Theresa started to take her apron off. What if Chloe had been ringing on her home telephone? She had an urgent desire to be in two places at once. To keep her promise to her friends and her business but also to be available should Chloe make contact. She knew she had to sneak out and check.
Benjamin entered the kitchen. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ve prepared the lunch service, Benjamin, but I really do need a breather now.’
‘But we’re supposed to be having a meeting about the insulting offer from Marcel. We need you to take part in the discussion.’
‘Frankly what is there to discuss? We just say no and tell him to come back with a sane and genuine price. Why should we gift him the building along with all our hard work? We had a good reputation.’
‘Had being the relevant word . . .’
‘I’ve told you my opinion.’ Theresa pulled her phone out of her handbag and walked past Benjamin and out through the dining room.
She was very relieved to be in the open air. The sun was shining, but this afternoon the royal-blue sea was topped with white horses. A fierce wind blew in, whipping up Theresa’s hair and catching her scarf. As the long strip of cashmere flew off along the quay, Theresa ran after it, stamping like a Spanish dancer every time it came near to touching down on the pavement.
Once she had snatched it and wound it back around her neck, this time with a solid knot, she had passed the moored multicoloured rowing boats and little white fishers, bobbing on the swaying sea.
As she put her key into the front door, she felt the phone buzz. She glanced down at the screen.
One missed call. When had that come in?
An unknown number, but it looked like an English mobile phone.
Hoping it might be Neil, while walking into the flat, she immediately redialled the number.
‘Hello?’ A female voice. ‘Is that you, Grandma?’
‘Chloe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, God. Are you safe?’ Still wearing her coat, Theresa flopped down on to her armchair, cradling the phone close to her ear. ‘Please tell me you are all right.’
‘Yes.’ Chloe spoke very softly. ‘I’m fine and I’m happy.’
‘Is this your new phone number?’ Theresa intended to store it immediately the call was over, so that, when necessary, she could phone her back.
‘No. Neil lent me his phone. I knew people would be worried by now. But this call is to let you know that everything’s all right and not to bother looking for me.’
Theresa stopped herself from replying. She was quite aware that, whatever Chloe thought, the situation was not ‘all right’. Far from it. A fifteen-year-old girl should be in school, not gallivanting around the Côte d’Azur with a fellow truant. She was committing a criminal offence, for heaven’s sake.
‘Neil wants to know if you’re the strange woman called Theresa who keeps buzzing him on Instatalk, and writing in a creepy way that sounds like some weirdo pretending to be young?’
‘I’m so sorry, Chloe. That was someone from your school trying to find you.’
‘Please don’t tell me it’s Mum?’
‘No. A teacher going by the name Mervin.’
‘Oh, that freak.’ Chloe laughed. ‘He’s a real perv, Grandma. And he smells.’
‘To be truthful, Chloe, I didn’t get close enough. But he was doing his best to help us.’
‘You were in London?’
‘Yes. But I’m back home now in Bellevue-sur-Mer.’
Theresa was not sure how to get the best out of this call. The most important thing was not to make a thing of it and scare Chloe away. She had to be sure that Chloe kept in contact. She didn’t want to spell out the panic which had taken up the best part of her last forty-eight hours.
‘I was wondering where you were, darling. Someone said that they thought you were in the South of France, somewhere near me.’
There was a silence. Chloe did not take the bait.
Theresa pressed on. ‘And, if you are, why don’t I treat both Neil and you to lunch?’
‘Is this a trap?’
‘No, darling. Of course, it isn’t. But, as you know, I love cooking. And it would be good to see you. And I can advise you about some interesting local places to visit.’
‘I’m not on holiday, Grandma.’ Chloe sounded determined. ‘This is my new life. Being with Neil.’
Theresa had to grab the conversation back from this dangerous topic, grab it back to the merely casual.
‘You could come to the restaurant, or to some neutral space, a café or somewhere, or perhaps to my flat, whichever you like. Are you in Nice?’
‘Somewhere nearby, though?’
‘I’m not really sure where we are, to be honest. Nor is Neil. But it’s very windy here. I can barely stand up.’
As Theresa had walked here, she had almost been blown over by the wind. She wondered how far these weather conditions might stretch. Could it be that the two kids were only a few miles up the road, or were they well along the coast in San Remo or Saint-Raphael?
‘You’re warm and have somewhere to sleep and eat, I hope?’
‘Really, Grandma, stop worrying. Neil’s dad is a very generous person and I’ve got a lovely bedroom, so it’s all fine. I think he’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. He’s such fun.’
‘Is that Neil or his dad?’
‘Oh, I meant his dad. But Neil is even better.’
So, she had got some information out of the child. Now to press on.
‘Well, if you have a little think, conflab with Neil, then name the day and pop over to Bellevue-sur-Mer and I’ll cook you some of your favourite things.’
‘Can we have tiffin, Grandma? I’ve told Neil about it.’
Theresa heard a low voice in the background. Could this be Neil or was it the father?
