The Last Witness

SIXTEEN

Viana wore a mask covering her bruise for her dancing that night: bright turquoise feathers with cream tinges, it covered one eye and swept in a semi-circle down one side of her nose and across just under her left cheekbone. She’d had it made especially by a friend who made costumes for the annual Caribbean carnival.

She’d felt self-conscious at first, as if people could somehow see the ugliness of the swelling on her face behind the mask, or guessed that she was covering something. But as she realized people were none the wiser, and that with some it even heightened the mystique, the allure — made her stand out from the other girls — she relaxed back into her normal rhythm.

She saw Georges turn up an hour after opening, but she didn’t want to rush over. Roman had assured her that he should be staying for the evening, or even if he did leave for a while to eat, he was going to be back to do the take at closing. She bided her time, kept half an eye on him between dances. For the first fifty minutes he was busy with a technical guy checking all the cash registers, just as Roman had said would happen. She waited until about fifteen minutes after the technician left before sidling over. Georges was sat at the bar nursing a beer while Azy was at the far end serving another customer.

‘Hi, Georges.’ She perched on the bar stool next to him. ‘You should come by more often. We always get stuck with that goon Roman.’

‘Trouble with the cash registers.’ He waved his beer towards the bar register and smiled back. He wasn’t sure what was more important: her paying him a complement, or taking a swipe at Roman while he wasn’t there.

‘Ah… and we thought it was because you couldn’t keep yourself away from us all here.’ She mocked a hurt expression.

‘Yep, that’s it.’ He raised his glass in acknowledgement and took a quick slug. ‘Couldn’t keep away from that smile, Viana.’ He remembered all of the girl’s names, even though he came by the club at most twice a month. He thought it was important in a trade where they were usually treated impersonally: pieces of meat just to gawk at. He often talked with the girls, and Viana had been as free and easy with the smiles and talk as any of them. But what had stayed with him most was that along with another girl, Amparo from Costa Rica, noble aims lay behind their work: they were both helping their families out. Amparo simply because of their dire poverty, while Viana was saving for surgery to help her mother’s crippling arthritis. ‘How’s your mother now? Closer to having the money together?’

‘Yeah. Quite close now. Thanks.’ She flinched slightly at the mention. This sting tonight would go a long way towards helping pay. Nor did Georges have any idea that if it wasn’t for her habit, she’d have probably had the money together months back. She was touched also that he remembered: Roman never asked about her mother. She hoped that this was all, as Roman said, just to split Georges from Simone because he was fooling around; that Roman wasn’t thinking of harming him. With the still tingling ache behind her mask to remind her what Roman might do if she let him down, she pushed the worry from her mind: like so much else in her life, what choice or control did she have? Her fleeting concern at least seemed to have set the right tone. ‘Georges… there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. A little problem that I…’ She looked up as Azy started down the bar towards them. Roman had stressed to keep it all out of earshot of Azy. She looked to one side. ‘Can we go over there maybe and talk.’

Georges nodded with a tame smile: he could see that she looked troubled, was conscious of prying ears. They moved two booths away from the bar.

She ran through the story exactly as Roman had coached: a club visitor who she’d made the mistake of dating; he’d became difficult and possessive, started shouting that he didn’t want her working at the club anymore while she was going out with him. She’d tried to break it up the night before ‘…and we ended up arguing. Things went from bad to worse, and that’s when he hit out. Gave me this…’ She lifted up her face mask. She was careful to keep her back to Azy, who was no doubt keeping half an eye on them; although Azy would have clearly seen Georges’ pained flinch as the ugly bruise was exposed. She bit lightly at her lip as Georges sucked in his breath. ‘I was worried that he might be waiting by my place again tonight. So I was wondering if… if you might be able to run me home tonight… see me safely to my door.’ The right emotions were easy to turn on: seeing Georges’s reaction to her bruise brought home just what a mess Roman had made of her; she was close to tears again. ‘If it’s not putting you out any… you see, normally I would-’

Georges clasped her hand. ‘No, no… it’s okay. I can run you home.’ Georges’ eyes searched hers a moment longer. Her fear was genuine, and if her intention was to hit on him she would have chosen another time: with her face half mashed up, she wasn’t at her most alluring. ‘But what about the other nights I’m not here? What will you do — get Roman to run you back?’ He looked past her shoulder. ‘…Or Azy maybe?’

