24
They arrived at Gare d’Austerlitz on the left bank of the Seine at a little after nine p.m. It was still busy with commuters heading home to the suburbs and the towns to the south.
‘What are we doing here?’ asked Sophie, puzzled.
‘The sleeper train leaves for Nice in thirty minutes. If we’re quick, we can make it.’
‘What about Le Bristol?’ she asked, dreaming of that comfortable emperor-sized bed.
‘Another time,’ he said, not looking at her.
‘Stay here,’ said Josh, at the entrance to the ticket office. ‘I’m going to buy the tickets. You go to that kiosk and get some water and food,’ he added, thrusting a fifty-euro note at her.
She nodded, thinking she would also buy a strong coffee. She could still taste the aniseed from the pastis in Le Cellar and didn’t want any reminders of that place.
Sophie bought what she needed from the small station shop and walked back out on to the concourse. Josh was still in the ticket queue. She looked at him for a moment, realising this was the first time they had been apart in over twenty-four hours. She still didn’t really know who this man was, but she did know he had defended her from that rat-faced pimp Maurice. Her face flushed as she thought of it. What if Josh hadn’t been there? Well, you wouldn’t have been in that godawful club for a start, said a voice in her head. But the thing was, she had to stay with Josh. Without him, she would be lost. She would almost certainly be in London, possibly in a police cell, maybe even dead.
She shivered, despite the heat. With a desperate need to hear a familiar voice, she realised she hadn’t yet contacted her mother, who would be back in London from Denmark. She would be frantic with worry and Sophie didn’t blame her. Her daughter had been questioned in connection with a high-profile murder and now she had disappeared without letting anybody know where she was, or what she was doing.
Defiantly, she went back into the kiosk and bought a five-euro phone card, then crossed to the bank of payphones near the ticket office. She felt a stab of guilt as she lifted the receiver. Josh would certainly be angry if he knew what she was doing; he’d drummed into her the need to stay off the phones and that the only way to contact the outside world was email – and even then, only from a public computer. But how was she supposed to find a bloody internet café in the middle of Paris while being chased by the police, hit men and now, probably, Maurice and his cronies? She would call her mother for just a few seconds. Just to let her know she was safe. And anyway, if by some miracle someone did trace the call, they’d be miles away from Paris.
‘Hello, Julia Ellis,’ said the voice at the other end of the line.
Sophie felt a sudden wave of relief and homesickness. She wanted to burst into tears, but she knew she had to hold it in for her mother’s sake.
‘Mum, it’s me.’
‘Darling!’ cried Julia. ‘Where are you?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m safe.’ At least Josh would be happy she kept it vague.
‘Come home, Sophie, please. The police are worried about you.’
‘Worried?’ said Sophie. ‘They want to arrest me.’
‘Well, you’re not making things any easier for yourself by disappearing. You have nothing to hide, so why don’t you come in and speak to them again? Mr Gould will go with you.’
‘I can’t. I need to find out who killed Nick first.’
‘Sophie, don’t be ridiculous,’ hissed her mother. ‘That’s the police’s job, not yours. I had some officers round here this morning actually, taking fingerprints and whatnot.’
‘Fingerprints? For me? But they’ve already got my fingerprints.’
She could feel the clock ticking and knew she had to get off the phone.
‘The burglary, darling,’ gasped Julia. ‘I came back from Denmark and – oh! It was horrible, Sophie. They’d turned the place upside down, torn the curtains, it’s incredible what these thugs will do. High on drugs, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Wade House had been burgled? Sophie immediately felt unsettled. Had they been after her? Had they been looking for something? Presumably whatever it was they had been after at her flat.
‘Nothing appears to have been taken,’ Julia was saying, ‘but they left it in a terrible mess and the TV is in pieces. I hope it’s insured; you know how your father loved cutting corners.’
In the distance Sophie could hear a tannoy announcement; she didn’t understand it, but she recognised the word ‘Nice’.
‘Mum, I have to go,’ she said.
‘Sophie, please, we need to talk. Are you sure you’re all right? I’m at my wits’ end.’
People were moving towards the platforms now. She couldn’t be on the phone when Josh came looking for her.
