chalet, and she could pay in cash when she reached Kirkcudbright. She’d reserved a hire car, using the credit card Eddie didn’t know she had and a pay-as-you-go phone. She’d a secret bank account too; it wasn’t difficult to build it up when you regularly withdrew money but paid for everything on a credit card, and she’d a useful arrangement with a dress agency for her last season’s clothes. Eddie was never interested in what she spent. He was buying her presence, and he was a generous man.
Elena had no idea how long she would be away this time. He’d be terrified she’d left him and keeping him happy would be hard work. She’d have to be meticulous about keeping in touch or he’d start calling in private dicks, the police – the army, if he could swing it.
Unclasping the costume jewellery, Elena put it in a velvet-lined drawer in her dressing table. She folded the cashmere sweater and laid it on a shelf with others in a dozen colours and styles. The linen dress went into the laundry basket, but she didn’t take off the Elle Macpherson underwear. There were limits.
Cheap jeans – she’d forgotten how uncomfortable they were. And the T-shirt wasn’t sewn quite square – dreadful fabric, too. She hesitated; surely one T-shirt was much like another except to the person wearing it and she had a drawerful – but no. She must play the part to the point where she wasn’t playing a part any more, where she
was
the girl she’d been before Elena was born, when new clothes of any sort had been a treat.
She stuffed the rest of her purchases into a holdall and gathered up the bags they’d come in. There were bins in the garage basement and if she took the lift down there the concierge wouldn’t see her leaving and wonder. Eddie would talk to him as well.
At the door, she hesitated. She was afraid, for all sorts of reasons. Even now, she could cancel, head for a spa hotel instead … Luxury had always been her drug of choice.
Like any other addiction, it solved nothing. The gnawing inside was only briefly assuaged and its destructive effect was increasing. Elena was struggling, and here at last was her chance of closure. Just a chance – but nothing else seemed to give her peace of mind. Peace of mind – how beautiful that sounded! All she needed was courage, and a bit of luck. Perhaps she’d just had the luck and she’d proved long ago she had courage.
Yet still she hesitated. Then, very slowly, as if it were almost against her will, Elena went back to the velvet-lined drawer. Right at the back there was a dainty Victorian penknife, silver and mother-of-pearl; she looked at it for a moment before picking it up. She opened it, checked the razor edge of the slim, shiny steel blade and clicking it shut again put it in a pocket of her jeans. As an afterthought, she picked up two wide cuff bangles of engraved silver, tucked them into the holdall and left.
There was no one in the lift, or in the basement garage. With the bags safely disposed of, she loaded her luggage into her silver Mercedes coupé, then drove up the ramp and out of the building.
MacNee noticed with relief that the island indicated, Lovatt, was only a few hundred yards offshore – only to have his hopes dashed as Drummond headed the boat towards the farther end.
‘The cave’s round the other side. There’s a ridge of rocks between the island and the shore at this end, a sort of causeway – you can walk across it at low tide.’
MacNee nodded. Speaking didn’t appeal at the moment. The sea, which had looked billiard-table flat from the shore, seemed to have nasty little bumpy bits when you were speeding across it.
Drummond was clueing him in and it helped if MacNee concentrated on that. It was a straightforward enough story; nasty shock for the poor kids, though. He was even preening himself on getting his sea legs when Drummond said, ‘There it is,’ and headed for a hollow in the cliffs. Surely in there, sheltered from the
Elena had no idea how long she would be away this time. He’d be terrified she’d left him and keeping him happy would be hard work. She’d have to be meticulous about keeping in touch or he’d start calling in private dicks, the police – the army, if he could swing it.
Unclasping the costume jewellery, Elena put it in a velvet-lined drawer in her dressing table. She folded the cashmere sweater and laid it on a shelf with others in a dozen colours and styles. The linen dress went into the laundry basket, but she didn’t take off the Elle Macpherson underwear. There were limits.
Cheap jeans – she’d forgotten how uncomfortable they were. And the T-shirt wasn’t sewn quite square – dreadful fabric, too. She hesitated; surely one T-shirt was much like another except to the person wearing it and she had a drawerful – but no. She must play the part to the point where she wasn’t playing a part any more, where she
was
the girl she’d been before Elena was born, when new clothes of any sort had been a treat.
She stuffed the rest of her purchases into a holdall and gathered up the bags they’d come in. There were bins in the garage basement and if she took the lift down there the concierge wouldn’t see her leaving and wonder. Eddie would talk to him as well.
At the door, she hesitated. She was afraid, for all sorts of reasons. Even now, she could cancel, head for a spa hotel instead … Luxury had always been her drug of choice.
Like any other addiction, it solved nothing. The gnawing inside was only briefly assuaged and its destructive effect was increasing. Elena was struggling, and here at last was her chance of closure. Just a chance – but nothing else seemed to give her peace of mind. Peace of mind – how beautiful that sounded! All she needed was courage, and a bit of luck. Perhaps she’d just had the luck and she’d proved long ago she had courage.
Yet still she hesitated. Then, very slowly, as if it were almost against her will, Elena went back to the velvet-lined drawer. Right at the back there was a dainty Victorian penknife, silver and mother-of-pearl; she looked at it for a moment before picking it up. She opened it, checked the razor edge of the slim, shiny steel blade and clicking it shut again put it in a pocket of her jeans. As an afterthought, she picked up two wide cuff bangles of engraved silver, tucked them into the holdall and left.
There was no one in the lift, or in the basement garage. With the bags safely disposed of, she loaded her luggage into her silver Mercedes coupé, then drove up the ramp and out of the building.
MacNee noticed with relief that the island indicated, Lovatt, was only a few hundred yards offshore – only to have his hopes dashed as Drummond headed the boat towards the farther end.
‘The cave’s round the other side. There’s a ridge of rocks between the island and the shore at this end, a sort of causeway – you can walk across it at low tide.’
MacNee nodded. Speaking didn’t appeal at the moment. The sea, which had looked billiard-table flat from the shore, seemed to have nasty little bumpy bits when you were speeding across it.
Drummond was clueing him in and it helped if MacNee concentrated on that. It was a straightforward enough story; nasty shock for the poor kids, though. He was even preening himself on getting his sea legs when Drummond said, ‘There it is,’ and headed for a hollow in the cliffs. Surely in there, sheltered from the
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