Presumed Dead, page 3
Then, not long afterwards, they’d received another letter, this time from Aunt Freda’s lawyer here in Weggis, regretfully informing them that she had died from a heart attack whilst at her new husband’s estate in England. His mother had been very upset by Freda’s death and by the fact that they had not been left anything in the will, especially since Freda had been sending them money regularly and had promised to pay for David’s college education. She’d been sure there was something fishy about her sister-in-law’s death, but there’d been nothing she could do about it. David remembered how he’d cried for a week, then vowed that one day, when he was a man, he would go to Europe and find out what really happened to her.
But without Freda’s help, the following years had been tough, working his way through college, then finding a job and supporting his mother. He’d more or less given up the idea of ever getting to Europe when the chance of a trip at the Bureau’s expense had come up. He’d arranged to fly home a week after the rest of the team so that he could take his long awaited European vacation. Having his return airfare covered by the Bureau left him with just his hire car and accommodation to pay for the week, which he figured was a pretty good deal.
He’d intended to look Webley up when he got to England and couldn’t believe his luck when he’d found out the Englishman was going to be in Monaco at the same time he was there. He’d managed to arrange an invitation to the party on the rich Italian guy’s yacht through the embassy, but had been badly disturbed by the reception he’d been given by his uncle. It had been preying on his mind ever since.
He realized now, after thinking about it all morning, that he’d been very naïve. Aunt Freda had been such a wonderful person, he’d just assumed that the man she’d chosen to marry would be wonderful too. He’d built up a picture in his mind of Sir Ross as an elderly gentleman, living on a large country estate in regal fashion, who would accept the nephew of his dear departed wife as a long lost family member and invite him to stay.
Instead, his uncle had turned out to be a swarthy, smooth, rather petulant playboy, much younger than he’d expected, with the same guarded, nervous look in his eye as the hundreds of corrupt businessmen he’d dealt with during his time at the Bureau. Webley, he decided, was definitely a man with secrets that needed looking into.
By the time the orchestra finally packed their instruments away, David was thoroughly relaxed. He took a stroll around the town, and suddenly realized that he’d never been in such a peaceful, clean place in all his life. The people were happy and friendly, the children were well behaved, there was no litter or graffiti, no dog’s mess on the sidewalks, no gangs of kids hanging around making trouble, nobody who looked like he wanted to rip your head off. Walking the narrow streets, he felt completely safe for the first time in his life. This place, he thought, is the absolute antithesis of New York. No wonder Aunt Freda loved it so much.
It was after five when he finally made his way back to the car and drove two hundred yards along the quay to the waterfront hotel where he’d booked a room in advance. The Beau Rivage Hotel would normally have been way out of his price range at over two hundred dollars a night, but he’d decided that since he would only be here in Weggis for one night he would live in style, in memory of Aunt Freda. He pulled through the gates into the small graveled car park and was just getting out of the car when a wizened old man in a porter’s uniform approached saying, ‘Guten Abend, mein Herr.’
David couldn’t speak a word of German. ‘You speak English?’ he asked hopefully.
The old man smiled, ‘We all speak English here at the Beau Rivage, sir. Can I take your suitcase?’
David didn’t think the old man looked strong enough to lift the heavy case, but handed it over anyhow, and was surprised to see him carry it up the hotel’s steps and into the reception area with ease. Inside, a pleasant receptionist, who also spoke perfect English, greeted him and had him fill in a registration form before handing his room key to the porter.
While they were riding up in the lift, David wondered if the old man might know anything about Aunt Freda, so he asked, ‘Do you live here in Weggis?’
‘Yes sir, I have lived here all my life. It is a very beautiful place.’
‘It sure is,’ David replied. ‘I had an aunt who came from these parts, name of Freda von Alpenstein. Did you ever hear of her?’
‘You are the nephew of the Baroness?’ the old man asked incredulously. ‘From New York?’
‘That’s right! How did you know?’
‘I worked at the Schloss Alpenstein as chauffeur to the Baron and Baroness for many years,’ he said fondly. ‘When the Baroness came home from America after her brother had died, she spoke of nothing but her fine American nephew and how he would soon be coming to visit. I did not think it would take you twenty-five years to arrive!’
David was choked. So she’d really meant it about the vacation! And he couldn’t believe his luck, actually finding someone who knew her. He followed the porter out of the lift and down the hall to his room. Once inside, the old man put the suitcase down, and going to the balcony doors, opened them wide beckoning David to follow him out. The balcony overlooked the lake, which now had a golden hue on it from the setting sun. A pair of pure white swans glided by on the mirror flat water creating V shaped bow waves that glistened like fire as they caught the dying rays of the sun.
The old man was pointing along the coastline to a small wooded headland about a mile away. ‘You see where the land sticks out into the lake there? That is where the Schloss Alpenstein stands. If you look carefully, you can see part of it above the trees.’
David followed the old man’s finger and could see a gray pitched roof and two pepper-pot towers built from granite in the seventeenth century Swiss style. In the fading light, the chateau had a haunted air, but was everything he’d ever imagined it would be. ‘Who lives there now?’ he asked.