‘Sorry, Mum. I love you.’
She put down the receiver and hurried back to the kiosk just as Josh came striding towards her.
‘Everything set?’ he said, tapping two train tickets against the palm of his hand. ‘They’ve announced the platform, we’d better get moving.’
Sophie forced a smile and picked up her bag.
‘Let’s go.’
They climbed on board just as the guard blew his whistle, and moved through the gently swaying train to find their allocated sleeper cabin. It was tiny. Two bunk beds on top of each other with just about enough room to sit and a metal sink of the type you’d get in a lavatory.
‘Cosy,’ said Josh, locking the door behind them.
‘You can go on top,’ said Sophie, putting her bag on the bottom bunk.
‘Just how I like it,’ he quipped, but Sophie ignored him.
‘Well, I don’t think they have a disco on the train, so I guess we’d better get some sleep,’ added Josh, climbing into the top bunk. ‘Early start tomorrow.’
Sophie got into her bunk and, making sure she was out of his line of view, undressed and slipped into the lightweight sleeping bag.
Josh turned off the light and pulled down the window blind. For a while they were both silent, listening to the train click over the points, feeling the gentle rock of the carriage, hearing people talking quietly as they passed in the corridor outside.
‘What time are we going to be in the south?’ said Sophie, unable to sleep.
‘Seven-ish. The train only goes to Nice, so we’ll have to double back on ourselves to get to Cannes.’
She wriggled around the sleeping bag, staring up at the base of Josh’s bunk, trying to picture him up there. Stop it, Sophie, she thought. She supposed it was the romance of being in a sleeper train, feeling a little like Eva Marie Saint in that Hitchcock film she was in with Cary Grant. North by Northwest? It had been years since she’d seen it, but she was sure they’d shared a sleeper train cabin. Or was it Audrey Hepburn?
‘It’s not quite Le Bristol,’ she said.
‘You have very expensive tastes, Miss Ellis,’ said Josh and she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘D’you know, this used to be the most glamorous way to travel a hundred years ago? It was called the Blue Train and it ferried all the wealthy people from London and Paris to the C?te d’Azur. It was all first class. Coco Chanel, Churchill, royalty – they’ve all been on it.’
‘You know a lot about a lot of things,’ said Sophie candidly.
‘I know a little bit about a lot,’ he responded. ‘I left school at sixteen, so everything I’ve learnt has been from books, people I’ve met, TV programmes I’ve watched. I suppose I keep my ears and my eyes open.’
‘So how did you get into this?’
‘What, selling watches?’
‘Josh, you know what I mean. The lock-up, Maurice, all that.’
There was something about not seeing someone, not looking them in the face, that made it possible to ask anything. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say, of course, except that she wanted to hear something good. Josh might be a thief or a con man, she didn’t really know, but back at Le Cellar he had been – what? My hero, she thought, feeling embarrassed and, if she was honest, turned on at the same time.
‘After school I was jobless, aimless, kicking around the arse end of Edinburgh. There were a lot of drugs and gangs, and I was terrified by all that. So instead I got in with a crowd that used to sell fake stuff around pubs and on street corners. I was that cocky little bleeder you’d see on the high street surrounded by a crowd, selling cheap perfume: “gen-u-ine Armani, ladies, a tenner for two”.’
His impression made her giggle. She’d never have bought anything from a rogue street trader like the one he was describing – but then she’d never seen Josh, had she?
‘How did you meet Nick?’
‘That was when I moved from Scotland to London in my early twenties. I think in the back of my mind I really believed the streets might be paved with gold. Of course they weren’t, but then you could charge twice as much for knock-off Blue Stratos on Oxford Street. Anyway, I bumped into Nick in some nightclub in Soho. I tried to sell him a Rolex and you know what he said? “Don’t waste your time.” I thought he was telling me to sod off because he could see the watch was a fake, but he wasn’t. He told me I had a gift.’
‘A gift?’
‘Charm, patter, I don’t know. I never found it hard to sell the watches, however ropy they were, put it that way. I suppose I should have got on a training scheme and become a salesman, sold washing machines or insurance. Anyway, Nick brought me into a couple of scams he was running. And the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘What kind of scams, Josh?’
