The Vanishing Point

6

The sun had disappeared behind the wooded summit and with it the warmth of the day. Nick’s plaid shirt was no match for the sharp chill on the breeze that came with the early evening. But if she put on the waterproof jacket in an attempt to keep warm, the damp from the ground would soon seep into Stephanie’s bones, making her even colder than before. It was a conundrum that had no satisfactory answer, but mulling it over kept her mind off what might lie ahead of them.

The front door of the orphanage had opened a couple of times, startling her into sudden attention, the binoculars rammed against her eyes. The first time, a man and a woman emerged in the apparent uniform of dark trousers and white tunic. The man went to one of the cars while the woman jogged down the driveway, undid a padlock and opened the heavy iron gates. The man drove through, then waited for the woman to close and lock the gates again. It was an unwieldy process, but Stephanie liked the time it took. The next departure, about ten minutes later, featured a grey-haired woman in a pink button-through overall, who mounted a motor scooter hidden behind the cars and repeated the performance at the gate.

‘Come on, Simon,’ Stephanie muttered as the scooter grumbled past her up the hill. To relieve the monotony, she called Nick and told him about the people who had left. ‘It takes a while to open and close the gates,’ she reported. ‘So if he does come out, you’ve got a few minutes’ warning.’

‘Are they all going down the hill?’

‘No. One each way.’

‘OK. Then I’ll stay put till you know for sure which way he’s headed.’

There was nothing else to say. Neither of them had any appetite for small talk. Stephanie returned to her vigil, wrapping her arms around her torso to preserve what warmth remained.

And then the door opened again. Even without the binoculars, she recognised Simon. Shirt over his straight-leg jeans, the distinctive walk provoked by his cowboy boots. She could almost believe she heard the clatter of his boot heels on the stone steps. He didn’t close the door behind him and he paused at the foot of the stairs, turning to look back, as if he was calling someone.

When Jimmy came barrelling through the door at full speed, Stephanie stopped breathing. A tightness gripped her chest and her throat closed as if there were a sob trapped within. The boy caught up with Simon, who ruffled his hair as she’d done so many times. They walked hand in hand to a Mercedes saloon and got in. At the gate, Simon went to unfasten the padlock and Stephanie recovered herself enough to stab the button on her phone to call Nick.

‘It’s Simon,’ she blurted out. ‘He’s got Jimmy with him.’

‘Bloody hell.’ She could hear the engine catching as Nick turned the ignition key. ‘Are they heading up or down?’

‘I don’t know yet, Simon’s only just driving through the gate. Hold on . . .’ She watched, the tension in her body growing with every passing minute. Simon drove through the entrance then dawdled over closing the gate. He acted as if he had all the time in the world, which only made her feverish impatience worse. When he finally set the car moving again, the indicator light signalled he was turning left. ‘Down,’ she practically yelled. ‘They’re going down the hill. Come and get me.’

As soon as Simon’s taillights disappeared round the first bend, Stephanie was on her feet, plunging through the narrow strip of hedgerow on to the road. Already she could see Nick’s headlights glimmering through the trees. The day was dimming fast now; at least they would have Simon’s lights ahead of them to make tailing him easier.

Nick’s car rounded the bend and skidded to a halt next to her. She threw herself into the passenger seat, surprised to realise she was panting. Nick grinned and thrust the car into gear. Nervous relief made him crack wise. ‘Isn’t this where you’re supposed to say, “The game’s afoot, Holmes”?’

In spite of herself, she giggled, a hysterical response to his silliness. ‘Just remember, it was Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard who was the real dummy in the Sherlock Holmes stories, Detective Sergeant Nicolaides.’

Nick hurtled round the bends as fast as he dared, catching occasional streaks of scarlet light through the trees ahead. Then at once the red disappeared. They corkscrewed through another couple of bends and suddenly the hamlet was in sight. Stephanie strained to catch a trace of the Mercedes, and suddenly yelped, ‘There, past the inn. The road that goes into the forest. They’re driving down there.’

Nick threw the car into a screaming turn and they shot past the houses and the inn, bucketing from side to side as they went from tarmac to rough track. He tapped the brakes, trying to slow down safely to a manageable speed. ‘Fuck,’ he said, intense and savage as he wrestled with the inadequate car.

Up ahead, the red lights intensified as the Mercedes braked. Then it suddenly turned right. Nick slowed down. ‘It’s a gateway,’ Stephanie yelled. ‘Stop, Nick.’

He turned off the headlights and managed to stop the car fifty metres from the gateway. Switching off the engine and the sidelights took seconds, then they were both out on the track, leaving the car doors open. They ran to the gateway, Nick crouching low and crossing to the far side.

Stephanie peered round a rough stone pillar topped with a bear rearing up on its hind legs. The Mercedes had drawn to a halt in a pool of light about thirty metres away. The light came from floodlights mounted on the front of what looked like a hunting lodge crossed with a castle, complete with stone turrets on each corner. Jimmy and Simon were already out of the car and heading for the front porch, Jimmy skipping ahead.

The door opened and a woman emerged, running down the steps, arms thrown wide to greet the boy. She swept him into her arms, spinning round with him. As Simon joined them, she paused to kiss his mouth. It was the perfect image of a family reunited at the end of the working day.

Only the woman was wrong.