It’s only when the flight takes off that I begin to relax a little. But I know that even when I arrive in Bangkok, I’ll be looking over my shoulder the whole time. I doubt the feeling of menace will ever leave me; even the fact that Millie is safe at school isn’t enough to allay my fears that Jack will somehow get to us. I had thought to bring her with me, I had wanted to tell Janice that Jack had given Millie his place on the plane and ask her to bring her to the airport. But it’s better that she isn’t involved in what is to come. I’m going to have a hard enough time keeping my nerve; to have to watch over Millie at the same time might prove too much for me. After everything I’ve been through in the last few hours, the slightest thing could make me lose the control I’m trying so hard to maintain. But I remind myself that there will be time enough to let my mask slip a little when I arrive in Thailand, once I’m behind closed doors.
Going through passport control in Bangkok is a nightmare, the fear of Jack’s hand on my shoulder never greater, although it would have been impossible for him to have got here before me. Even so, I find myself checking the face of the taxi driver before I get into his car to make sure it isn’t Jack sitting behind the wheel.
At the hotel, I’m warmly greeted by Mr Ho, the manager who wrote the letter about me and, when he expresses surprise that I am alone, I express equal surprise that he hasn’t received Mr Angel’s email asking him to look after me until he arrives. Mr Ho tells me he will be delighted to do so and commiserates when I tell him that work commitments have kept my husband from joining me until Wednesday.
I sense the manager hesitate—is it possible, he asks, that my husband, Mr Jack Angel, is the Mr Angel mentioned in some of the English newspapers recently in relation to the Antony Tomasin case? I admit, in strictest confidence, that he and my husband are indeed one and the same, and that we hope we can count on him to be discreet as we would rather nobody knows where we are staying. He tells me that he heard on the international news yesterday that Mr Tomasin was acquitted and, when I confirm that he heard correctly, he says that Mr Angel must have been disappointed. And I tell him that yes, Mr Angel was very disappointed, especially as it was the first time he had lost a case. As Mr Ho signs me in, he asks me how I’ve been keeping—a delicate nod to my mental state—and if I had a good flight. When I tell him that I found it hard to sleep, he says the least he can do for such a good client as Mr Angel is upgrade us to one of their suites. The relief I feel that I won’t have to go back to the room where I realised I had married a monster is so great I feel like kissing him.
Mr Ho insists on escorting me to my new room himself. It crosses my mind that he might wonder why we always stay in one of the smaller rooms when Jack is such an illustrious lawyer so I make sure to mention that my husband likes to maintain anonymity when we’re on holiday rather than draw attention to himself by throwing money around. I don’t put it quite like that but he gets the gist.
Once Mr Ho has left, I turn the television on and search for Sky News. Even in Asia, the Tomasin verdict is big news and, as they show Antony Tomasin addressing reporters as he came out of court the previous day, Jack appears in the background, besieged by journalists. Unable to watch any longer, I turn the television off quickly. I’m desperate for a shower, but there are two calls I need to make—one to Janice and the other to Jack, to tell them that I’ve arrived safely. Luckily, both are numbers that I know by heart—Jack’s from when I first met him and Janice’s because it’s the most important number in the world. I look at my watch; it’s three in the afternoon local time, which means it’s nine in the morning in England. As the wife of Jack Angel, I make sure to get my priorities right and call him first. I have a momentary panic when I realise that anytime over the past year, he could have changed his number, so when I get through to his voicemail I feel weak with relief. I take a deep breath to steady myself and leave the sort of message a loving wife would leave, the sort of message I might have left had I been able to carry on living the dream.
‘Hello, darling, it’s me. I know you told me you might not pick up, but I was rather hoping you would—as you can tell, I’m missing you already. But maybe you’re still in bed? Anyway, I’ve arrived safely and guess what? Mr Ho felt so sorry for me being on my own that he’s upgraded us to a better room! Even so, I know I’m going to hate being here without you. Anyway, I hope the press aren’t hounding you too much and that you’re managing to get through all your paperwork. Don’t work too hard and, if you’ve got a minute, please call me back, I’m in room 107, otherwise I’ll try you again later. I love you, bye for now.’