He was quiet for a moment.
‘Nothing I’m proud of. But I was grateful to Nick. He taught me a lot and gave me focus, made me see that I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life standing on street corners selling vinegar in fancy bottles. He did me a huge favour.’
‘He led you astray, more like,’ said Sophie softly. She wondered if that was how it worked for all criminals. She didn’t suppose that people started out bad, but somewhere along the line they met the wrong person, fell in with the wrong crowd and were tempted on to another path.
‘Don’t be too down on Nick,’ said Josh. ‘Everyone assumes he was this morally bankrupt monster destroying innocent women’s lives, but let me tell you, most of those women were playing some sort of game with him too. They all wanted something from Nick. Those women’ – he whistled – ‘they can be ruthless.’
Sophie was surprised how readily Josh was defending Nick.
‘I got the impression that the two of you didn’t like each other that much,’ she said. ‘Or was all that stuff at the Chariot party an act too?’
‘No, we did fall out,’ said Josh in the darkness. ‘Nick seemed to think that because he’d helped me out in the past, whenever he called I would come running. There was a job in Monaco last summer.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t want to be involved.’
‘Why not?’
She heard him snort.
‘You are nosy, aren’t you?’
‘Come on, Josh. It might be something to do with his death.’
‘It involved duping old ladies in Monte Carlo, if you must know. Somehow I doubt a member of the blue-rinse brigade killed Nick.’
Sophie didn’t know why she was so glad Josh had turned down Nick’s scheme, but she was. She supposed she wanted to hear that Josh McCormack wasn’t all bad, that he had a heart and it wasn’t hidden too far below the surface.
‘So why didn’t you do it?’ she asked.
‘Look, I just couldn’t. That was the reason I started the watch consultancy business, selling real watches this time. I suppose I just didn’t want to end up like Nick, hopping from one hotel room to the next, skipping out on the bill at the end of the week. Anyway, he never really forgave me. Couldn’t understand why I wanted a regular life.’
‘I have to say, you don’t strike me as the regular-life kind of guy either,’ said Sophie, teasing gently.
‘I don’t want to be looking out of the window wondering if my kids are going to see a squad car turning up at the house,’ he said, his voice serious, maybe even a little angry.
Sophie frowned.
‘You have kids?’
She heard the snort again.
‘One day.’
‘Well, you’d have to get married first,’ she said.
‘I’d have to find a wife first.’
‘What about the girl in Camden?’ she asked, remembering the alibi he had given her on the Nancy Blue. What are you doing bringing her up like some jealous girlfriend? she scolded herself.
‘Oh her,’ chuckled Josh. ‘I never did call her back. Some pretty Chelsea posh girl popped up and took up all my time.’
‘Do you want to? Call her back, I mean?’
She surprised herself, not just by asking the question, but at how bothered she was over what his response might be.
Josh paused for a long moment.
‘Probably not. She was some crazy musician chick and I think there’s enough excitement in my life right now.’
Sophie closed her eyes, wondering if that was Josh’s type; a boho beauty with a guitar and lots of piercings. She’d smell of exotic perfume, give him an expert blow job, then sing him to sleep. If she had been more awake, she might have recognised a brief flutter of envy about the unknown Camden musician, but her eyes were closing, heavy now, so heavy, and she couldn’t think about anything else except the gentle lull of the carriage rocking from side to side.
When she opened her eyes again, she could see Josh standing in the cramped space next to the bunks, his perfectly round bum pointing towards her as he bent over to pull up his trousers.
‘Sorry,’ she said, failing to avert her eyes from his naked back as he pulled on a new T-shirt.
‘Morning,’ he grinned playfully. ‘Thought I’d better smarten up my image if we’re going to do the Riviera properly.’
‘Where are we?’ she asked sleepily as he pulled up the blind.
‘Just past Antibes, so we should be there soon. You should wash, clean up. The toilets are just at the end of the carriage. They’re not great, but there’s water and I’ve got a spare toothbrush and some paste in my holdall.’
‘I don’t suppose you have any spare clothes in there?’
