she might message him now to explain what was happening to her, but even the thought of it was making her feel ill.
Reaching for her phone she braced herself as she checked to see if he’d responded to her last text, all the time hoping she hadn’t sent any others that she’d somehow forgotten about. She hadn’t, thank God, but nor had he replied to her childish parting shot.
She closed her eyes as a wave of shameful emotion came over her. Just please don’t let him be taking it seriously, because the very last thing she wanted was to lose him.
Deciding to try and make light of her ridiculous message, she tapped out another saying, I’ve had a rethink and everything about you – us – works for me.
She read it several times, erased it and sent one that said, quite simply, I’m really sorry.
Please let me know when is a good time to talk. ILY, Cx
By the time she got to the office she still hadn’t received a reply.
‘OK, so here we go on our mysterious Swiss guy,’ Jacks announced as soon as everyone was at their desks and ready to receive. ‘Recording, by the way.’
JACKS: ‘Jean-Claude Meier, born 29th November 1978 – this makes him forty-six today – second son of Elias and Maria Meier, winegrowers from Lavaux – a UNESCO-listed region along the shores of Lake Geneva – thought I’d throw that in as a spot of scene-setting.
Maternal grandmother married a Welshman later in life – might seem insignificant now, but we’ll come back to it.
‘Jean-Claude studied at the local school – they’re all brilliant in Switzerland, so no need to go private – then went on to the Changins School of Viticulture and Oenology, before dropping out and enrolling at the University of Geneva to study psychology, with a focus on distorted beliefs through brainwashing.
A really interesting reason as to why he changed courses … Not confirmed, but makes sense to me.
‘Turns out his parents were members of the Ordre du Temple Solaire – excuse my French. For those who don’t speak it, it means the Solar Temple.
And for those who’ve never heard of it, it was a secret society back in the Nineties, claiming to be a continuation of the Knights Templar and other stuff that we don’t need to get into here.
It became famous – infamous – when it orchestrated a bunch of murders and suicides on two communes in Switzerland.
Jean-Claude’s parents belonged to one of them. ’
CRISTY: ‘You mean they were cult members who … what … ?’
JACKS: ‘Whether they were killed, or took their own lives, I can’t say, but it’s how they came to their end.
Jean-Claude would have been eighteen at the time – a traumatic experience for a son at any age, but I’m guessing it’s what could have driven him to study psychology instead of viticulture things. ’
Cristy looked around the office sensing that the cult theory was gaining some traction for them all. However it appeared no one had anything to say at this point – including Honey, who’d rearranged her schedule this morning to be able to join them.
JACKS: ‘Moving on. Jean-Claude graduated in 2001 and went on to do an MA at the University of Bordeaux, in France.
In the summer of 2003, he came to Bristol uni as a visiting scholar.
His lecture series “The Psychology of Taste and Decision-Making” explored how sensory experiences, memory and social influence can shape choices.
I guess you could call it a blend of his academic qualifications with his upbringing on the vineyards.
‘Anyway, his gig must have been a hit because according to my source at Bristol uni, he was invited to stay on. He finally left in June 2005, when he returned to Switzerland, where he spent the next few years teaching at the University of Lausanne and also helping his brother, Julien, with the family business.’
CRISTY: ‘How do you know all this already?’
JACKS: ‘I have my ways – except I’m a bit stumped on where he went after he left his university job in 2012, because he’s kind of dropped off the scene since then.’
CONNOR: ‘So you can’t tell us where he is now? Did he get married at all?’
JACKS: ‘No mention of a wife. Or a husband.’
CLOVE: ‘Maybe he’s working full-time at the vineyard with his brother?’
JACKS: ‘Doesn’t seem to be, but still a way to go on that, which will probably include talking to said brother or someone close to the family, and I decided not to go there yet … because …
‘One of the supersleuths pinged through a voice note late last night … Hang on, it’s here, so I can play it … Can’t make up my mind whether it’s male or female, but definitely English. See what you think.’
VOICE NOTE: ‘Greetings to whoever is listening to this message. I just took a look at your website …’
Jacks hit pause. ‘Sorry, forgot to mention that I posted the actual spelling of Jean-Claude’s name on the website as soon as we knew it, with a little red flag to make sure it stood out.’
VOICE NOTE: ‘… If we are talking about the same person – and I feel certain we are – then I can probably tell you where to find Jean-Claude, but only if you can persuade me that you mean him no harm. He is an exceptional man who will welcome you into his world, but I will not lead the way until we’ve spoken and I am convinced that your motives are without malice.
Thank you for listening to this. I wait to hear from you. ’
Cristy and Connor exchanged wide-eyed glances.
JACKS: ‘We’ve also received an email from an Elaine Wilson-Jacobs who says, I quote, “… I’ve been trying to lay my hands on his actual address, but his farm is somewhere in the middle of Wales.
No point googling him because he’s totally off grid, but if I can find it, I’ll let you know. All the best, Elaine.”’
Cristy sat back in her chair as she digested all this. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I find myself becoming more intrigued by this man by the minute.’
‘Don’t we all?’ Clove said. ‘Definitely sounding culty to me.’
‘OK, this is a reach,’ Honey put in, ‘but I’m thinking … Jean-Claude, J.C… .’ She looked embarrassed. ‘Am I going too far?’
‘You mean as in Jesus Christ?’ Connor asked.
Honey shrugged. ‘I said it was a reach.’
‘Can I bring us back to the Welsh grandmother?’ Jacks suggested.
‘She was Swiss, actually, but married a Welshman after her first husband died. I didn’t pay much attention to her at first, but when Elaine Wilson-Jacobs said he’s somewhere in Wales, I asked myself whether tracking Granny down might lead us to where he is now? ’
‘And you’ve found her?’ Connor asked, clearly impressed.
‘Just got started, but it turns out her husband’s name is/was Gwyn Jones, and hers is/was Marie so that’s how easy it’s going to be to track her down.’
With a laugh, Connor said, ‘OK, well good luck with that. In the meantime, we need to respond to these other guys and try to get them on record. Cris, why don’t you take the voice note. I’ll reply to Elaine …’
‘There’s more coming in from the supersleuths,’ Clove announced. ‘Maybe we should take a look at the new report in case there’s something we need to know before speaking to anyone else?’
‘Given there’s stuff coming in all the time,’ Cristy said, ‘we shouldn’t let anything hold us up.’
‘But what’s the rush?’ Connor argued. ‘It’s not like Meier can disappear on us when we already don’t know where he is.’
Failing to hide her irritation, Cristy said, ‘I thought we wanted to get to the heart of this, so what’s the point of delaying contact with two people who’ve already told us they might know where he is? Three if we include Willie Miller the “ex-disciple”.’