I hang up and dial Janice’s mobile. At this time on a Saturday morning, she and Millie should have finished breakfast and be on their way to the stables for Millie’s riding lesson. When Janice doesn’t answer immediately my heart pounds with fear, in case Jack has somehow managed to get to Millie after all. But eventually she does and, while I speak to her, I remember to mention that Esther and her children will be calling in to see Millie the next day. Then I speak to Millie and just knowing she is safe, at least for the time being, makes me feel better.
I walk into the bathroom. The shower stands in the corner, concealed behind opaque doors, which means I can’t use it as there is always the possibility, however slight, that I may come out and find Jack standing on the other side of them. I look at the bath and work out that if I leave the door open, as well as that of the bedroom, I’ll be able to see through to the sitting room and, so, the main door. Reassured, I fill the bath, strip off my clothes and lower myself tentatively into the hot water. As it rises up around my shoulders, the tension that engulfed me the moment I heard Jack step into the house at three o’clock the previous afternoon melts away and I begin to cry in huge racking sobs, which tear from my body at an alarming rate.
By the time I manage to pull myself together, the water is so cold I’m shivering. Climbing out, I wrap myself in one of the white towelling robes provided by the hotel and go into the bedroom. I’m desperately hungry, so I pick up the room-service menu. I know I’m going to have to leave my room at some point if I’m to carry on pretending that everything is all right but I can’t, not yet. I order a club sandwich, but, when it arrives, I’m too frightened to open the door, even with the chain on, in case I find Jack standing there. Instead, I call for the tray to be left outside my room, which isn’t much better because there’s still the possibility that he’ll be lurking in the corridor, waiting to bundle me back inside as soon as I open the door. Finding the courage to open the door wide enough to pull the tray into the room is a major triumph and I wish I’d thought of ordering a bottle of wine along with the sandwich so that I could celebrate. But I remind myself that there will be plenty of time to celebrate later, when it is all over, approximately five days from now, if my calculations are correct. Whether they are or not is something I have no way of knowing. At least, not yet.
When I’ve finished eating, I unpack my case, look at my watch. It’s only five-thirty and because nobody would expect me to go down to dinner alone on my first night in the hotel, I feel justified in staying in my room for the rest of the day. Feeling suddenly exhausted, I lie down on the bed, not really expecting to be able to sleep. But I do and, when I next open my eyes and find that the room is in darkness, I leap out of bed, my heart thumping in my chest, and run around the room, turning on all the lights. I know I’m not going to be able to sleep again for fear of opening my eyes and finding Jack standing over me so I resign myself to spending a long night with only my thoughts for company.
When morning comes, I get dressed, pick up the phone and dial Jack’s number.
‘Hello, darling, I wasn’t really expecting to get you because it’s two in the morning in England so you must be fast asleep, but I thought I’d leave a message for you to listen to when you wake up. I meant to phone you before I went to sleep last night, but I lay down on the bed at six in the evening and only woke up ten minutes ago, which just goes to show how tired I was! I’m going down to breakfast in a minute but I’ve got no idea how I’m going to spend the rest of the day—I might go for a walk, but I’ll probably just hang around the pool. Will you give me a ring when you wake up? You can always leave a message at the reception if I’m not in my room. I feel an awfully long way away from you—which I am, of course. Anyway, I love you and miss you, don’t forget to phone me.’
I make my way down for breakfast. Mr Ho is on duty. He asks if I slept well and I tell him that I did. He suggests I eat out on the terrace and I cross the lobby, remembering all the times Jack walked me across it on the way to the dining room, his hand gripping my arm tightly while he whispered menaces in my ear.