‘I have to go now, Grandma. Love you!’
And she was gone.
Theresa thought about redialling but decided against it. She put the phone back into her pocket.
The dilemma now was how much to tell Imogen? If she didn’t tell her daughter that Chloe had phoned and then Imogen found out, all hell would break loose. But Theresa did feel that she had Chloe tentatively hooked. They were joined each end of a thread, even if that thread was made of the most fragile silk. One false move and Chloe could truly disappear. But if she kept hold she might be able to reel her in.
Theresa moved through to the kitchen, to check the answering machine, as that is what she had come to do.
Almost immediately the landline phone rang. It was going to be William summoning her back to the restaurant.
‘Hello?’
Silence.
‘Hello?’
She could hear someone breathing, but nothing more.
‘Anyone there? No? All right then. Goodbye.’
She replaced the receiver and looked at the handset screen for the call log.
Number Withheld.
As she scrolled back she noticed that over the last few days there had been quite a few Number Withheld calls.
No doubt it was some awful marketing robot. She poured a quick glass of water and knocked it back. She needed to get to the restaurant to complete lunch, but still felt so divided by the feeling she should be doing something more active to find Chloe.
‘I’ve got a lovely bedroom, so it’s all fine,’ Chloe had said. So did that mean that Neil’s father had a property out here on the Côte d’Azur? Chloe’s sentence didn’t sound as though they were staying in multiple hotels as Theresa had been imagining. When people stayed in hotels they rarely called them bedrooms – just rooms.
Perhaps Roger Muffett had bought some chateau in the country, or a large city flat, and they drove out each day for lunch in various places.
Though, to be serious, that didn’t sound right, either.
It might be that Mr Muffett was house-hunting. That would certainly explain them bobbing around from town to town. Maybe he had rented a place to stay, probably in or near Nice, then they ranged out every day to various towns and villages along the coast on his property search.
She moved towards the front door but the landline phone rang once more.
Theresa answered but this time said nothing.
After a moment or so’s silence at the other end, a female voice said, ‘Mum? Are you there?’
Imogen!
‘Sorry, darling. Did you just phone a minute ago? It’s just that I keep getting these—’
‘No. Look this is urgent. Mervin’s had some more connections with Neil. He says that Neil just sent him a message saying that he’s so fed up with technology and tech teachers and everything to do with computers that he’s going to throw his phone and tablet into the sea. If that happens, Mum, you realise we’ll lose all contact. We have to stop him.’
Trying not to laugh, Theresa bit her lip. She understood exactly what was happening. Now that they knew Mervin was behind the messaging, the two kids were playing up their ex-teacher. But how could she explain this to Imogen without letting on about Chloe’s call? She took a deep breath, praying she was doing the right thing.
‘A few minutes ago, Chloe phoned me, Imogen. I spoke to her.’
‘What do you mean? Did you tell her to stop fooling about and worrying us all to death?’
‘I’m trying to arrange a meeting.’
‘What’s her number? I’ll phone her and make it quite clear . . .’
Theresa knew that, if they were to have any success in getting the kids here, she must not give Imogen Neil’s number.
‘It was a Number Withheld, I’m afraid.’
‘Damn.’ Imogen sounded very disappointed. ‘What were you saying about a meeting?’
‘If things go as I hope they might, tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, Chloe will phone back and agree to meet me for lunch. I left the decision with her.’
‘What do you mean, you “left the decision with her”? Mother, we are dealing with a teenage underage child who’s on the run. You should have been firm. Someone has to stand up to Chloe and force her to come home.’
‘Stop panicking, Imogen.’ Theresa tried to sound calm and not let Imogen intimidate her. ‘Remember “Softly, softly, catchee monkey”.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mother. We’re not talking about a monkey. We’re talking about a child – my daughter. My fifteen-year-old daughter!’
‘My fifteen-year-old granddaughter.’
‘You’re impossible, Mother. I really can’t waste time talking to you. But next time you hear from Chloe you must phone me instantly.’
‘I would have done, but you phoned me before I—’
‘I have to go now.’
And Imogen hung up.
Theresa felt sure she was doing the right thing. Wasn’t she? At least this way they had some hope of seeing Chloe in person, and then, once she was here, reasoning with her.
Theresa was leaving when she noticed something lying on the doormat.
Another photo of herself. This one was of her in her wedding gown.
As she flipped it over the front doorbell rang, and Theresa literally jumped a few centimetres into the air.
It was the postwoman, who handed her a parcel, got back on to her scooter and sped away up the hill.
The box announced that it was from a large online store. That was strange as Theresa had not ordered anything from them for months.
She crammed the packet under her arm, and started locking up. It was only while putting her keys in her handbag that she noticed the reverse of the wedding photo she had just received.
On the slightly foxed white paper, someone had drawn an ornate red heart pierced with a black arrow.
