On the drive back to the city, she wondered when the statement would be released. How much time did she have before her world changed again? Clients would be clamouring for answers — demanding their money. Vaultange’s plea for patience would be given short shrift if Andrew’s widow was seen flashing a huge diamond and driving a classic car. If a guy in an ice cream shop could leap to conclusions about her financial status, then the media and Andrew’s clients would too. Jess had learnt early that people prefer to think the worst of their fellow human beings. Then, like a vulture circling over a carcass, they swoop in to mindlessly tear apart whatever they find. She needed to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. That meant stashing the car and her ring.
Having no money left in the joint account was another worry. Thanks to the Prof granting her unpaid leave, Jess had a job to go back to, but until then she had no income. Not while Vaultange was being sorted out. She had repaid her student loan before meeting Andrew but hadn’t spent long enough in specialist practice to save for emergencies. Her insistence that she pay for her wedding dress meant she had depleted what savings she’d had.
‘It’s important that I do this,’ she said when Andrew burst out laughing. ‘I want to start our life together as a contributor. At the very least, I want to pay for my own dress. I don’t need you to pay for everything.’
‘I’m rich Jess. It’s not a problem.’
‘I know, and I bet you think I’m being stupid, but this is important to me.’
‘Okay, if that’s what you want,’ he replied holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Now about that Lear jet I was thinking of buying …’.
‘Very funny,’ she said. ‘Don’t make light of this Andrew. I’m serious. I don’t need you to look after me. I’m with you because I love you.’
He stopped smiling, took her in his arms and kissed her lightly on each cheek, then softly on her mouth. ‘I know.’ It was all he said.
Jess pulled over to the hard shoulder and turned off the engine. With her hands on the steering wheel she sat in the car remembering the feel of his arms around her and the touch of his lips on hers. The road stretched in front of her, two lanes of faded black seal through a corridor of green trees. She wasn’t ready to go back to town. Would she ever be? Idly she reached over, opened the glovebox, and took out the owner’s manual and the logbook. As she flicked through the pages she saw the car had had two owners. The first, some guy from the South Island who had bought the car new. His entries in the logbook were meticulous and long, his care of the vehicle bordering on the obsessive. Then his entries stopped, suddenly there was nothing for two years. Had he died, got sick, gone missing, lost the use of his right hand? She let her imagination run wild, anything to delay having to go back. The second owner was Gordon Holdings. Gordon Holdings had been set up way back before they were engaged. Why hadn’t Andrew told her? Did he think she wouldn’t understand? Or had he kept it from her for a reason known only to him? Stupid, because it was here in black and white. She could have opened the glove box of her car at any time in their relationship and seen it. The logbook had been brought up to date. The car had been checked by a mechanic before purchase, the name of the garage was stamped over his signature. She closed the books and put them back in the glovebox, and as she did so, her fingers brushed against something hard. She had to undo her seatbelt to lean over and reach it. It was a USB stick. Ledger was printed on the side. It was exactly the same as the one Henry had given her. And which she remembered guiltily that no one, not even Ross had remembered to give to the policewoman. Henry’s USB was still in her handbag. She stared at this new one, then whooped out loud. Partly with joy but mainly because of an overwhelming, all-encompassing feeling of relief.
You bloody idiot, Andrew. You, gorgeous, fabulous, bloody idiot. You didn’t run off and leave me high and dry. This is the backup. It has to be. There was a trail she could follow after all. He would have put the stick in the car planning to come back and get it when they returned from their honeymoon. He would have known, if for some reason he couldn’t retrieve it, then she would. She would be the only one to find it and she would know what to do. Simple.
She got out and searched the rest of the car, humming as she poked into every conceivable nook and cranny. Under the seat, under the dashboard and around the gear stick in the middle. She climbed into the back seat and checked everything. Tucked into the back of the driver’s seat pocket was another USB, plain this time, the common type sold by tech shops. She was standing by the side of the car, staring at the sticks when a jeep pulled up beside her. ‘Do you need help?’ The man, bearded was wearing shorts and a loose shirt unbuttoned to the waist. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Thank you for stopping though. I didn’t think people did that anymore.’ The good Samaritan smiled and drove off with a jaunty wave. Life is good. Andrew hasn’t abandoned me, and strangers take the trouble to stop and offer help. Jess gave a little skip as she went around to the back of the car. She emptied the boot, unscrewed the spare tyre from its mounting, before she felt the recesses deep in the well. Next, she popped the bonnet and inspected the motor. Nothing looked out of place, the heavy lid dropping back with a thump. That was it. Two sticks. More than enough for her to hope the nightmare was nearly over.
She put the sticks in her handbag with Henry’s one and checked her phone. Three missed calls, two voicemail messages, all from Henry— she deleted them with a tap on the screen. He could wait — a long time. She typed a query into the search engine and scrolled down the responses, selected one of the options, brought up the number and pressed call now.
‘Drive in. Turn off everything. Lock the door and take the key,’ instructed the manager of the storage facility. ‘Make sure the payments are deposited monthly and that’s all there is to it.’
She found the garage easily and the key was in the padlock as she had been told. The hardest part had been taking off her engagement ring and sliding it inside a small cut she made in the fabric on the underside of the passenger seat. Her only consolation was knowing Andrew would have understood. She heaved up the top, clicked the catches shut and locked the doors.
It was a twenty-minute walk to the nearest bus stop, where after a half-hour wait, she caught the bus back to town, getting out at Smith and Caughey’s department store in the middle of Queen Street. Passengers from a cruise ship crowded the pavements, easily identified by their attire which consisted of comfortable sneakers and waterproof jackets worn open on this very warm day. Men and women, in couples and small groups, wandered aimlessly peering in shop windows but not venturing in to buy. It was a slow walk to the harbour, but now Jess had the sticks it didn’t matter. She took her time, indulged in some window shopping and relaxed.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ She was barely through the doors of the apartment building. Henry was standing in the lobby, with his arms folded across his chest, and the same angry look on his face that he’d had earlier that morning.
‘You gave me a fright,’ she said clasping her bag to her chest.
‘I’ve been calling. Why aren’t you answering your phone?’
‘I needed time to think.’
‘And …?’
‘I’ve thought.’
‘And?’
‘And it’s none of your business,’ she said suddenly tired of the man and whatever game he was playing. Keen to get upstairs and see what was on the USBs, she pressed the button for the elevator. The doors opened immediately. The last she saw of Henry was him opening his mouth to say something. By then it was too late. The elevator doors had closed.