Once outside, I help myself to fruit and pancakes and find a table in the corner, wondering if anyone else in the world has been as fooled by a man as I was. It seems strange that I’ll never be able to tell anyone what I’ve been through, never be able to tell them about the monster I was married to, not if everything turns out as I hope it will.
I eat slowly, needing to pass the time and, as I eat, I realise that if I crane my neck I can see the balcony of the room on the sixth floor where I spent so many lonely hours. I sit there for over an hour, wishing I’d brought a book with me. Sitting on my own with nothing to distract me might look suspicious, as there can’t be many people who go on holiday without taking a book with them except those that leave in a hurry. I seem to remember Jack walking me past a second-hand bookshop on our way to take photographs of the two of us having a wonderful time in Bangkok, so I leave the hotel and go in search of it. I find it easily; it’s the sort of place I love, but I feel too conspicuous to linger so I buy a couple of books and return to the hotel, marvelling that I can feel relatively safe in a place that once held such horrors for me.
In my room, I change into a bikini and go down to the pool, arming myself with a book and a towel. As I climb out of the pool after a swim, I notice a couple of men looking in my direction and prepare to tell them, should they decide to come and talk to me, that my husband is arriving in two days’ time. I eke out the time until three o’clock by reading my book and swimming, then leave the terrace and go up to my room where I leave a disappointed message on Jack’s mobile.
‘Jack, it’s me. I was hoping you’d have phoned me by now, but you’re probably still asleep, which can only be a good thing as I’ve been worrying that you’re driving yourself into the ground working twenty-four hours a day. I’ve been at the pool all morning so I’m going to go for a walk now. I’ll phone you when I get back. Love you.’
I wait in my room for an hour or so, then go down to the lobby and, with a quick wave to Mr Ho, who seems to work twenty-four hours a day, go out through the main doors. I walk around for a while, find myself in a market and spend some time buying silk scarves for Janice and Millie. I buy some postcards, search for a bar, order a non-alcoholic cocktail, read my book, write my cards and wonder how I’m going to be able to fill in the next couple of days.
I head back to the hotel and am immediately cornered by Mr Ho, who wants to know if I’m enjoying myself. I confide that I’m at a bit of a loss without Jack and ask him if I could perhaps book an excursion for the following day. He tells me about an overnight trip to ancient temples that some of the hotel guests are going on and asks me if I would be interested in joining them. It’s the perfect solution, but it’s important that I don’t look too eager so I hum and haw a little and ask when exactly we’d be back, pointing out that Jack is due in on Wednesday morning. He promises that I’ll be back at the hotel on Tuesday evening and, after a bit more hesitation, I let myself be persuaded. I add that because I’m going to have to get up extra early the next morning, I’ll probably just have dinner in my room and he agrees that it’s a good idea. I go up to my room and phone Jack once again.
‘Hello darling, still no message from you so I can’t help wondering if you’ve gone to Esther’s for lunch—she said she’d invite you over at some point. I told her you’d probably be too busy but maybe you needed a break. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to go on an overnight trip to some temples, leaving early tomorrow morning—Mr Ho suggested it and at least it’ll pass the time until you get here. I hate the thought of not being able to speak to you before Tuesday evening, which will be Tuesday afternoon for you—I’m definitely going to buy a mobile when we get back to England! But I’ll phone you as soon as I get back to the hotel and hopefully catch you before you leave for the airport. I thought I might come and meet you off the flight, I know you said not to, that you’ll make your own way here, but maybe after being apart from me for four days you’ll have changed your mind! I can’t wait to see you, you may as well know that I’m never going away without you again no matter how much work you have. Well, I’d better go and throw a few things together. Remember I love you very much. I’ll speak to you Tuesday. Don’t work too hard!’
