‘They told me not to.’ Her eyes filled with dismay. ‘They’ve got Adam and Emilia. They said they’d kill them if I told anyone at all.’
‘They’re alive? You’re sure?’
‘I spoke to my father. He said “we’re both well”. He said “we”.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ said Knox.
‘But I’m late,’ she said. ‘I’m so late.’
‘Then let’s get moving, eh?’ He took the holdall from her, led her down to the motorbike, pulled it out of the trees. ‘Where to?’ he asked.
‘They said to turn right after an orange roadside stall. There was a stall. It looked sort of orange.’ She started breathing fast, fighting down panic. ‘I must have got it wrong.’
He could see how close to the edge she was. He put his hand to her cheek. ‘Listen to me, Rebecca,’ he said. ‘Kidnappers have strong nerves. They have to, by definition; they wouldn’t be in the business otherwise. They’re greedy too. Five hundred million ariary is a ton of money. So this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You understand?’
She nodded, covered his hand with her own. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she said. ‘Things got on top of me.’
‘It was my fault,’ he told her. ‘I should have told you the truth about myself that first night. I had good reasons not to, I swear, but even so I should have-’
‘It’s okay,’ she said. She gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Explanations can wait. Right now we need to get going.’
He nodded, straddled the bike, balanced the holdall on his lap. Rebecca climbed on behind, anchored herself to him with her right arm. He drove to the main road, turned towards Ilakaka. It was about ten minutes before they reached a vividly orange roadside stall with a thinly grassed avenue on the right just after it. He didn’t look around, lest she take it as reproach, just swung right down the track, followed it to a bright glade with an ancient tamarind at its centre. He circled it once, idled to a stop, waited for Rebecca to get off, then rocked the bike up on to its stands.
‘There should be a bag,’ she said. ‘A yellow bag.’
‘They must have been back already. Write a note. Explain what happened. Assure them you have the money and want to give it to them. Give them a way to contact you.’
She nodded and took a pen from her bag, uncapped it with her teeth, was scribbling her note when she hesitated and looked around. ‘There’s no mobile signal in Eden,’ she said.
‘So we’ll stay in Tulear tonight.’
‘What was the name of that hotel?’
He told her. She wrote it down, pinned the note with a stone at the base of the tamarind. He couldn’t help but notice that she was doing everything with her right hand. ‘What’s up with your left arm?’ he frowned, as she walked back to the bike.
‘My shoulder,’ she told him. ‘I dislocated it when I crashed the Jeep.’
‘For fuck’s sake! Why didn’t you say?’
‘It’s okay. I put it back.’
‘You what?’
‘It’s no big deal,’ she assured him, as she climbed back astride the bike. ‘You just slam it against the nearest tree.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
I
Boris reached Eden mid-afternoon. He saw the boat first, then the boathouse and the sign. He set down his bags and walked along the edge of the trees, the Heckler amp; Koch in his pocket ready for a quick draw in case anyone should appear; but no one did.
He made his way up the track to the compound. There was no one there either. The main building was locked and all the cabins were empty. There was no sign of Knox at all. He went back down to the beach, stripped off his trousers, waded out to the boat. There was a bag on deck, tagged as belonging to Matthew Richardson, Knox’s alias. Boris opened it up and rummaged around. There was dive-gear inside, expensive-looking stuff, not the sort you’d just forget about, or leave lying around for the benefit any light-fingered passer-by.
No doubt about it, Knox would be coming back aboard this boat some time very soon.
And Boris intended to be waiting.
II
Knox took it slow on the drive back to Tulear, now that he knew Rebecca had a sore shoulder. Even so hampered, however, she was a good pillion passenger, taking her cues from him, leaning as he leaned. Her chin was on his shoulder, her mouth against his neck, her breath upon his throat. Every time he braked to avoid a pothole or rock in the road, deceleration pressed her against his back.
The afternoon had sped by. The sun began setting as they approached Tulear. Knox turned on the headlight only to discover that it was broken. Gloaming turned into night. There was a cacophony ahead, a wedding party blocking the road, tooting horns and yelling exultantly out their windows. He could have pushed and wended his way through, but instead he waited until the long train had finally passed. It made him realise that he didn’t want this ride to end. Maybe Rebecca felt the same; he could feel her arm tightening around his chest.
They reached their hotel. She climbed gingerly off the back. ‘Why don’t you sort out our rooms?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll go get some bandages and things for your hands.’ He found a chemist open a couple of blocks away, bought all the first-aid supplies that could possibly be of use, added a bag of ice from a general store. He could hear water running when he arrived outside her room, knocked. The water stopped and she opened her door a few moments later, a towel wrapped around her waist, her blouse unbuttoned but clasped closed with her right hand.
He held up his bags of shopping. ‘You want me to do your dressings?’ he asked.
‘Please,’ she said. She walked to her bed, stretched out on her back, still holding her blouse. He closed her door, went to kneel beside her, rested the ice-pack upon her left shoulder. He inspected her hands first. They were still dirty from the day, despite her efforts at washing them, but at least the coral cuts seemed to be healing well. He cleaned her left palm with gel, then painted it with iodine and put on new dressings. He motioned for her right hand. Her blouse fell open a little way as she held it out. She made no effort to close it. He looked down at her, then up into her eyes, already there waiting for him. She reached out and touched his cheek, stroked it with her thumb.
He said softly: ‘You asked me the other day if I had someone special.’
‘You’re married,’ she said. ‘You have a wife.’
He thought of Emilia, of the strong possibility that he was Michel’s father, of the complications that would surely ensue if he let temptation get the better of him. ‘I have a family,’ he told her.
Her face fell; she looked stricken. ‘Stay with me,’ she said. ‘Just for tonight.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You mean you don’t want to.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean I can’t.’
Her mobile rang at that moment, its buzzer making it shiver and rotate upon the bedside table. They looked at it and then at each other with the same thought: the kidnappers had found the note. Rebecca breathed in deep as she picked it up and answered it. ‘Yes?’ she said. Colour seemed to drain from her complexion as she listened. Her expression hardened. She gave directions to the hotel, ended the call and set her phone back down on the bedside table.
‘Well?’ frowned Knox. ‘Who was it?’
‘My business partner, Titch,’ she told him. ‘He’s just flown in from England.’
III
Rebecca clutched the ice-pack to her shoulder when she went down to meet Titch, dribbles of water running coldly down her flanks. His taxi pulled up. He took his time paying the fare and then retrieving his luggage, as though apprehensive of his welcome. Rebecca went over to greet him, kissed him on either cheek. ‘What are you doing here, Titch?’ she frowned.
‘Your phone-call,’ he said, shouldering his overnight bag. ‘It sounded like you could use some help.’
‘You flew all this way because of a phone call?’