‘After the death of the Baroness, her husband put it up for sale and it was bought by a businessman, who converted it into a luxury hotel and country club.’
‘Do you think they would let me go and take a look around?’ David asked.
‘I do not see why not, but it is not the same as when the Baroness lived there,’ the old man said sadly. ‘All of her beautiful things are gone, and many parts of the Schloss have been changed.’
David stared out over the water at the building for a moment, then said, ‘I was hoping to find someone here who would be able to tell me a little about my aunt, especially about how she died. Can you stay and talk awhile? There’s so much I want to know.’
‘I am sorry sir, but I must get back to my work,’ the old man replied, but seeing the disappointment on David’s face, he added, ‘Tomorrow is my day off. Why don’t you come to my house and meet my wife? She was cook and housekeeper at the Schloss. I am sure that she would like to meet you.’
David was elated. ‘That would be great, thank you. You don’t know what this means to me!’
‘Very well, then. I will see you at ten o’clock. My address is number five Seestrasse, right here in the town.’
David thanked him again profusely and promised to be on time.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the gathering dusk, two hard looking men of Mediterranean appearance had just arrived in town and were checking the number plates on the cars in the hotel car park.
.
Back up in the mountains, Alice was feeling much better. Philippe had been as good as his word about looking after her. One of the first things he’d done after checking her dressings and giving her some painkillers, was to fix a makeshift toilet for her around the back of the hut, then he’d helped her out of bed so she could use it.
At lunchtime, he’d made her some stew and she’d managed to sit up in bed to eat it. After that, dosed up with painkillers again, she’d spent the afternoon napping, and was now lying half awake, thinking back over her fourteen year relationship with Ross, trying to figure out exactly what it was she’d done to make him want to kill her.
She’d first come to England as a twenty-one year old student, over from the States on an exchange at Cambridge. It had been during that time, at a weekend party on a country estate, that she’d first met Sir Ross Webley, a baronet and one-time subaltern in the Grenadier Guards. Ross was fifteen years her senior, but she’d been enormously attracted to him. To her, he was everything she expected a member of the British nobility to be: tall, dark and handsome, with a dashing air and a Guards and Eton accent.
As a man, he was in great demand by society, never failing to charm and amuse wherever he went. Those who had known him for a long time, pitied him the tragic loss of his first wife, and used that to explain his apparent lack of interest in women. He’d been a constant source of disappointment to the many debutantes and their ambitious mothers, who’d seen him as an extremely eligible bachelor. But he’d remained staunchly single. Until little Alice Sanderson had come along.
She remembered how she’d found him extremely exciting, a condition that had been enhanced by the fact that he’d never tried to take her to his bed. Most of the other men she’d been out with had a tendency to end each sentence with a proposition, but Ross had been different. She’d interpreted his reticence in that department as noble and chivalrous, the mark of a true gentleman. It hadn’t been long before he’d proposed, and she’d accepted, gladly.
Thereafter, a new life had started for her as Lady Webley. They’d honeymooned for a month in Monte Carlo, where Ross had lost a small fortune every night at the tables before crawling into her bed in the early hours of each morning, where they’d both stayed until noon each day. That part of the relationship had been worth waiting for and she’d been ecstatically happy and fulfilled. By the time the honeymoon was over she’d been in what Ross quaintly referred to as ‘a delicate condition’.
After their return to England, they’d divided their time between his house in London and his house in the country, although the country house wasn’t the original Webley family seat. The original had been an enormous estate in Hertfordshire, but over the years Ross had been forced to sell the manor house, the adjoining farmland then most of the other property the family had owned.
Finally, he’d been left with just the house in London and Moor End Farm, one hundred acres of rundown pastureland on the South Downs between Brighton and Eastbourne. Both properties had been in drastic need of a woman’s touch.
Alice employed an architect and set him to work restoring the London house to its original Victorian splendor, whilst she personally designed and supervised the modernization of the farmhouse. Ross had been happy to let her get on with it and allowed her to do whatever she wanted. She’d had all the old farm buildings, with the exception of the main house and the largest barn, demolished to make way for an airstrip for Ross. He was passionate about flying and she’d thought that if he could keep his aircraft at home it would save him the long drive to Redhill or Shoreham every time he wanted to fly. When it was complete, Ross had been delighted with what she’d done.
When their son, Charles, was born she’d been overjoyed and devoted all her time and energy to his welfare. She’d wanted to do everything for him herself and staunchly refused her husband’s suggestion that they employ a nanny. The early years had gone by reasonably quickly though, and the time had soon come for young Charles to go off to prep school. When he’d gone, Alice missed him dreadfully and with Ross away much of the time too, she’d felt at a loose end.
To keep occupied she’d busied herself with charitable work, which had eventually absorbed so much of her time that she’d started to become tired and run down. One day, Ross had surprised her by employing a fulltime secretary, who joined the household staff and lived in. It hadn’t been long before the new secretary was settled and everyone agreed that Alex Crawford was an absolute treasure.