The next morning, I go on the trip and attach myself to a lovely middle-aged couple who, when I explain that I’m on my own because I’m waiting for my husband to come out and join me, take me under their wing. I talk to them about Jack and about the brilliant work he does on behalf of battered wives with such conviction that I almost believe it myself. They end up putting two and two together—because they’ve read the papers—and I end up admitting that Jack Angel is indeed my husband. Fortunately, they’re discreet enough not to mention the Tomasin case although I can tell that they’re itching to. Instead, I tell them about Millie, about how much we’re looking forward to her coming to live with us and how grateful I am to have such a wonderfully accepting husband. I tell them about our house, about Millie’s yellow bedroom and about the party we gave her for her eighteenth birthday, just a few weeks before. By the time we get back to the hotel, later on Tuesday evening than expected, they’ve become firm friends and, as we go off to our rooms, I accept their kind invitation for Jack and me to have dinner with them once he arrives.
In my room, I look at my watch. It’s almost eleven o’clock, so five in the afternoon in England. It’s plausible that Jack could already have left for the airport so I phone his mobile and get through to his voicemail. This time I make sure to sound dismayed.
‘Jack, it’s me. I’ve just got back from the trip to the temples, later than expected, and I can’t believe you’re still not answering your phone. I hope it doesn’t mean that you’re still working because you should be leaving for the airport soon, unless you’re already on your way. Could you phone me as soon as you get this message please, just to let me know that everything is on schedule for you leaving tonight? I know you told me you would be “incommunicado”, but I expected to be able to speak to you at least once before you left! And I had hoped to find a message waiting for me on my phone here. I don’t mean to nag, but I’m beginning to get a bit worried by your silence—I hope it doesn’t mean that you don’t want to tell me that you’re not coming until Thursday, by any chance? Anyway, please phone me as soon as you get this message. Don’t worry that I’ll be asleep—I won’t be!’
I wait for half an hour or so, try his number again and, when it goes through to his voicemail, I leave an ‘it’s me again, please phone me’ message. Half an hour after that, I simply give a sigh of frustration before hanging up. Going over to my bag I take out Jack’s business card and call his office. A receptionist answers and, without giving my name, I ask to be put through to Adam.
‘Hello, Adam, it’s Grace.’
‘Grace! How are you? How’s Thailand?’
‘I’m fine and Thailand is as lovely as ever. I thought you might still be in the office—I’m not disturbing you, am I?’
‘No, it’s fine, I was in a meeting with a client, but he’s just left, thank goodness. It’s one of those cases that I don’t particularly want to take on, but his wife is determined to take him to the cleaners and I can’t help feeling sorry for him—not that I’m letting my emotions get in the way, of course,’ he adds with a laugh.
‘That certainly wouldn’t be good for business,’ I agree. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you long, I just wondered if you saw Jack at all over the weekend, or at least spoke to him, because I haven’t been able to get through to him and I’m beginning to get a bit worried. I know he told me that he wouldn’t be answering his phone because of the press, but I thought he might pick up for me. Maybe he did for you?’
There’s a bit of a silence. ‘Are you saying that Jack is still in England?’
‘Yes, until tonight, anyway. He’s taking the evening flight, remember—well, at least I hope he is. He did say he might not be able to get here until Thursday, but I didn’t think he really meant it. The trouble is, I can’t get through to him.’
‘Grace, I had no idea Jack was here, I thought he was in Thailand with you. I thought he left on Friday evening, after the case.’
‘No, he made me come on ahead. He said he wanted to get all the paperwork out of the way first, that he couldn’t bear the thought of having to face it all when he came back.’
‘Well, I can understand that, I suppose. There’s nothing worse than coming back from holiday and finding a backlog of work and it’s always harder when it concerns a case that you’ve lost. I guess he must be feeling pretty low.’
‘You could say that,’ I admit. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen him so down, which is why I wanted to stay with him. But he said he preferred to be on his own, that if I was around it would take him longer to get through everything and then we’d both miss out on our holiday. So here I am.’
‘Between you and me, I never understood why he took the case on in the first place.’
‘Maybe he let his emotions get in the way,’ I suggest. ‘But the thing is, Adam, you must have known he was staying behind because didn’t you offer to take him to the airport this evening?’
‘When?’
