RACHEL WAS TOO STRESSED TO THINK ABOUT negotiating the Métro system and then walking the streets of Paris looking for a hotel, so she hailed a taxi and gave the name of the boutique hotel where she and Alex had stayed in August. They had a room available so she handed over her credit card, hoping against hope that there was enough left before she reached her credit limit. Fortunately the transaction went through.
Upstairs, she flopped onto the satin-cushion-covered bed to make some phone calls: first to Nicola, asking her to mind the shop the following day, then to Kenny, and to both her mother and Alex’s father.
‘I’ll fly out this evening,’ Alex’s father said straight away. ‘Where is he being held?’
‘There’s no need,’ Rachel assured him. ‘They might release him tomorrow afternoon, and they won’t let us see him in the meantime.’
‘I’m not happy that he only has a state-appointed lawyer. If I make some calls I could get someone top-notch on the case in the morning. It might make all the difference. We can’t risk a conviction.’
That was a tempting idea. Monsieur Belmont’s office had been utilitarian rather than plush. On the other hand, he had seemed perfectly competent. ‘It’s up to you, of course,’ Rachel said, ‘but I think the time to get a new lawyer would be if he is not released tomorrow.’
‘What if they ask for bail before they release him? I’ll stay by the phone all day and have my bank details ready.’
Rachel was touched by his obvious anxiety. She wondered if Alex knew how much his dad cared about him. She didn’t think so.
When she had made her calls, she ventured out in search of food. What were they feeding Alex in custody? Garde à vue, the French called it: ‘keep to see’. Would he have a room to himself, or might he be sharing a cell with real criminals? She imagined a tiny room with bunk beds and a toilet in one corner. He would cope for one more night, but she couldn’t begin to imagine his despair if he was sent to a French prison to await trial. Her heart ached for him. If only she could think of some story convincing enough to get him freed straight away.
And what about her? If Monsieur Belmont told the police that she had kept the heart they might decide to arrest her for receiving stolen goods. She and Alex could both end up in prison. How would that affect their future together?
She stopped outside a busy street-corner bistro with specials scrawled illegibly on a blackboard and candle wax dribbling down empty green wine bottles. The waiter showed her to a cramped table near the back, where she ordered a croque monsieur and a glass of vin rouge.
It was strange to think that only a few days earlier she had been having doubts about Alex. Now that he was in trouble, her feelings were crystal clear. She loved him and would do whatever it took to get him out of jail. If he were charged, she would perjure herself to try and get him released. She would go to the newspapers, protest on French television, appeal to their MP. One way or another, she wouldn’t rest until Alex was free. She missed him – sarcasm, snappiness and all.