Presumed Dead, page 22
Philippe didn’t need any more encouragement than that. With her arms still locked around his neck, he picked her up, carried her easily across the hut and laid her down on the mattress. Then, with the wind shrieking outside and the hut shuddering beneath them, Philippe took Alice in his arms and made the earth move for her, gently, passionately, over and over again, in ways she’d never even dreamed of…
.
Ross arrived at Minster at Stone and parked the E-Type in the High Street. Taking a flashlight from the car, he walked down to the dark churchyard and around the winding path to his family vault. To his immense relief, he found everything as it should be. He noticed that the entrance was clean and tidy, but the heavy, wrought iron gate was still securely locked in place with the chunky padlocks, now rusted solid, that had been fitted over twenty years earlier after his first wife’s funeral.
Feeling much better, he walked up to the doctor’s house, only to find after knocking repeatedly and ringing the bell that although there was a light on, no one was at home. After thinking for a moment, he decided to try the pub and made his way through the door into the warm interior.
As he walked into the public bar the landlord looked up and said with surprise. ‘Why, it’s Sir Ross isn’t it? We haven’t seen you around these parts in years. What can I get you? On the house of course!’
Ross could see the doctor wasn’t in the bar, but decided that although he really wanted to get out and find him, he also really needed another drink. Making his choice, he instantly switched into his condescending, hail-fellow-well-met mode that he always adopted when dealing with people he considered to be yokels. ‘That’s very kind of you Landlord,’ he said heartily, walking up to the bar. ‘I’ll have a large brandy if I may.’
Seated along the bar were the regulars, the same collection of old men who spent most lunchtimes and every evening in the pub. Now, they slid from their stools and crowded around Ross, holding out their hands. ‘Remember me sir?’ one of them was saying, ‘Forbes? I used to be one of your gardeners up at the manor.’
‘Of course,’ Ross lied, shaking the gnarled, arthritic hand enthusiastically, ‘how have you been keeping?’
One by one the old men introduced themselves and Ross pretended to remember each one. Although he felt he was wasting his time, he couldn’t resist playing the lord of the manor: it was a role he missed. Getting his wallet out, he slapped a fifty pound note down on the bar and said, ‘A round of drinks for my friends here Landlord, and one for yourself. While you’re at it put another large one in my glass too.’
The old men all smiled and said ‘God bless you, sir,’ as they raised their glasses and drank his health. Warmed by the brandy and the feeling of self-importance, he smiled back at them like a benevolent father.
When the accolades had died down and the old men had returned to their stools, Ross called the landlord over and asked nonchalantly, ‘Whatever happened to Doctor Mason?’
‘He was in earlier,’ the landlord told him, ‘but was called out to old Mrs Plummet. He should be back shortly.’
‘I didn’t realize he was still practicing,’ Ross said with surprise.
‘He’s only got a few patients now, mostly the old ones he’s been treating for years. All the younger people go up the clinic.’
Ross decided to wait in the pub and had had another two large brandies by the time Mason got back at around nine-thirty.
As the doctor walked in he saw Ross and stopped dead, looking like he’d seen a ghost. Within a second though, he’d regained his composure and called out a greeting. ‘Sir Ross, what a surprise! It must be what… twenty years?’
Ross stood up from the barstool a little unsteadily and shook the doctor’s hand. ‘At least… what will you have?’
‘A whisky, please.’
‘Landlord, a large whisky for the doctor, and another brandy for me.’
‘What are you doing in this part of the world?’ Mason asked.
‘As a matter of fact, I came up to speak with you,’ Ross said, making sure no one else heard. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’
Mason was nervous. He knew exactly what Ross wanted to talk to him about. In fact, he knew a great deal more than Ross did. On Friday afternoon, he’d been summoned to the coroner’s office in Hertford where he’d been questioned about the late Freda Webley and asked to repeat everything he’d said to Wiseman. After that, they had informed him that they intended to exhume Freda Webley’s body the following night, and that there would be a full autopsy performed. Since then, he’d been wishing he’d kept his mouth shut and dreading meeting up with Ross.