‘Well, on Friday, I presume, when he told you he was staying behind.’
‘Sorry, Grace, I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to Jack since Friday morning before he left for court, although I did leave a message on his voicemail commiserating with him over losing. Are you saying that you haven’t heard from him since you left?’
‘Yes. I wasn’t too worried at first because he warned me he wouldn’t be answering his phone and, anyway, I was away on an excursion for the last couple of days. But I expected him to have at least left a message on my phone here at the hotel to tell me that everything was on schedule for tonight. He may already have left for the airport—you know what traffic is like in rush hour—but I keep getting through to his voicemail. I know he won’t answer the phone if he’s driving but it’s really frustrating.’
‘Maybe he’s forgotten to switch it back on again if it’s been off since Friday.’
‘Maybe. Listen, Adam, I won’t take up any more of your time, I’m sure everything’s fine.’
‘Do you want me to phone around a few people and see if they’ve spoken to him at all over the weekend? Would that put your mind at rest?’
Relief floods my voice. ‘Yes, it would, definitely. You could try Esther—when she took me to the airport she said she’d invite Jack around sometime over the weekend.’
‘Will do.’
‘Thanks, Adam. How are Diane and the children, by the way?’
‘They’re all fine. Let me make those calls and I’ll get back to you. Can you give me your number there?’
I read it out to him from the hotel notepad, which is lying on the bedside table, and sit down on the bed to wait. I try to read, but I find it difficult to concentrate. Half an hour or so later, Adam calls back to tell me that he hasn’t found anybody who actually spoke to Jack over the weekend although several people saw him in the office before he left for court.
‘I’ve also tried him several times myself, but I got his voicemail each time, as did Esther when she tried to get hold of him. But that doesn’t mean anything—as I said, maybe he’s just forgotten to switch it back on again.’
‘I don’t think he would have, especially as he must know that I’ll be wanting to speak to him. And there’s something else I thought of—why did he tell me that you’d offered to take him to the airport when you didn’t?’
‘Maybe he intended to ask me to then changed his mind. Look, don’t worry, I’m sure everything is all right. I’m sure he’ll be on that flight tonight.’
‘Do you think that if I phone British Airways in a couple of hours they’ll tell me whether or not he’s checked in?’
‘No, they won’t, not unless it’s an emergency. Passenger confidentiality and all that.’
‘Then I guess I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow morning,’ I sigh.
‘Well, when you see him, make sure you tell him off for worrying you. And tell him to send me a text to let me know he’s arrived.’
‘Then could you give me your mobile number?’ He gives it to me and I jot it down. ‘Thanks, Adam.’
Once again I have trouble sleeping. Early next morning, prettily dressed and beautifully made-up, I go down to the lobby. Mr Ho is once again at the reception desk. He guesses that I’ve come down to wait for Jack and tells me that I might have a long wait, as there are the queues at Passport Control to contend with plus the taxi ride from the airport. He suggests that I have breakfast, but I tell him that I prefer to wait for Jack, that he’ll no doubt be hungry when he arrives.
I find a seat not too far away from the main door and settle down to wait. As time goes on, I look at my watch anxiously and, when it is evident that something is wrong, I go over to Mr Ho and ask him if he can find out if the London flight arrived on time. He checks on his computer and, when he tells me that the flight was in fact delayed and is due to land at any moment, I can’t believe my luck, because I won’t have to pretend panic for another couple of hours. Mr Ho smiles at the look of relief on my face and I admit that I was beginning to worry at Jack’s non-appearance. I go back to waiting and Mr Ho brings me over a pot of tea to help pass the time.
When, almost two hours later, Jack still hasn’t arrived, it’s time to start feeling uneasy. I ask to use the phone at the reception desk and, as I dial Jack’s number, I tell Mr Ho that although Jack had warned me he might only be able to take the Wednesday evening flight, I can’t help feeling worried because he would have phoned to let me know. When I get through to his voicemail, my voice is shaky with tears of disappointment and frustration.