After Alex’s arrival, Alice started having time on her hands again so took to spending weeks at a time in the States to be near her father, who was retired and suffering with ever declining health. They had spent hours in blissful companionship talking about the old days and all the things they used to do together when she was a little girl.
Another great source of happiness for Alice were her frequent visits back to Geneva, where she’d been at finishing school, and to Chamonix. She would often get Ross to drop her at Geneva when he was off on one of his trips, and from there, she would hire a car and head up into the mountains to walk, relax and enjoy the French cuisine. She’d become an accomplished high level walker and had grown to know the Chamonix valley and surrounding mountain trails extremely well.
Alice sighed deeply and opened her eyes, still no nearer to knowing the reason behind Ross’s murderous actions. Outside, the shadows had lengthened and the snowy peaks had taken on an exquisite pink hue. She carefully inched herself out of bed and joined Philippe just outside the hut, where he was sitting on a slab of granite staring at the starkly beautiful mountains.
‘This is always my favorite time of day,’ she said, easing herself down next to him.
‘And mine,’ he replied.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching as the pink peaks gradually turned a deeper red, then Alice asked, ‘Philippe, who is Luba?’
‘Why do you ask?’ he said softly.
‘During the night, when you were looking after me, trying to make me warm, I remember, you kept whispering that name.’
His gaze dropped from the mountain peaks, down onto the cold, icy glacier that stretched away before them. ‘Louisa, or Luba as I called her, was my wife,’ he said very gently. ‘She died on the ridge up there at the beginning of the summer when we were climbing the Aiguille Verte together.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Alice said, reaching out and squeezing his hand with her bandaged fingers.
Seeming not to notice, he continued, ‘We had reached the summit and were resting, enjoying the view. We had unhitched ourselves from our climbing rope and Luba said she wanted to take a photograph of me. She was a fine photographer. She put her rucksack down near the edge and it started to topple. She reached out to save it, but lost her balance and fell. They searched for three whole days but never found her. I searched for two weeks more after that, and I have come back here every weekend since and searched for her, dreaming of somehow, by some miracle, finding her alive. When the winter comes I will have to stop, but I will returned next year in the spring to search for her again.
‘She looked very much like you,’ he said, turning to look at Alice, ‘except she had darker hair. When I opened the door last night and saw you there in the shadows, for one crazy moment I thought she had come back to me. Then later when it was dark and I was close to you, I allowed myself to believe it for a while.’
Alice’s heart went out to him, but all she could think of saying was, ‘I really am very sorry.’ They sat in silence for another few minutes, then as the sun finally left the peaks and the shadows started to creep up from the valley leaving them in chilly darkness, they went inside.
The hut was really nothing more than a wooden shed about twelve feet wide by eight feet deep with a small window set high up in the rear wall. The only furniture was a table in the center and a pair of wooden bunk beds built against each of the two side walls. There was no heating and very few creature comforts. Philippe lit his gas lantern then prepared some dinner for them both on his Primus stove, which they ate in silence before retiring for the night, this time in separate beds.
.
Back down on the yacht off Monaco, Ross was enjoying dinner. He’d spent the day conspicuously on deck, in the swimming pool or in the salon playing cards, making sure that there would be plenty of witnesses to swear to his whereabouts during the day if the need arose. During the afternoon, he’d received a text message on his cell phone from Alex, which simply read ALL OK. That was their agreed signal, which meant he’d managed to lay the false trail into the mountains as planned, so that when Alice was reported missing, the rescue services would know where to start looking for her body.
Just as the main course was being cleared, Ross excused himself saying he’d promised to telephone his wife in Chamonix during the evening. He moved away from the table but stayed in the dining room. Taking out his phone, he sat at a small corner table and dialed Alice’s cell phone. After getting transferred immediately to voicemail, he dialed the hotel’s main number. When the call was answered, he said, ‘Madame Webley s'il vous plaît?’
The hotel operator connected the call to suite thirty-two and let it ring for half a minute before coming back on the line. ‘Madame does not answer, Monsieur.’
‘That’s very strange,’ Ross said, just loud enough for the others to hear. ‘Is she in the restaurant, do you know?’
‘One moment please, I will find the manager for you.’ Within seconds, the manager came on the line.
‘Monsieur Webley here,’ Ross said. ‘I am trying to reach my wife, is she in the restaurant do you know?’
‘I am sorry, Monsieur, but Madame is not in the hotel.’
‘Not in the hotel?’ Ross asked incredulously. ‘Has she gone out for the evening?’
‘No Monsieur, she went out early this morning dressed for walking, and has not returned.’
‘I see. Oh well, not to worry, probably met up with friends and is eating out. Get her to call me when she comes in, will you? She has the number.’
‘Yes Monsieur, I will put a message with her key.’
Ross thanked him, rang off, and then wandered slowly back to the dining table seemingly deep in thought. By this time, most of the guests had picked up on the conversation he’d been having and were bursting with curiosity. One of the women at the table asked, ‘Is everything all right Ross? You look worried.’
Ross looked up absently, ‘What… oh yes, fine. It’s just that my wife went out early this morning to do some walking in the mountains and hasn’t returned to the hotel yet. I’m a little concerned about her.’