Mason glanced at the clock over the bar nervously, he knew the exhumation team would be arriving any moment and he really didn’t want to be around Ross when he found out what was happening. Seeing that he’d obviously had a few drinks already, Mason decided the best bet would be to get Ross out of the pub and back to his house where they could sit in the back room and hopefully avoid the activities in the churchyard.
‘Why don’t we get a bottle and go back to my house?’ Mason suggested as they finished their drinks.
‘That’s a good idea,’ Ross slurred. ‘Landlord, a bottle of brandy if you please.’ He paid for the bottle, bade farewell to the landlord and his fellow drinkers then followed Mason out of doors.
They had just stepped out of the pub into the cool night air when, to Mason’s horror, a convoy of police cars and vans sped by, heading towards the church.
‘I say,’ Ross remarked, craning his neck and standing on tiptoes to look down the road towards the church gates where the convoy had just pulled up. ‘What do you think they’re up to?’
Mason grabbed his arm saying, ‘Just chasing the local vandals I expect. Come on, let’s get started on this bottle.’
Ross shrugged him off. ‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘I want to see what’s going on.’
‘Give me the bottle, then,’ Mason said. ‘I’ll wait for you at my house.’
Ross handed him the bottle then walked cautiously towards the church. By the time he reached the end of the road, the vans had been unloaded and a pair of uniformed police officers had sealed the churchyard gates with blue and white plastic tape and were standing guard.
Staying in the shadows on the opposite side of the road he quickly made his way down towards the old abbey then crossed over and entered the abbey grounds. It was pitch dark and he was having difficulty seeing where he was going when suddenly, he heard the sound of a generator starting and the entire area was lit up from the direction of the church by brilliant arc lights. Holding his arm up against the glare, he ducked behind one of the ruined walls and made his way up the cloister arcade until he could see clearly into the churchyard.
Several men were milling about. One was wearing a white overall and was just pulling on a pair of thin rubber gloves while speaking to another, who Ross thought he recognized as Hubbard. He watched on in absolute horror as a team of men joined them, unfolded a large white marquee then erected it over the entrance to his family vault. Next, there was the sound of power tools and the unmistakable zing of a grinder against metal. They’re going into my vault, he thought incredulously. That means they must be investigating Freda’s death too! Oh my God… they’re going to get me this time for certain.
Unable to stand any more, Ross staggered back across the abbey grounds and out onto the road. He headed up the High Street towards his car, then remembered Mason. He had unfinished business there. He ran to the doctor’s house and pounded on the door. After a few seconds Mason opened the door. Ross pushed past him into the hall. ‘Where’s that bloody bottle?’ he demanded.
Mason, trembling with nerves, led him into the living room and poured him a large measure. Ross swallowed it down in one, then shouted, ‘What the hell did you say to that American? Do you realize the police are down there opening my family vault?’
Mason tried to calm him down by pouring him another drink. ‘Look here Sir Ross, I’m sure there’s nothing at all to worry about. It’s just a misunderstanding, that’s all. They won’t find anything...’
‘What do you know?’ he snarled, gulping his drink down. ‘Your bloody big mouth could send me to jail!’
Mason was suddenly alert. ‘What are you saying?’ he asked.
Ross’s eyes seemed to lose focus as he started to totter. ‘I’m not saying anything,’ he slurred badly, ‘especially not to you!’ Then, without warning, he half stepped and half fell backwards and plonked down heavily on the sofa.
Mason felt a bit safer now that Ross had vented his anger, but he was very curious to find out as much as he could. He refilled Ross’s glass then took the seat opposite him and said, ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?’
Ross looked up at him through bleary, unfocussed eyes and slurred, ‘They’re trying to get me, one way or another they want to put me in jail.’