‘Jack, where are you? I know the flight was delayed, but you should be here by now. I hope it doesn’t mean that you’re not arriving until tomorrow—if that’s the case, you could have at least warned me. Have you any idea how worrying it is to be without any news from you for the last four days? Even if you didn’t want to answer your phone you could have phoned me, you must have got all my messages. Please give me a ring, Jack, it’s awful being stuck here not knowing what’s happening—not that I’m not being well looked after,’ I add hurriedly, aware that Mr Ho is listening, ‘because I am, but I just want you here. Please phone and tell me what’s happening—I’m in the lobby now, but I’ll be going back up to my room, or you can leave a message with Mr Ho at reception. I love you.’
I hang up to find Mr Ho looking sympathetically at me. He suggests that I go through for breakfast and, when I tell him that I’m not hungry, he promises to call me if Jack phones, so I let him persuade me to have something to eat.
As I make my way to the terrace, I bump into Margaret and Richard, the couple I met the day before on the trip to the temples, and my eyes fill with tears of disappointment when I explain that Jack hasn’t turned up. They tell me not to worry, pointing out that he had warned me he might be delayed, and insist that I spend the day with them. I tell them I’d rather stay in the hotel for the next couple of hours in case Jack phones or suddenly turns up, but that I’ll join them in the afternoon if he doesn’t.
I go up to my room and phone Adam. I’m relieved when he doesn’t pick up as it suits me to leave a message letting him know that Jack wasn’t on the flight. Later, I go down to join Margaret and Richard, the strain of not having heard from Jack clearly visible on my face, especially when I tell them that I’ve tried his mobile again several times without success. They are kindness itself and I’m glad to have them to take my mind off things. I punctuate the time I spend with them with fruitless calls to Jack’s mobile, urging him to phone me.
In the evening, my new friends refuse to let me sit and mope alone so we have dinner together, where they talk brightly about how much they’re looking forward to meeting Jack the following morning. I eventually get back to my room around midnight and find a message from Adam, saying he’s sorry he missed my call and asking if I would like him to go over to the house to see if Jack is still there. I phone him back and tell him that yes, if he doesn’t mind, but then we work out that if Jack is to catch the flight that evening, he will already have left for the airport. So I tell him not to bother and that I’ll phone him the moment Jack arrives and we joke again about the telling-off he’s going to get for worrying us all.
The next morning, Margaret and Richard keep me company while I wait for Jack to arrive from the airport so they are there to witness my distress when he doesn’t turn up. At Margaret’s suggestion, I try to find out from British Airways if Jack was on the flight, but they are unable to help me, so I phone the British Embassy. I explain everything to them and maybe because Jack’s name is known, they tell me they’ll see what they can do. When they phone back and confirm that Jack wasn’t on the flight, I burst into tears. I manage to pull myself together long enough to tell them that he doesn’t seem to be at home either, but, although they are sympathetic, they tell me there isn’t a lot they can do at this stage. They suggest I phone friends and relations in England to see if they know where he is and I thank them and hang up.
With Margaret by my side, I call Adam and, my voice trembling with anxiety, tell him what has happened. He immediately offers to go straight round to the house and calls me back half an hour later to say that he’s standing outside the gates, but that everything is shut up and nobody has answered the bell. So I worry that Jack has had an accident on the way to the airport and, although he reassures me, he says that he’ll make some inquiries. I tell him that the British Embassy suggested I try to find out if anyone has spoken to him since I left and he offers to phone around for me.
While I wait for Adam to get back to me, Diane calls to reassure me and to tell me that Adam is doing all he can to track Jack down. We talk for a while and, after I’ve hung up, Margaret begins to ask me gentle questions and it dawns on me that she and Richard are wondering if there could be someone else in Jack’s life, someone who he might have run off with. Horrified, I tell her that it had never occurred to me, because there had never been anything in his behaviour to suggest that there was, but that I suppose it’s a possibility I’m going to have to consider.