She held up one hand. ‘No, I don’t want either of them to know about it. You know what Roman’s like if he found out — he’d half kill the guy. And Azy’s real strict on us dating clients because of past problems: he’d feel that he had to tell Yves or Roman. I’ve laid on my cousin to pick me up most nights… it’s just that he couldn’t make it tonight.’

‘No, it’s okay — I’ll run you.’ Georges gave her hand one last re-assuring pat before pulling his away. ‘I’ve got to nip out for something to eat, but I’ll be back later to do the take.’

‘Roman’s not doing it tonight?’

‘No. With the problem with the registers, I wanted to do the tally tonight: no point in us both being here. I phoned him an hour back.’

Viana let out a slow breath as if a burden had been eased. ‘That was another thing I was worried about, having to cover with Roman. If he asked about the mask, I was going to have to lie to him, tell him I fell down some stairs.’ She forced a nervous smile. Everything was going how Roman planned, and hopefully she’d feigned her side well: Georges looked convinced, settled. But as she turned slightly, she was aware in her side vision of Azy still looking over at them. ‘I’d better get back now. Thanks again, Georges. See you later.’ She touched his sleeve and headed off towards the far side of the room, quickly slipping back into her normal seductive sway as she roamed for fresh dance clients.

She hooked a client after only a minute, but as she started to dance her nerves began to build. She noticed Georges was back at the bar talking to Azy; she was sure Georges wouldn’t say anything, but what if Azy read between the lines? Azy looked up at her for a moment before moving along the bar to serve another customer. She closed her eyes, tried to absorb herself in the mood of the music and her dancing.

Twenty minutes later, straight after another check with Azy of the bar cash register, Georges left. Viana waited ten minutes more, then went to her mobile in her handbag and put through the pre-arranged call to Roman.

‘It’s done. He’s gone now — but he’s coming back to pick me up later.’

‘Okay. Good stuff. We’ll be sitting outside. See you later.’

But wondering if Azy suspected something each time he looked over and thinking ahead to what she’d have to do, her agitation hadn’t abated. Her hand was shaking heavily as she tucked her mobile back in her handbag.

The passing hours didn’t help. She took a shot of vodka in each of the three cokes she had after 11pm, but still her hands were shaking, her stomach in knots. She even took a quick snort of coke in a washroom cubicle, but all that did was sharpen her focus, her sense of apprehension: Georges was one of the nice guys, one of the few that took the time out to show any interest in her welfare, what might lay beneath her skin. What if Roman did intend to harm him?

When they were getting near closing and Georges still hadn’t returned, she started to hope that he wouldn’t show. That he’d had second thoughts about them being alone together, worried that she might come on to him. As for Roman, she’d have done her bit: it wouldn’t be her fault if Georges didn’t show. Surely Roman wouldn’t take it out on her?

The pros and cons tugged at her, but any clarity seemed out of reach beyond the pounding of the music and a slight buzzing in her head: she wished now she’d laid off the drink and cocaine, and registering the slight frown from the client before her, she realized that her pre-occupation had made her pause for a second in her dancing. She picked up the rhythm again, and halfway through a second dance for the same client, Georges walked in. By that time her nerves were so out of control that all she could manage was a small wave and a tight, nervous smile.

She became more concerned that Azy had picked up that something was wrong when he finally wiped down the bar and just before leaving came over to her and another girl, Lucy.

‘Everything okay, girls?’

‘Yeah, my boyfriend’s coming by to pick me up,’ Lucy answered.

‘I’m waiting on my cousin,’ Viana said quickly.

Azy nodded and said smiling goodbyes to them and Georges, who was busy finishing the register tallies; but Viana couldn’t help noticing that Azy’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer than Lucy.

Viana arranged with Georges that just as a precaution she’d leave a minute earlier and wait a block down for him to pick her up.

Georges too picked up on her nervousness, seeing her hand shake as she slid in the car and shut the door behind her — though he put this down to apprehension that her boyfriend might be waiting for her.

‘Don’t worry,’ Georges assured. ‘He sees me roll up with you — and even if he is there he’s going to disappear pretty sharp.’

‘Can you stay inside with me maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, just to make sure?’ Viana asked. Her nerves put a faint croaky tremble to her voice: just the right touch. She looked across at him expectantly: with this last cog in place, the dye would be cast, no turning back. ‘A few nights back he rang my bell five or ten minutes after I showed up.’