‘Who’s trying to get you?’ Mason asked in his best bedside voice. It had occurred to him that if he could extract a confession from Webley and report back to the coroner before the autopsy results were known, he might be able to save a little face at the inquest if it did turn out to be a poisoning.
‘The bloody police, that’s who,’ Ross slurred, his eyes rolling about in his head. ‘They’ve been hounding me all day!’ The effect of all the brandy mixed with half a bottle of whisky on an empty stomach finally took its toll and he slowly started to slide forwards.
Mason leapt to his feet just in time to save him from pitching head-first onto the floor, but he couldn’t save the glass, which dropped out of Ross’s hand spilling whisky on the carpet. With an effort, Mason pushed him back onto the sofa and loosened his tie. Ross mumbled something then started snoring loudly.
‘Well you’re not going anywhere tonight,’ Mason said aloud as he heaved his legs up onto the sofa and stuffed a cushion under his head. He went out of the room and came back a few minutes later with an old blanket, which he draped over Ross before switching the lights off and retiring to bed himself.
Chapter 16
When Alice woke from a deep sleep, there was absolute silence in the hut. The storm had blown itself out during the night and now a watery, early dawn light was seeping in through the small window. She looked down at Philippe, who was still asleep, cradled in her arms, and said a silent prayer that they might be allowed to share this love forever, without end. She was sublimely happy and knew that she loved him with all her heart and soul. Softly, she kissed his forehead and he stirred, sliding up a little so that he could kiss her lips.
‘Good morning,’ he whispered, in a voice that was softer and more gently that the crumbling snow outside. ‘Thank you for last night.’
‘Thank you,’ she said softly, holding him close and kissing him.
‘What time is it?’ he asked, looking towards the window.
Alice slid her arm out from under the blanket and felt around at the side of the mattress for her watch. Finding it in among their discarded clothes, she said, ‘Just after six.’
‘I had better get moving,’ he said reluctantly, trying to sit up.
She clung to him for a few seconds longer, then finally, unwillingly, let him slip from her grasp. He collected his clothes from around the mattress then went into the washroom while Alice snuggled back down, pulling the coarse brown blanket up around her soft white shoulders.
When Philippe was dressed, he put a pan of water on the gas ring so that Alice would have warm water to wash in, then he made coffee while she took her turn in the washroom. By the time she came out, wearing just her shorts, polo top, fleece and socks, the coffee was ready and they sat at the table opposite each other to drink it.
‘Where are your trousers?’ he asked. ‘You should put them on, you’ll be cold.’
‘You’ve got to take them with you, remember? They came from the Charpoua Hut.’
‘Oh yes,’ he said gloomily, ‘I had forgotten.’
The prospect of being parted was starting to weigh heavy on them both again, so Alice decided to lighten the atmosphere by saying, ‘I hope I can get a nice quick divorce. I don’t want this baby to be born before we’re married.’
That did the trick. Philippe threw his head back and laughed aloud. ‘You think you’re pregnant then?’ he asked.
‘I’d be very surprised if I wasn’t,’ she smiled dreamily, ‘after the job you did last night. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m carrying quintuplets!’
They laughed together and held hands over the table while they finished their coffee, then Philippe got up and started to pack his rucksack.
‘How long do you think it will be before I’m rescued?’ Alice asked.
‘Now that the weather has cleared, they should start routine missions again,’ he told her. ‘There should be a helicopter flying past here about nine o’clock.’
‘What should I do when I see it?’ she asked.
‘The best thing to do is climb up the path onto the slab over the hut, then wave something to attract their attention. When they see you, stretch your arms out and wave them up and down, that means you want assistance.’
‘I hope it works,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be stuck up here on my own for too long.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her, ‘you’ll be back in Chamonix in time for lunch.’
‘What are you going to do after I’ve been picked up?’ she asked.
‘Go back home and wait for you.’
He had a last look around the hut, picking up the empty wine bottle, the extra clothes Alice had worn and the spare crampons, then finished packing his rucksack. After that, he put his boots and jacket on, strapped the crampons in place, slipped his gloves on and was ready to go.
