Stephanie looked up at Nick, perched on a high guitarist’s stool. ‘I never saw any signs,’ she said. ‘They kept that well under wraps.’
‘They were rather thrown together during Scarlett’s final illness.’
‘I know, but I didn’t have her pegged as his type.’
George’s expression fell somewhere between mischief and distaste. ‘Some men find the more pneumatic sort of woman quite irresistible. I suspect Simon had never met anyone quite like Marina before. And she’s a bright girl. She has a degree in economics from Bucharest.’
For the second time in their conversation, Stephanie was completely wrong-footed. ‘She never mentioned that.’
‘I don’t imagine it came up.’
‘She was always very reticent about herself,’ Stephanie said, feeling the need to defend herself against her own guilt at not taking enough interest in Marina. ‘I used to have this fantasy that she was escaping a chequered past. That she worked so hard for Scarlett as a form of atonement.’ She blushed, embarrassed at revealing what felt like silliness.
‘She always seemed very capable to me,’ Nick chipped in. ‘Not that I had much to do with her.’
George winked. ‘She’s certainly proved herself capable of whisking Simon off from under our very noses. Are you thinking of going to Romania to see them?’
His words snapped Stephanie back to the reason for their conversation. ‘The FBI are getting nowhere. We’re clutching at straws, George. Marina – and Simon too – are the only people we can think of who might be able to come up with a lead. So yes, we’ll go where we need to.’
‘And Leanne? Have you spoken to her?’
‘We’ve been to Spain,’ Nick said. ‘We went to her house – to make sure Jimmy wasn’t there.’
George finished his coffee and stood up, shaking the creases back into his trousers. ‘Splendid. Mind you, from your description of what happened, one would have to conclude it was far beyond Leanne’s mental capacity to organise.’ He moved towards the door. ‘I will have Carla email you the contact details for my fellow trustees when I get back to the office.’
‘How’s the trust going?’ Nick’s question was apparently casual, making conversation on the way out.
‘To be honest, I don’t pay much attention,’ George said. ‘I’m really only there to make up the numbers. Marina and Simon do all the donkey work. After the estate was settled, there was a lot of money swilling round in the trust – something approaching five million, I believe. They’re doing great work out there, and Simon’s got a team of volunteers organising another Scarlett Swimathon. Which of course has a marvellous knock-on effect on the book sales, as you know, Stephanie. It looks like the Swimathon might become an annual event. There’s a lot of interest.’
‘Good for them. Thanks for coming over, George.’ Nick clapped him on the shoulder.
George turned and waggled his fingers at Stephanie. ‘Bye, darling. Don’t be a stranger, now. I have a couple of projects in the pipeline that are right up your street. I’ll talk to Maggie.’ It was the last thing on her mind then, but Stephanie knew she couldn’t ignore work indefinitely. Bills had to be paid, obligations met. ‘Thanks, George.’
The door closed behind him and Nick leaned against it. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Simon and Marina. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
Stephanie took a deep breath. ‘There’s only one thing stopping them from being the perfect happy family?’
5
Paddington Basin to Luton Airport at the crack of dawn; a surprising amount of traffic on the road, but no hold-ups, no anxious panic because of an inexplicable clot of standing traffic. Airport shops; a lightweight daypack, a water bottle, a waterproof jacket, a pair of trainers and some socks. Luton to Cluj; three hours of dozing uncomfortably above the clouds, not talking about what was on their minds in case anyone overheard. Finally, the hire car – a make and model neither of them had ever heard of – a Google map print-out and they were on the final leg of the journey Stephanie prayed would bring Jimmy back to her.
They’d spent the previous afternoon and evening formulating plans, discarding them, reforming them, refining them and finally coming up with a tentative course of action that they both knew would have to be infinitely flexible. The important thing was that they were clear about their primary objective – they were there to locate Jimmy. Everything else depended on that.
And, because Nick maintained it never hurt to go belt and braces, they’d sent another text to Leanne’s phone. ‘Totally understand, I know how fond of Jimmy you were. Maybe I could come on my own? Get my nails done for old times’ sake? Sx’ Nick had read it and nodded. ‘I bet you don’t get a reply at all this time.’
Once they were clear of the airport and sure they were headed in the right direction – south-west into the mountains – they pulled off at the first petrol station, a low brick building that looked like a refugee from the 1950s, its modern pumps wildly out of time. Nick went into the kiosk and returned with bottled water, chocolate, two packs of sliced salami and a packet of plain biscuits. While he was inside, Stephanie put on the socks and trainers. Phase one of their plan was to find the orphanage then walk past as if they were hikers. The drawback to this plan was that the only clothes Stephanie had with her were the ones she’d packed for a Californian holiday. Strappy sundresses and shorts were fine for Disneyland and the beach but not very appropriate for walking in the Transylvanian mountains, even on a fine spring day like this. Hence the airport shopping. With her one pair of jeans and an old plaid shirt of Nick’s, she looked almost credible.
As they climbed higher, the air coming through the vents grew a little cooler. The landscape changed from lush green rolling hills dotted with rangy sheep to wooded slopes punctured with rocky outcrops. It was easy to see how Bram Stoker conjured Dracula against this dramatic and mostly empty backdrop. Occasionally they passed through villages that barely earned the title – a few houses clinging to a hill, or a clutch of cottages occupying a small plateau – but there was nothing to tempt them to pause in their journey.
After an hour and a half of driving up twisting narrow roads, Stephanie realised they must be closing in on Timonescu. Her stomach felt simultaneously tight and fluttery. ‘Take me through the plan again,’ she said. ‘This is not the kind of thing I do. I’m not a woman of action. Not like you.’
Nick grinned. ‘I’m not a woman of action either.’
She gave his upper arm a playful punch. ‘Nobody loves a smartarse. You know what I mean.’
‘It’s simple. We’re going to drive past the orphanage, but not so slowly that we attract attention. We’ll carry on a bit further and find somewhere discreet to leave the car. Then we’ll put on our backpacks and walk back past the orphanage, scouting as we go for vantage points where we can watch the place.’
‘And then we sit tight?’
‘That’s right. Till Simon or Marina or both of them emerge. Then we try to follow them. And see where that takes us.’
‘It’s not exactly watertight, is it?’ Stephanie tried not to show how nervous she felt about Nick’s plan. The truth was that what had seemed like a brilliant idea in the security of his flat was scarier than sitting in an interrogation room with Vivian McKuras. Much scarier.
‘We have to be flexible. We’ll stay in touch on our phones. At least on these roads they won’t get much of a head start. And it’s not like there are a lot of side roads to turn off on.’