Georges paused only for a second. ‘Yeah, sure.’ He took his eyes from her back to the road. He could see that she was deeply perturbed, which made him feel safe: romance was the last thing on this girl’s mind.

Walmerton School

Founded 1894

The school plaque was discreet, gold lettering on a small, black-painted board by the main double playground gates. A smaller school than Chelvale Primary where Katine went, though nothing between them academically: perhaps the school’s longer heritage had attracted Ryall. Elena had only visited once before, five years ago when deciding where to send Katine.

But she was far more nervous now than she was then, even though that meeting had been terrifying: the school’s atmosphere austere, stuffy, and the interviewing headmaster no less so, with the accent on rules and tradition more than any ambient needs of the pupils.

Crossing the school playground, it was almost deathly silent, only some faint birdsong from some nearby trees: the quiet before the storm of the lunchtime bell and the playground being filled with a mass of shrill voices suddenly let loose. But now all Elena was conscious of was the fall of her own footsteps beyond her heavy heartbeat. For a second they fell in unison, sounding ominous, like approaching soldiers in step, and she changed pace slightly… through the main door, into the corridor. A faint echo for ominous effect now: Elena could hear her own laboured breathing coming back to her, with the muted murmur of voices straining through the pale cream walls.

The classroom doors were all marked with types of tree: oak, ash, beech… Elena found Lorena’s classroom four along: elm. She didn’t want to hover by the small glass look-through and possibly gain the teacher’s attention too early — so she went a few yards past and sat on the nearest bench seat.

She pondered whether she’d planned everything okay. She’d chosen the regular weekly time when Nicola Ryall went to the hairdressers and then had a long lunch with her newly acquired charity-circle friends. Gin and tonic do-gooders whose nearest appreciation of the gritty reality of children starving was through a Catherine Cookson novel. Mrs Ryall would be indisposed two-and-a-half hours, maybe three, and normally kept her mobile off. Elena had tried just twenty minutes ago: it went straight into a ‘caller unavailable’ recorded message.

Then she’d phoned straight through to the school and, posing as Mrs Ryall, left a message that Lorena had to go to a dentist’s appointment at 1pm. ‘Our housekeeper will come and pick her up at lunchtime.’

Elena hoped and prayed she’d managed a reasonable proximity to Mrs Ryall’s voice; but then how many times in the year might Mrs Ryall phone and speak to the school? Maybe two or three at most. Mrs Truett, the school secretary, merely asked if Lorena would be back for class later in the afternoon, or the next day?

‘Tomorrow now, I think,’ Elena answered. ‘Though if she can make it back in time for the last lesson today, I’ll make sure she’s returned.’

From Mrs Truett’s reaction, nothing seemed to have jarred, be untoward. But what if someone else from the school was now looking out and knew what Mrs Ryall’s housekeeper looked like? Or what if they’d managed to raise Mrs Ryall on her mobile to check, or…

The ringing bell crashed into her thoughts. On impulse she stood up, looking out expectantly. A door at the far end was the first to open. A few children emerged with a teacher’s voice booming from beyond — but as the main mass appeared, the other doors too were opening and spilling out children. Within seconds, the corridor was awash with a cacophony of small voices and movement.

Eight or ten children had so far emerged from Elm. Elena moved closer to the door so that she could look out for Lorena, and as she picked her out she caught the teacher’s eye practically at the same time. A slight quizzical frown crossed Lorena’s face. She’d have to move in quick.

‘I’ve come to take Lorena to the dentist. Mrs Ryall phoned earlier.’

The teacher, a thirty-something redhead with a strained smile as she tried to bark some calm into the exiting class, looked between Elena and Lorena. ‘Nobody told me anything.’

‘Uh… it would have been only about forty minutes ago.’ Elena had affected a slight foreign lilt, the way some of her Cypriot relatives spoke English, to distinguish from her voice as Mrs Ryall on the phone. Instant domestic: speak with a foreign accent. She forced an apologetic smile, and Lorena finally picked up on the game and came across and took her hand. Elena swallowed hard against her hammering nerves. ‘Mrs Ryall forgot earlier.’

The teacher gave them one last look. ‘Okay, fine… I’ll-’ Then her attention was gone as she called out to two children jostling each other towards the back.