The phone rings again.
‘Grace?’
‘Hello, Adam.’ I make my voice hesitant, as if I’m dreading what he’s going to tell me. ‘Have you managed to find out anything?’
‘Only that Jack hasn’t been admitted to any of the hospitals I phoned, which is good news.’
‘It is,’ I agree, giving a sigh of relief.
‘On the other hand, I phoned as many people as I could think of but no one seems to have heard from him, at least not over the last few days. So I’m afraid we’re back to square one, really.’
I look at Margaret, who nods encouragingly. ‘There’s something I need to ask you, Adam,’ I say.
‘Go on.’
‘Is it possible that Jack was having an affair, maybe with someone at the office?’ My words come out in a rush.
‘An affair? Jack?’ Adam sounds shocked. ‘No, of course not. He would never do anything like that. He barely looked at another woman before he met you and he certainly hasn’t since. You must know that, Grace.’
Margaret, who gets the gist, gives my hand a squeeze. ‘I do,’ I say, chastened. ‘It’s just that I can’t think of any other reason he would suddenly disappear without trace.’
‘Can you think of any other friends he has, people that maybe I don’t know?’
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘Wait a minute, what about Moira and Giles, you know, the people who were at Millie’s party. Maybe you could contact them. I don’t have their number, though.’
‘Leave it with me. What’s their surname?’
‘Kilburn-Hawes, I think.’
‘I’ll give them a ring and get back to you,’ he promises.
He calls back half an hour later and, when he tells me that they haven’t heard from Jack either, I become distraught. Nobody seems to know what to do. The general consensus—from Margaret, Richard, Adam and Diane—is that it’s too early to launch a missing person’s inquiry so they tell me that the best thing would be to try to get some sleep and see if Jack turns up the next morning.
He doesn’t. The day passes in a blur as Mr Ho, Margaret, Richard and Adam take over. I tell them I want to go home, but they persuade me to stay for one more day in case Jack turns up, so I do. In the early afternoon—eight o’clock in the morning in England—Adam calls to say that he has spoken to the local police and that, with my permission, they’ll be happy to break into the house to see if they can find anything to indicate where Jack might have gone.
They call me first and ask me to run through the last time I saw Jack and I tell them it was when Esther came to pick me up to take me to the airport, that he had waved me off from the study window. I explain that he hadn’t been able to drive me to the airport himself because he’d had quite a large whisky when he’d come in from work and add that I hadn’t particularly wanted to leave for Thailand by myself even though Jack had warned me, when the Tomasin case began to look as if it would overrun, that I might have to. They say they’ll get back to me as soon as they can and I sit in my room and wait for them to phone with Margaret by my side, holding my hand. I know the news I’m waiting for is going to be a long time coming so after a while I tell Margaret that I’d like to try to sleep, and lie down on the bed.
I manage to sleep until the moment I’ve been waiting for since I arrived in Thailand finally comes. It begins with a knock on the door and, because I don’t move, Margaret goes to answer it. I hear a man’s voice and then Margaret comes over to the bed and, with a hand on my shoulder, gives me a little shake, telling me that there’s someone to see me. As I sit up, I see her slip out of the room and I want to call her back, to tell her not to leave me, but he is already walking towards me so it’s too late. My heart is beating so fast, my breathing so shallow that I don’t dare look at him until I’ve managed to compose myself. With my eyes fixed firmly on the ground, it’s his shoes I see first. They are made of good leather and are well polished, just as I would expect them to be. He says my name and, as my eyes travel upwards, I see that while his suit is dark, in keeping with the occasion, it’s made of a lightweight fabric, because of the climate. My eyes reach his face; it is pleasant, but grave, just as it should be.
‘Mrs Angel?’ he says again.
‘Yes?’ There’s a trace of anxiousness in my voice.
‘My name is Alastair Strachan. I’m from the British Embassy.’ He turns, and I see a young woman standing behind him. ‘And this is Vivienne Dashmoor. I wonder if we could have a word?’
