Name To a Face

FORTY-NINE

Sunday morning in Dulwich. Ann Gashry’s house was a haven of healing silence. Harding woke late and found Ann in the drawing room, sipping coffee and leafing through the Observer like a woman pursuing a solitary weekly routine, calmly and self-sufficiently entirely untroubled by the events he had related to her late the previous night. But she was not untroubled, of course. He knew that well enough.

“Did you look in on Hayley?” she asked, pouring him some coffee.

“Yes.”

“Still sleeping?”

“Like a baby.” He thought for a moment of Josie Martyn’s baby, whose life had been snatched away before it had even begun. And then he thought of the baby’s father and uncle. For all that they had done to Kerry and been prepared to do to Hayley, the rawness of their loss still gnawed at him. He sighed. “I think she should stay here today.”

“Of course.”

“But tomorrow, I want you to take her away.”

“Away?”

“Wherever you like. It doesn’t matter. As long as I don’t know where you’ve gone.”

“I fail to understand, Mr. Harding. As long as you don’t know?”

“It’s important I shouldn’t be able to tell anyone where you are.”

Ann frowned quizzically at him. Then comprehension dawned. “You fear you may be… forced to tell what you know?”

“The man I’m going to have to deal with…”

“Whybrow?”

“Yes. He’s a… ruthless operator. As we’ve seen.”

“How do you hope to get the better of him?”

“By playing him at his own game.”

“But he knows the rules better than you. By your own admission.”

“He does indeed.”

“Then…”

“It’s a gamble, I know. But it’s the only way to get Hayley out of trouble.”

“And if it doesn’t come off?”

Harding took a sip of coffee. Strong and black, it clarified his thinking, sharpened his certainty. This was the only way. “I’m going to give it my best shot, Ann. That’s all I can do.”

He phoned the Cortiina in Munich. Whybrow had checked out the day before, along with Carol. So, they were back in Monaco. It would end for Harding where it had begun. One way or another. He phoned British Airways and booked himself onto an evening flight to Nice.

Ann prepared a breakfast tray for Hayley. Harding took it up to her room. The long sleep had done her good. She was looking better, younger, more like herself with each passing hour. But a shadow still lay across her. That too was apparent.

“What time is it?” she asked, sipping her orange juice.

“Lunchtime.” He smiled.

“I wish… you’d slept with me.” She blushed. “I mean, just slept.”

“I did. For a while.”

“I expect Ann’s guessed. She’s a hard person to keep a secret from.”

“I’ve asked her to take you away tomorrow.”

“Where to?”

“That’s up to her.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

“There’s something I have to do back home.”

“Home?”

“Where I live. At the moment.”

“You’re going to see Whybrow.”

“Maybe.”

“Or Carol.”

“Maybe both.”

“To stop it getting any worse.” She had deliberately echoed his words of the day before.

“I think I can.”

“You’re taking a big chance.”

“Not so big.”

“So you say. Either way it’s for me.”

“You have to trust me.”

“I don’t have to.” She reached out for his hand. “I just do.”

“I know.” They kissed.

“When do you leave?”

“Later today.”

“And when do I see you again?”

“Soon.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He left before he strictly needed to, before his resolve could be tested too far. He walked away alone along Bedmore Road, sensing Hayley’s eyes on him but not daring to look back. With Metherell’s alibi and his own eye-witness testimony, he reckoned Hayley would never be convicted of Tozer’s murder even if she was charged. But he wanted a cleaner, swifter end to her troubles than that and believed he could achieve it-and more-by confronting Whybrow If he was right, they would be reunited within days, free to build a life together. If he was right.

It was nearly midnight French time when he reached his apartment in Villefranche. Never had it felt less like home. He headed straight out to a bar he knew that opened late, but found it already closed, so contented himself with an aimless walk by the harbour before returning to the apartment and trying-with eventual success-to sleep.

He woke later than he might have expected the following morning. By his calculations, Ann and Hayley would already be on the move, destination unknown-to him. He showered and shaved, then went out for breakfast to the bar that had disappointed him the night before. This time it was open. He sat outside with his croissant and coffee in the warm spring sunshine.

He phoned Luc, who assured him Jardiniera was running like clockwork in his continued absence. Harding found himself wondering if Luc might be interested in buying him out. There was money in the young man’s family, after all. But that was for another day.

Next he phoned Carol. She did not answer. He left a message, asking if he could visit her that afternoon. He suggested four o’clock. “I have something to tell you I think you’ll want to hear,” he emphasized.

He polished off a corretto before his last call. Whybrow’s mobile was on voicemail, but Harding guessed he would be at Starburst International’s offices in Monte Carlo. So he was. And when Harding gave his name to the honey-toned receptionist, he was put through promptly.

“Well, well. Tim. Where are you? Still communing with friends and family in England?”

“No. I’ve come back. Like you.”

“Yes. The German authorities were eventually persuaded to release Barney’s body. I believe Carol will be fixing a date for the funeral today.”

“Have the police given you any news of Hayley?”

“I’m afraid not. She seems to have vanished into thin air.”

“Worrying for you.”

“More disappointing. We’d all like Barney’s murderer to be apprehended, wouldn’t we?”

“Absolutely.”

“Heard anything yourself?”

“About Hayley?”

“Isn’t that who we were discussing?” An inflexion of irony mixed with mild irritation had entered Whybrow’s voice.

“It’s certainly who I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Face to face, I mean.”

“That could be difficult. I have a busy day ahead of me.”

“Squeeze me into your schedule, Tony. You won’t regret it. And you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“Will I?”

“Definitely.”

There was a lengthy pause. Harding could hear the faint and thoughtful clicking of Whybrow’s tongue against his front teeth. Then: “In that case… how can I refuse?”