‘She’ll be back in tomorrow,’ Elena said, but the teacher only turned towards them briefly with another ‘That’s fine,’ before continuing her shepherding of the children’s exit.

Elena led Lorena out by the hand before the teacher had more time to think about it. Her mouth was dry, her legs leaden as they wended their way through the crowded corridor. She gripped Lorena’s hand tighter in re-assurance, but partly it was to quell the trembling in her own hand. The shrill voices echoing from the corridor walls seemed to merge with a solid pounding at her temples… only a few paces more to the main doors.

The call of ‘One minute!’ from behind barely broke through it all. It had to be repeated, ‘Hold on a minute!’ before she finally faltered her step and turned.

An older matronly woman approached, with Lorena’s teacher now alongside. Elena’s heart sank. She wasn’t going to get away with it after all. Someone had managed to raise Nicola Ryall on her mobile, or maybe this woman knew the Ryalls, knew full well that she wasn’t their housekeeper.

The matronly woman’s expression lifted slightly. ‘If Lorena’s not coming back later — she’ll need her satchel from her locker.’

‘Oh… of course.’ Elena smiled and patted Lorena’s shoulder. She recognized the voice from her earlier call: Mrs Truett, the school secretary. ‘Yes, go on.’

They stood as an awkward triangle for a moment as Lorena scurried off, a stream of children milling past them. Then Mrs Truett commented, ‘Nothing too serious, I hope.’

It took a second for the penny to drop. ‘Uh, uh… no. Hopefully just some fillings.’

Elena felt exposed standing in the corridor with all the children passing. Katine had a friend who went to this school. What if she came past and spotted her? Mrs Waldren — what are you doing here? She pushed a taut smile to hopefully cover her nervousness at Mrs Truett — who looked about to say something before deciding against it with the level of noise around them.

Elena silently screamed for Lorena to hurry and return. If the noise abated, Mrs Truett might well decide to pipe up again, and Elena wasn’t sure her nerves could take it. Already she could feel her blouse sticking to her spine with sweat, and her legs were close to crumpling.

Lorena appeared only seconds later, though already the numbers in the corridor were thinning. But at that moment another teacher came to talk to Mrs Truett, and with a quick wave and ‘Thanks!’, Elena made good her escape with Lorena.

Through the main doors, across the playground, a slight weave to avoid a group playing ball… through the entrance gates, into the car. Elena didn’t speak to Lorena throughout. Nor did she dare look back in case someone else was trying to attract her attention.

As they got in the car, Lorena asked, ‘Where are we going?’

But still Elena didn’t speak. She kept her eyes resolutely ahead until they were over five hundred yards down the road, well clear of the school. Only then did she finally let out a long breath and turn to Lorena.

‘I got your message, Lorena. So I’m going to help you. That is, if you want me to help you?’

‘Yes… of course.’ Lorena looked slightly puzzled. ‘That is why I called.’

Elena looked across sharply. ‘No, it’s more than that I need, Lorena. I could get into a lot of trouble for what I’m doing now. You’re going to be away from home two or maybe three days. The police will start looking for us, trying to track us down. This isn’t a game any more.’ But from the light in Lorena’s eyes at the mention of police and tracking, that was exactly what Lorena thought this suddenly was: an exciting game. ‘So I need to know for sure — cross your heart sure — that this is what you want.’

‘Yes, I’m sure. Sure, sure.’ Her clipped accent added vehemence.

‘Okay… okay.’ Elena’s eyes flickered to her rear-view mirror. No cars visible behind — but they were still too close to the school. Elena took the second turning on the left and went a half a mile down before stopping at the first pull-in by a farm gate. ‘But I can’t be seen to be abducting you, Lorena. So it has to be clear also to others that this is all totally of your own free will. Something that you want rather than me.’ Elena took the half-page she’d typed earlier from her inside pocket. ‘If you’d like to read that. And if you’re happy with it, we’ll put it on tape.’

Elena felt guilty watching Lorena’s consternation as she read. Only seconds with her out of Ryall’s clutches, and here she was acting like a big city lawyer with first thought to covering her back. But it was necessary if she hoped for any chance of avoiding a jail cell for this, and it might also help take some of the steam from the police pursuit of them.

‘Yes, it’s okay,’ Lorena said finally.

