‘Yes.’
‘Then you know I would never do anything to purposely hurt you.’
‘I know that.’
‘I need you to take that chance, Kate. It’s time.’
She didn’t reply.
‘I’ll get the bill, shall I?’ he asked.
‘Why the hell not?’
Once out in the night air, Adam wrapped his arm around her to walk to the hotel. It wasn’t a long way, a couple of minutes at most.
‘Let’s not go back yet,’ she said. ‘The Luxembourg gardens aren’t far from here.’
‘I don’t mind. It’s up to you.’
It was late, but she didn’t care. There was something about the night, the chill in the air, the narrow Parisian streets, the feeling of Adam’s arm around her, a sense of the familiar and unfamiliar, histories and new beginnings all rolled into one. He was right. She needed to take that leap.
Before reaching the Boulevard Saint-Michel, he turned her to him, his hands locking around her waist. Leaning down, he kissed her, gentle at first, their first taste of each other, then more passionate, as he pulled her closer still. It felt good, being held, desired, wanted, and knowing that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. And somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she knew she would never forget their first kiss and, no matter what happened from that moment on, neither of them could ever deny it.
When his mobile phone bleeped with a text, she told him to ignore it, and for a time he did.
‘Hold on,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll only be a second.’ One arm still around her waist, he took his mobile out of his pocket.
She saw his face change. At first it showed confusion, then shock and finally anger.
‘Shit,’ he said, and she felt his arm slip away.
She waited, feeling the chill of the streets. There was something about the way his eyes stared at her that told her she wouldn’t be feeling any more warmth or desire that evening.
‘That was Mark.’
‘What is it? Did he find something in the list of names?’
He looked down to the text message again, the one with a media image attached, before handing her the phone. ‘Shit,’ he repeated, this time with even more rage.
Kate saw the copy of the next day’s front-page headline. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What’s it mean?’
‘It means trouble, lots of it.’
I
MICHELE PINZINI COULD change, like the witch, charming one minute, harsh and horrible the next. I recognised a form of madness in him. His wife becoming pregnant put an end to our silly games. A baby wasn’t part of the plan. I suppose he told his wife he loved her too – the selfish bastard. The wife and the baby survived the fire. People think it was good fortune, but things are rarely purely accidental, or not as far as I’m concerned. I made sure she and the baby survived. I’m not the witch. I don’t harm the innocent.
He begged me when he realised what was happening, his wife unconscious on the bed, him tied up on the floor. It was too late then. I put duct tape across his mouth to shut him up. Naked, he looked like a slob as I dragged him across the room, a piece of ugly white meat. I saw the fear in his eyes. I liked that too – getting his undivided attention. I despised him then, and I know he loathed me. But I was the one in control. I would have liked to have more time, but the wife being pregnant complicated things. I thought: Kill him and be done with it.
When I flicked the lighter, he wriggled, looking up at the smoke detectors, hoping I hadn’t seen them, that he was one step ahead of me, but I had already taken care of them. Staring at his wife, the woman carrying their unborn child, I thought: Too late, my friend. You didn’t care about them when you were fucking me. I slit his throat with ease, the blood spurting, before my rage fully took hold. He deserved more pain. I poured alcohol from the mini-bar onto the rug and set it alight. I gave him his last kiss, like my step-father always wanted.
The hotel maid who discovered the fire, did so because I told her one of the patrons wanted her. It was a risk, but she wouldn’t have recognised me. I had come prepared, in a wig and dark glasses. Melodramatic, I know, but I enjoy a dash of drama.