Eva

She arrived home from the dive to find Sebastian sitting on the steps of the first-floor landing. He was resting his forehead on his knees, a strangely passive posture for a man who was usually so dynamic. He looked like a little boy lost and she hurried up to him. Then her eye took in a definite change in the landscape. Carlo Montegriffo’s front door was not where it should be and the door frame was in splinters.

‘My God, has there been a burglary?’ she asked, staring at the wreckage.

Sebastian lifted his head and looked at her. ‘I’m just keeping guard until a carpenter arrives,’ he said evasively.

‘Hey, that’s good of you.’

‘Please, my love, can you get me a glass of water,’ he said, reaching for her hand. ‘And give me a kiss before you go.’

She was puzzled but intuitively she knew that it was best not to ask too many questions, sensing that Sebastian was the culprit. No doubt the broken door had something to do with Mimi’s visits there, though when Sebastian had been down last week ranting at Carlo, it turned out Mimi hadn’t been there after all.

In the days that followed, Sebastian seemed to come back to himself, in fact, for a few days he was almost inappropriately elated. Her partner was more complex a person than she’d realised, and it pained her to realise how little she understood him. What mattered most was that the intimacy and warmth between them had been restored, which made her own ghosts retreat for a while. The renewed strength of their love made her feel safe. While Sebastian’s powerful aura surrounded her, surely nothing could touch her.

*

One breezy afternoon she came home to find the apartment empty. She kicked off her shoes and got a glass of wine from the fridge. She grabbed the book she was reading and, with her drink, made her way towards the terrace. True to his word, Sebastian had brought home a catalogue, and together they’d ordered a fine-looking rattan sofa and a triangular sail which she’d fastened to the poles for the clothesline, providing hours of afternoon shade. Her phone rang just as she was about to sit down. Assuming it was Sebastian, she went to look for it. She should have known better. Sebastian rarely called before he was ready to come home, and five o’clock was far too early.

With her heart beating, drum-like, in her chest she listened to the silent breather for a full minute, trying to think of a strategy. It had been a lifesaving idea to go across the border for a phone with a Spanish number. Spain was a big country. Obviously she was au fait with the directive: always cut a nuisance caller off. But she didn’t have the courage to dismiss this caller.

‘What do you want from me?’ she said at last. ‘At least tell me that.’

Still the silence, the breathing, not heavy but in some way impatient, exasperated even, willing her to speak.

‘Montegriffo… Is that you? Is this really necessary?’

She knew it wasn’t him, but just saying his name reassured her. Who knew, perhaps it was him…or some other person in Gibraltar that was so against the Frontiers Development Project that he’d go to any length to get its perpetrator off the Rock.

As she listened to the breathing man – for the sound and depth was definitely that of a man – she saw herself packing her suitcase; no not a suitcase, a bag. She saw herself on a ferry to Morocco, or handing Jonny Risso a wad of Gibraltar Pounds as he dropped her off somewhere along the Costa del Sol where she could get lost amongst millions of foreigners and find passage to some other remote corner of the world.

She sank down into a chair in the hallway and massaged her forehead with thumb and forefinger, keeping the breather company in his silence. He just went on breathing, as though willing her to say more. That was what he wanted: a reaction – any reaction. But she was tired of running.

‘Adrian,’ she said finally. ‘I know it’s you?’

The breather stopped, only for a second, but he stopped. So it was him.

‘Yeah,’ he said in a low raspy whisper. ‘Chantelle.’

She rang off, dropping the phone to the floor where it clattered along the floor tiles. A wail escaped from her throat and she clamped her hands over her mouth. She’d get rid of the phone, she’d go away for a few weeks… perhaps if they moved to some little village across the border. No, it was never going to work. Never! He was shrewder, more determined than she gave him credit for.

He’d find her. It was only a matter of time.