‘Are you sure?’ Elena pressed. Lorena was probably so relieved at being helped, that she’d have said yes to anything; but Elena didn’t want anything possibly guided by force or lack of choice: Lorena had had enough of that with Ryall.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Lorena smiled hesitantly. ‘Sure, sure.’

Elena took the cassette recorder from the back seat. There was a falter at one point and they had to re-do the last two sentences, but they were all wrapped within a couple of minutes.

Elena’s nerves had bristled with the two cars that had passed them in that time, and now she was keened sharply to traffic as she re-joined the main road, her eyes jumping to the rear-view mirror with every car that appeared. She dropped the tape off at home, gave Gordon a quick peck on the cheek and ‘Call you later’ — they’d said their main goodbye earlier — and hit the road again.

She didn’t want to take the Sandbanks ferry and risk getting stuck in a queue where she could be easily apprehended — so she’d decided to head through Wareham, which would add an extra fifteen miles. She glanced at her watch: three hours to Eurotunnel or the ferries, and by then Nicola Ryall would know that Lorena was missing. Then she’d probably lose half-an-hour or even an hour waiting for the next departure and boarding. How long before Mrs Ryall raised the alert with the police: fifteen, twenty minutes? It was going to be tight.

Perhaps picking up on the worry and strain in her face, Lorena clutched lightly at her left arm and nestled close. ‘Thank you, Elena. Thank you.’

Elena gave her a little hug and ruffled her hair. She felt like adding, ‘Don’t thank me yet,’ but she didn’t want to dull the light in Lorena’s eyes: the first light of hope that had probably been there for a while.

And she was equally concerned now about her own state of mind. The last half hour of tension had totally drained her: her nerves were still as tight as piano wire, leaping wildly with each car that came close. She could feel her body’s gentle trembling as she hugged Lorena. With forty-eight hours or more of the same ahead, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to cope.

‘Do you want coffee, or something stronger? Or maybe something soft?’ Viana posed the question just how Roman had suggested: try not to leave the option of Donatiens not having a drink.

‘Just a coke, thanks,’ Georges’ voice sailed through from the lounge.

‘Okay.’ Viana felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders, though still she found the shaking of her hands impossible to control as she reached for a glass and took the coke from the fridge. She pondered for a second what to have for herself, before deciding on coffee: more time pottering around in the kitchen, more movement to provide cover for her slipping the two pills into Georges’ drink.

While the coffee machine was getting close to boiling, she went to her handbag and took out the tablets wrapped in tissue. Then with a quick look back, listening out that he wasn’t moving and about to walk in on her any second, she put them into his drink. They fizzed a bit while she was pouring her coffee. She stirred cream into her coffee and gave the coke a quick stir too, just to make sure they’d dissolved, and walked back in the lounge with both drinks with a smile.

‘There you are.’ She handed Georges the coke and set her cup down on a coffee table between them. ‘I really appreciate you helping me out like this. Thanks.’

‘That’s okay. It’s nothing.’ Georges took a quick sip of coke. ‘What’s this guy’s name, the one giving you all the trouble?’

‘Oh…uh….’ She stumbled for a second. That was one thing they’d never thought about. She grabbed quickly for a client’s name she recalled. ‘Barry. Barry Picard.’

Georges just nodded and took another sip.

Viana became concerned that he was drinking too slowly. Five minutes, Roman had said; but that was probably from when he’d finished it all. What if he sipped his way slowly through, then knocked back the rest only seconds before leaving? She looked away slightly as Georges met her eye, worried that her pre-occupation might have shown.

‘You’re obviously still anxious,’ Georges said. ‘But stop worrying. ‘Even if he was waiting outside, he’d have probably left by now — or certainly within a few minutes, max. I don’t see him waiting beyond that. It’s cold out there.’

‘You’re probably right.’ She fired back a hesitant smile. Her guilt weighed heavier with the reassurance: how many had ever taken the time out to give any thought to her welfare? ‘But you’ll stay the extra ten or fifteen minutes, just to make sure. Right?’

‘Yeah, sure. No problem.’ He took a heavier gulp this time. He could tell that she was deeply agitated, it was going to take more than just an off-pat reassurance to calm her. Seeing the fear in her face made him think for a moment of his own problems: Jean-Paul was on a quick loop trip to New York and Boston, Simone wouldn’t be able to see him till the morning. He just hoped that Jean-Paul wasn’t delayed; he was near the end of his tether, his nerves shot with waiting on the outcome.

