‘What?’ she said anxiously. ‘Who was it… what did they say?’
‘It was a woman,’ Philippe said slowly. ‘She said Sir Ross wasn’t taking any calls this morning because it was the day of his wife’s funeral.’
‘Today?’ Alice asked incredulously. ‘Up at Minster at Stone?’
‘No,’ Philippe said, still dazed. ‘She said the ceremony was to be held at Northolt Crematorium in west London at one o’clock. She said if I wanted to, I would be able to contact Sir Ross later this afternoon at his country house, but after today, he would be away in America for some time.’
‘A crematorium?’ Alice asked aghast, ‘then America?’ ‘We’ve got to stop him!’ She looked at the large clock hanging in the terminal building, which read eleven forty-five. ‘Come on,’ she said, grabbing his arm and propelling him out of the telephone kiosk. ‘We can easily make it to Northolt by one o’clock, it’s not that far from here.’ They hurried out of the terminal building and quickly found their hire car in the car park outside. Alice decided that since she knew her way around London and was used to driving on the left, that she would drive.
Philippe tossed their luggage into the car while Alice quickly checked the courtesy map that had been supplied with the car. As soon as they were both strapped in she accelerated out of the airport area and joined the A233 heading towards Central London. Once they were on their way and Alice had had time to think, she said, ‘I wonder what his game is? Why a cremation, why not the family vault?’
‘That’s easy,’ Philippe replied, still sounding a little dazed. ‘He wants to burn Louisa’s body in order to get rid of the evidence. Once she is burned, he can go to America and claim your company in safety, without the possibility of someone saying he got the wrong body.’
Suddenly the implication of what was happening hit Alice. This was Philippe’s wife they were talking about. That bastard husband of hers had just dealt him another devastating blow. Philippe had planned to bring her body back to France and lay her to rest in the small churchyard near their home. If Ross got away with cremating her, that would never happen.
She thought about stopping at a telephone box and phoning the crematorium to have the service delayed, but decided that it was highly unlikely they would take any action on the strength of a phone call. No, I’ve got to get to the crematorium in person, she thought. I’ve got to make sure they don’t destroy her body… for Philippe’s sake. He’s suffered enough already. With that thought, she floored the gas pedal and overtook a long line of cars that were slowing them down. Once she was back on clear road, she glanced across at Philippe and saw he was staring blankly into space, as if mesmerized by the windscreen wipers flipping back and forth in front of his eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said reassuringly, ‘we’ll get there in time.’
Alice decided to follow the route she knew well into Central London, then turned west onto the A40, which led straight to Northolt. The combination of bad weather and heavy traffic made the trip particularly slow and tedious, and by the time they got to the Northolt turnoff on the A40, it was already one-fifteen.
Throughout the ninety-minute trip, Philippe had been quiet and withdrawn, saying only a few words in reply to Alice’s attempts at conversation and reassurance. She’d driven like a demon: speeding, overtaking whenever possible, cutting-up other drivers and jumping traffic lights, but it hadn’t helped much. She’d become more and more frustrated as the time ticked away and had cursed herself for not taking the longer but probably quicker route around the M25.
Finally they were off the A40 and with Philippe craning forward to help with the navigation, they followed the local signs for the crematorium. The rain was still beating down ten minutes later as they finally swung in through the crematorium gates and followed the curving, tree-lined driveway up to a modern stone building, just in time to see a small group of mourners, dressed in black, huddling under umbrellas, emerge from the chapel. Behind them, above the building, a fine skein of gray smoke curled upward from a tall redbrick chimney and disappeared into the murky sky. Alice took the whole scene in at once and her heart sank.
She stood on the brake pedal, abruptly pulled the car into the side of the driveway, and turned the engine off. ‘We’re too late,’ she said flatly, looking down at her hands. ‘I’m sorry Philippe, I’ve failed you.’
Philippe stared out through the rain-splattered windscreen towards the group of people, then swung his gaze up to the chimney, reaching the same conclusion as Alice. ‘You know those people?’ he asked softly.
‘My husband, my son, Alex Crawford and Mrs Holland our housekeeper… Oh Philippe,’ she choked, bursting into tears and burying her face in her hands. ‘I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault.’
Philippe slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her face close into his chest. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said softly as she sobbed against him. ‘You are not to blame.’
‘But it does matter,’ Alice insisted through her tears. ‘That was Louisa… your wife… I know how much you wanted her to be buried at home.’
‘Look,’ he whispered, lifting her wet face and putting his cheek against hers, ‘the living are more important than the dead. It is not your fault, you did your best. When all this trouble is sorted out, I will be able to at least have her ashes.’
Alice brought her arms up around his neck and clung to him in silence for a few moments until her tears subsided, then slid back into her own seat, gratefully taking the handkerchief he offered. They sat and watched as the group of mourners walked slowly to the car park, where Ross and Charles got into Ross’s Jaguar, while Alex Crawford helped Mrs Holland into his Toyota Corolla. Alice’s heart went out to young Charles. She could see he was being incredibly brave and grown up, and she wanted to jump out of the car and gather him up in her arms and comfort him, but that would have to wait until she’d sorted his father out. As she thought about Ross, her sorrow gave way to anger and she was gripped by a powerful desire to strangle him.
The two-car motorcade with the Jaguar in the lead, turned out of the car park and headed down the drive to where Alice and Philippe were parked. Alice hid her face with the handkerchief as they passed, then started the car and swung around in a U-turn to follow. ‘Where are we going now?’ Philippe asked.
‘You said that Ross was going to be at the country house later this afternoon? Well, that’s where we’re going. I’m going to tell him exactly what I think of him and the games he’s been playing.’
‘Do you think he will go there with your son?’
‘No, he plans to go away tomorrow and Charles was wearing his school uniform, so it’s my bet that Ross will drop him at Eton then carry on down to the farm alone. Alex will probably go straight back to London with Mrs Holland.’
They followed the two cars back towards the A312 and sure enough, Alex turned north towards the A40 and London while Ross turned south towards the M4 and Windsor. Alice followed the Jaguar at a discreet distance until suddenly, just before they were due to turn onto the M4, Ross indicated and turned left into the car park of a pub-restaurant. ‘Ross must be buying Charles lunch before he takes him back,’ Alice said, cruising on past the restaurant. ‘That’s very big of him. We might as well carry on down and wait for him.’
‘Don’t you want to stop somewhere for some lunch?’ Philippe asked.