Sally thanked the lord that the first scene she shot was really simple. She had to walk out of a dark blue door, take a furtive look in either direction and then stride off confidently along a street peopled with extras. She clinched it in one take. The crew moved on and set up location at the boulangerie. Here she had to rehearse taking money from her pocket, passing it to an extra who handed her a baguette, which she stuck under her arm, and again walking off along the street.
On the second section Daniel suggested that Sally take a bite out of the loaf as she walked. She was in a dilemma, as she knew that this was something never done here in France, except by tourists. And as the movie was about two criminals who above all wanted to blend into their surroundings, she felt that her character, Louise, would not do this. Nor was it in the script.
She didn’t want to seem difficult but knew that she was right in refusing to follow Daniel’s orders for the sake of the film’s credibility.
She tried to move nearer to him to explain, but the First Assistant insisted she stay on the spot as the crew was fixing up some supplementary lighting on her.
When the time came for the shot, Sally stepped out of the boulangerie and walked away, baguette tucked under her arm.
‘Cut!’
Everything stopped.
‘Sally, dear. You forgot to take a bite.’
‘That’s the thing, Daniel. I thought that the two crooks needed to be somewhat invisible and look like locals. If I take a bite I’d immediately look like a tourist.’
Daniel sighed.
‘Very opinionated, aren’t you, for an unknown?’
‘I just thought—’
‘It’s not your job to think, luvvie, that’s what I do. OK?’ He made a signal to the First Assistant. ‘Another shot, right away.’
Seething with rage and embarrassment, Sally moved back to the start mark and prepared, on the second take, to dig her teeth into the baguette.
After lunch they moved location again. The scene in the public convenience, where she changed into her disguise, went smoothly enough. There was a tricky moment when one of her false nails got caught in the netting of the wig, but she used it and they didn’t need to do a retake.
As she sat in the back of the van which took her and the make-up girls to the final location of the day, Sally once more scanned her lines. She looked out of the window at the stunning views of Monaco harbour and mouthed the lines to her own reflection. She hoped that the bloke playing Gilbert was funny. It was easy to see that her laughs would depend on his delivery.
The van drew up outside a luxurious hotel on the seafront. The Third Assistant took them up to the suite where they would film the last scene.
‘I’m afraid the other unit is running a little behind, Sally, so I’m going to walk through the scene with you now. Then, when your partner in crime turns up, we can go straight for a take.’ He indicated the room. ‘We’ve only got this suite for a few hours. So we need to wrap and have all of our kit out of here by eight p.m. at the very latest.’
When the tea break came round – a trolley with a platter of finger sandwiches, and polystyrene cups of coffee and tea – Sally took hers out on to the balcony and sat watching the sunset, making the most of the ravishing view, with all the twinkling decorations of the yachts going by, strung over with flags and coloured lights. Imagine being rich enough to take this room! How wonderful that would be. She looked down at the grim faces of people passing. The strange thing was that every trip she had made to Monte Carlo – and, earlier in her life, to another tax haven, Jersey – seemed to indicate that the richer you were the more miserable you appeared. What she saw now confirmed that.
She was chuckling to herself, thinking that there might be some balance in the world, and that not being on the top of the financial heap could have its benefits, when the Third Assistant called her inside to shoot the scene.
The others had arrived.
Daniel was standing in the corner talking earnestly to an actor who had his back to Sally. He was kitted out in a mind-boggling floral sun suit consisting of a short-sleeved jacket and matching shorts. She gave a quiet bravo to the costume designer. That costume was hilarious – a brilliant touch. Even from the back view, the man looked like an utter twit.
‘First positions, please.’
Sally flopped on to the sofa and picked up the colourful mock cocktail which she had to fiddle with in the scene and eventually spill all over herself.
‘Sorry, everyone. Especially Eddie, who’s barely got his breath back from shooting the scenes up on the autoroute.’ Daniel stepped forward. ‘I know this is unusual, but don’t blame me. Blame the stupid actors who ballsed up the schedule. Now, I’m going to turn on this rehearsal. So, though it’s a rehearsal, can we treat it as a take, please? You never know.’
‘Sound?’ called the First Assistant.
‘Speed,’ replied the sound guy.
‘Camera?’
‘Rolling.’
The clapperboard operator knelt down in front of Sally, the clapper poised.
‘Scene 102, take one.’
He snapped down the board.
‘And . . . action!’ called Daniel.
‘We did it, darling!’ Sally took a sip of her drink and leaned back, kicking her shoes off and putting her feet up on the coffee table. ‘Gilbert, darling?’ She turned to face the windows. ‘Shall we dine on the terrace? Champagne, caviar, the works? We deserve it after that haul!’
‘What? Sorry, didn’t hear you! The water was running.’ The actor playing her husband came on to the lit area. ‘But I say let’s go for everything on the menu! Money no problem, now, eh? Kiss, kiss!’
As he dived down on to the sofa and grabbed Sally’s face, she wasn’t sure who was more shocked.
She could see the panic in his eyes.
They both struggled to continue the dialogue without going off script.
The actor playing her husband, with whom an on-camera full-mouthed snog was seconds away, was none other than Eggy Markham.