Viana took the first sips of her coffee. She could sense the awkwardness, the tension between them growing more with each beat of silence. Georges still had only drunk a third of his coke, and would probably be more likely to leave prematurely if he felt awkward. She tried to lighten the mood, smiling wryly as she launched into petty politics at the club between Azy, Roman and Yves. Of how because Yves, as floating manager, was there only one or two nights a week, Azy seemed to assume responsibility the rest of the time.

‘Often he’ll talk straight to Roman about anything serious without bothering to consult Yves, and a few times it’s caused problems. Yves feels he’s losing his authority.’ Viana shook her head, watching keenly Georges take another few sips. ‘And there’s no rhyme or reason to what Azy might pick up on to complain about. One time, Amy, you know — well, she took too many hits of dope before going on, then she slipped a Quaalude and topped up by sneaking some heavy whisky shots into her orange juice from a flask in her handbag. An hour into dancing and she’s on cloud nine. She starts laughing uncontrollably when her ass brushes too close and knocks a client’s toupee out of place. The client complains bitterly, and Azy’s all apologies and offers the client a free drink on the house — but Azy don’t say nothing to Roman or Yves about it.’ Viana’s smile broadened. ‘Fact is, as soon as the client left, Azy too is wetting himself over it.’

Georges grinned. He could just imagine Azy’s fawning, wide-eyed ‘Yes, Bossman, sorry Bossman’ act until the client was gone. He felt himself relax a bit, but maybe that was because Viana was relaxing and smiling for the first time — her fear and tension were easing a notch. But he could definitely feel his body mellowing; no, more than that, his senses were floating slightly, which struck him as strange: he could only remember having one glass of wine with dinner and a beer earlier while checking the tills. And it was also hot in here, his throat dry. He eased his collar a little and took a couple of gulps of coke.

Viana followed the glass keenly: two thirds down. ‘…But then other times, Azy will be as strict as hell, won’t budge an inch. Particularly when it comes to dating clients. Perhaps it’s because we had a lot of trouble with that Michelle last year dating a client, some real nasty scenes and shouting matches in the club before Yves and Roman got rid of her. And then Azy too had that problem with dating Janine last year. He got a real roasting over that — so perhaps that’s why he’s so strict on it with others.’

‘Yeah, I can see that.’ God, it was hot. He took another slug, felt it cut through the chalk in his throat. And he felt dizzy… with a dull ringing in his ears. Perhaps the beer he had earlier was off, or maybe something he ate.

‘…That’s why I didn’t want anything said to Azy about this guy bugging me. For sure he’d have said something to Yves or Roman.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Georges held out one hand. ‘I understand. No problem. Look, I… I… I’m afraid I’m not feeling that well. I think I’d better go.’ The ringing had turned to a solid ache at his temples, and everything was slightly hazy, more distant. He got uncertainly to his feet.

‘Oh… right. Can’t you stay just a few minutes more? He could still be waiting outside.’ Her concern she hoped came over as real: inside she was panicking. At this rate, Georges was going to flake out halfway along the building corridor or in the elevator for all her neighbours to see; or, worse still, while he was driving home.

‘Stay longer? Uh… I…I don’t know.’ His legs seemed to hardly hold him. He took a step, but they felt like numb jelly and buckled quickly. He grabbed onto the coffee table for support. The room shifted and swayed, with Viana’s voice little more than a dull echo. And suddenly all the other signals gelled in that instant: her insisting on him staying longer, her pause recalling the boyfriend’s name… her watching his glass keenly as he drunk. ‘Viana…what have you done to me?…What have you-’

‘Nothing, Georges… nothing! Are you okay? You’re frightening me.’

Georges tried to look at her directly, to see from her eyes whether she was lying — but at that moment his legs gave way completely, the side of his right shoulder and arm crashing into the table before his face hit the carpet. Perhaps he’d got it wrong, it was just some bad food or beer: her plea that she was frightened had sounded heartfelt, real. And he could feel her now shaking his shoulder, her voice frantic.

‘Georges… Georges!’

But there was a moment before everything faded in which Viana obviously thought he was already unconscious and couldn’t hear anything. She started gently sobbing and then he felt the soft press of her lips against one cheek, the moistness of a single teardrop against his temple as she muttered, ‘I’m sorry, Georges… so sorry.’ He began to fear the worst.