Alice put her boots on and went to the door with him. After a long, final embrace, she said, ‘Look after yourself.’
‘You too,’ he smiled. ‘See you soon, you and the babies.’ He patted her tummy gently, then turned and trudged down the path, pausing just once to wave as he turned the corner out of sight.
Alice watched him go with tears in her eyes, then went back into the hut and closed the door. ‘Come on,’ she told herself aloud, ‘get your butt into gear. It’s time to get this place cleaned up. You’re gonna be out of here in a couple of hours.’ Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she dragged the mattress back up onto the bunk then folded the blanket neatly on top of it. After that, she washed the coffee cups and tided the kitchen, collected her bits and pieces, stuffed them into her little backpack then sat down to wait, smiling as she reveled in her memories of the previous evening.
Philippe made good time to the Charpoua Glacier and was back in the hut by eight-thirty. He’d been worried about leaving a trail of footprints from the Couvercle Hut, but found that the snow on the path was frozen solid and that his crampons hardly made any marks at all.
All the way back he’d been thinking of Alice and the night they had just spent together. He was deeply glad that he’d had the courage to ask her to marry him, and even more glad that she’d accepted. He knew that he loved her beyond reason and that they were going to be very happy together. The worst thing now was going to be not seeing her for a while, going back to his house all alone to wait for her, wait until she’d done battle with that husband of hers and was free to be with him forever. God, how I wish her husband had been shot instead of the other man, he thought vehemently. Given half a chance, I’d do it myself!
After getting his breath back from the steep climb up the glacier, he carefully packed the borrowed clothes and crampons away under some supplies to make it look like they hadn’t been touched for ages, then set off again, to climb higher still up the huge river of ice.
Back at the Couvercle, Alice noticed the sun was starting to shine through the window, so she decided to climb up onto the great granite slab that covered the hut and wait up there for the helicopter to make its rounds. She turned the stove off, picked her rucksack up, then stepped outside, bolting the door behind her.
The path up to the slab was steep and slippery, but she managed to make it to the top without hurting herself. Once at the top, she found that despite the air temperature being below freezing, the early morning sun had already warmed the rock considerably, so she sat down and stretched her legs out to soak up the sunshine. She decided that the best way to make sure the helicopter saw her was to wave something big, so she delved into her backpack and took her plastic poncho and her telescopic walking pole out. By extending the pole and tying the bright purple poncho to its end, she made a very useful signal flag, which she lay on the rock next to her, ready for use.
Philippe had been climbing steadily for about twenty minutes when he first heard the distant beat of the rescue helicopter reverberating in the valley below. Turning around, he watched the blue and white machine come into view, following the centerline of the Mer de Glace as it snaked up the valley towards its source. He could just make out the observer sitting in the rear cabin with the door slid back, scanning the mountainside through binoculars. As soon as they go past the next ridge, he thought, they should spot her.
Sure enough, as he watched, the helicopter passed beyond the ridge that contained the glacier he was sitting on then suddenly veered to the left out of sight. With a sigh of deep satisfaction, he turned and started to climb again.
Alice jumped to her feet and slipped her backpack on as soon as the thumping reverberation of the helicopter started to echo up from the valley. It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. As soon as the machine came around the corner, she waved the makeshift flag above her head for all she was worth, screaming, ‘Over here… over here!’ at the top of her lungs.
Suddenly, the helicopter seemed to stop in mid air, then it turned abruptly and headed straight towards her. Alice felt a surge of relief flow through her body as she dropped the flag and waved her arms up and down.
As the blue and white helicopter climbed up the valley towards her, the noise grew steadily louder until she thought her eardrums would burst. Hoping the pilot had got the message that she needed help, she stopped waving her arms, and stuck her fingers in her ears as the thunderous machine settled into a hover just yards from the edge of the slab that she was standing on.
