A Place of Hiding

St. James and Deborah had their breakfast the next morning by a window that overlooked the small hotel garden, where undisciplined knots of pansies formed a colourful border round a patch of lawn. They were in the midst of laying out their plans for the day when China joined them, the black she wore from head to toe heightening her spectral appearance. She gave them a quick smile that telegraphed her apology for descending on them so early. She said, “I need to do something. I can’t just sit around. I had to before, but I don’t have to now, and my nerves are shot. There’s got to be something...” She seemed to notice the tumbling quality of what she was saying because she stopped herself and then said wryly,

“Sorry. I’m operating on something like fifty cups of coffee. I’ve been awake since three.”

“Have some orange juice,” St. James offered. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Can’t eat,” she answered. “But thanks. I didn’t say that yesterday. I meant to. Without you two here...Just thanks.” She sat on a chair at an adjoining table, scooting it over to join St. James and his wife. She looked round at the other occupants of the dining room: men in business suits with mobile phones next to their cutlery, briefcases on the floor by their chairs, and newspapers unfolded. The atmosphere was as hushed as a gentleman’s club in London. She said in a low voice, “Like a library in here.”

St. James said, “Bankers. A lot on their minds.”

Deborah said, “Stuffy.” She offered China an affectionate smile. China took the juice that St. James poured for her. “My mind won’t stop the stream of if-onlys. I didn’t want to come to Europe and if only I’d stayed firm...If only I’d refused to talk about it again...If only I’d had enough work going on to keep me at home...He might not have come either. None of this would have happened.”

“It doesn’t do any good, thinking that,” Deborah said. “Things happen because they happen. That’s all. Our job isn’t to un-happen them”—she smiled at her neologism—“but just to move forward.”

China returned her smile. “I think I’ve heard that before.”

“You gave good advice.”

“You didn’t like it at the time.”

“No. I suppose it seemed...well, heartless, really. Which is how things always seem when you want your friends to join you in a long-term wallow.”

China wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be so rough on yourself.”

“You do the same, then.”

“Okay. A deal.”

The two women gazed fondly at each other. St. James looked from one to the other and recognised that a feminine communication was going on, one that he couldn’t comprehend. It concluded with Deborah saying to China River, “I’ve missed you,” and China returning with a soft laugh, a cock of her head, and a “Boy, that’ll teach you.” At which point, their conversation closed.

The exchange served as a reminder to St. James that Deborah had more of a life than was expressed by the stretch of years he had known her. Coming into his conscious world when she was seven years old, his wife had always seemed a permanent part of the map of his particular universe. While the fact that she had a universe of her own did not come as a shock to him, he found it disconcerting to be forced to accept that she’d had a wealth of experiences in which he was not a participant. That he could have been a participant was a thought for another morning when far less was at stake.

He said, “Have you spoken to the advocate yet?”

China shook her head. “He’s not in. He would’ve stayed at the station as long as they were questioning him, though. Since he didn’t call me...”

She fingered a piece of toast from the rack as if she meant to eat it, but she pushed it away instead. “I figured it went on into the night. That’s how it was when they talked to me.”

“I’ll begin there, then,” St. James told her. “And you two...I thi nk you need to pay a call on Stephen Abbott. He spoke to you the other day, my love,” to Deborah, “so I expect he’ll be willing to speak to you again.”

He led the two women outside and round to the car park. There they spread out a map of the island on the Escort’s bonnet and traced a route to Le Grand Havre, a wide gouge into the north coast of the island comprising three bays and a harbour, above which a network of footpaths gave access to military towers and disused forts. Acting as navigator, China would guide Deborah to that location, where Ana?s Abbott had a house in LaGarenne. In the meantime, St. James would pay a call at the police station and glean from DCI Le Gallez whatever information he could regarding Cherokee’s arrest.