She’d tried to give back his copy of The Nibelungenlied too, but he’d told her to keep it. He’d written his number inside the cover and told her to call if ever she needed his help. He was already regretting that act of largesse and hoped only that she’d never find the need. If she did, he’d have to make his excuses, maybe point her in Dan Borowski’s direction.
Even so, he could understand why he’d made the offer. In some subtle way she’d managed to get under his skin, a fact that reminded him of his next move on his return to normality. He took the picture of Madeleine out of the drawer and placed it back where it belonged, the thought of that stupid Proust joke jarring momentarily. He didn’t even like Proust.
He sat down, hooked by the picture, realizing how much he’d missed seeing it this last week or so. He was conscious of the absurdity of it, that he missed a photograph, but it was the only remnant in his life of a time and a woman that he missed more than he knew how to feel.
It was a link to something else too—the summer day captured there, the loving smile, a link to a part of him from which he’d been exiled, the growing world of his daughter. Ella had told him to contact her and he’d dismissed it, but he knew that that was what these last few years had really been about: his attempt to recast his life for her.
At first he’d fooled himself that it was all in case she tracked him down, that he wanted her to find a man other than the one Madeleine would have described to her. He knew now, though, particularly after what had happened to Ella in the last few days, that he didn’t want to wait anymore, despite all the promises he’d made at the time. He wanted to see her. He wanted to see both of them.
The phone rang. He looked across the room at it, letting it ring a couple more times before picking it up.
‘Lucas, it’s Dan.’
‘What have you got?’ It didn’t really matter anymore but he was curious all the same.
‘Not much. Contrary to expectations, Mark Hatto didn’t have any bloody enemies.’
‘What about people who’ve been doing time?’
‘Drew a blank there too. Believe me, mate, nobody wanted Mark Hatto dead.’
‘Tell that to his daughter.’
‘I mean nobody in the business. Couple of people suggested if we look closer to home we might find someone with a bit more to gain. Simon Hatto mean anything to you?’ Lucas couldn’t understand how he’d missed such an obvious suspect and yet the possibility had eluded him, another indication of how far removed from the game he’d become. Hatto’s brother certainly had a lot to gain from killing the entire family. So maybe the motive hadn’t been vengeance at all—at least not the all-consuming vengeance he’d imagined—but greed. ‘So what do you think? Want me to look into it?’
‘No,’ said Lucas. ‘Not for the time being anyway. It’s out of my hands. But thanks.’
‘No worries. Give me a call if you need anything.’
Lucas hung up the phone and walked over to the balcony. He stood there for a while with his eyes closed, breathing in the scent of the woods, picking out the birdsong, the vaguer sounds traveling up to him on still air. For a moment he felt like he’d open his eyes and see Ella and Chris walking back towards the house. They’d been nice kids, but he had to concentrate now on the things that mattered: a return to Paris, seeing his daughter, seeing Madeleine.
Maybe that wasn’t even the right thing to do. For all he knew, Madeleine had married, had more kids, and they were happy, his daughter never giving him a thought. His reappearance in their lives could unbalance all of that, but it was a risk he had to take.
For the Hatto family, it was already finished, no time left to say the things they’d been meaning to say to each other, to make plans, to grow closer. They’d been a family and now they were down to one, just like he was, but at least he still had a way back.
His thoughts slipped back to what Dan had said, back to that memory of her and Chris walking out of the woods, of Ella curled up on the sofa. He didn’t want to remember any of it, though, because he didn’t want to think about the bloodied hands into which he might have delivered her.
He hoped Dan was wrong, that was all. If Simon Hatto had killed her family it had almost certainly been for the control of Hatto’s empire, and if that was the case, he’d strike again as soon as the time was right. Dan had to be wrong or Ella was dead too—she just didn’t know it.
Chapter Seven
Take as long as you want.’
She heard the door close gently behind her and she was left alone in the unpleasantly comfortable silence. For all the thick carpeting and subdued lighting, for all the easy-on-the-eye mediocrity of the furnishings, the truth remained defiant and uncompromising in the three caskets before her.