I jump to my feet. ‘Is it to do with Jack, have you managed to find him?’
‘Yes—or rather, the police in England have.’
Relief floods my face. ‘Thank goodness for that! Where is he? Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Is he on his way here?’
‘Perhaps we could go and sit down?’ the young woman suggests.
‘Of course,’ I say, ushering them through to the sitting room. I sit down on the sofa and they take the armchairs. ‘So where is he?’ I ask. ‘I mean, is he on his way here?’
Mr Strachan clears his throat. ‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs Angel, but I’m afraid that Mr Angel has been found dead.’
I stare at him, my eyes wide with shock. Confusion floods my face. ‘I don’t understand,’ I stammer.
He shifts uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid your husband has been found dead, Mrs Angel.’
I shake my head vigorously. ‘No, he can’t be, he’s coming here, to join me, he said he would. Where is he?’ My voice trembles with emotion. ‘I want to know where he is. Why isn’t he here?’
‘Mrs Angel, I know this is very difficult for you, but we need to ask you some questions,’ the young lady says. ‘Would you like us to fetch someone—your friend, perhaps?’
‘Yes, yes.’ I nod. ‘Can you get Margaret, please?’
Mr Strachan goes to the door. I hear the murmur of voices and Margaret comes in. I see the shock on her face and I begin shaking uncontrollably. ‘They’re saying that Jack’s dead,’ I say. ‘But he can’t be, he can’t be.’
‘It’s all right,’ she murmurs, sitting down next to me and putting her arm around me. ‘It’s all right.’
‘Perhaps we could have some tea brought up,’ the young woman says, getting to her feet. She goes over to the phone and speaks to someone in reception.
‘Did he have a car crash?’ I ask Margaret, sounding bewildered. ‘Is that’s what happened? Did Jack have a car crash on the way to the airport? Is that why he’s not here?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says quietly.
‘He must have,’ I go on, nodding with conviction. ‘He must have been rushing to catch the flight, he must have left the house late and was driving too fast and had a crash. That’s what happened, isn’t it?’
Margaret glances at Mr Strachan. ‘I don’t know, I’m afraid.’
My teeth begin chattering. ‘I’m cold.’
She jumps to her feet, glad of something to do. ‘Would you like a jumper? Is there one in your wardrobe?’
‘Yes, I think so, not a jumper, a cardigan, maybe. The bathrobe, can I have the bathrobe?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She goes into the bathroom, finds the bathrobe, comes back and puts it around my shoulders.
‘Thank you,’ I murmur gratefully.
‘Is that better?’ she asks.
‘Yes. But Jack can’t be dead, it must be a mistake, it has to be.’
She’s saved from saying anything by a knock at the door. The young woman opens it and Mr Ho comes in, followed by a girl pushing a laden tea trolley.
‘If I can be of further assistance, please let me know,’ Mr Ho says quietly. I sense him looking at me as he leaves the room, but I keep my head bowed.
The young woman busies herself with the tea and asks me if I would like sugar.
‘No, thank you.’
She places a cup and saucer in front of me and I pick up the cup, but I’m shaking so much some of the tea slops over the side and onto my hand. Scalded, I clatter the cup back down onto the saucer.
‘Sorry,’ I say. Tears fill my eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ says Margaret hurriedly, taking a paper napkin and mopping my hand.
I make an effort to pull myself together. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ I say to Mr Strachan.
‘Alastair Strachan.’
‘Mr Strachan, you say that my husband is dead.’ I look at him for confirmation.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘Then can you please tell me how he died? I mean, was it quick, was anyone else hurt in the accident, where did it happen? I need to know, I need to know how it happened.’
‘It wasn’t a car accident, Mrs Angel.’
‘Not a car accident?’ I falter. ‘Then how did he die?’
Mr Strachan looks uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid there’s no easy way of saying this, Mrs Angel, but it seems that your husband took his own life.’
And I burst into tears.