‘Nothing suitable for walking through Nice in broad daylight. Anyway, stop complaining. Those jeans suit you.’
She was still smiling to herself as she swayed down the corridor, bumping from side to side. She stopped to peer out of the window, squinting at the too-bright blue sky. It couldn’t be much past seven, but already the cloudless sky and the rising orange sun promised a glorious day. As it should be for my glamorous time in the South of France, she thought, before reminding herself that they were here to do a job. For now, though, she allowed herself to soak up the sights and sounds, enjoying the sensation of the ice-cold water she splashed on her face in the toilet, feeling her energy rise as they approached Nice station. She had no idea what the day held, but there was an excitement, an anticipation of the unknown she was beginning to enjoy.
‘Let’s go,’ said Josh, picking up Sophie’s bag as she returned to the cabin, just as they pulled into the platform. ‘We could get the train to Cannes, but a cab should be quicker.’
They joined the rest of the passengers streaming from the train and through the barriers to the concourse, which was crowded with people waiting to get on the train for the return journey to Paris. Sophie was just looking for the sign for the taxi rank – at least ‘taxi’ was ‘taxi’, whatever country you were in – when Josh took her hand, gripping it tight.
‘Keep moving,’ he whispered.
Sophie did as she was told, matching his pace as they moved towards the exit.
‘What’s up?’
‘I think we’re being followed,’ he said under his breath. ‘Big guy, muscular, short black hair. Don’t look.’
But Sophie couldn’t help herself, glancing behind to see the man – unmistakable in an unseasonable black coat – pushing through the crowd while talking on his mobile phone.
She felt herself stiffen.
‘This way,’ said Josh, pulling her towards an exit sign to the left.
Suddenly Sophie felt someone grab her in a vice-like grip. Pain seared up her arm.
‘Josh!’ she screamed, meeting the second assailant eye to eye. Instinctively she swivelled around and kicked the man as hard as she could in the shin. He lost his grip, cursing in a language she didn’t recognise as Sophie sprinted for her life.
Josh caught up with her, grabbing her hand and pulling her out into the street, body-swerving a crate and dodging a crowd of teenagers standing at a bus stop. Out of the station, Sophie was immediately buffeted by noise and movement on all sides. The roar of traffic on the road, the blare of car horns, mopeds zipping in front of them, people everywhere. She didn’t have time to process it all, had to treat them all as objects to be avoided, to get past, to get away from.
‘Keep going,’ yelled Josh as they reached the other side of the road. Sophie didn’t need to look to know that the crop-haired man and his friend with the sore shin were close behind them. She could almost feel their feet pounding through the pavement. Fear and adrenalin made her run faster.
‘Down here!’ They plunged into a warren of back streets; hotels and cheap restaurants – plenty of internet cafés around here, Sophie thought crazily – with doorways and back entrances providing a wealth of places to hide, but they couldn’t stop; one blind alley and they could be trapped. They sprinted out of a narrow street and on to another main road.
‘Look out!’ Sophie screamed as Josh was almost tossed over the bonnet of a white taxi with a squeal of brakes.
‘Monsieur! Monsieur!’ he cried, waving to the driver. ‘Arrêtez!’
He yanked the cab’s door open and they both fell inside.
‘Allez, tout de suite, s’il vous pla?t!’ he shouted. ‘Vite, vite!’
Mercifully, the driver did as he was told and they jerked into motion. But their relief was short-lived. Through the rear window, Sophie could see the two men jumping into a car just behind them.
‘That’s not a taxi,’ panted Josh. ‘There’s more of them.’
Josh turned to the driver and told him to take a quick left, then a right. As soon as they were around a corner, he yelled for the cab to stop. Pushing a fifty-euro note into the cabbie’s hand, they jumped out and Josh slammed his hand on the roof of the car.
‘Drive!’ he yelled, pointing down the road. The man didn’t need telling twice, and squealed off, leaving twin rubber burns on the tarmac.
‘In here,’ said Josh, diving through the open door of a hotel to their left. Moving quickly, but casually enough not to draw attention to themselves, they walked through the lobby and followed the sign to ‘La Piscine’.